Weekend Update - Group Therapy

It was a good weekend with friends, one I needed.  It's best said in pictures, and a few short words, but healing is better when surrounded by those that can make you laugh, and make you cry, but in the best kind of ways.

Sunday morning . Getting up when it's light out is such a treat.

The kitchen is just a bare slate, waiting for something to be made.

That calls for pancakes.  Corn pancakes (replace 1/4 cup of the flour in the World's Fluffiest Pancakes recipe with cornmeal and add a Tablespoon of sour cream).

You can have the hungry man's stack with some maple syrup.

Or perhaps just a short stack with some fresh Marionberry Preserves from Dad's.

Then, after thanks for many blessings this week,  it was down to the bat shop to conduct  some late morning secret experiments while Partner made a Menards run for some wood to rebuild a tabletop on a "dumped on the curb unwanted mission table that was solid hardwood, but for a badly scratched top".

There are a lot of interesting tools around this place since households merged. 

 Bloodhound of the Law.  Sniffing out crime one step at a time.

Before you know it, he was back, it was time for a drive for a late lunch of Mexican food with  Midwest Chick (Mr. B was unable to make it), and Mr. and Mrs. Og and the Oglet.

I really hadn't seen anyone since Barkley died a month ago, either working or just huddling with family. But, with schedules and winter colds, I hadn't seen Midwest Chick since before Christmas, so the first thing she said was, "you got your hair cut, it's really cute!"  "Cut"  was sort of an understatement.  I had recently gone in for a trim and asked the stylist to chop off a couple inches.  She said,  "are you sure, that would be a lot?"  I'm thinking "two inches, that's nothing". In wet, curly hair that shortens up as it dries, two inches is like four inches in normal hair.  I should have listened to her. It's not short, but it's above my shoulders and my shoulders feels naked.  The thing is,  it's an awesome haircut, letting my natural waves do something other then stick straight up. Everyone loved it, even the guys of my team, when I dropped in after returning from Dad's, complimenting me, saying I looked "Sassy".

Sassy?  Isn't that a name of a Collie?

I wanted to thank Midwest Chick for the compliment, but what I think came out of my mouth was "Timmy's stuck in the well!"  Fortunately, my hair grows fast, but it's always good to get a cut that actually worked with my hair, not an easy thing for a stylist.

Greetings made, we settled in with baskets of chips and fresh salsa  as we had lots to catch up on, funny dog and cat stories and photos of some interesting outdoor machines that beaverize wood ("this one is one of only two made, the other's in an evidence locker" ) and stories from IT hell (which every profession knows something about). I got a little quiet, sometimes, as we shared dog stories, but everyone understood.

I got a wonderful surprise in that the Oglet presented me a medal.  Her medal, one she won in fencing, (and not just those little rapier things, but the big "pull it out of a stone to be the rightwise King born of England", type of weapon).  I though it was just mine to admire, but it was mine to keep.  She said she wanted to thank me for the support from someone just other than loving parents, as she tackled something that traditionally, young ladies don't do.  I saw a lot of myself in her, and tried to be there for her, as a friend of her Mom and Dad's and a friend to her, giving her some encouragement, and a fan, cheering her on. She earned those medals, even if not placing first in this one. For this is a young lady that finished a match with males and females alike, after completely tearing a fingernail off the nail bed, staunching the bleeding and continuing to compete.  That is a force to be reckoned with, one that will do well in the world as she graduates and goes out on her own.

It got dusty in there all of a sudden as I held it,  but I was proud to accept it. 

Soon, it was time to go.  Midwest Chick had made some awesome cookies for everyone (brownie dough layered with orange/cardamon infused shortcake) and I had a container with Monkey Bars and some Dark Chocolate Espresso shortbread cookies I made for her and Mr. B.  Cookie exchange was made as we left the restaurant with the appropriate secret codewords. . .

"What's the Frequency Kenneth"

"I believe Louisiana is the Pelican State".

and then she had to head home.

The Og family came back to the Range for a bit of a visit on their drive home.  Og had presented an old book to me at the restaurant, but I knew, from the bright orange inside, it was more than a book.

 The orange ribbon, looks just like the collar Barkley wore.

It's a bookmark, with the last photo I took of Barkley, etched in laser, like scrimshaw, on an antique ivory piano key, then hand sewn onto the "collar" book mark.  Og made it.  He wasn't just a good pal of Barkley, but the piano key has some meaning, as he is one of the few people I know outside of immediate family, that I've played piano publicly in front of .

click to enlarge.

We visited until the sun started to wane and then I waved goodbye as they drove home. I know that later, I will laugh, and I will cry,  as I carefully tuck  that memory into my book each night.

As I put things away, things both serious and silly, things that make me laugh, make me proud, Partner  looked at me and said-

"You have really good friends."

You know, I truly do, and for that, I thank the Lord every day, not just on Sunday.