Make new friends, but keep the old…

That's the first line of a song we learned in Brownies, many years ago, and sang it in a round. The other line to the simple ditty: one is silver and the other gold.

I've not been a good friend over the years. In fact, my life is divided into segments in my mind when I was involved in one thing or another and it was always accompanied by one or two people who were special. Then I'd leave the project, leave the community and completely fall out of touch. For years, I tried to keep up with Holiday cards, or email, or an occasional phone call. Now, I find myself lurking on Facebook pages or twitter accounts, wanting to know what is going on with the people I have cared about, but apparently not enough to actually invest time in them.

So as summer turns to fall, I have decided to try some new things. One of those things will be the reconnection project. I don't anticipate that I will renew and revitalize all the relationships I've left behind, but I do think I can make some connections with the people, who like me, didn't mean to fall out of touch so much, but rather fell into the rhythm of the life they were living in each moment.

I don't have regrets about living. I just don't want people to feel forgotten.

I'll try to keep up a report.

Today, I wrote a letter to an old friend I used to write with, chat with daily. A good man, kind, compassionate, thoughtful. I know I won't ever fall back into the daily connection routine, but there is no reason to be miserly with my words. I know he will be happy to hear from me.

Some of the connections won't be happy, and I won't hear replies. I am promising myself not to take it personally. How many times have I done the same?

If our friends are the measure of our treasury, then I've accumulated a fortune. I just have to figure out now how much of it I've spent.

Travel Weary

As summer winds down, I can finally take a breath, and when I do it is the humity of Houston I breathe in, at last. Two weeks in Michigan, a week in California and what feels like every weekend since April in Galveston have taken a toll on my writing and my need for routine. (When the plane landed last night and they opened the door, the heat was so intense that it rushed to the back of the plane like a fireball, or a puppy who couldn't wait to leap on us to welcome us home.)

But why, when I crave routine so much, do I find it so boring?!

Up at dawn this morning, yoga and journalling complete, the choices now are the book, the files, the ever present files or the gym. I've convinced myself that competition is good for me, so I'll enter some fiction contests again, and am picking out 5k's to train for. I know, 5k isn't much of a goal, but it is a good start, and manageable, the way a short story can be when compared to a novel.

Or there is coffee. None in the house, and the call of starbucks is getting stronger each moment...

And having fallen in love with both California and Michigan again, it is important that I distract myself with something, or the longing will, as falling in love has taught me over and over, turn to depression, then an attempt to fix it, and ultimately, loss. I'm finished with all that for now.