we ordered fried rice and eggrolls the same day i blogged about joy sprinkles. it doesn’t take much to get us enthused and fried rice and eggrolls do it. because we don’t eat out often, it is always a treat to have something someone else has prepared and this dinner is no different.
we only got one fortune cookie in our brown stapled bag of deliciousness; our order must be considered a small order. we saved it for later.
i got to be the one to crack it open.
“sprinkles of joy will shower upon you in unexpected ways.”
it was one of those stunning moments in the universe when all comes to a screeching halt and you realize it is – indeed – all connected. just when you felt a little bit untethered, a little unsteady, the universe shows up with an anchor.
and here it was. simply the words “sprinkles of joy”.
i texted heidi – forever my keeper of the word “sprinkles” – and we laughed to realize we had juuust spoken these very words, that i had just written them. unexpected, for sure. it was like the universe had its own personal siri listening in – like when you talk about mumbai – never touching your computer or phone or any device – and then it shows up on your facebook feed or in your instagram. here it was – the universe echoing back to me the words “sprinkles” and “joy”.
we walked past the cemetery at the end of our road on the way back from the corner store. it was sunny saturday and, having spent the day doing chores inside and outside around the house, we were going to sit out back on the patio with dogga, sip a glass of wine and eat – yes – chips. we haven’t had chips in a week and thought, “eh…what’s a few chips?!!” it was with chip-guilt in a plastic bag walking home – as we strolled past the cemetery – that d looked over at me.
“i’m glad the cemetery is at the end of our block,” he said. “it reminds me that these people all had lives, too,” going on to talk about perspective, stuff that matters and stuff that doesn’t matter, the passage of time, the not-knowing.
every moment is one in which to create joy. for oneself. for others. together. to be showered by sprinkles of joy. in unexpected ways.
i proudly carried our bag of chips the rest of the way home.
the last time i had an in-depth conversation with him, H said, “i have my hope on the generation coming up…that they will be a force for the good.” i cannot imagine a bigger force for good than sweet H.
the candle is burning now. we have had it lit many times in recent days as H has struggled with the fine line between living and dying. the image of his dear face in our mind’s eye reminds us of how to grow old gracefully, how to live into aging, how to participate, how to be in the river not on the river’s edge.
we just heard that H died last night and, as i write this on saturday morning, the sun bursting outside and the birds in full song, my heart is breaking. i have adored H – now ninety-something-something – since the first day he walked into the choir room in which i used to direct choirs, ukulele bands, handbells and be a part of all the joy and community mutually created in that room. his spirit entered before he did, flowing positive energy and a will to try anything, laughter his guide. his bass voice in our choir, in our ukulele band, in our lives was grounding and the gift of angels who had gone before him. H was intrepid. rain, sleet, snow or ice did not deter him or any adventure he took on. he worked harder than most in his earlier years and he played with childlike glee in his later years. mostly, he was not afraid. he wasn’t afraid to learn new things or take on technology. he wasn’t afraid to sing solo or rap in front of others. he wasn’t afraid to travel or to just simply be who he was. he was fiercely devoted to his family, each of them. he wasn’t afraid to love or to state how he felt or what he thought. he was more genuine than many who claim authenticity as their core. a faithful human being, he was.
the refrigerator magnets cluster together from places he went; he always proudly brought me back a magnet from his travels. at the end of the year he’d give me a multitude of those calendars you get in the mail – from all different organizations he had contributed to or of which he was a part – and i’d pick one to hang in the choir room, one to hang at home and one to use for notes. the charlie brown coffee mug in our mug cabinet, that he had carefully wrapped in its suitcase-journey from the peanuts museum in california, is a favorite treasure. he loved butterfingers. he was H.
our last conversation, just a few days ago, was a little disjointed. H couldn’t hear what i was saying on the phone but was trying hard to speak. unlike all our other calls, we didn’t really talk about anything that time. but one thing was clear – shared love and respect for each other and the absolute happiness we each felt having this special friendship. he was H and, oh, his heart.
in an earlier longer call he had talked about the dynamics of our country. he was worried and said that his concern was that current circumstances were like a snowball going downhill…getting bigger and bigger, worse and worse. while i would agree that our country, in big places and small, is in desperate need of a thawing-out of mean-spirited snowballs going rapidly downhill, i would offer that there are other domino effects as well, the kind that take frosty snowflakes and build magical snowmen and the snowforts of children’s imaginings. H is such snow magic, if you will – a trillion unique flakes joined together by infinite molecules of kindness. a snowball that gains in momentum and size – in every good way – each time he was around people. brilliant snowflakes attracted to a genuine and gentle man who would dedicatedly stick with you through thick and thin, persons drawn to each other like perfect individual crystals, stars together.
H lived his hope for the future – he was a force for good. there is no reckoning about this. he will shine in the stars and in all the bass solos. he will gather angels around him, singing, and create fairy-dust-snowflakes. he will be missed and he will be remembered. he was H and his heart was gigantic.
reverse threading 