“Jean. I just love that scarf! It goes so beautifully with the sweater, the cardigan, and the skirt. Where did you find it?”
The SconeLady is always interested in scarves, especially ones with delightful colors all swirled together into wonderful patterns. It was a scarf any model in NYC might wish for.
“Oh, it's from my friend. Not just any friend: it's from our Eric’s wife..she died, you know; not 15 months ago.”
“She did? Oh, I didn’t know that!” I thought of Eric now, standing with the other Mousehole Men, all ready to perform. “I’m so sorry,” I continued. I felt truly dreadfully sorry, for Eric is dear, and would feel such a loss deeply.
“Yes, a lovely lady she was, a real friend. Spent most of her time trying to get well. But it just wasn’t to be, and so she prepared. One day she rang me.”
“Oh?” I said. “What did she say?”
Jean sat for a moment, remembering. “Well, she said she had some things for me, if I wanted 'em.”
I waited, not wanting to hurry the difficult memories.
“Yes, she had some things for me. So I came round, and visited. And what do you suppose?” Jean looked up at me.
“I don’t know, I’m sure,” said I.
“She said, ‘Come in the lounge, I have a box for you.’ There was a box of scarves, and some belts.”
Ah, I thought. The lovely scarf Jean was wearing was from our Eric’s lovely wife. “This was one of them, then..” I ventured.
“Oh yes, my favorite in fact. I wear it because 'tis pretty, like 'er.”
“It certainly is pretty, Jean, and a lovely reflection of your friend.”
We sat waiting for a moment, thinking our thoughts together. Soon there was a stir as the Male Choirs began readying themselves for the performance. As we watched, there was Eric dutifully following the fellow in front of him. He turned his head in our direction, and smiled.
Jean and I smiled back. And waved..
See you along the way!
the surf beach, Porthmeor (just look at this, RSS!)