Loss & Grief

On Valentine's Day this year, I lost one of my dearest sister-friends, Sandra. The unusually early beauty of this Spring brings me both pleasure and pain -- pleasure at being able to do May garden work in March, pain at not having Sandy around to enjoy it with me.

She was a Master Gardener, whose flower gardens thrived wherever she was. Over the years, she shared with me the most fantastic iris, instructing me on how to plant the rhizomes correctly. She accidentally gave me her giant white bearded iris -- the only one she had -- and I promised to return it to her at the end of the growing season. I remember marking the giant stem with a white bread tie so I could split the rhizome and give her back her unintentional gift. I will always think of Sandy when those iris bloom.

She was a masterful cook, and baker. She always brought unusual, healthy, and delightful dishes to potlucks. I have added her Pomegranate Rice to my repertoire, and, as with the white iris, will always think of her when I make it.

Sandy was an organic farmer for years, and started a community-supported agriculture (CSA) group with members in Madison and near her farm. I never had tomatillos or jerusalem artichokes until I joined her CSA. Each delivery came with a newsletter with recipes for the "stuff in the box." Good, healthy, nourishing food, grown with love. Lots of love, and hard labor.

Sandy was a master bridge player in her middle years, and I tried to learn the game, playing as her partner with two other dear friends. It was a good thing she had a storehouse of patience and kindness, because she was very good at the game, and I never was. That's the sign of a true friend -- someone who won't kick your butt for screwing up a contract.

There are lots more things I'd like to say by way of documenting her impact on my life, but they will have to wait for future entries. Just let me say, "I love you," one more time, with feeling.

Miss you, Miss Sandra. Miss you badly.