Patience, with My Oregon Friend

 Sunday. For once I follow through on my resolution not to open X right away after morning prayers. I capture the time instead with extended prayers for people I love, including old friends whom I have not see in a long time, and who are ever on my mind.

I know some of them are probably in deep pain over current events and politics. If I were to contact them right now, and they were to respond, it would probably be rebuke, as I have gotten in the past, deservedly, for trying to reach out to people at the wrong time, even when it is painful not to do so. When that happens, then it can be years until it feels right to try again. I have learned this bitterly, through my foolishness, and created pain for people in no small way. On the other hand, this might mean that I never try, and a friendship is never revived. Life goes by. Time is finite. 

Later in the day I am sorting through my books in the apartment. I am making a spreadsheet of all the books I own, to inventory them, and sort them. I started yesterday. It will take time, but it is joyful and relaxing. I thought I wouldn't like doing it, but I do.

Among the goals is to segregate a "special collection" of books with special meanings that I would keep under any conditions. These include books given to me by others, sometimes with an inscription, or which were owned by other people I know, such as my parents and grandparents.

Among them I find a small slender handmade pocket-size volume in its own handmade case. I know it was given to me by a friend in November 2000, because of the handwritten included. It was intended as a wedding gift for me and my ex-wife, and it is dedicated in part to me. It is about the lonely seclusion of urban life in Portland.

I read through it as if for the first time, and begin to miss both Portland, and my friend. The handmade book he made is now a treasure for me. 

I have sent him Christmas cards, but I almost don't count those as an attempts to reconnect. I fantasize about what would happen if I were to fly up to Portland and simply show up at his doorstep and knock.

I suspect he would be both pleased and highly displeased. Maybe he would tolerate me, inviting me in. Or maybe he would keep me outside on the porch (my own sister has done that very thing to me, not letting me enter her house out of anger). Maybe he would excoriate me, as he did spontaneously in public the last time I saw him. 

I don't mind if he yelled at me again. That I could work with. But would I put him through that? No, not right at the moment, I suppose. If I knew he wanted to see my face, I would probably begin making plans to go up there in the near future. I do miss Oregon in many ways, at least the Oregon I knew.

Would you like to be friends again?