Nighttime Observations & The Gift of Friendship

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Last night, I looked forward to turning off the light and going to bed. To lie there and think back over the past weeks.

I’d changed the sheets and placed a fresh blanket on top. I luxuriated in the feel of its softness. A simple comfort, but not one that I take for granted. There is gratitude for basic necessities such as a home, a bed, and a blanket.

People Without A Home To Go To:

I know, I know, from driving down the Tulsa streets, that so many people don’t have these things. They have sacks of belongings, often piled in a shopping cart, as they amble down the road.

They are not hurrying; they have no specific place to go. No soft bed to crawl into, because those things are not part of their lives anymore.

So for them, for the endlessly walking, weary people I see, I will not take my small luxuries for granted.

As a child, I don’t recall ever seeing aimless people roaming around town. Maybe then they were the hobos people talked about, those who gathered around the train tracks. I suppose the hobos we heard about then are the unsheltered we see now.

According to Wikipedia, a hobo is a migrant worker in the United States. Hoboes, tramps, and bums are generally regarded as related but distinct. A hobo travels and is willing to work; a tramp travels, but avoids work if possible. And a bum neither travels nor works.

Or so it says.

Me & The Kitties:

My three kitties and I have a nice, comfortable life. We live in a house with heat and air conditioning, and food to eat. The stray kitties outside survive on what the neighbors and I feed them, and the fresh water we provide them.

These three cats wait for my doorknob to turn every morning. I see their sweet cat faces when I walk onto the porch with their food in a cup.

As I lay there in the darkness, many thoughts crept through my mind. Those after-the-day-is-done thoughts everyone has. What was on my agenda for the next day and the day after that?

I thought about the TV series I’m watching. The book I’m currently reading that’s on the dresser next to my bed.

A Cat’s Nighttime Habits:

After the lights are out, I typically hear the kittens start running and playing. I suppose in the darkness, they go into hunting mode. I’ll listen to them run one way, then pause as they dare one another to make the first move. Then I hear them go the other way.

This is not noise that bothers me when I’m trying to sleep; it is a comforting sound of my sweet Daisy and Simon doing what kittens do. And Ivy will usually be nearby, watching them, but staying out of their way.

I’ve noticed that Ivy tends to look at them as though what they’re doing is shocking. But I know she did the very same things they’re doing when she was younger. She was that kitten playing and running around in the dark, getting into mischief.

And so today is Friday, and a weekend looms ahead. I don’t have any plans.

Old Friends:

My old friend, Rhonda, and I went to thrift stores on Tuesday. Next week is her birthday, and I plan to take her to lunch. Our taco Tuesdays have become a ritual that came to be without much thought.

I’m so happy to have her back in my life. All those decades separated us. But now we’re getting together and doing things we both enjoy. And it’s as if the years just peeled away. Our life paths took us in different directions. But now it’s brought us together again.

The memories we’re making now carry the faint scent of years gone by. Children were born; romantic relationships became ships passing in the night. Quickly, the rhythms of our friendship returned as though time had stood still.

Two young girls with a shared history, the version of us that existed back then. I remember who I was then, vaguely, and in her company, that person feels alive again. Though time has changed our circumstances, some connections are made of threads too strong to unravel.

Past & Present:

That first moment, when we came face to face, was a little dreamlike. We saw the years that lined our faces, from lithe young teens to older women. Yet her smile is the same one that greeted me long ago. And the years have just dissolved.

It’s a meeting of past and present—two women, wiser and weathered. She will sit across from me during a meal, a person who still remembers who I was then.

Laughter comes easily for the two of us. We slipped back into the old rhythm as if we had never stepped away from it.

My old friend carries a pocketful of our shared history. There is comfort in being with someone who knew me before life became so complicated.

In Rhonda’s presence, I remember parts of myself I thought I’d lost, but had, I suppose, just been quietly resting. Waiting for the right voice to call them back into existence.

An old friend’s return is more than a reunion. It’s a stitch that binds the past and the present with a sturdy needle. We’re trading memories and catching up on the chapters that were missed.

You come to realize that some characters in your story are never truly written out of the tale. They simply stepped offstage for a while, waiting for their cue to return.

Life is good. Old friends are a true gift.