Had lunch with an old friend recently. Good and longtime Quakers that we are, gossip still continues to be a saucy menu component whenever we get together. We’re both flawed, but kind humans, not beating ourselves up for a periodic indulgence in gossip pâté.
Getting older generally sneaks into our conversations. At our respective ages of old, and older, who the hell cares. During our mutually happy foray into the French fries (oh geez, no!) Richard’s name arose. Richard, mid-80s, he of the curmudgeonly, and still, so incredibly loving mien, died several weeks ago.
My friend commented that Richard’s memorial service, at our Quaker Meeting, would be SRO. It was.
SRO? That was Richard. Always modeling that the scale of our caring, small though it might be, is akin to pebbles thrown into a pond, spreading ripples farther than our eyes could see.
His magic bag of Richard-ness, contained a carpenter who could construct anything, for anyone, gratis. That guy who would assist a friend, living several miles away, put drops in her eyes, three times a day, post-surgery. A mensch who could barely stand up as his cancer advanced, but continued to offer a loving ear to the long-incarcerated men he escorted to our weekly Quaker meetings.
And down to earth! Richard was a dedicated believer in bourbon as a loving panacea for those who might be in emotional need. I don’t drink, but I always, always, appreciated his offers to schlep bourbon way, way across town, in order to provide libational support for my mental health. His mere offer perked me the hell up!
Richard was curmudgeonly. No hiding that. He was curmudgeonly in the way that it took a bit of discerning, at times, as to whether he was being sarcastic, or not. Of course, this might also be a very apt description of me.
Did I just out my, occasional, curmudgeonly self? Guess so.
I make every effort to curb my own, sarcastic, curmudgeonly-ness. With Richard, I didn’t have to. That thar curmudgeonly streak was a small component of both our personalities and, hell, we both took a bit of joy in being curmudgeonly with each other.
He was an exemplar of being both vulnerably human, and a loving Quaker, to boot. Wavin’ at you Richard, wherever you are.
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