Thursday, April 21, 2011
For me, my best friend was my brother. He and I grew up as Army brats. We moved so often that making friends was difficult and leaving them painful, so we were often to each other more friends than siblings. I was the oldest by four years, so when I got married, he was still in high school. During a few years when we were seperated by miles and stages of life, we went different directions, but that is often so with life long friends, they are woven in and out of the fabric of our lives.
After my husband and I returned from our tour of duty in the Philippines, we seperated from the military and settled down to raise our kids in North Carolina. Patrick and I were able to reconnect and it wasn't long before he moved to N.C. to be close to me. We had such fun, laughing and telling stories, playing with the kids and just hanging out. He owned his own business and worked his own hours, so many times during the day, when my husband was off at work, Patrick would come to help me with the kids and chat over garden chores.
Patrick had a green thumb, he grew all kinds of indoor plants and collected roses for his garden. Being the "practical" one I grew food, herbs and fruits, I salted in flowers for color and if they were functional, as in they could be used medicinally or for crafting, I felt free to use my precious garden space for them, but roses were fussy and thorny and took up room where I could plant food, so I didn't have any roses. When we went plant shopping Patrick would buy a new rose and I would say "they are pretty but you can't eat them", and head for the herbs and veggie starts. It became a standing joke over they years and the more he chided me about not having roses the more determined I was not to have them!
I know this story has nothing to do with letter writing, but I just had to share it with you, because that is what letters are all about, sharing pieces of your story with others. Until next time, I'll see you in the mail!