Full tilt

Sometimes you meet someone and instantly connect. That’s how it was with Carol and me. We met on the internet as fans of the same rock star. We chatted about our lives, our hobbies, our outlooks on life. She did my horoscope chart.

Carol and her husband, Eamonn, came to the U.S. one summer, hoping to meet me as part of the trip, but didn’t make it to central PA. The next March she came over alone. She told me Eamonn had encouraged her to try traveling on her own, as a little journey of personal growth. We had a fantastic time together and when I took her to the train, the tears that sprung up in my eyes surprised me. She had become my Irish sister.

Her next trip over, Eamonn came with her. I knew she had married a man with a good heart, but the sunshine he radiated just swept over everything we did. He could make the unhappiest person laugh. Eamonn brought us some of his artwork as gifts—they are framed and hang on our walls.

During Carol and Eamonn’s visit, my dad and his wife took us out to dinner, to a hibachi restaurant. Eamonn had never experienced wasabi and so when he saw the little green lump, he took a large piece in his mouth. I can never eat sushi without thinking of the steam that came out of Eamonn’s ears as he drank water to ease that burn. We had a good laugh over that one. Right before he left us (Carol stayed another week), we took them to see the land that would become our new house. That’s where the picture (below) was taken.

I kept saying that as soon as the house was finished we were going to Ireland. I’ve always wanted to see “the homeland” and Eamonn promised me we’d dance in the pubs and drink a pint of the “black stuff.” Carol’s life was full with her daughter’s new baby and the other grandchildren, but she was looking forward to the day I’d visit, too. We laughed through many a phone call. The last time I heard his voice, during one of those calls, he was yelling while watching a soccer match, but he stopped long enough to offer to “beat up” someone who had caused me a little heartache, which made us both laugh at the thought. He was no fighter.

I haven’t heard from Carol in a little while, but we’ve exchanged a few emails, and she’s promised to call. When she called me last night at 9, I said, “You must be up so late!” Then she told me why—while he was hiking Eamonn was killed in an avalanche in Scotland over the weekend.  

It feels like the sun’s gone out. And that’s for me, who has only met this man once, but adored him. I can’t imagine the pain for those who truly knew him and loved him. He touched so many people and he lived life full tilt. He wouldn’t want anyone to do anything less. We’ll miss you, Eamonn Murphy.

 

Love letters

I’m back to unpacking, a year and a half after we moved here. There are still stacks of boxes in the basement. Obviously not stuff we need for day-to-day living, but still things I either didn’t want to pitch or didn’t have time to go through and then pitch.

Brought a box of old letters upstairs and opened them. I’d already decided to toss out all but the most meaningful letters and cards, figuring that meant keeping family and Joe, of course, and Sally and Daryl (both now gone). Knew I’d be throwing out letters from high school friends I cruised town with—Cindy and Marlene and Phyllis. Bev Schaeffer? We were good friends in high school but went separate ways pretty quickly afterwards. (Last I heard, she was married to a dentist and living in NC.) But then I came across Kerrie McPhee—she lived (lives?) in Australia. We were penpals for years. I still have a Cold Chisel tape she sent me. Keep or toss? Hers went in the “keep” pile. When I find Karen from Canada’s letters, I’ll keep them, too. A few I didn’t even recognize from the return address will go.

And then I came across a big bag of letters. Larry Lollar and Marvin Williams and Jeff Campbell and Neil Anderson and Kelly Houston (I’m probably even missing a few names in there). Guys I knew in high school who went in the service. In those days before email, we all wrote letters. I dated a few of them, but most of these guys were just friends who needed to hear from someone as they went through boot camp and into the post-Vietnam service. They sent silly postcards and told stories and asked what was going on at home (and in Marvin’s case wrote poetry). I haven’t opened any of the letters yet, but that’s because I’ve got too much work this week and I know if I open one, I’ll just keep going and the day will be lost. I used their full names in case anyone who knows them ever runs across this blog.

I feel sorry for all those in the email generation who will never know the pleasure of opening up a plastic bag years later and finding all these words and thoughts and emotions saved on paper. It’s a treasure.