Luv My 4 Grlz -- With Musical Interlude

Every ten years or so I go to university. That would make me about on target for campus reentry. Slackers Ph.D. anyone? Another useless Masters? Studying as a hobby? Who cares.

A survey of my life might show that no not all but yes several many of my longer lasting intimacies commenced there on various campi. Judy. Charles. Charles. Christine. Marcus. 

Dunno. I'd have to recheck the specifics. I do know that a few weeks ago my friend Marcus visited my home, from Japan, with his wife and their three perfect sons. Humbled that I was on their to-do list -- and thrilled that we've re-upped our connection past the ether-point -- we've done face-to-face for the first time since his oldest was in diapers. Sweet. 

I met Marcus in Latin class in college. University of Iowa. 1990. He alone is responsible for (academically) kicking me onto the Dean's list. Thanks, Marcus. But more importantly: He is responsible for the friendship that occurred. Sweet again. 

I have a blog. 

You know that.

I like it. I like my little blog.

There's no raging purpose, but it's not dear diary either.

It's unfocussed, to be sure, but so what?

Perhaps focus will occur. Perhaps not. 

I don't like the word blog. 

I use the word, but I don't like it.

I do like the word friend. 

I use it.

And I like it. 

And I don't use it lightly. 

My friend Christine just started a blog. 

She calls it Luv My 4 Grlz

Where does Christine find any time to blog? 

Dunno. 

She has four (4!) daughters (daughters!) under nine (9!) years old. 

My friend Christine.

We met in college. Circled around one another in various classes. Listened to the same professors. Spoke up in the same classes -- some of 'em big classes, some of 'em more intimate. We respected and loved, yes, loved the same la professora. We wrote papers on the same topics. We heard one another's explorations and thinkings and feelings expressed in our classrooms. We heard others and we heard each other. We looked around: There she is again. There he is again. 
We made eye contact. 
Talked to each another. 
Studied together. 
Libraried together.
Walked together. 
Laughed together. 
Ate together. 
Shared tales together. 

Again: University of Iowa. Christine ran Cross-Country for Iowa. Big-time Hawkeye. I was (merely) a big-time Hawkeye fan, sometimes standing next to her beloved mom on a Saturday morning, yelling Go Hawkeyes! Go Christine!

Old dogs and new tricks: 
What was I doing there in Iowa City? I was probably the same age as her mom. Can't remember and does not matter, methinks.  I was what they called a "non-traditional" student -- non-trad -- that's college admissions jargon for an old dog going to college kinda late-late in life. Only in America. God bless America. Hey, I was on time for me, but late in the more normal American timeline. Nevertheless, Christine and I became friends. Remain friends. Who's to question the mysterious ways in which the Infinite works? Not me.

Friendship is sacred here in Boom3.

How to describe that? Sacred like the concept of neighbor in the Gospel of Luke. (Luke 10: 25-37) 

What did The Man say? Oh yeah: "Now which of these three would you say was a neighbor to the man...?" 

Asked and answered. 

The one who did right. 

The one who showed mercy.

The one who lived love. 

He was the neighbor. He was the friend. 


(I some times think of neighbor as a verb. But that's just me.)

Around here we try to avoid the sentimental, and we nevah give in to nostalgia, evah, not even when contemplating the truer sense of friend and neighbor. 

Friendship and neighbor. Sacred relationships. 

Which of all bloggers is a neighbor to Contento? 

Which is a friend?

Asked and answered.

She who loves those four girls. 

Hey. Xtine. Got time for a Musical Interlude?

Other faithful readers know that, sure, we all prefer the Thanksgiving 1985 version of this pop-perfect duet, but no one has good video.