A memorial

Tonight, my husband and I attended the memorial service of a friend who had passed after a stroke. He'd had a long struggle, and will be sorely missed. Many people from his various families, both biological and chosen, were present. The service combined a simple invitation to everyone to publically share their memories, followed by a "wake" with lots of libations. And a band of folks who'd known and loved him played music with everyone to sing his soul on.

And as people mingled during the wake part of the service, it occurred to me several times that he would have laughed at the jokes and added a few of his own, that he would have liked the stories, and the music, and... And. Goodbye, friend.

And odd as this may sound, I found the teacher I want to begin with on the banjo. He concentrates on teaching music using the instrument at hand, and is more than happy to begin gently and work on building confidence. I also liked that he warned straight off that he wasn't going to have me picking like Earl Scruggs. I think I'd distrust anyone who claimed that they'd be able to get me going on lightning fast 3-finger picking. Instead, and without me mentioning that I'd invested in the Pete Seeger book, he said to think more along the lines of Pete Seeger at a campfire sing-along.

And, sort of the way this post is going, the second part wandered between remembering Diccon and visiting. And his worlds mingled together, his religious community, his musical friends, his friends from science fiction fandom and historical recreation, his family. And I think his spirit was there, though his body had given out on him, and that part of him was enjoying seeing us all together, talking to each other.