Sea Salt Memories

I put sea salt in the water when I poach an egg. It helps keep the egg ‘together’ rather than spreading out all over the pan. 

This morning, reaching for the salt, I remembered a friend who moved to Colorado before I did. She once complained that she couldn’t find sea salt in the local grocery stores so I sent her some for Christmas. 

Later, after I moved here, she just stopped communicating. All my overtures were met with silence. So I stopped trying to connect. 

The egg cooked, I sat at the table to eat and read the morning paper. The local paper runs a column citing the historical events that occurred on this date and listing those stellar folks whose birthdays fall today. Whenever I read it, I think about Jayne. Like me, she often didn’t have a clue about why some of these particular persons were stellar, or what they might be famous for. I smiled, somehow in unison with Jayne. 

Looking out into my back yard, now brimming with flowers, I saw the whimsical lawn ornaments Jayne gave me. Every time I see them, I think of her. She died about 20 months ago. She was my sister-in-law, completely different in temperament and attitude than me, yet complete compatible. And loved. 

Perhaps that is how each of us continues after death. In memories that dart back into someone’s consciousness because of an object, or smell, or old joke. Then, for an instant, we exist again, bringing a faint smile and a little warmth to the heart. 

That will do.