MANY FRIENDS

MANY FRIENDS – By Charles Lamb

                  THE DEFINITION OF FRIENDS FROM the 1700S TO TODAY

My Bible and literature books are my reading choices for peace and restoration when life pulls me down. They mend my soul,

filling it with forgiveness, love and joy, better known as the Holy Spirit. I could not imagine one day without our Lord.

My closest friends can be counted on one

hand. I heard that old saying growing up as a child. Think about your “closest “ friends.”

Lamb and his fellow writers who wrote about their friends of the 1700s are similar to ours today. His views and values stay true. The word “friend” gets thrown around a lot these days.

Look at social media today and observe how the word “friend” takes on new meaning. Deleting others’ posts on our social media is an option. Blocking or removing them completely can be done with a simple one click. That sounds cold doesn’t it. My southern roots would say yes. 

On the other hand, I have had great pleasure using the “delete” button on occasion. I will say no more on this subject.  But should you delete that one person you are dying to delete and a not so friendly series of words begin back and forth between you and 2nd friend’s friend, or persons,

Please do NOT say I encouraged you. I take no responsibility for your actions of anger

using hurtful words to hurt anyone. I have my own moments. It should NEVER BE DONE EVER! Moving forward.

I can only imagine what Lamb, Coleridge, and Wordsworth’s comments would be about the advancement of our computer age.

My family had a dear artist friend who would join us on occasion for dinner. A simple man of few words, yet soft spoken, he was highly educated from many of the world’s most renown and finest art schools.

While gathered at the dinner table, I held on to every word of his enriching conversation.

Many of his floral art style paintings were in keeping with Georgia O’Keefe.

You knew the style the moment you saw his Blended works and colors of flowers carefully colors blended on canvas.

He was unique, adding much flavor to his conversation. His life stories were rich with travels among his elitists’ who filled their walls his art world. He spoke softly, a fine quality to have, drawing his listener into his rich conversation. They would be holding on to his every word. My joy was watching him interact with crowds at his art exhibits. Most were in the richest homes in our area. He lived and loved it. Bigger crowds, bigger money, more trips, more paintings….it was a cycle.

He lived as he chose, remaining true to himself. On occasion, he invited us over for wine and cheese.  He fed us with a rich pallet of words about his magnificent travels.

I admired him. I dabbled in painting but nothing surprisingly special.  He was a great mentor. Occasionally, he shared simple truths about his life, in keeping  with my admired English writers. Some thought him egotistical. I didn’t. I admired his brutal honesty. He had little patience for those less educated with no interest in the arts. What could be more important in life.

His rich-colored paintings demanded high prices and he got them. Afterward, he would indulge another carpe diem experience.  He had friends across the globe like we had across town. Such a free spirit. He had been educated in New York City’s  finest Schools of art.

Sadly, he had a bad smoking and drinking habit that eventually caused his death. Seems smoking and drinking in his lifetime were as common as eating cake and ice cream together.

(I lost both of my parents at an early age , because of that vicious curse. Now, public education has done away with a greater majority of smokers.)

His ashes would be close to dropping from his cigarette when I would immediately grab an ashtray. I despised smoking because of losing my parents so young.

His lifestyle worked for him.  Most can only dream. A loner, he just didn’t care for people much. Most bored him with their small talk and silly questions. But his paintings were a source of income, subjecting him to their company and their money.  He tolerated it.

He would ask me to help him set up sometimes. Of course, I loved it. No fee charged , just having his company and gearing his talks was my pay.

He told me he could spot a phony in any crowd. What did that mean? Nothing below the hat, Hazel Lee.  Superficial.  How about plain old phonies.

He loved our walking around houses featuring his paintings at cocktail gatherings, scouting their taste in books.  If none were found, he knew the latest coffee table books would be gracing their living rooms.

Seeing silk flowers were another pet peeve.  He despised them. He once commented such people should leave the junk food off their grocery list, replacing them with fresh roses. 

I don’t remember visiting his quaint bungalow without seeing fresh flowers. Usually they were long-stemmed lilies or roses in a tall, crystal vase, arranged perfectly.

We adored him.  Was he a traditionalist?  No.  Will he be in Heaven? I don’t know.  Was he true to himself? Yes, I believe he was. Was it in keeping with biblical  truths? He was a truthful man with simple ways. But when one can take a series of paintbrushes and freely create a canvas of God’s unimaginable floral beauty must be in Heaven. Everything he painted was Heavenly and created by God. We loved him. We prayed for him.  We were there if needed. Isn’t that what we are supposed to do as Christians?  Love, don’t judge?  Christ said we only have to love and obey. He will take care of separating the wheat from the tares when it is time.  That’s pretty simple.  In fact, I don’t think Christ could have made it any simpler. We are the ones who keep messing things up. Let me

correct that, I do. But I keep asking Him to

forgive me. I feel so much better afterward.

My English authors had similar characteristics.  They were ingenious, stayed to themselves, arrogant with no room for small talk.  Above it. That is arrogant in my opinion. We are to be encouragers, kind-hearted, caring, it’s the Holy Spirit again. I have gone full circle again.

Our sweet friend, now departed, would have much in common with these gents. Sitting around the fireplace with a glass of brandy and an old book, talking much ado about nothing.  I can only imagine. 

Charles Lamb – “unfortunate is the lot of that man who can look round about the wide world, and exclaim with truth, I have no friend!  Do you know any such lonely suffered?  For mercy sake, send him to me.  I can afford him plenty…….!”

I believe I am an old soul. I couldn’t imagine not having Wordsworth in the spring, reading about his 17-mile walk see a splash of yellow daffodils.

I suppose feeling the hint of spring coming excites my inner soul, while staring at the ground, hoping to see a crocus emerge.

 I had a checkup at my doctor’s office yesterday. I wanted to take all of them a little something. After mulling around in my untidy gardening box, I decided to fill some plastic sandwich ziplock bags with pink tulips ready to bloom in two weeks, with instructions. I explained they could put them in a big coffee cup and out in their windows to enjoy for spring. You would have thought I had given them an expensive gift! The whole office kept coming out and of course I had plenty. Just the little things in life can make the biggest

difference!

Happy spring everyone, check out some of these old gents and read about them this spring. They didn’t have Facebook, y’all!

How did they survive! Just kidding!