Elmwood

It’s a Tuesday night and we’re off to dinner with friends on Elmwood Avenue in Buffalo. I’ve had a horribly busy weekend and I’m tired. I got up early today to do a transport for dog rescue. The pup is an adorable and horribly misunderstood chihuahua who now has a second chance at a Canadian Rescue.

For as good as I feel about the transport I’m brought down by fatigue. I come home and try to nap for an uneventful hour before I get up and shower.

As we drive across the border I confess to Brent that I’m exhausted. Too tired for this adventure, but since we’re already on the move I’m game. He confesses that he’s tired too, but very excited about the prospects of dinner on the town. We rarely go out for meals. It’s a bit of challenge to afford the farm, so we limit our spending. It’s worth every chicken dinner in.

We arrive at the restaurant and see our friends through the window seated at a table. The place is small with lots of home art on the walls and I’m instantly taken. I feel energized as I walk to the table and am welcome with smiles and delight. Ah… to be accepted.

It feels good to be in a mix of family and friends with everyone talking at once and holding several different conversation. The restaurant is small, cozy with fantastic food. I couldn’t ask for a better venue or better friends.

I wish I would have spent more time on Elmwood as a young adult. It might have made a difference.

The end part is my favorite with Lynn telling childhood stories. I’m delighted with her generational tales that seems to transcend time. Perhaps I cling greedily to her words seeking my own comfort, but Lynn is so generous she doesn’t mind me soaking up her positive energy.

This is a woman who has found herself and is accepted into her community and her family. She’s the one who gave me the wonderful words of comfort when I lost my Gizmo. Lynn said Gizmo was so happy running he didn’t realize he’d run straight into heaven. Her words help to heal.

I look forward to my visits with Lynn with an enthusiasm that is a dim reflection of my youth with horses. Don’t be offended Lynn, horses were my salvation. Don’t be intimidated either, I don’t expect you to be my salvation. I would never expect that of one person.

I am grateful to have these friends and family and I want to say thank you. When I came home that night I heard some sad country songs that reminded me of my Gizmo and had a good cry before Jax began some wonderful antics and drew me out of my grief.

I poured a glass of red wine and sat on the floor and listened to by puppies snore for a little bit before retiring to the comfort of my bed. Thank you friends. Thank you family. Thank you puppies. I’m a lucky person. 
I look forward to my next meeting with the gang from number eight. I just hope Bella can make it this time. 

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