Today, we attended the funeral of a very good friend whom we had a long-lasting relationship with that was always positive, and never negative. When you're retired, it seems you are always going to a funeral, and it kind of wears you down, but it's something we feel we need to do, and pay our respects to those gone on.
As we were walking in, I saw a familiar looking man, looking at me. We both walked toward one another, and my heart was lifted to see a very good friend from the past. We had worked together years ago, for about five years hauling heaving equipment together. We had many, many great adventures during the course of our employment together.
I found that fate had put us together for one last time, for he was going to leave in the morning, heading to Idaho, where he has already bought a home. He had to do a final walkthrough on the home he had sold here in B-Town. I had gone to his wedding, I knew his kids, (all grown now) but we had kind of drifted apart. We exchanged phone numbers, and I wished him well in his new life.
The truckers out on the highway used to call my friend and I Fred Sandford and Son, because we were hauling heavy equipment, but most called it junk scrap iron!
He was the same age as my son, and I thought of him in that way, as being my adopted son. His word is good, and he says what he means, and means what he says.
As we were walking in, I saw a familiar looking man, looking at me. We both walked toward one another, and my heart was lifted to see a very good friend from the past. We had worked together years ago, for about five years hauling heaving equipment together. We had many, many great adventures during the course of our employment together.
I found that fate had put us together for one last time, for he was going to leave in the morning, heading to Idaho, where he has already bought a home. He had to do a final walkthrough on the home he had sold here in B-Town. I had gone to his wedding, I knew his kids, (all grown now) but we had kind of drifted apart. We exchanged phone numbers, and I wished him well in his new life.
The truckers out on the highway used to call my friend and I Fred Sandford and Son, because we were hauling heavy equipment, but most called it junk scrap iron!
He was the same age as my son, and I thought of him in that way, as being my adopted son. His word is good, and he says what he means, and means what he says.
