Sara

Sara, oh Sara
Glamorous nymph with an arrow and bow

Bob Dylan (by way of Dan Dutton)

She was one of those people who, when they enter your life, do not do so politely or with a nice “how do you do.” She was one of those people whose entrance smacked you up side the head as if to say, “Hey! Pay attention! I'm here.” Whenever you happened to encounter her on the street or in a store she always greeted you with ebullience and you knew she was genuinely glad to see you. I always loved those encounters because they were peppered with witty stories and laughter. Her ancestry was instantly betrayed by her accent and brash charm prompting the inevitable challenge “you 're not from around here are you?” The New Jersey manner of speech and the Italian appearance indeed marked her as someone worthy of closer inspection. Her husband was just as reserved and quiet of speech as any opposite could possibly be and I wondered just how in the world two people so different could have found happiness together. But they did and the intervening years have revealed to me that it happens more often than one would suppose.

I have always had an attraction for people who were not cast from the same mold as are the most of us. She and her husband came to live in Pulaski County in the late '70s and bought an old overgrown farm out towards Colo. My memory often plays tricks on me but, as I recall it, the only structure that provided shelter was an old barn which they hastily converted part of for human habitation. That tickled my fancy so much that I was just enthralled.

The group of friends took to the Carrs much as I did and they began to attend the musical gatherings that often were held at one or another's house so often. That girl seriously loved music and, to say the least, loved to dance.

If you are curious about why I chose to write this I have only this answer. Sometimes topics or people or some such thing come to me and just demand to be written. When certain times of year or events come near I become pensive and reminded of instances of the past that hold some special meaning. In this case it was the red shoes. Sara loved to wear the red shoes and they shouted of her demeanor in the way that I mentioned at the beginning of this column. She would wear the red shoes to parties or musical events and they would dance uninhibited in a way that would leave one with the realization that he or she had left quite a lot on the table. But most of us were never able to release that energy the way Sara did.

We are a couple of months away from the 2015 edition of the Master Musician's Festival and I always recall Sara up near the stage dancing, dancing, dancing. I suppose that memory is forever lodged in my mind (at least I hope it is). Sara was taken from us quickly, too quickly to say goodbye and maybe that is OK. I now have enough years to have seen several friends that shared my life be plucked out, some quickly, some not. I am left pondering how it works that they are gone and I am not? Is it by design or is it by some great plan and will I ever know?

There are a few things that I do know. One is the necessity of living each day with vitality and joy. I am so often guilty of allowing things that don't matter to deprive my life of those qualities. Probably Sara had those days too but I didn't know of them and so I don't have to acknowledge them.

There are lessons to be taken from lives lived and, beyond the friendship, Sara left a few for me. I think the most important one is to keep dancing. As the saying goes, “dance like no one is watching.”