Fair Winds

Like most or all of my (admittedly few) readers, I’m still trying to wrap my brain around the loss of our friend Paula, aka Poolie. I started trading bon mots with her circa 2003, about the time we both belonged to the Diaryland blogging community. I met her before I met my husband. I was privileged to visit her in 2005 and see a play she wrote and produced for the community theater. It was magnificent, bigger than life, and so was she. On that visit, Poolie rose above a tagalong drama queen each thought the other had invited, a narcissistic mess who tried to make everything about her. I think it was another 4 or 5 years before we jointly figured out the only person who invited the problem child was… the problem child, herself.

Poolie visited me, as well, a couple of times. She thrived on travel, though, never staying in one place for very long. She had too many friends who loved her, and who she loved. If the best legacy of all is love, Poolie is a legend. Cancer may have claimed her body, but her spirit is woven into the fabric of our hearts.

She found joy and laughter in the mundane corners of life. That was her particular gift, and what drew me to her initially. A video camera provided a series of forays into the bathroom with Poolie – for interviews with various normal people, all of who were elevated by the experience. We giggled along with the series, taken back to those precious moments of childhood where nothing was sacred and everything was fair game.

Then there were the hats.

Poolie had a thing for hats. The bucket hat was a particular favorite. A candy bucket on the head launched her own personal meme, a challenge for her friends to post back with similarly silly headgear. And we did, sharing the inside jokes and enjoying every moment of silliness along with her. However, household items weren’t the only hats she embraced. She wore many a hat in her lifetime, both literal and figurative. From folk singer to protestor, actual pirate (on a living history ship) to director of the San Diego auto museum, she lived a life without restriction. She once told me the only limits are the ones we impose on ourselves, and I believe that with every fiber of my being.

She adored actual hats, her only regret that she had a big head. Not in the sense of being stuck up, but an actual, physical, large head size, which restricted her hat choices. It’s a physical characteristic we shared, and she once sent me a captain’s hat in XL, a beautiful piece of haberdashery I cherish.

One place where we disagreed: Poolie had come to believe that life is all there is, that when your body dies, so does your soul and personality. I hope she came to believe otherwise before drawing her last breath, because I’m convinced nothing could destroy such an indomitable spirit. I personally believe in reincarnation, that our souls will come back again. I don’t know how long it’ll take her to come back, but here’s hoping it’s soon. In a world ruled by bitter politics, we need her humor and sparkle.