The Sheriff of Tiny-Town

This is Waylon the dog, aka The Sheriff of Tiny-town.  That’s what Sam always called  him when he tried to act like he was head dog in charge.  I could just imagine him with a little cowboy hat on coming into the bar under the swinging saloon doors.  Now you’re really in trouble people.

This will be a short post as I want to remember Sam on the second anniversary of the day he left us, which is tomorrow, but I don’t feel much like writing. 

What I wanted to tell you all is that I am now remembering the good times.  Every once in a while I hear him talking about the sheriff of tiny-town, or his morning mouth feeling like someone had been walking through it in little tiny barn boots, or his maladies as “just part of the wonderful world of being me”.   Or how something exciting was “Spazmagorikal”

It has been so long that I only remembered the last couple of years of his life and his struggle to stay here.  His illness consuming us and becoming our life.  It helps going through all of our old pictures and seeing Halloween Parties where is dressed as the Big Bad Wolf, or the scariest of all The Devil, with red cape, horns and fingernails, Yikes!

One of the hardest parts of losing him is the time that has passed.  Two years since I heard his sweet voice or felt the touch of his hands.  He is alive in my heart, and always will be, and there is never a minute when I don’t think about him. 


When I awoke this morning it was to the news that my dear friend Marg  Groetsema had passed the night before.   Marg is the first person to befriend me when we arrived in Vancouver the Fall of 2004.  Fortunately she and her Husband Dale lived just down the street from us and Dale worked with Sam at Boise, Inc.  We never lost touch throughout the years for which I am grateful. 

She was so supportive of me during some of my hair-brained business ventures.  Always showing up to make sure I wasn’t alone when nobody showed up at one of my jewelry parties, candle parties, etc.
I was blessed because she thought I was funny.  One of the best stories I have is when I first moved in and she would have me down for coffee and it would always be so strong, I mean really strong, almost undrinkable.   She told me I was welcome to make the coffee the way I liked it if I wanted to.  Like a dummy, I thought she didn’t know how to make coffee.  Never dawning on me that she liked her coffee EXTRA STRONG. 

Marg and I had a date at Starbucks on 192nd Ave every week.  That is where we shared all our news, including her Leukemia diagnosis.  It seems to me she always had a Toffee Nut latte, but I always had the flavor of the season.  What was the most fun was stopping over at the Pay-less Shoe Store after coffee and looking at all the new shoes that were out.  There was seldom a time that we walked out of there without any shoes.  What fun.  I never felt like a stranger when Marg was around. 

I am writing this through tears, knowing I will never get to see her again,  happy that I did get to tell her how much I loved her and hug her one last time when I was there to visit the end of February.

Today I pray that God will wrap his loving arms around her, and comfort Dale and Maria as they mourn the loss of their Wife and Mother.  Here’s to you Marg, thank you for all the great memories and the love you shared with all of us.  We are truly blessed for having had you in our lives.