to my dear Northeners

      You know who you are, you must!
      We spoke of comic books and writing and relived Firefly by quotes, you brought me beauty and warm bread with Krakus to drink through cold months and let me just be, we celebrated everything that fell between Caribou Carnival and Pancake Tuesday and (somehow) my goofiness and stupid jokes were enjoyed and even encouraged, you walked with me and listened and didn't lose hope for me when I was lost, we ate pasta and shared coffees at the museum and wished we did it more - your heart so beautiful, you kept me accountable as we worked out and listened to my daily accounts with interest, you trusted me with partnership, you taught me to sew, you taught me to paint, you lit up when you saw me. For all the forgotten sweet words and bright eyes, wrinkled handshakes and quavering voice, phonecalls and housecalls, guppies for fishbowls I thank you. North became home.
      Some years ago a friend of mine and I invented the word shmeeblewhip when we found thank you didn't seem to cover the height and depth of our gratitude. Beakniblet filled in for friend when friendship felt so big, so grand it deserved three syllables at least.
      Shmeeblewhip, dear beakniblets.