We're Sunday Pleople
Just as Mitch and Morrie were Tuesday people, you and I are Sunday people.
My warmest memories of you, Peter, will always be those lovely Sundays we spent together. We could chat about anything and everything during those visits, and always there was a level of comfort and trust that one doesn't find everyday or with just anyone. As a result, we always shared a lot on those Sundays.
Often, in fact, much more than not, we'd be at the Troxell house (Alba and then Old Mill), and you'd be pouring coffee and cooking waffles or eggs, and the next thing I'd know, it'd be well into the afternoon and we'd still be chatting away, having long ago finished breakfast. Testament to both your great company and cooking.
Remember that Sunday here in L.A. on the deck of my studio not so long ago? We had smoothies instead of eggs and waffles that day, but, just like old times, the great and easy flowing conversation started right back up without skipping a beat and lasted for hours. It was our first Sunday get together in quite some time. You really opened up and poured out your heart that day. You even cried. I was more touched than I can say that you allowed me to see that part of you. But, then again, it was a Sunday, so it all made perfect sense.
I wish I could be there with you now, or at least on a Sunday soon. But I take great comfort in knowing that Charles is at your side and that you are surrounded by your fabulous (there's a Peter word) family, singing sweet serenades to you. If I were there, and could sing as lovely as they do, I'd sing We'll Meet Again to you.
We'll meet again. Don't know where. Don't know when. But, I know we'll meet again some sunny day. Keep smiling through, just like you always do. Til' the blue skies drive the darks clouds far away. We'll meet again. Don't know where. Don't know when. But, I know we'll meet again some sunny day.
I love you my Sunday friend. And I always will. Thank you for always being such a great friend.
Sam Lovett