Marge

She just walked out the door. Not too much fanfare (that was yesterday), but I got a hug. I tell myself I’m not going to miss her, because I’m going to write and meet her for lunch/dinner whatever, but I still find my heart sagging a little to know I won’t be able to kick back in her office with a gripe and a giggle every day. Then I immediately feel selfish, of course.

Marge is one of those people who ends up everyone’s friend. Her retirement luncheon yesterday was a joyful outpouring of love from the whole office. Each of us believes we’re special to her, because she makes each of us feel that way.

I’m a terrible friend. I forget to write, and I never call, but this time, I keep telling myself I’ll get it right. I’ll get it right, Marge, I will. Happy retirement. May you have more fun than a sun-warmed cat in a field full of butterflies.

1 Responses to Marge

  1. Marge says:

    If you think for a minute that I’m gonna let you forget me, you are one crazy Cat! I will be bugging you as usual whenever I have a question about computers, good books to read (I do have enough of those to keep me busy for awhile), and of course, when I just want to talk to you. Thanks for the kind words on your blog.

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