A LAST GOOD-BYE

Rest in Peace My Friend

          It's been a long time since I've drawn a caricature, but I have to say, sketching Carsten wasn't very difficult; he just has one of those faces and infectious grins, that after seeing it once, it's a face to remember.

          I haven't lived at the base of Green Mountain, in a place called Fosterville, NB for very long; going on four years now, and since moving here my family and I have made quite a few new friends, really good friends.  The last house I lived in was in Nanaimo, BC and although it was a semi-busy street and we were surrounded by neighbours, I never really got to know any of them, some of which, like the couple across the street, I tried to avoid, even though they were very entertaining.  I remember one afternoon; must have been welfare payday because they were pissed right out of their minds.  There was a big commotion outside just before the police arrived.  I could scarce believe my eyes; they put on quite the show; like a slap-stick comedy.  The woman had the man in a head lock with one arm and was beating his head with a frying pan.  Another woman who had been drinking with them came running across the street to our house, when she was hit by a car and knocked down.  Didn't keep her down though, she just picked herself up and when she arrived, Sarah asked if she should phone for an ambulance.  The woman replied, her breath ripe enough to make an elephant nauseous, "No.  I'm alright.  I've been hit three or four times; it doesn't hurt.

          Hmm, got myself a little distracted for a moment; better get myself on track.  As I was saying about friends, Carsten and his wife Tracy are two people we got to know and they're both very special; they made us feel welcome right from the get-go.  And then again, when I was talking to Carsten, he said, "I don't like people just dropping in for a visit."  

          To which I replied, not feeling quite sure how to take the comment, "I'm glad you told me because I just might have come by to see you."

          "Oh no; that's different.  You can drop by any time," he said with a wry grin.

          Although I didn't get to know Carsten very well, I was always glad to see him and not just because he read my Blog.  He was a great carpenter and must have had an amazing imagination because just like one of the Three Little Pigs, he built his house with straw.  Whenever, we visited Carsten and Tracy, which was usually for a little house-party, I would always look around at his amazing workmanship.  He was definitely a talented man.

          My wife and I went to Carsten's funeral service this afternoon and although it was held at the Forest City Church; it wasn't a religious ceremony.  And, on saying that, it was one of the nicest funeral services I've ever attended.  People played the piano, guitars and sang wonderful songs celebrating his life.  It was difficult not to shed a tear, so I did, perhaps not so much that I was sad and would never see him again but because so many people attended the service.  The presence of so many people in such a small community, gathering together to say their last good-byes and give their condolences to Tracy and his mother, showed how well respected and liked and how important he was to them.

          At the reception held at the Fosterville Community Hall, I met a man named Christian who had been a childhood friend of Carsten's.  They were both from Berlin, Germany and literally jumped the wall separating the American held city on the west from the Russian east side.  They made quite a daring escape; if seen, they could have been shot and killed on the spot.  Now Carsten was a tall thin man with legs that almost reached his chin, so I was a little surprised to learn that he pole-vaulted over the wall because I'm sure he could have just as easily took a run and leaped over.  It was a scary time to be living in East Berlin at that time; not that they didn't trust their parents; they told no one what they were up to; the secret police had eyes and ears everywhere.

          I wasn't going to write another Blog about Carsten's death (incidentally, he died at age 50 from a massive heart attack) but Tracy, after I gave her one last hug and talked for a moment, she asked me to.  I will miss Carsten, not just because I considered him to be a friend, but because; please humour me; I've been piling the chicken crap just outside the door and used to smile about it, because instead of wheel-barrowing the stuff quite a long way from the coop, Carsten would be hauling it away by the trailer load in the spring for their garden.  The last time I was over at Carsten's and Tracy's, (he collected old clocks) I could still hear them tick-tocking and I thought how sad it is that he'd never hear them chime again.  And then again, maybe he will - Carsten Obenaus, lifting my glass of beer high - cheers, eh!