LOSING A FRIEND

We were friends for a long time. Thirty years, give or take. We saw each other through her divorce and my marriage. And the whole galaxy of “life events” that happen–the surprises that come out of nowhere, the “situations” that drag on.

Cinda had that “joy” thing happening and she delivered it into every corner of her life. By the time we met, she was teaching and working with children. But Cinda loved to sing too and she was a natural. Big, brassy and fun. You couldn’t help but grab your heart and smile as she shook her booty and belted out a Peggy Lee song.

She sang for the kids at school and for seniors in retirement homes. I gave her piano lessons for a while and in later years, ukulele. “Think about the logistics,” I’d say. “It’s a lot easy to tote a ukulele to a gig than a piano.” She also hooked up with the ohana at Island Bazaar, a sort of ukulele-central in Orange County, California. Shirley Orlando is the ukulele mama to hundreds of players who call Island Bazaar home.

That’s the thing about the ukulele. Of course there is joyful music to be made. But even more than that, the uke grows families. My friend Cinda was warmly welcomed and embraced by her ukulele family, especially while she struggled mightily as cancer ravaged her body. But she didn’t lose that sparkle and was able to strum a few chords, even near the end.

Roger Ebert, the famed movie critic who recently passed away, became fascinated by Richard Dawkins’ theory that people give off mental units— memes—that can move between us and spread like fire:

“After a lifetime of writing, teaching, broadcasting and telling too many jokes, I will leave behind more memes than many. They will all also eventually die, but so it goes.” (sourced from NPR)

I arrive early at Cinda’s memorial service. Thank goodness because the chapel fills quickly and overflows into the adjoining side rooms. The service is delayed because people keep coming until it is standing-room only. Late arrivals have to lean in through the open doors at the back. It is a striking demonstration how one person’s presence in this life affects so many others.

I sit with Shirley and Kona Don from Island Bazaar and we agree it absolutely sucks that Cinda isn’t “here” to appreciate this outpouring of love and gratitude. Why can’t we all have a “thank you” party while we’re still alive? With cake, beer, kisses on the cheek and hearty pats on the back.

The reverend shares a litany of Cinda stories, most of which I have never heard before. I am sensing a pattern here. Why didn’t I know this or that about Cinda? I didn’t know she packed zip lock bags with a little money, food, soap and handed them out to homeless people. I didn’t know she had traveled extensively around the world. I didn’t know that, almost single-handedly, she supported her local post office by writing and sending multitudes of greeting cards. I was a recipient of many thank-you, sorry-your-sick, I’m-thinking-about-you notes. But obviously her snail mail generosity was ubiquitous.

During the service, her son reports that if you tried to return her generosity, she would “retaliate.” So here’s the thing. Cinda was expert at turning the conversation away from herself and onto you. Let’s face it, most of us like to talk about ourselves. Ha ha ha! And Cinda liked to hear all about it. And I fell for her loving trickery. So here I am, sitting in this padded pew, surprised and disappointed in myself that I didn’t know this woman better. After 30 years. That I hadn’t asked more questions.

After the service, we converge on Cinda’s little bungalow nearby where the backyard is festooned with brightly colored table clothes and a generous array of food and drink. A five-person contingent from Island Bazaar sets up music stands and entertains us with ukulele music in honor of our friend. Cinda’s “memes” are rocking the place.

Click here to watch the short video I took of them performing “It Had To Be You.”

“We must try to contribute joy to the world,” said Roger Ebert. “That is true no matter what our problems, our health, our circumstances. We must try. I didn’t always know this and am happy I lived long enough to find it out.”

I am hopeful that Cinda lived long enough to find out too.