Lindsay Mutch, sweet Kiwi friend!
My very good friend, Lindsay Mutch, died recently and I have been struggling for days to find the right words to pay him tribute. You see, Lindsay was quite the master of words and, although, I love words and consider myself somewhat adept at the art of articulation, my talents truly pale in comparison. So, with apologies to my late friend, I continue.
As it happened, one night while on twitter, I watched my computer screen in fascination as my friend @MisterNoodle, a funny and clever guy, traded quips with someone I had never seen before, @lindsa (Lindsay). Their banter back and forth was fast and furious and funny. I can’t remember now what the subject was, bacon comes to mind, but in the end, MisterNoodle cried uncle. And, that’s how I met Lindsay.
Of course, it was Lindsay’s words that first appealed to me. He was funny, brilliant, quirky, quick-witted. He had a natural talent, and could spew forth the most outrageous, ironic, philosophical stuff, in an instant, too, whereas I always had to work at it. Oh, I remember many times searching the internet for help with a word or saying so I could write a funny comeback to something he had just said, only to discover that by the time I came up with something somewhat worthy, he had already moved on to something new and equally outrageous.
Lindsay and I became pen pals. We corresponded frequently via email and twitter. We talked movies, music, books, authors, current events, sports, history, politics, religion, ghosts, entertainment and I don’t know what else! We sometimes discussed our most recent blog posts. But, what I liked best were our conversations of the mundane everyday stuff of our lives. We usually did not go more than several days without somehow touching base with each other. I looked forward to turning my computer on in the morning to check my email, always happy when I got one from him. We talked on the phone several times, too. Every time, it was like talking to an old friend. He had such a wonderful knack at making me feel I was important to him, so kind and big-hearted.
To his family and colleagues, my heart goes out to you.
To Lindsay,
I’m thinking of the farewell scene in Dances with Wolves. Lieutenant Dunbar is leaving the tribe forever. Wind in His Hair stands on the mountain top and shouts for all to hear, “Dances with Wolves! I am Wind in His Hair! Can’t you see that I am your friend? Can’t you see that you will always be my friend?” You know where I mean? Okay, so you are Dunbar and I am Wind in His Hair. Except, you are not on horseback and I am not standing on a mountain. Instead, I see you hovering in a spacecraft (Kiwi Space Patrol style) in the clouds. And, I am standing on the ground near sea level, no hill in sight, looking up to the sky. “Lindsay! I am Cindy!” Can’t you see that I am your friend? Can’t you see that you will always be my friend?”
I hear a hoot owl every morning, still dark, while sitting on my screened porch having coffee. “Who, who.” You know, your poem, A Whim, pertains to friends, too, just saying. To wit, to woo, Lindsay! I miss you, my friend.
Lindsay Mutch, May 15, 1968 – June 28, 2010 Journalist, poet, author, friend.
