We'll live on and on.

I typically make the dressing to go with the turkey and trimmings at our Thanksgiving meal.

I begin saving leftover cornbread, homemade biscuits and bread, and even miscellaneous slices of store bought bread a few months before Thanksgiving. I store the bread in ziplock bags and freeze it.

This morning I pulled out those bags of bread and laid them out to thaw.
Tonight I crumbled the breads and will leave them to stale until morning, when I'll add celery, onions, sage, and broth before I bake it all up.

I  enjoy the ritual of making a dish for Thanksgiving from remnants of previous good meals and good times.

Today though, my heart is heavy, because we lost a wonderful friend and human being this morning.
He was far too young to die, not much more than 50.

With Alex and his family on my mind all day, I spent a good part of the day in the hoop house, pulling frostbitten plants and harvesting the green and ripe tomatoes that were still left on the vines. There were several buckets full.

I dragged a few armfuls of the pepper and tomato plants to the chicken yard. The birds seemed to really enjoy the late season "salad."

One could say the tomatoes have died, that they are done, spent.

But they really aren't. They will live on in those of use who have enjoyed their fruit.
They will become a part of the chickens and rabbits who had them for lunch.

And, they will live on in the seeds they produced. 

Does anything - or anyone- ever truly die?

We live on in our words and actions, and the way we treat people.

Our friend Alex left behind so many fond  memories and touched so many lives- for the better. 

He's one of those rare people that it is hard to think of something negative to say about, and I've known him and his family since we were kids.
The hubs and I have been reminiscing this evening about some of the good times we shared with Alex, Jackie and their kids- about the camping trips we took, the pictionary games played,  the gigglefests, the times we whooped and hollered over close UK basketball games.

Robin had a nickname for Alex. He called him McGuyver. Alex could fix just about anything, and he helped us with some projects around the house here, years ago.

He was particular about his work, and he was good at it.

There are so many memories we will always carry with us, and they are comforting.

But as I grieve for Alex's family while working around the house and in the garden today, I think about how the changes in the seasons teach us a lot about death, burial and resurrection. Every single year, we see evidence that the end is really just the beginning.

And that is an even more comforting thought tonight.

We will always feel our loss, especially those closest to him, but all is not lost, as hard as it is to feel that now. 

Alex lives on and on.