Lately Chocolate seems to hogging my internal blog—between factory deadlines, chocolate making equipment, permitting issues and delays, production planning, ERP/MRP systems, packaging machines complexities, health department certifications, HAACP plans and on and on....
This weekend however, what is really top of mind is my great friend of 15 years and housemate of 2 years, Patrick. It's Patrick's birthday this weekend, and traditionally I would remember and celebrate his birthday a week or so after I would serendipitously find out it had passed. Even though Patrick lived with me he would never intimate in any way that his birthday was approaching. Two years ago I travelled 14 hours from Munich to San Francisco after spending 10 days at the world cup with him—not knowing it was his birthday. I was so mad at him! I am someone who highly reveres the sacred birthday, celebrating and engaging all of my friends in celebrating " the 11 days of Laurel"—5 days before and 5 days after my birthday (really, it's not as self-indulgent as it sounds!). Patrick has religiously served as the "11 days" organizer and chief roaster, relishing every bit.
This weekend we planted a tree in remembrance of Patrick, who died two months ago of a massive heart attack…must stop blogging now, too emotional…. I guess writing it means it is real, and I still cannot believe he is gone.
OK, back online.... The tree, a tazmanian tree fern, is so very Patrick: its thick stocky trunk like him, unique and very, very Jurassic Park. He would comment when we went to Golden Gate Park how cool and prehistoric looking the grove of tree ferns was.
I miss the constant professional dialog between us, as we served as de facto career consultants for one another for the last few years. I toiled over my decision to take the job with TCHO or the job with Shutterfly, Patrick's company at the time. He wanted me to work for Shutterfly, but knew me well enough and listened carefully enough to me to acknowledge that "my heart was into TCHO," and nudged me in my natural direction.
I miss a million things about him—his void is profound—but most of all his insane laugh jolts me alive whenever I think of it, reminding me what a daily gift it is to be working, loving, and playing. Happy Birthday, Padu!
In Germany, at the World Cup:
His mother's favorite picture—seriously:
Juggling in Berlin:
At the Ice Bar in Poland:
