Colorful Moments

I just read something somewhere that reminded me of a particular time in my life that always makes me feel good.  The timing was perfect because I’ve been feeling inspired by little things like, the weather, a song, the light of the day, colors on the ground and in the sky, the turn of a phrase from random strangers, and the like.  It’s all very oogly-boogly and pulling from inner-extensions.  It’s the reason I have that look upon my face that seemingly no one can figure out.

“Are you angry?”

No, why?  Do I look angry? I am the farthest thing from angry… I can sometimes look angry because of the furrow on my brow while deep in thought.  I have the same look when I wear contact lenses because I don’t see as well in them.  I guess that’s my modern day version of rose colored glasses.  Blurry images and trying to focus and make sense of it all when it doesn’t seem to make sense; it just is what it is.

“Is something wrong?”

No, nothing is wrong.  I’m just thinking and remembering and trying to either figure something out or figure something in.  The turnings in my life are interesting and, within my thoughts, I look at how the circles come together. 

Fall is such a beautiful time of year here in New Mexico.  The colors are stunning and, yet, are the foreboding of death or dormancy; one last hurrah before the issuance of cold finalities.  It is also the time of year when I think back to the loss of two very good friends who died in the same month/year; nineteen years ago.  Was it really that long ago?  This time of year, the smells, the sights, the warmth of the day and cool of the night, the spot between seat warmers in the morning and air conditioning in the afternoon, remind me of the beauty and the pain of love and death.

It is a Full Circle.  Sometimes the depth is deeply sad.  Sometimes the arc is achingly high.  And, no, I’m not talking about bi-polar tendencies; I’m talking about remembering and allowing all of the senses to feel and honor and apply to the heart in the moment of today.

This brings me to a place of profound thankfulness for the relationships in my life.  I know it is that time of year to celebrate “thankfulness” but, for me, it always comes a little earlier than the national holiday.  Having had these losses in my life reminds me of a promise I made to be grateful, every day, for the gifts bestowed upon me.  At the time, in dealing with the deaths of two close friends, I came to the realization that their deaths were a gift to live a life that is known and felt and carried on in their memory.  I’m not going to get all Kubler-Ross on anyone but having these reminders helps when I want to reach through my windshield and strangle the driver next to me or I lose my patience with the boys or I want to throttle a customer, etc…

All of those impatient moments, lack of grace/compassion, intolerance, or simply my unwillingness to engage, fade away as I remember the look on Kevin’s face as he accepted that he would not “get over” AIDS and came to terms with his life and death.  The look on my face told him I was having a really hard time seeing him in such an incapacitated state.  So he smiled and flicked back the sheet from his body and said, “I know, right?  I look shriveled beyond recognition.  But look at how big my penis looks!!” He wheezed that snickering, devilish laugh and I couldn’t help but burst out laughing.  And that is the epitome of who he was… my devilish friend with a wicked sense of humor.

Negative thoughts dissipate when I close my eyes and see Patty, at four in the morning, sitting on a stool next to the wood burning furnace in her dirt-floored basement, with a cup of tea in one hand and a dastardly, hand-rolled cigarette in the other, looking at me and saying in a quietly poetic, raspy voice, “No one’s life is wasted.  We all affect each other.  You’ve made my impending death more about living… and I thank you.”

She had been unable to sleep because of the steroids so I kept her occupied by making her explain all of the weird stuff in the tiny drawers of her workbench.  She was a collector of oddities, in both friends (of which she had many) and things, always stopping at abandoned buildings or a seemingly benign pile of dirt on the side of the road or a garage sale in a far-flung place; taking a funny looking nut and bolt, a switch plate cover, a pipe from an old radiator, and other eclectic items.  Each time I picked something out of a drawer, she could remember in detail exactly where she got it and why she took it but never explained the potential purpose for it in her life.  Her answer was always “Just in case.” to my question of, “Yeah, but why?”

Kevin was an artist.  He made jewelry and over-sized oil paintings of desert landscapes.  He knew color and we would sit and muse over the colors in the sky of a New Mexico fall day.  He made me appreciate the color yellow, as it was never one of my favorites, in a way that, to his day makes me see everything in a shade of sunlight.

Patty, too, was an artist with her collection of things, strewn about her yard in purposeful meanings, long after they’d worn out their actual reason for being.  She collected friends in much the same way.  She saw the extended potential in everything/everyone and loved them beyond their flaws, brokenness, and disappointments.  She focused the blurred and had a place in her heart for all of us.

And so, in coming full circle, I find it is not hard to refocus the joys in my life.  Here they are… boogers and all… Found on a fall day… Somewhere in the mountains of New Mexico:

 

Just for the record: Angela won’t let me post a photo of her face… some of these photos were taken by the boys (Great job!).  Colorful moments…