“A place in they memory, dearest,
Is all that I claim;
To pause and look back when thou hearest
The sound of my name.”
Gerald Griffin
(1803 – 1840)
I had this idea for a New Year’s Day post, about some of the things I’d like to accomplish this year. Things like reading more, and the number of paintings I’d like to sell. I was also trying to deal with home projects and repairs. And I was doing a good job of turning all those thoughts over in my brain, but then my mind jumped in the fray and turned everything upside down. Minds will do that sometimes, you know.
Anyhoo – before I knew what was happening, my good writing intentions were lost in a fog and I found myself sitting in a makeshift tree house. I immediately recognized it, as I had dragged the plywood up into that tree with the help of my kid sister when I was 10 years old. It was so familiar, sitting there, and then I saw her. Me, as a child.
To her credit, she wasn’t afraid of the grown me. Though I did have to tell her who I was. God love her, she became wide-eyed and happy to see how we’d turned out. That really touched me. And then the questions began. I told her we live in Los Angeles, and that we’ve seen a decent part of the world. I told her we are married to the love of our life. I told her we have our very own beautifully flawed house and that we adore it. I told her we create art and we live an artistic life and we know amazing, talented people. I told her there is good food for our belly and clean clothes for our back. I told her we smile more often than not, and that we are so blessed to know joy. I told her that though lack is known to us, it isn’t really part of our grown-up experience. I told her we would be okay, and that she should hang in there. And I told her I love her. And I meant it.
And then – just like that – she and the tree house were gone. And I was home, in Los Angeles, with bills and repairs and projects and responsibilities. And I was grateful for each and every one of them.
Happy 2016 friends.