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Who said, “You can't go
home.” Like millions of others I am dedicated to the tedious things. All
that requires one to care for job, family, home, health and so much more
creates a kind of vacuum which can squeeze any creative desire totally
out of a person. One can only makes untold numbers of beds, use the
sweeper so many times, cook how many meals until the repetition begins to
feel like a kind of twilight zone existence. I'm almost too busy to go
home.
On the other hand it is
true my husband is retired from a job but somehow life just goes on for
us. Once in a while we eat at Kentucky Fried Chicken and I see all the
elders together at a table. They have no grandchildren with them. This
makes me know they are retired too. I watched my father and mother-in-law
live that same life. They were happy to be a part and total of their
friends life. I wonder how my husband feels about their complacent,
cushy, retirement. His swagger as he walks past their table answers my
question.
There were artists down
through the ages who used different things and ways to continually renew a
push for impetus to work. There was Picasso who was continually falling
in love. For that matter this seemed to rather a common thing among
artists. I once had a sixty-five-year-old friend who was an artist. Her
son kidded her, “Oh Mom, everyone knows all artists are a bit risque'.
Those I admire the most
were dedicated to their art much as one is dedicated to a higher being.
Rembrandt had a benefactor hand him some money because he was old and
broke. He took the money, out of sight of the friend, he bought a
paintbrush. I'm thinking, “Way to go.” In that moment as I watched his
life on modern day television the old sage's spirit became my mentor.
This is the spirit who calls to me as I, sometimes am about to enter that
twilight zone of mediocrity and daily hum-drum existence. Rather than try
to escape into a euphoria of falling in love in order to see beauty why
not just accept the beauty as it is without trying to reach for some
crutch.
This was what I found
myself doing as we drove over the Osage Hills to the old family ranch
house. Here I was seeing calves bounding about on new stiff legs.A great
expanse looked as if one could actually see the sphere of the earth enfold
us as in a giant hug. In the midst of that great space was a pool of water
all sparkling, clear, and true blue. It was if a lady had decked herself
in modest colors of tan and brown pastures only to wear something like
the Hope diamond on her shoulder. She now appeared to me to be a sleeping
lady who was just awakening to something. To what? We will only know from
observation and from the music they will be playing for her dance.
The wide streets of Shidler
even looked to be stretching their arms. For sale signs were up on old
buildings; we can see a couple of new businesses as well. Could there be
something rushing through on the gales of prairie winds? For whoever
said, “You can't go home,” I am here to dispute the validity of that
statement. I did go home and today all that was gray and twilight around
me is now sharp, clear, and desirable. |
