This picture was taken 29 years ago, 10,592 days. Almost half a life ago, a fulcrum that seems impossible at this point. It was supposed to happen on Halloween that year, but logistics conspired to make that difficult.
Most of us like to imagine going back and being able to look forward, seeing the relentless incremental changes that we choose or are foisted on us. The acceleration of change that’s almost invisible while we’re experiecing it. Can you imagine reliving the moments as instantaneous bullets of laughter, agony, and experience? Most of us would choose it, even if it’s a roller coaster that leaves us lying on the pavement, asking ourselves why we got back on the ride, knowing how it would end.
Every cell of our bodies has changed, but the memories remain – if we’re lucky. I took a moment to fling open the door early this morning, remembering, and then bolted it shut afterward.
Yesterday, I got bit by a dog. No, not the adorable terrier Max. It’s been a while since that’s happened. My downstairs neighbor Marshall was grooming his German Shepherd Artemis. She’s only eleven months old – and not fond of males. I was several feet away as Marshall sat on the opposite stairway landing steps. Artemis started barking again as I stood there motionless. Because Marshall has partial hand paralysis, Artemis unexpectedly lunged hard toward me and pulled the leash lock loose from Marshall’s hand. Luckily, my spidey sense reacted and I jumped up and away just as Artemis began to bite me above my left knee. I felt a sharp pain but managed to avoid a full clamp of the dog’s teeth. I only suffered a small puncture in the meat of my leg. It felt like I’d been pinched by a jealous girlfriend. Marshall was mortified as I pulled up my pant leg to see if I was excessively bleeding. I laughed. My leg is a little sore this morning. I don’t fault Artemis or Marshall. She’s a beautiful dog and Marshall is a caring, proud owner. My plan is for ME to bite Artemis’ ears next time to show her how it feels. I’m sure that will go well. You’ll know it when it happens because I’ll probably lose an ear. I have two of them, so one is basically a spare. It will give me the character I’ve always lacked. And an excuse to be hard of hearing.
Last night coming home, the world was beautiful. The March lightning fiercely raced across the sky above me. The streets were cascading with unexpected eddies of flowing water. I drove carefully in my small car as I made my way across Fayetteville. When I lay in my bed, I watched the sky through my open window in the bedroom. Güino lay next to me, his little ears intermittently illuminated by the flashes. I never put the blinds down in there. I fell asleep watching the patterns flash across the ceiling and walls.
One of my new favorite things in the world is Talenti coffee chocolate chip gelato. I like all the flavors, but the creamy texture of the gelato combined with the bits of chocolate is sublime. It’s like eating the Turkish delight that tempted Edmund when he visited Narnia in The Lion, The Witch, And the Wardrobe. (I loved the Narnia books as a child and read them all at least a dozen times.) I remember the first time I ate real Turkish delight, having no idea what it really was. I’d visited a store in Eureka Springs and the owner offered me a chunk, an item that wasn’t for sale to the public. I’ll never forget the texture of the citrus-sweetness that reminded me of a heavenly lemon – or of the surprise of tasting something I’d read about for years without having a clue what it really was. The Talenti gelato evokes the same delight from all those years ago.
Recently, I created a new logo for the hospital. I think it’s a certainty that my employer should adopt it. Not because I made it, but because it’s both simple and elegant. Names don’t define a place or a person – but they telegraph expectations. It’s one of the reasons I love my name. X is just a placeholder, the simplest of names, one that allows me to be whomever I want to be without contamination from other people who might share my name.
As I write this, I’m listening to “Just Breathe,” an unexpectedly calming song by Willie Nelson and his son. A fresh cup of coffee sits on my desk in front of me. Güino sits on the living room floor next to the plush couch, licking the recently-ingested cat food paste juice from his whiskers. The workday lies ahead of me. My head is flooded with a hundred disparate thoughts as I look out the open blinds onto the world across the parking lot and the railroad tracks across Gregg Street.
I’ve been cleaning the parking lot in increments, removing countless bags of decaying leaves and trash. Each time it rains, its underlying lines become clearer.
I hope the same is true for my life.
Small moves, insignificant in their individual transformations, almost imperceptible, until one day, one’s eyes see a new pattern that was always there. Just unclear.
I stood in the gravel, looking toward a mixture of history and nature, my head overwhelmed with the fact that just twelve days earlier, I thought I might die. I watched the sunlight through the trees and listened to the background of insects and the bustle of distant voices. The blanket of joy at just being alive and in such a beautiful place flooded me so overwhelmingly that I could barely muster the strength to film myself talking. I stopped filming when I felt my breath catch and the certainty of tears choked me. I’ve watched the clip several times over the last few weeks; each time, I reconnect with the gratitude of such a moment. No one has seen this clip. It’s not because I’m worried about how I look or sound; rather, it’s because I know that no one would recognize how much it took to just say the words without succumbing to the emotion.
It’s 52 days since my surgery. It’s been a year of moments in the interim. But I go back to that Sunday afternoon, knowing I’d be around to figure out what in the hell I am supposed to be doing. My experience was just a blip compared to what others are struggling with. I am so grateful for that decision to visit the place in the woods, so close to so many people and history.
Nevertheless, here’s the takeaway: people are the answer. Not places. Not moments. Sharing your time with friends and loved ones.
Your surprise will come soon enough. It’s inevitable.
If you can, appreciate what you have, who you are, and who you’re with.
Love, X
P.S. I’ll put a picture I took of my surgery incision from the bed when I fully woke up in the comments. It motivates me to overcome my anxiety.
I had a bewitching weekend, surrounded by peace and happiness. I took my surgery incision with me, of course, as well as a set of dumbbells and a voracious appetite. Other than experiencing a sliver of sublime living, my goal was to put on five lbs. from Monday until today, work my muscles as if everyday life might intercede at any moment, and amplify the gratefulness I feel. I succeeded on all fronts. From sirloin burgers, to vegetable-loaded mac, waffle chips and sour cream and onion dip, Dot pretzel sticks, sea salt caramel gelato, protein drinks, twenty cups of coffee, and brats with sausage buns, I ate like it was 2020. Maximizing my moments and practicing incrementalism, I also took advantage of the dumbbells, so much so that I might have to buy them dinner.
Life is peeking at me from a conspicuous distance. I’ll remember this weekend; its details are entrenched in my memory. Knowing that people I love were having their own moments, ones punctuated by helplessness, propelled me to focus on savoring the life around me. This carousel might slow at any moment; even the minutes that make me draw my breath in quickly with surprise or dismay will one day be ones to cherish. For here, now: I’m lucky and privileged.
I was cautious over the weekend. For the first time in a LONG time, I opted not to cross any natural bridges or fallen trees. Being prominently featured on The Darwin Awards was very much on my mind. My surgeon might frown on my arrival tomorrow if I were to show up with an abdominal piercing provided to me by limbs jutting out of my intestines. On another note, I’m supposed to get my staples out tomorrow. I’m still holding out hope I’ll get to bring a few home with me to make a souvenir of my guts attempting to strangle me.
I laughed today, discovering that one of my eleven new hobbies transposes to one of my old ones: electronics. From jewelry to stereo, this might be the circle of life. Realizing that I now own a great soldering iron fooled me into thinking that I could easily repair a small stereo I own. It turns out I was right, even though the ‘fix’ followed a circuitous route that defied logic, including, of course, one attempt to solder my finger. After repairing a couple of things, I realized that I could also take advantage of the moment and add a bucket of color even to my stereo. So I dragged out my ample paint collection and got to work. Whether the stereo WORKS or not will be determined in a few minutes, probably in proportion to how loudly the neighbor yells when I crank it up. I’m just kidding; I’m a quiet neighbor. I mainly use the stereo to play 10-hour loops of ambient noise I made myself with Audacity. My favorite is a combination of a box fan, rain, thunder, and a few specialized sounds that are more subliminal than perceptible audio.
Because I already had the paints and platforms laid out, I also painted a large stone I brought back home with me. I love painted rocks. It’s fortuitous that I like painted fingers because I also serendipitously painted my neck, forehead, and even my shirt. Looking closely, I noted that several of the paints cans proclaimed this warning emblazoned along the spine: “Use With Caution. Especially you, X.”
I lived a lifetime in the last few days.
Love, X.
P.S. I forgot to mention how special it is to be able to speak Spanish. It pays dividends in ways that still surprise me. .
There’s a word, an obscure one, that describes people taking pictures that have been taken countless times. It’s because we all share a appreciation for certain things.
I took one this morning, early.
Before the throngs, before the day truly woke up.
The lamp post evoked a touch of Narnia. Early morning Monday, a time that normally excludes magic.
I had a cup of bitter coffee in my hand as I watched the trickle of people either meander without purpose or shuffle with reluctant efficiency.
As for me, I stood there as the sunrise creeped up on my left, over the top of history.
I tucked the memory of the view into a small corner of my mind. I’ll visit it again later, as life creeps back into my normalcy.
It was about 9:40. Though it was chilly, it was a beautiful sunny morning, just about a perfect one for early fall. I walked out of the store and into the midst of about 100 bikers. BB&B may have been canceled, but thousands of bikers made their way to NWA this weekend. I complimented one of the bikers on his choice of color. It’s the exact same color as my little car. Needless to say, someone who looks like him would be the last person I would expect to choose that color. A few feet away, a couple were talking to other bikers. Their friend Burt had not made it in yet. It turns out he is a licensed minister. I introduced myself, and told them they could go to the courthouse to get married. Then, I told them that I’m a licensed minister and would marry them right there on the spot if they wanted to. Or that we could go to the overlook, which is a beautiful spot, and do the wedding there. They were very tickled. I gave them my phone number on an index card and told them that they should feel free to call me today and I would gladly perform their marriage for them. I hope their friend Burt is okay. But I kind of also hope that he gets held up and that they call me. What a great memory that would be. Perfect weather, and a great day to make a memory, even if it starts with people who are initially strangers.
We’re all strangers, until we’re not.
It would be a sublime pleasure to be a part of people’s initial expression of love and togetherness. Optimism is infectious.
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I walked up and volunteered to be the picture taker for several groups. That way, their keepsake photos will include everyone. It’s such a treat to do that for people. One group of four insisted on taking my photo.
I heard a celebration down in the valley where I took the picture this morning. A beautiful wedding was in progress and I got to watch the end of it from about 30 feet up. The tears and applause when the groom kissed the bride even got to me a little bit. Hell, who am I kidding? I’ll admit that a tear rolled down my face. 2:00 p.m. on such a beautiful day seems appropriate enough to let a little emotion come out.
So even if the bikers from early this morning don’t call me, I got to live vicariously through another young couple just now. And then I watched them trudge up the long trail and hill. For two people, it was their first afternoon together, hopefully forever.
Jimmy isn’t the one in the long dress. He’s the one wearing a white jacket, wondering what he’d got himself into.
One of my regrets is that I didn’t streak naked around Thorncrown Chapel in Eureka Springs during my cousin Jimmy’s first wedding. His first wedding was in August of 1995 to a woman named Lona Heckle. In 1995, I still had the body to allow me to run fast – and, if caught, not feel too badly about my picture being on the nightly news after my arrest for streaking. Camcorders were common but it was still possible to just be a blur on such cameras. Regular cameras were unwieldy and snapping flash pictures inside a giant glass rectangle tended to yield less-than-stellar photos.
Coincidentally, one of my other regrets is that I did not get to perform Jimmy’s other marriage shortly before his death. I overcame my inertia to become ordained due to the possibility of this marriage. I understand the particulars of why someone else was chosen but still remain a bit uneasy about it. Personally, I can’t understand why more families don’t have someone ordained so that the family member doing the ceremony will forever be part of the memory, too. After all, standing with the two people in love is the best seat in the house, so to speak.
Were Jimmy still alive, he’d join me in laughter if I told him, “Yes, I was going to perform your second marriage naked, Jimmy. No need to streak if I’m standing in front of everyone.”
He’s been dead for more than 7 1/2 years now, which itself seems alien to write.
I wrote much of this post a few days ago, before the other shoe fell and my brother died. I don’t recall why Mike wasn’t at Jimmy’s wedding. Fittingly enough, Jimmy and I didn’t make the trip up to the Chicago Metro area to attend my brother’s wedding. Our excuse wasn’t personal; we were both just young, poor, and unaware that we could reach out and find a way to get there.
My cousin was a bit crazy himself. He was prone to get whiskey courage and do some outrageous things. We inherited the tendency from our ancestors.
For whatever reason, Jimmy was very nervous about the wedding itself. All the family he’d ever known was attending. When I first started teasing Jimmy about potentially streaking during his wedding, he laughed and said, “You’ll never do it. You’ll say you will but you don’t have your dad’s crazy streak.” So I told him, “Exactly. NOT having it gives me the courage to do it precisely because no one will expect it.” As the days passed, I could tell I had got into his head.
For those unfamiliar with the Thorncrown Chapel, it’s made of glass and steel and sits in the middle of an expanse of trees and forest. I’ve witnessed people become overwhelmed by emotion while sitting inside. If you’ve ever had the pleasure of being inside during heavy snow or while the sun is beaming through at an oblique angle, you undoubtedly can imagine it again.
Now add the idea of me running around the place naked with dozens of horrified onlookers trapped on the inside watching me do it.
I made the short video cut of Jimmy standing at the altar. It captures his unease at being the center of attention and spectacle. I took it from a VHS tape I had digitized several years ago. It was one of my few chances to be able to see videos and images from lives overlapping mine. Much of the bulk of such photography was lost to me due to the odd lack of sharing many of the family members seemed to inherit.
And because it’s one of the few relics of me on video, here’s a short one of me the day of Jimmy’s wedding. We were milling around outside the motel waiting for the hurry-and-wait part of the afternoon to commence.
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I wanted to post this picture of Jimmy and Lona a couple of years after they were married. I mean no disrespect but I always remember wrong how long they were married.
Dawn wanted to take pictures using her phone; her camera is significantly better than mine. She handed me the phone as she said, “Here, you can take them better.” She said that despite the years of insurmountable proof that the opposite was true. ” Thus, two of the best photos are obscured by my inexpert fingers. They are my favorites, of course.
After painting a couple of rocks, something Dawn said that triggered a thought in my head, which is usually a dangerous sign. We were outside the cabin admiring the rocks that had surprisingly survived months (and even years) exposed to the elements. One of our previously ambitiously executed projects was somewhat intact but missing a couple of elements.
Because I had exhausted the obscenely bright neon color as the base of the two large rocks, I had an inspiration. Because I had a surplus of gloves, I opted to collect 5 medium rocks and approximately 50 small rocks. I sprayed a huge glob of several colors on aluminum foil and used my hands to roll the rocks around in my hands and paint them that way. Luckily for me, my unreplenished grab bag of paints contained about three dozen bottles of varying paints. It was a bit of overkill. Once we painted the large number of rocks, it looked quite striking against the backdrop of the surrounding forest and subdued colors nearby.
I made the png cutout version to better see the first two rocks we did. Not wanting to be outdone, I completed mine a nod toward my two favorite cousins, Beth and Lynette. I added a face on the bottom that was supposed to register surprise. I hope they don’t mind that I might exposed their secret identities again. Visitors to the cabins will drive up and see the two neon rocks and undoubtedly question what “X, Cheetah, Falcon, and Rojo” have to do with a getaway cabin. I challenge them to exceed my creativity and/or weirdness.
I took one from over the top of our heads, in case anyone needed to see such a picture.
When we arrived back to our normal lives here in Springdale, we went to see my in-laws. While the adults talked, I took the time to build a little town from what I could find in the yard. (Plus my invaluable index cards, of course.) You have to find your fun wherever it may be found.
This picture is when Hell broke loose, pun intended. It was implied that I couldn’t leave my creation standing. For that reason, I had to pretend a tornado hit Hell and demolished it. I hope everyone is okay.
This is the porch on Cabin #3. The porch and its swing is one of the best features that many other places surprisingly fail to include.
Last weekend, we had a chance to get away for the weekend to Wisteria Lane Lodging. At the last minute, we decided to extend the weekend by a day, if possible. The owner at Wisteria Lane gave us the green light. Instead of 2 nights and three days, we stayed for three nights. We stopped at the grocery store and loaded up on food for four days. The difference the extra day made was immeasurable. Vacationing in far-flung destinations has its appeal, I’ll admit, but knowing that we can drive less than forty-five minutes to be in the middle of nowhere with no one to intrude is difficult to surpass.
No cellphone, no internet, no outside world was imposing upon us. Unlike many of the competitor’s cabins, it’s possible to go and see no one during the entire stay. The cabins have satellite television; the solitude is best experienced without the world’s intrusion, in my opinion. I took a laptop loaded with shows and music, along with cables to use the flat screen television to project them.
Dawn and I don’t leave the valley unless we must. Many people who know me superficially are surprised that such isolation is enjoyable to me. Going without wifi and cellphones probably scares those who haven’t experienced it in the last few years. The disconnection is a welcome privilege. It’s a great way to measure your addiction to connectedness.
For those who love to walk or ride mountain bikes, the area is ideal. It’s possible to encounter no cars during your ride or hike on the maintained dirt rods.
While it only rained a bit during our stay, we sat on the hanging porch swing and listened to the thunder of the insects around us as the sun sank below the upper rim of the valley’s treeline.
Wisteria Lane is located North of Eureka and Holiday Island, in a deep valley populated with five billion trees. Cabin #3 & #4 are the best, in my opinion, given their location toward the inside of the forest. Each cabin has a long, covered porch facing the creek running through the valley. Each porch has a gas grill, which allows guests to cook in any weather, either using the grill or the full kitchen inside.
After our trip, I noticed that I hadn’t been billed for the extra night. The owner told me that she was treating Dawn and me to the extra night at no charge. A great trip made more exceptional due to the generosity of the owners.
We usually take the time to paint rocks during our stays. We tend to go a little further than most guests.
Last week, we went to spend the after-holiday weekend north of Eureka and Holiday Island. Due to the throngs of tourists, the horse-drawn carriages were operating, despite the heat.
As we went up the scenic loop before leaving town to go to the cabin, we passed a carriage with 10 or 11 middle-aged women enjoying the ride. They were laughing and rocking the carriage with glee. They were dressed identically and were drawing onlooker’s gazes. The driver was keeping a close eye on them, as a couple of the ladies were holding poorly concealed drinks.
A block up the loop, a water main was leaking, and traffic was backed up. I turned around in a narrow driveway and headed back down.
As I took the next corner, my wife gasped in surprise. Ahead of us, we could see that the carriage had overturned, tossing the ladies out. Several were on the grass. The driver was standing next to the carriage, obviously crying a little and upset.
I pulled up next to him and put down my window.
“Hey, there’s no need to cry, sir!” I told him.
My wife looked at me with horror.
“Why not? This could have been fatal,” he said.
“Maybe. But everyone knows there’s no use crying over spilled milf.”
P.S. Parenthetically Speaking 