Remembering Tommy

Photo: Seth Gaines
I've been a little down in the dumps lately: Money has been tight; I am exhausted from keeping the house clean for showings; Rollie has been testing me in ways I didn't think possible, and Matilda is on the move (no more putting her down in the middle of the room with my keys and going off to mix myself a drink in another room). I am amazed how often these little boogers have to eat - three times a day! The pigs! - and that they still can't change their own diapers. I can barely wipe my own ass, much less keep their butts clean, too. It all just gets to be a little monotonous day after day, with little alteration in routine. Lately, all of it has been getting to me - i have been quicker to snap, more emotional in my disciplinary responses, and frankly, I just haven't given a shit what I was making for dinner. So what if they had green beans four days in a row? It's fucking green, isn't it?

Today I am not having as much trouble being present in the moment with my children and enjoying the time I have them. This morning, I found out that a friend of the family passed away from pancreatic cancer. He was the step-father of my favorite and closest cousins. He was a wonder of a man - part reticent cowboy, part peaceful observer. They say still waters run deep, and that is the idea I always got about Tommy. He seemed to watch everything and judge nothing. Sometimes it seems he was laughing at me a bit, but I never really knew what he was thinking, and I always wished that I did. He was one of the truly least judgemental, most accepting men I have ever met. There was something about him that made me feel comfortable and at peace.

Last night as I was coming down the stairs from putting the little ones to bed, I looked up at the t.v. and saw a familiar horizon. I was tivo-ing Antiques Roadshow, and it was an episode in Albuquerue, New Mexico. The vista displayed on the screen was a view from Ghost Ranch, in Abiqiu, New Mexico; It is where Georgia O'Keefe painted her most famous paintings. The camera looked out across the desert towards a lone peak, called Pedernal, flat as a table on top with a slope on either side. I immediately knew that view, because ten years ago this August, I sat on a picnic table at Ghost Ranch with Tommy, facing Pedernal in the dying light of the day. Neither of us said a word; it was one of those evenings that was so serene that you think of it when you need peace. Sometimes there are moments in your life where you feel everything around you more fully - the wood of the table under your hand, the breeze, the smell, the light and the shadow; all of the senses come together to imprint themselves on your memory as no photograph ever could. It is one of those moments in time that I have carried with me and will think about for the rest of my life.