To snow and a truck that took an hour to get cleaned off at the airport. It wasn't the volume of snow but the ice that created the challenge. And, the sense of frustration that all the doors were frozen shut, and that on the Heavy Duty Fords, the headlights do not produce near enough heat to melt away ice.
I also returned to a string of bad news that began almost as soon as the conference in Philly ended. I'm still not sure what to make of it.
And this place, now layered in ice fog and memory, is so still, that I can hear my thoughts racing. They are still far behind, but determined to catch me back up to the present, even if half my head and heart remains in Philly.
After landing, I turned on my phone and learned that my friend Wes Boggs died on Friday. He was 90, and he'd been shoeing horses up until last year. He was a great man, an accomplished farrier, horse trainer, and rodeo cowboy. He also overcame much adversity.
It was he and his wife Ellen who were instrumental in dramatically changing my thoughts about aging, and about our value as we grow older. I am used to hearing younger members of my community refer to 22 as the new 95, so this lesson is an important one.
I last saw Wes and Ellen in mid September, when I performed the wedding ceremony for Wes' nephew.
Now, the family has asked me to perform the burial service for Wes in spring, when the snow has melted, and the cemetery in the foothills of these serene Selkirks is again accessible.
It was just a year ago last fall that we laid Teddy, Wes' son, to rest in that same place.
I do believe, that where we're bound, that last best place we can't even begin to imagine, (so I don't even try) Ted and his father Wes are already celebrating the beauty of their lives and they are basking in the glow of their now perfect names.
I also took great comfort to know that Wes, died peacefully in his sleep, sitting in his favorite chair up in Usk. He knew the Lord and he knew he was ready.
I have a very special last memory of Wes, one that came out of the blue. I was supposed to be up at Sullivan Lake that day, and somehow I'd locked myself out of the house, and even more miraculous had crawled through a window that I didn't know I could fit through anymore. Scraped up and a bit disheveled, I stopped in at the infamous Usk store, which also includes a neat'o place to eat called the Burger Hut.
I was now over an hour late, I was in serious trouble with at least one of they guys waiting for me up at the campsite. I believe that sometimes really good beer is the only thing that will solve such a problem.
Wes and Ellen were there, and the minute I walked in, their eyes lit up. I couldn't help but sit down with them as I waited for the line to clear out at the cash register. I can still see the twinkle in Wes' eyes. That shine, and that joy-well, such a sparkle and such a grin is pretty rare these days. I think I'll hold on to it for awhile....
I also learned today that a truck driver friend of mine is going blind from an HIV related infection. For a year and a half his HMO denied him coverage.
Because, according to them, HIV is a preexisting condition. He too is well skilled around horses, and he's been known to have the prettiest large car running the big road.
I penned this right after walking in the door tonight, thinking about all this loss at the beginning of season of blinding brightness. It's a bit hard to reconcile.
Nomad Hustle
By Timothy Anderson
(For Anastasia...because.)
You old soul
Forever young cowboy
Perpetual Motion on your mind
Teach me the difference
Between Stationary and Sublime
Me with all my mile markers
Unscripted blacktop free verse
You dancing bucking chutes and rough stock
bad wrecks and buckles in reverse
Now we are both just hauntings.
We won't know the next horizon or
A thousand Interstate thoughts
Chasing time.
Intoxicated by the wind.
Intoxicated by atlas pages, little red lines
Intoxicated by ruthless whim.
We are both just hauntings.
My windshield tells our story
His ghosts my mirrors know
Montana with a shot of Wyoming
Mudflaps blown
Blizzards known
Diesel scent by morning
Cold coffee falling into night
One entry fee short
One rodeo less tonight
Grab some gears for us both
Keep us moving
Keep us upright
Grab some tears for us both
deep in all that firelight
deep in all them headlights
We are both just hauntings
So play me some Sugarland
George Straight and Patsy Cline
Over that still
sing song
Clear channel radio
Over that lonesome
Expansion jointed
dream time .
1 comment:
Dearest Tim,
I wish you strength and peace in dealing with your sense of loss.
I also urge you to consider that this sense, this grief, is misplaced because your friends are NOT gone. They have changed form, it's true, but they are closer than ever if you just accept that they are.
They are in your heart. Still able to hear you, still able to speak to your heart if you listen.
True, you can't actually hug them. But you can hold them close as many times a day as it occurs to you to do so.
And every time you become aware of changes in your life or attitude that knowing these people triggered, you are communing with them. In their new form, they have become part of you, as you were, and are, part of them.
We are all One.
Post a Comment