[L, diary, ephēmeris] 1) BLOG

Inspired, again, by another FASO artist! 

This time by Dianna Cates Dunn's magical painting, Moon Dream:

In the midst of composing a 'Love' comment, I had to stop writing. The memories of creating a deeply personal soft-sculpture, crafted more than twenty years ago, were spilling over as I wrote:

Yes...dreamy...am lingering from moon to orb to bigger orbs and back again.... jewel-like...glittering beads...like the beads on a small bag made to carry a friend's jewelry to the wedding of her only surviving son....

...I had to stop, had to find those photos of the jewelry tote that echoed Dianna's moon:

My moon is not as glittery as Dianna's as I'd remembered, but the dreamy quality is the same.  Maybe even more so.  The emotional connections still strong. I had not been confident about giving this gift to someone who kept her inner life private. I was afraid to ask permission from her, afraid to bring up painful memories of her young son lost to cancer. So I asked her husband, but even he was unsure how she'd react. 

It was impossible not to imagine the emotions any mother would have, silently aware of the absence of a son in the wedding ceremony. 

So, I began sewing, trusting in the comfort carried in small totems; tangible symbols of Invisibles.

...surely the tiny effigy seated companionably on a bejeweled-satin moon would share his brother's special day, too?

Art heals.  Connects.  Makes visible the invisible; it hears the silent words of wounded hearts. 

Much distance and many years have since separated the friendship we once had, but recently a brief email arrived with a photo of the little tote providing a loving bridge where we could meet in the middle and share again, for a few moments, a significantly rich memories for both of us.

"3 column x 7 inch Ad,

OCTOBER 1st, 1996 issue/Anderson Valley Advertiser"

In the Fall of 1996, Bill and his best friend, Al Wasserman would be celebrating their 70th birthdays.  We were aboard PILAR in the Solomon Islands with no plans, while in California Al was planning a large party that would include Bill.  The donation of airline miles to enable us to fly back came with restrictions to 3 available airports; we chose sailing down to Australia rather than slog upward to Hong Kong or Manila (small irony there, as we ultimately settled here, anyway!). 

While underway, during my night watches while Bill slept, I secretly began crafting a word-portrait of their friendship.  I planned to surprise the two of them with it by placing an ad in their favorite radical newspaper, for the October issue, in time for the party.  It was an art piece, a personal vision and it was okay if no one else understood it. The copy for the ad was a summation of all the significant points in their lives, meaningful to only those of us who'd shared the events with them along the way.

Last Monday, just as I was completing my last post, a Skype call came through from the son of our old friend, Al.  It was difficult to not be eerily aware of the synchronicity, or the poignancy of having just read Bukowski's poem:

Bill passed on in September of 2009.  Al's time remaining, I was  told on Monday, may only be calculated in weeks.  Both of them lived marvelous lives, as testified in the scant sampling in the AVA ad.  The gods and Bill await the delight of Al's company, while those of us who were blessed by their light, find comfort and inspiration in our memories.