I’ve been sitting with Bubba (see previous post Rescue Cat Living His Dream) in front of the woodstove, a fire blazing, its door wide open. It’s COLD outside, 7°, and pretty cold inside, too, at 60. Normally it would be warmer because Kim would have been up early and he’d have come over to the house from his Airstream (see previous post A Very Mini Artist’s Colony in New Mexico) to add some logs to last night’s diminishing fire. But this morning there were only a few coals left when I got up because Kim wasn’t here to add the logs.
Kim has moved over to Hand Artes Gallery (see previous post Disparate Pieces) to start his winter job, which is living in and caretaking the place while Bill and Margaret Franke, the gallery’s owners, are in the Midwest to be with family for a couple of months.
So Kim is over there settling in, making the gallery his home. He’s getting some bread started (see previous post Adventures in the Art of Bread Making) and doing the wood chores. He’ll be by later to shut down and winterize the trailer.
And I am here writing. The house is warm by now and the animals are all in their favorite places. I’m about to have coffee and then I’ll take the dogs out for a walk.
Kim and I will weave and blend our friendship in new ways. We’ll find new rhythms. Life will go on but it will go on differently and it is in these differences that we will stretch a bit, this way and that.
Some fear change because of the unknowns. People we love may make choices that take them further and further away from us. But I believe this is how life is meant to be lived—how we are meant to love—in freedom; in not knowing what will come next—living in this moment, the snow outside my door, a fire in the wood stove, my animals alive and well, an Airstream on my land that is taking a rest for the winter and coming back to life in the spring—perhaps.
Or maybe my friend will sell a lot of paintings and hit the road, towing his Airstream behind him, realizing a much-needed dream of his. And I will win the lottery and go for a rest in Italy for a while, a much-loved dream of MINE.
This change asks that I remember what I like when I am in complete solitude—my special, small peculiarities—like sitting in front of a blazing wood heater with Bubba, the door open, warming every fiber of my being. Reading a book over coffee. Being slow about my day, letting it unfold as it decides. Writing to you in the quiet of that day. Walking on the land grant, one dog at my heel, the other racing up ahead in the track…
Love to you all,