Introspective

I named this blog "Birds of my Neighborhood". It's after a CD by this great group called The Innocence Mission. There is a song on this CD called The Lakes of Canada and I think this song is perhaps one of the prettiest songs I know of. It's really sad, though, and it always makes me a little introspective.

My memory is constantly reacting like ferrofluid and a magnet...something comes along, and *zing* I have a memory. The memories that keep coming up are bittersweet; they recall a time that I remember being really wonderful, with people or a specific person who made me very happy, and I'm happy every day to have those memories. But the fact that each moment in time is meant to be lived only once makes me sad. For example, in this movie I watched tonight, two characters played pool. And in a flash I saw the hands of the last person I played pool with, and I realized I'd memorized the topography of those hands. The slight bend of knuckles, the way each finger rests against the other, the smooth palm and the distinct coloring of pale skin. It was so vivid; I could even feel the way the hand felt when it high-fived me after I made a good shot. I just remembered the hands, though...the face was harder to recall. Blue eyes? What did the smile look like, or the laugh intone? I couldn't remember clearly. But hands, like a photograph, just appeared.

A really bittersweet memory, though, came later in the evening. My friend was describing in vivid detail a friend of hers. Adjectives like "generous", "giving", "loving of her neices and nephews" were tossed about. A picture was painted of an aunt who loved to take her friends and family travelling, who flew for business and vacations, who had made a fine living for herself out of hard work and gave much glory to the Lord. And my uncle's face appeared...clear as a bell. I wanted to say something, but it wouldn't have had the impact that my memory created.

These people didn't know my uncle, they didn't know how hard he'd worked, how generous he was, the way his smile was so natural and warm. His height, his skin always tanned, his golf clubs in his Mercedes sedans that always smelled like new leather (a scent that for some reason nauseates me to this day), his backyards with their green grass and glittering pools. It was all ours when we were there - everything he had was for sharing, for giving. We took trips to his beachfront vacation house in the summer, and Killington Vermont in the winter for skiing. We appreciated and enjoyed every moment, but not because I think at the time we realized that time was severly limited. When I was 22, he died very suddenly...this healthy, robust and successful man. A man who retired at 52...sold all his business, buildings, and interests in the company he built with his bare hands. A man who loved his wife that last day as much as he did the day he married her, a love rare and one that she won't ever have again. It was the day before Valentine's Day that he passed away. Sorry this is such a personal entry...this time of year always makes me pensive. I never made it for the funeral...the snow was so heavy that February that all flights were grounded. I never got to say goodbye. All I have is the memory of his smile..that funny apron he always wore when carving the Thanksgiving Dinner. God, I miss my Uncle Jim.