I long to find again that blissful plane of pure imagination reached at the age of 3 while making mud pies. The surroundings vanish, the mental image overlays completely and so engrossing is the act of creation that all else is forgotten but flow. Absent the reality of mud-pies, I skirt the creative-flow-rupturing, multi-tasking, income-producing tasks by setting up the environment to ease physical demands (good music, juice, table the right height, lighting appropriate, thick rubber mat...) and work on narrowing my focus to those mundane tasks at hand, performing them with mindfulness until they become dance patterns. If I manage to really be in the task, I find that all at once, I'm making mud pies.
As I stepped in off the hot street into the dark coolness of the little music store on Main, the first thing that struck me was the silence. There was no music playing, and for a moment I wasn't sure if the place was open. As my eyes adjusted, the next item of interest was the tall lean figure on a chair ahead of me against the wall. He sat with hands draped over knees, slouching languidly. It's difficult to look back now, with affectionate eyes, and see any menace in that shape, but at the time, his very stillness was unsettling. It seemed as if I'd interrupted something.
Despite Mike's recent post about the random timing of our fair city's street cleaning schedule, I forgot and left my truck out front this morning. When the police unit pulled up behind the truck, I suddenly remembered, and dashed out the front door hoping to be allowed to move it before the ticket was written. The officer was just about to get out of the car, as I ran up apologizing, but then her expression changed abruptly and she froze.
Casey Jones died May 14th 2001, around 4 am, from cancer, and complications resulting from treatments for epilepsy and arthritis. From the winter of 1988 until that day, he was my constant companion, a rare combination of wolf/husky/lab with gold eyes, a soft coat, keen intelligence and a very silly sense of humor. I've spent quite a bit of time since then writing, trying to put into words some of the thoughts and memories I've been having.