Swaying Hugs and a Road Song

Frost on the Windshield

The recent snowfall painted a serene backdrop for my lengthy road trip to offer a final goodbye to someone that I’ve known most of my adult life. It seems I’ve lost count, but I know that I’ve attended far more memorial services in the past few years than I have in my entire lifetime. “It’s that circle of life thing”, a friend reminded me. His reply seemed far too casual… maybe even a bit too basic. And as much as I would like to think differently, he was absolutely right.

The calm of the distant drive had a soundtrack, but with little volume. Sometimes there was no volume at all. Instead I tuned to the noises of the moment… the wind, the road, and my thoughts as mile markers passed by as if to keep time.

As mournful as expectations were, the day was instead a celebration. I rekindled with faces I’d not seen in years. Those reunions were often followed by hugs. Long ones. The ones that make you sway back and forth in one another’s arms for what seems like forever… those welcomed kind of forevers. The day was filled with plenty of shared words of comfort. Smiling strangers offered personal accounts, memories, and stories of a man that we each knew just a little bit differently than the other. I laughed far more than I cried. At times, laughing loud enough that people sitting in pews in front of me would look back with a smile. Seems everyone did.

The return home soundtrack was not much different than the one from hours earlier. Loosening my necktie, I turned south on the rural two-lane route. Smiling, I waved back to the oncoming driver with four raised fingers from the top of my steering wheel. My right hand reached for the dial on the dash to raise the volume on the stereo. A mile or so later, I raised it even more. Each of those familiar lyrics was a longtime friend of mine. I sang the words to every song while reflections of miles passed behind me in the mirror, each seemingly humming the very same song.

It's Christmastime

That time of the year is here again. And with it, I look forward to seeing those I love in the next week. I'm counting on those days being filled with plenty of soul-filling goodness: puppy kisses and wagging tails, teary-eyed laughter, reading, studying, loads of fab music backed by a tad more groovy tunes, and a dinner and movie date (heck, maybe even two). It's Christmastime.

As another year passes, another one of promise and dreams will begin just behind it. Seems I'm still the same kid that would loudly sing along to his favorite song as it played through the single mono speaker on that lime green portable AM radio.... the one with the matching lime green wrist strap and the retractable chrome antenna. I still dream. I still laugh to myself ...and frequently laugh at myself. I'm still curious about life and sometimes wonder what if? ...what happened? ...where are they? …and often just a simple why? Why?

Through it all, it seems that I'm still defining me. Why would I ever stop? Each day is a gift, a lesson, an opportunity to smile at someone; not that plastic smile.... but the real eye-to-eye contact kind of smile. Those are the ones that count and the ones that really make a difference. I don't want to search or define reasons to create something new.... I just want to create with the hope of maybe leaving something of value, purpose, and good behind. It doesn't need to be extravagant or epic or life-changing either. Just make it real. That promises to make all the difference.

Looking back, I love the simple dirt under my fingernails, blue-collar, work-hard-every-day upbringing that I came from. It was genuine and provided me with the perfect starting point for my unusual, let's take this turn, roundabout, where the hell are you headed path that has brought me to where I am today. Five years ago, along that very path, I gifted myself with sobriety. It was the most humbling and honest soul-searching I have ever experienced. I awake blessed, thankful, and alive each morning. I dig this place.

I really loved that spark and spirited, song singing, love everyone, always smiling, creative kid that I used to be. I hope he's still the same and never loses that.

Love and stuff... It's Christmastime.

Casual Ordinary

The morning

Time never pauses.

Moments become years and then quickly pass with only a blink. Recently, I attended the memorial service for someone who walked through my life and left a mark. It was a good mark, one of love, one of goodness, one of spirit, and one that was always full of human originality. This was the third service I'd attended in a little less than two years.

These celebratory, we'll miss you kind of services seem far more frequent than I'd prefer. As more and more yesterdays hurriedly pass me by, I suppose that's to be expected. Each service is always for someone I'd spent far more casual, ordinary days with than monumental, memorable moments. In the end, it's those regular days that seem to matter the most anyway.

Even for those that I lost touch with for a few years... some even more than that, recounting all of those shared days of laughter is always the greatest of reunions. Memories like those are the most genuine, honest, and in their own unique way, oddly tangible. Regardless if you can see them or not, just hold and keep them safe.

Time never pauses.

A Morning of Levels

Remembering 9/11

Sticks and Stones

I sipped coffee by the lake this morning just to process this day infamously and always to be known as 9/11. Sitting in the Blue Ridge sunshine, I remembered watching the events of that morning. It remains a day of horrors as the world changed and unfolded minute by minute. Despite the ugliness of the day, the heroes were the winners - the coworkers, the bystanders, the emergency response personnel, the nurses, the single parents, the teachers, the rich, the poor, the hurting, and the average Joes each brought their heart, their love and compassion to New York, rural America, and to cities all across the globe.

Gentle ripples reflected the new day's light at the exact time on my watch when history changed humanity twelve years earlier.

Remembering 9/11

I took several photographs commemorating that moment while sitting on the dock. Though the scenes through my viewfinder are certainly a world away from the urban waves of concrete, steel, and mass humanity, the images of calm clearly define that peace and remembrance always win.

What a lovely morning on so many levels. I anxiously look forward to what the rest of the day gifts me. Love and goodness and memories abound.

Valued Upbringing

New Supplies

The morning air was fresh as I sat on the porch chair overlooking the lake. I took a sip of coffee from either my second or third cup. A fresh pot was brewing. This is my studio for the week. Taking another sip, I noticed the package with three paintbrushes that had never left the package. Upon reading the store sticker, I remembered the day that I bought them. It was a rainy February afternoon in 2001. Earlier in the morning, I opened a brand new tube of paint. I’d purchased it in 1988. I dipped the tip of the new brush into the line of neutral gray before mixing it with cerulean blue and applying it to my painting.

Pouring a fresh cup of coffee, I thought about my morning discoveries. None of them really came as a surprise. I’ve always been respectful, protective, and frugal with my belongings. I’m sure that my Daddy had something to do with that. He was a tinkerer. Not for the hobby of it, but as a means to keep things working. We were a working-class family, which doesn’t mean we didn’t have nice things. We didn’t have an abundance of them. What we had, we took care of because disposable was not in our vocabulary. If I broke it or lost it, then I was simply without. I respect my upbringing.

Lakefront Studio

Locking myself away for this inspired retreat has been engaging. Days are backed up to days of my thoughts and creativity. Soul searching seems far too cliché, yet it defines the time away as good as anything that comes to mind. Though it took a few days for me to settle in, my temporary studio overlooking the lake has become quite an inspiring space.

Dipping the brush back into the mixed paint, I added another stroke. The figure in the painting is a life vibrant man preparing to pitch a horseshoe. He’s respectful, protective, and frugal with his game. I’d be willing to bet that points were added to his team’s score after his toss. Daddy always did.

just a man

Incognito ©2013 Gary Garbett

I've been incredibly fortunate to be lots of things in my life. Unquestionably, one of those things I'm most proud of was the younger version of myself as a youthful, dedicated, full on, wrap my world around it Dad. In my children’s bright young eyes, they made me feel like I was their superhero. In reality however, I was just a man, doing my best, with what I had at being Daddy.

With the kids well into their young adult lives now, those days have long passed. I still remember them though, even if I didn't get the chance to wear a cool cape or fancy boots. Those years were the most inspiring, creative, and loving times of my life. Super powers aren't just for comic book heroes.

Live life. It gives far more back when you do.

Liner Notes: A big thank you to my good friend Matt for tripping the shutter on this image.