Yesterday was a fortunate day.
It started with a reminder of my own good fortune in this world. Early in the morning, I stopped at a restaurant in the Staunton, VA area. I was craving pancakes. I made my way to a table to drink my coffee and quietly read my newsapaper. As I sat, a short balding middle-aged man with a thick gray-white beard hobbled by on crutches to sit three or four tables away. He sat facing me.
We both ordered and after a bit, as I read the paper. I heard a voice directed at me. It was the man. His voice had that southern Virginia twang in a heavy dose.
“You hear if that crazy preacher’s gonna burn those books?”
At first, I dreaded the thought of getting in a public conversation, especially one that started with a question about anything to do with religion. So I shrugged that I didn’t know and hoped that be the end of it but he persisted, saying that we all just got to get along together. Finally, his good-natured voice got the better of me and we began talking across the tables. I ended up taking my pancakes to his table to better hear his story.
He was called Styx for the crutches (sticks) that had been his companion his whole life as a result of cerebral palsy. He was born prematurely and had weighed less than a pound at birth. He had a tough childhood and ended up on his own at age 12. He had problems as a teen that ended up in trouble with the law ( “I wasn’t like president Clinton. I smoked pot and, man, did I inhale!”) and a mention of some time spent behind bars. He had been through 39 surgeries as a result of his affliction and a number of speed-related car crashes (“They had to cut me out of my car four different times”), leaving his witht he claim that he should have been dead at least seven different times in his life.
Yet, through this all, he kept an upbeat spirit, speaking of his work and his ailing wife. He did custom car interiors and obviously loved his work and family. He said that there had been times when he had wished he could walk without the sticks but looking back, he wouldn’t trade his life. He was a good man with a good outlook and as I left with his business card, I felt I was really fortunate both for having met him and for the relative ease of my own life. I was glad he had pulled me from my breakfast shell.
A bit later, as I sped along, getting my kicks on Route 66 going into the DC area I came around a bend in the road. I looked down at the speedometer to see I was going over 80 and as my eyes came back to the road there he was. A Virginia state trooper. He had me dead to rights and pulled me over within a very short distance. I knew I was wrong and was going to take my medicine so when he came to the window, I had my papers at the ready and when he asked how fast I thought I was going I told the truth. He smiled and said that my speedo must be off a few clicks because he had me at 79 MPH. He asked where I was going and why I was going there. Then he calmly handed back my license and asked me to do him a favor and slow down. And have a good day.
As he walked back to the cruiser, I thought that this really was a good day. Maybe it was the fact that it was September 11 and it was beautiful sun-filled day that made the trooper be so kind to me. I don’t know. I just felt fortunate once more.
So I drove– much more slowly– into Alexandria where I was giving a gallery talk at the Principle Gallery. There was a great turnout for the talk and the audience was wonderful and fully engaged, making my job very easy. They asked insightful questions and we established a nice dialogue, the talk ending at a point when I had said enough but hadn’t started testing their will to be there. As I left the gallery later, I commented that I was so fortunate to have the folks who collect my work. As a group, they collect the work for all ther right reasons– for the relationship they establish with the work itself and for how it makes them feel. Their’s is not conspicuous consumption. It is the opposite. They obtain the work for themselves alone, not to impress others or to make a public statement about their taste.
They are the best.
I thought about that as I headed north towards the comfort of home. Once again on this day, I was reminded of how fortunate I truly was. What a wonderful thought for a beautiful day in September. Thanks to everyone who allowed me to feel this way.
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Another one of the interesting things that came from Saturday’s talk at the Principle Gallery was a photo that was given to me by one of the audience members. After the talk a young man named Nathan approached me and told me he had been on a boat off the coast of Venezuela when he saw this sight. He immediately thought that this was one of my trees and snapped a shot with the disposable camera he had at hand. 
Redtree Times 