It's easy to write about baking and thrifting. My little tiny farm. Even my children, or various shades of my personal history. But it is far harder to write about the deeper layers of things. The personal questions that are tied into the realm of existence. The same existence I would never claim to understand exactly, at all.
I'm a songwriter. You know that. I talk about it here and there. It's one of those things I could go on about, but I hardly do. I don't like to talk about myself in that way. I'd rather talk about my adventures in baking. Places that I can be messy, nonchalant and it doesn't matter.
I contacted an old music business friend several months ago because I have some songs I'd like to sell. I've taken years of time off from the music industry at large and at this particular moment know few "heavyweights" in the biz. But he is one I know, knew from my past, back then, he was my attorney. We emailed back and forth. I said I would be in touch with the songs.
Yesterday I emailed him again and found out from his office that 6 weeks previous he had been in a severe accident. Sudden. He had barely made it. Was in a long-term induced coma and just coming out of it now. He has begun tracking people with his eyes, moving his fingers. This is his progress. And all I know.
It was such a shock to hear.
I couldn't imagine him anywhere but behind his big desk. Smart. Strong. Healthy. Very busy.
But that is life.
And that is that.
I thought so much about him yesterday. His new wife, who I've never met. I thought about them all day in fact. Until I felt I knew them intimately. Like the back of my hand. Loved them like family. Was in the hospital room. Right there. I knew all details of the accident and his to-the-moment prognosis. It felt like that.
But I was not there. I was at a field. With my kids and dogs. I was not running around, like I often do. I was quiet. Watching them run. Watching the clouds move in and the sunlight pierce through.
And that is life.
And that is that.
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