Wednesday, June 26, 2002

Lo and behold, the anticipated upswing in activity predicted for this blog hasn't appeared yet. To tell the truth, I am pretty crispy. I can't get my brain to think in a straight line, or really in the same general area for longer than about ten minutes. i am a person of many weaknesses, and right now they are all demanding attention, or at least time to show off their talents at making me a stronger person through eventuality and endurance.

I have felt somehow weak and exposed ever since Tad's death. That vulnerability has lead to avoidance of issues and some pretty dodgy parenting on my part. Each day has been a lesson, and some of those lessons have yet to be examined.

It has been wonderful to be back in touch with some of my old friends, they have shown me some splendid examples of what can happen after ten years of little or no contact. Each has progressed and learned much of life, each has been generous with time and resources in time of grief and loss.

This is life, aye? Life, love and death. All three strenghten each other.

Thursday, June 20, 2002

We just got a new home machine... there will probably be another upsurge in posts as soon as I can get this week under control. Stay tuned!

Friday, June 14, 2002

I sat and watched the sunset yesterday after a day of much work and hassle. I was hoping to be able to see a little bit of the eclipse, but was not fortunate to be far enough west to see the solar show. It was a good experience, nevertheless.

I haven't really paid attention to the setting of the sun for years. I used to watch regularly, waiting with eager excitement when I was beset by troubles or just a hard day of work.

There was a time during high school when I would go up to a then incomplete section of road near what is now the LDS Temple in the foothills of Bountiful to watch the sun set over the Great Salt Lake. During the summer it would set into an expanse of water between Antelope Island and Stansbury Point. The air was regularly heavy with the pollution of too many cars and the refineries at work to fuel them, so the show was spectacular. I still remember those visions, the panoramas taking hold of and filling my memory like no other has ever really been able to since.

There was a time when Drie and I were in the bottom of a slot canyon near Monticello, Utah, caretaking a desert fruit orchard while the sellers and buyers were trying to come to agreeable terms. Our little Volvo broke down and was left to be violated by country mechanics with no ability to even pronounce it's name, leaving us without transportation for the eleven mile trip out of the canyon for at least three weeks.

The sun rose up to an hour and a half late and set two hours early between the walls of the little canyon, leaving us without much in the way of sunrises or sunsets, at least without the colors associated with distant horizons. We were usually too tired for any hikes out of the slot early in the morning or after the day's work was done, so we didn't see the sun rise or set in the traditional sense. It really wore on me, I felt the absence of those glorious and contemplative moments like one misses the taste of fresh peach after a long winter or the touch of a lover away across the ocean. I remember my first sunset in Blanding across the desert south of the Blue Mountains after that long drouth well, also.

Now I am here. Events speeding me up and snatching conciousness or bringing full stop and poingnant feeling depending upon events beyond my control. Right now I am a sunflower tracking the sun from horizon to horizon, looking for the answers I keep questioning, feeling their bite and salve like this is my first amen.

Probably not my last, though.

Thursday, June 13, 2002

There is a light that never goes out...
I got an unexpected call from the very honourable Geoff Haslam last night at about nine o'clock and was very happy to hear from him. A good and dear friend from the time of High School in Bountiful, Utah, he is living in Bountiful with his great wife and kids, making a living as a lawyer.
I was fair surprised to hear from him right then, and when asked how he was doing, he said that at other times, he had felt much better .
An original and unidentifiable dread leaped back into my chest as I asked what was going on. He said that Tad Clayton had died the night before of an apparent drug overdose. Presumed accidental, the whole thing was still sketchy, especially to us outside of the family.
Holy shine, when will we learn? What needs to happen before we figure out how to be human?
This world is full of beautiful people, radiant in their curiosity and wanting only what we all seek; a bit of acceptance, to be loved and to live in health. Some, though, are coerced into hiding their real selves by the world of appearance and social acceptability. The pain of dark actions and unasked-for wounds, covered up by thin, opaque shells of acceptable circumstance are what some have to bear. We all must wear masks, some wear and carry much more in order to keep appearances.
Some hide untold pain and confusion.
So many are lost, so very many taken from our midst.
Namaste, dear Tad.
Namaste, Clayton family.