An Update from the West -Bull Art

In a couple of days I will have a full report of what we
(1) burned
(2) blew up or
(3) skunked

But for now a snippet of life on the Western  Range.

When I arrived, Big Bro took me out to Dad's porch, where there was the melodious tinkling of a wind chime, something Dad and I both love.   But this wasn't the usual cutesy "picked up at a beach gift shop" windchime.  This was something Big Bro made while he was going through chemo.  He had chemo and radiaiton at the same time.  With the cancer at Stage Four, it was pretty aggressive. Needless to say, he didn't feel exactly perky.

But like me, he doesn't sit still well.  So, on the days he was well enough to get out, he'd pick up pieces of wood and what not, to add to his collection of things picked up from the beach.  And when he was too weak to walk, he made Bull Art. In the form of wind chimes, for family, for friends.

Bull is his nickname (as well as "the Right Reverand" for his buddies on one submarine).  He's not "artistic", playing normally with things nuclear.  But he still has his goofy side, as do I, signing notes with his little "smiley bull" symbol".

It shows up everywhere, even on a low carb snack he made for someone up at weird hours.

So I simply smiled when I saw his creations, the one pictured, a simple one he made for Dad for an anniversary of sorts. 

The sand dollar brought a knowing glance, as we picked up so many as children, when we'd vacation on the coast each year in a tiny little cabin Dad and Mom rented.  It's all condominiums now, but those were some great memories.  From the looks of this one, it's one we picked up 40 some years ago, that now lay in assorted bowls in all of our homes.

That's my bedroom window there on the left.  I laid awake at odd hours this week, due to the jet lag.  But as I lay quietly, the rest of the house asleep, I loved hearing the sound of that copper tubing, string and ancient wood. I loved seeing it, there on the deck where we could have coffee before Dad woke up.

You see a wind chime, made of rough materials.  I see a symbol; of finding beauty in the face of that which severs one abruptly from the life they knew and did not wish to discard, into a medium we are born to fear, where even our identity can be lost, as hair and flesh fall away. I hear the sound of that which will never be forgotten.  Memory. Family.  Hope.