Sometimes It's Just Red

Sometimes It’s Just Red                         4-18-2015

By John W. Vander Velden

During an interview an artist was asked, why he had, in his landscape, chosen such an unusual color for a house.  “Did you want to express anger or passion?”

The artist blinked, sat an instant, and replied.  “I painted it because I liked the color, it’s just red.”

There are things that happen in our lives, and we look for deeper meanings.  The roof leaks and we wonder what we did wrong.  The car won’t start and we believe that a hex has been placed on the old Dodge, or whatever it is.  A teacher’s note gives us reason to spectacle whose child had been exchanged for ours all those years ago.  Surely all these things are ganging up on us, a conspiracy driven by forces beyond our knowledge, affecting our lives.  Friends, the roof leaks because it needs new shingles, the Dodge needs a battery, the teacher is just doing his or her job, and sorry, it is your kid.  It is life, with its bumps and bruises.  It’s just red. 

When we interact with others, we think about all the possible meanings of words or actions.  The world seems so filled with drama, and we are certain that all around us everyone has an agenda, some sort of hidden purpose.  Surely the actions of our acquaintance, family member, spouse, co-worker, or boss are driven by more than the obvious, perhaps anger, vengeance, or passion.  We feel they have acted out of spite, or self-service.  But friends, most times it is what it is, pure and simple.  Sometimes it’s just red.  Throwing ourselves into the task of finding hidden meaning is often a waste of energy and time, not to mention a bane on our relationships.  Not every thing is meant to undo us.  Not every thing is subverted to cover hidden secrets.  Sometimes what you see is what you get, no more, no less.  Sometimes it’s just red!

(320 Words)

4-18-2015

Which Moment

Which Moment

By John W. Vander Velden

 

Does a moment arrive when we think of our children as mature adults?  The tiny person that arrived into our lives, with God’s help, grows, day by day.  Years have passed and holding the crying infant but a memory.  The first steps with its bumps and tumbles are long ago.  We reminiscence about the times when each new thing, stars and moon, trees and flowers, or rumbling trains and tractors, filled him with awe.  Our eyes may see the grown, but the heart cannot comprehend.  The house feels empty and strangely quiet.  As parents, we are pleased by our children’s growth.  We are pleased by all the milestones passed.  We are pleased by signs of maturity.  But the task has been all encompassing for so many years…that now as we stand on the sidelines we wonder about our purpose.  Our children are our children.  We do not call them our adult equals…though the time will come when they may very well be our guardians.  When we must rely upon their wisdom and compassion.  And even then I wonder which moment I truly understood that Nick had become an adult…

(191 Words)

Down and Back

Down and Back                    

By John W. Vander Velden

 

The morning’s sun reflected in the brilliant frozen crystals of the snow that covered fields, blinding the eye and giving no hint to the thermometer’s much sub-comfortable reading.  Bundled near the point of being unmovable Chas walks the country road.  He does not trudge as he wanders, rather steps lively on his morning march.  Each day he ventures out no matter the weather.  Two miles he walks out his driveway and east or west as the impulse leads on Jones Road.  Though he is a busy man, he would have thought retirement would have made him less so, the tall man forces time for these jaunts.  It clears his head.  The neighbor Tom Dellard waves as he passes Chas in his old green Ford Pickup truck.  Tom knows the drill the old man follows and would be more surprised at Chas’s absence than the sight of tall man striding, best he is able on the road.  This is Chas’s neighborhood, if a scattered collection of farms dotting the land could be called one.  Born just down the road and living here all his years, except his stint with the army, the man has seen his far share of changes.  These walks give the old farmer time.  Time to think.  Time to remember.  Maybe even time to prepare.  He walks because he knows he can, and fears the time he cannot.  “The world changes.” He mutters to himself, the frosty mist of his words floating away upon the breeze. Chas wonders how he fits in, what his purpose is, and if he really matters. 

Martha’s passing hit him hard.  Oh how, he had relied upon that woman.  He bites his lip at the word woman.  No, Martha was much more than “some woman”; she had been his whole life.  On this frosty morning he wondered if she knew just how much of his existence his beloved had been.  Maybe that’s why he was walking today.  How easy it would have been to decide that it was just too cold -- to miss one day – this day – that it made no difference.  But he felt close to her when he was alone – which was most of the time – and closest as he walked Jones Road.

Here in the country, alone and away, surrounded by familiar but open spaces, the void in his life apparent.  The weaker would avoid these reminders – the tearing at the scab of un-healable wound.  But Chas finds the strength and strangely a comfort in the emptiness.  The pain might remind of the loss – the terrible loss – but the loss reminds of what has slipped away, and what was, and what he had.  He had a great deal.  Memories connect one thing to another, and in memories Martha lived.  Yes, here on Jones Road his heart knew that she would always be a part of him, more than his wife, more than the mother of their five children.  She was more than a friend – so much more than words could possibly express.  Only his heart knew just how much – and his heart felt Martha so near on these hikes, down and back.

The thermometer showed little red as he had glanced while leaving the back door of the farmhouse.  Ten below was ten below.  In years long past the younger man would scarcely blink, it was January after all, and January can be cold.  Yes, in his eighty-seven years Chas had seen cold weather and blinding snows.  He had also witnessed blazing summers, thunderstorms like the one that had taken the old house.  And he had shared those times as well as spring’s plantings and autumn’s harvests with Martha.  So many years they did without, yet as a team they had struggled but survived, and in the end prospered.  Together they had made the journey.  That is why he walked each day, for he knew that together they had gone down and back.

(655 Words)

            1-13-2015