He would call me up at work to tell me things like “You can’t waste time before you’re 35.” Doing nothing on a Wednesday afternoon, but for reading this article, he thought it was important to let me know. Both of us in our early twenties, we gave ourselves the permission for things like that — contemplating and justifying our youthful actions, never imagining that time would actually pass, and pass at lightning speed.
His current days were slow, in between freelance jobs, and mine were slow, endlessly working on the catalog.
Just out of college, I did layout and design. It sounds more glamorous than it was. My current project was to create a plumbing and heating catalog. Hundreds of pages. Thousands of parts. Number after number. All under an impossible deadline. Because prices had a lifespan, they could change before I finished one section. And to complete this monstrosity and get it to print before all the pricing would actually change, well it just seemed impossible. So when my best friend would call with important news like he thought he might resemble Tristan (Brad Pitt) from the Legends of the Fall movie, and should he buy a horse, and what about parking, could you park a horse? — to this, even though I knew I could and had fallen legendary, I had to reply, “I’m working on the catalog…”
After months of getting this response he decided that when complete, we would burn this catalog. True to his word, he arrived in our parking lot the day the printer dropped off the cartons. When everyone had left for the day, we took a garbage barrel and rolled it to the center of the parking lot. Of course we said a few words, we were dramatic like that, and set fire to the pages that separated our unwastable time for all these months. I suppose we could have emptied the barrel. But we didn’t. Soon the flame rose higher than our youthful hopes, and became far too obvious for those driving by on Hopkins Crossroad. I couldn’t see if he was praying, but I knew I was — praying in slight fear that the flames would get away from us, but really more in gratitude that I had such a champion. A champion who marked the moments. Who recognized my time.
Sitting in the studio yesterday, painting in my sketchbook that no one will see, listening to Oprah and Brene Brown talk about being seen, being heard, being valued…I thought, “I just need a champion.” And it’s not about vanity, or ego, it is simply having someone stand beside the flames and knowing together this was time well spent.
I sent my sketch to Margaux — sweet, little Margaux, who is so free with her wows! She sent the hearts and the open mouth smiley, and said it was beautiful. And my time was not wasted. Each tiny stroke in this sketchbook brought to me my champion. And I gave thanks beside the flame.
