Late April by Bato Dugarzhapov

I came across this painting by Russian artist Bato Dugarzhapov and felt attracted immediately. I think it pretty much summarizes what appeal to me most in life, which are sun-drenched flowers, blue sea and an overall simplicity.

Riley and Spring

The weather was unusually warm this February. One night I woke up to the sound of rain on my roof, the subdued pitter-pattering was so soothing it lulled me right back into pleasant slumbering.

The next morning, looking out of my bedroom window, I saw the cherry tree in my front yard sprouting with reddish young buds. A few days later it was in full glorious bloom, a mass of lively pink against the limpid blue sky. Across the street, the old gnarled dogwood tree transformed itself into a huge saturation of pure, tender white.

Then I met Riley for the first time. His parents and grandma are our regular customers so we knew he was coming into the world. His story we already heard from his granny one day when her daughter and son-in-law weren't there, that not so long ago a police officer had stopped a speeding car driven by an attractive young woman and given her a ticket, that the girl had been furious but the police officer had been so badly smitten that eventually they became Riley's mom and dad.

And now his mom had brought Riley for us to see, a beautiful four-month-old baby boy. His whole face was one huge smile, his big blue eyes were saying that being with us was his absolute pleasure, his gurgling mouth was declaring that he would love to discuss everything in the world with us. He also made it clear that he considered my finger a delicacy and kept trying to have a bite.

Seeing Riley was just like seeing spring. Both bring a happy smile to anyone they touch.

Another Old Friend

It had been nearly twenty years since we had last seen each other, and now he's stepping out of his white rental car, crossing my front yard in the light rain with a grin on his face.

We greeted each other without profusion, as if it had been just yesterday that we had parted. The café where we had met that last time no longer existed where we had lived half the world away, and added to our belts were two decades of assorted accomplishments and failures. Yet between us, it felt as if no interruption had ever taken place. He was now sitting in my chair, talking in the same peculiarly accented voice, showing the same insouciance towards everything in life.

We went out for dinner despite the rain that was getting heavier. I noticed that he still had his trademark gait, an awkward one caused by his feet kept too far apart resulting in an exaggerated swinging of his upper body. He remarked that I still had the same slightly lopsided smile and way of tapping my fingers on the table. The rest of our conversation was strictly current -- not much sense in reminiscing about the past when there is so much of the present, we tacitly agreed.

We said goodbye just as casually as when we had said hello. No big deal having been apart for twenty years or meeting again for just a couple of hours, for we would always be at ease with and understand each other no matter what.

Lone Tree

I saw this lone tree near the top of Stone Mountain outside Atlanta. I came here a few days after the big snowstorm, when the thaw had begun, to stretch my legs. The ground was still covered by snow, and I was surprised to see quite a crowd at the park.

For safety reason, a yellow tape that said police line do not cross blocked the entrance to the trail to the mountain top, which however didn't stop anyone from going around the tape to continue their climb. I simply followed the crowd and found out that the trail was indeed a dangerous mix of ice, snow and running water on slippery rock. Still it was wonderful to be outdoors again and breathe in the cool fresh air laced with a delightful dose of pine scent. Halfway to the top I had to sit down and panted like an old dog on a hot day. Boy, I had no idea I was so out of shape, but the view was totally worth it.

End-of-Year Reflections

On this penultimate day of the year I feel compelled to write down some thoughts on the dark side of life. I guess once something in my mind has been clearly expressed in words and tucked away in a file, then I can drop it and move on to newer pastures.

It already occurred to me, a long long time back, that at the core of wickedness is destruction - the destruction not just of objects, but also of freedom, dignity and happiness. Since destruction, i.e. the rise of disorder, is a natural tendency as stated by the second law of thermodynamics, I've come to accept wickedness as a natural propensity of existence. While good things require constant energy to create and maintain, bad things generally do not need any effort but prosper on negligence.

In my view, life is a mixture of construction and destruction fighting each other for supremacy. If I let down my guard then darkness will sneak right in and make my soul miserable, like weed eagerly waiting for neglection to take over a garden.

I could write hundreds of entries telling about the bad things I've encountered in my life, but what good would that do anyone including myself? Nobody wants to be dragged down by being reminded of negativity, for the world's already abundant in it. On the other hand, by choosing to focus on things positive, I refuse to be subjected to any influence by wickedness or destructivity, whatever name one might prefer to call it. That way I can keep the light in, the dark out, and win a small battle.

And on this note I'd like to put my mind at rest regarding the inevitably unpleasant aspect of life.