Every neighborhood has a fixture, a mascot of sorts who is always there, come rain or shine. It seems as if you can almost set your watch by their presence. It comes to a point when you’re convinced, even illogically, that they have been there from the initial creation. And, in all probability, they will still be presiding over it all long after you’re part of the sediment on which you are currently meandering. Silly, yes, but we know bursts of absurdity have flashed through our own minds on occasions past, so what’s one more?
My childhood neighborhood staple was Mrs. Farley. She was a short, stocky woman who was a sauntering bundle of sweet quirkiness. Her hair, always pulled back in a bun, served as a battleground for streaks of brown and gray. It was always a coin toss as to which would dominate the playing field upon her head on any given day. Like many in the neighborhood, she had her own little vegetable garden in her tree lined backyard, laundry draped over a clothesline stretched between two maples, and her front and back porches were a second home to a multitude of flower boxes overrun by gangs of geraniums. Nothing out of the ordinary. Except, during the humid summer months, she would sit on her small back porch serenading the neighborhood with her accordion. Hand to God.
I spent many a night growing up watching fireflies dancing to Mrs. Farley’s rendition of ‘Edelweiss’. I often entertained myself by giving Mrs. Farley a thick accent so she’d sound like Mrs. Olson from the Folger’s coffee commercials. It amused me… Admittedly, it doesn’t take a very shiny object to entertain me at any given time.
I remember her vividly and fondly. To this day, I cannot hear an accordion, or even watch The Sound of Music, without thinking of Mrs. Farley channeling her inner Lawrence Welk. Since Mrs. Farley left us in the mid-70’s, I’ve lived in seven states and more mostly urban dwellings than I care to list for fear of overloading my already fragile GPS. My surroundings—my life—has changed time and time again. It happens, you know?
Life goes on as it’s prone to do. Neighborhoods change, and so do their not-so-eternal staples and landmarks, the things we think will be there forever. And, of course, so do we. Changes, temporary and permanent, are inevitable. It happens to us all, whether we like it or not. Take a long hard look at yourself right now. Are you the same person on the same levels as you were five years ago? Five weeks ago? In some cases even five days ago? Big and small, change is with us, flaunting itself like an egocentric peacock. “Look at me! Look at me!” But, you know what? The most earth-shattering change is the kind that sneaks up on us. The change that roosts high upon a limb, well above our inflating and/or deflating ego, cooing softly like a dove. Then, out of the blue and when you least expect it, it drops on you – SPLAT! It drops right on you and your classic ’66 Mustang that you’ve been painstakingly detailing for the past four-and-a-half hours! It can make you realize that some of the things you thought were important were really no more than distracting filler. And, at the same time, you grasp that a few things you took for granted were a bit more significant than you once believed. Well, imagine that.
Have you noticed how much positive PR there is out there regarding hindsight? We all crave it, need it, covet it even. But we rarely have it until… well, you know. Once that reality hits, you suddenly become double jointed as you enthusiastically kick yourself in the butt over and over and over again. The battle cry of “shoulda, woulda, coulda” begins playing in our head like an annoying tune (the theme to the old ‘Light Bright’ commercials, for example… you’re humming it to yourself, aren’t you? BWHAHAHAHAHA!).
There’s a fixture in my Long Beach neighborhood who lives about two blocks from me. I see him virtually every single time I’m strolling through the vicinity. He’s a larger man, bald with a large walrus-type mustache. His olive skin shows a lot of wear-and-tear yet his deep, dark eyes seem to sparkle. He sits in his wheelchair on the sidewalk outside of his apartment building either chatting with neighbors and anyone passing by or watching his portable DVD player. There is a small American flag hanging on the back of his chair proudly displayed next to a US Marine’s decal. An ever present cigarette can be found lodged between his pudgy index and middle finger of either hand, giving the impression of being an accomplished ambidextrous smoker. No matter how warm and sunny it may be he is always bundled up in a heavy coat and knit hat. His obviously swollen feet are encased in heavy wool slippers. He speaks every time I pass him. His voice is strong, not intimidating, and genuinely friendly. When he asks, “How are you?” I honestly believe he is actually interested in whatever answer I provide. Our relationship is not a complex one by any means. It never strays from the usual generic pleasantries regarding the always topical weather, which is wedged between the verbal parentheses of “hello” and “see you later”. We haven’t even taken the time to introduce ourselves to one another. But, like clockwork, he is always there, come rain or shine. You can set your watch by him…if you’re wearing one, that is.
That relationship altered greatly last week. I was walking my usual route when I came to his spot on the sidewalk. Instead of seeing him in his ever-present chair, I saw a large makeshift memorial. There were several candles—eleven in fact—and more than a few flowers. Attached to the gate was a large piece of cardboard covered in a wide array of handwritten sentiments. In the lower right hand corner of the cardboard was a United States Marine’s decal. There was one photo displayed and, low and behold, it was him. I was stunned. His name, I discovered, was Richard. But nearly everyone referred to him as Taco. There were notes from a wide range of individuals. Clearly all very close friends who are deeply affected by the loss of their brother, their fellow journeyman, their buddy. The shaky, unstable printing of a young child was clearly visible, too, as was their own personal sense of loss. Taco’s American flag, which was always present on the back of his chair, now looked down over it all from the upper left hand corner of the memorial.
I was shocked at how this man’s death hit me. As I said, I didn’t really know him. But he was familiar, he was a part of my surroundings, and suddenly he just wasn’t. His exit was another all-too-present reminder of not only the brevity of our physical life, but to make a point to be a bit more interactive with our aforementioned surroundings. People, places, any combination thereof.
Change can knock your socks off. But, maybe that’s just a sign that it’s time to go barefoot for a while. A reminder to reconnect with your surroundings minus the filler, the distractions, the sentiment we often displace. Common sense dictates that if you lessen the load you can pick up the speed. The question is, what do you keep, what do you discard?
Ella, the newest member on my roster of Spirit Guides, offered a look into this quandary. She channeled the following with her usual iron-fisted finesse…
“Let It Go! Let It Go! Let. It. GO!
“Let go of what, you ask? Does it matter? What holds you down? What darkens your spirit, your soul, your heart? What heaviness burdens you down and impedes your speed, adding worthless weight when more substantial supplies are requisite? A car has four wheels so do you carry eight on your trip? You do not require the bare minimum but, instead, learn to bear the minimal. Discard what does not serve, carry what you need. Then be willing to remove along the way while embracing the replacements as they come forth.
“Nothing stays the same forever. Your life path changes. Your attitudes and beliefs change, your friends and loves—they all change. What makes you believe that you are immune to change as well? Do you actually think you are above all of that? Flexibility, my child, flexibility. Flow as the river or come to rest in the debris of the dry riverbed. Nourish to flourish, starve to stay put. The choice is, of course, always yours.”
– ♥ Ella
We have been given this life so, my friends, make a point to actually LIVE IT! Don’t just meander through its halls. Check each door as you go along, rattling the knobs of the ones currently locked, and then move on to the next. Different doors, different rooms, different surroundings…one change after another. Explore them. Some changes will work for you and some will not. That’s just how it goes. But you won’t know until you face them.
Allow the changes—no matter what they may be—to fuel, not hinder, you. A new job or someone’s death are both changes. Initially, one seems a lot better than the other, right? But how do these changes truly affect you in the long haul? A new job brings with it great promise and potential. No complaints there! The loss of another brings sadness and sorrow. But, what about the change that follows the initial reaction? A loss can, in time, help you better appreciate what you’ve had, what you currently have and what you may have with others down the road. You see, there is even change within change. As Ella stated, “Nothing stays the same forever.” And, believe it or not, that’s a good thing.
So, Taco, I thank you for this change in my life at this moment. I thank you for the reminder to step back, regroup, rethink and reevaluate. If anyone reading this has an epiphany or two because of it, then make a point to thank Taco, too. You see? He may be physically gone but he is still speaking to anyone who passes by his way.
And, if you run into Mrs. Farley, be sure to give her a “one more time!” from me.
Copyright © 2014, Charles A. Filius
