Reviewing old photos lately has been like seeing the shifting of the sands in the desert where we lived in Nevada for a while. The changes are subtle but when coming back to the same place, there is such differences that they are deniable. What’s also been amazing is seeing the changes in our own lives. We lived in Nevada, but also in England, and in Idaho in the last 18 years or so. The landscapes have changed as much as the faces. Some of the people we used to be with have died, too. Most difficult is seeing my poor mother bury her father in a grave next to the one she would occupy only two years later.
It has not just been people lost, but also animals that were more than just pets, but also friends. Patches was the first horse I have had to have shot because of cancer in his most sensitive of places. He was part cob of some sort, possibly Gypsy Vanner, and he was so big and strong, and to have such a magnificent animal put down was surreal, and obviously so sad.
It was not too long after that his daughter suffered the same fate. She was an average size horse, and even in the photo above, she can be seen to be quite a lot smaller than Patches was. She was a difficult horse, but her father was amazing. She took after her mother, also a difficult horse, unless I was chasing cows on the BLM with her, then she found me to be a difficult rider. She probably always found me a difficult rider.
No matter the disposition or magnitude of the animal, without exception, losing mom a few years back has been the hardest thing to happen since coming back to America. There is nothing that can make of for her loss and nothing that could replace her. She was that lady I could send off to Home Depot to get a part, and no matter what it was meant to be, she would come back with it without problem. She had her troubles. Lots of people have troubles of some sort. While some might be inclined to say that her death put her at ease, I refute that. Her death put her to an end, and what she really needed was competent help. I seldom cry over it anymore though. It’s not that I don’t hurt for her loss or miss her. It’s simply not the only pain I have had, and I cannot cry over everything I have felt sore for. I am sure I will think of her one last time as I myself die one day. People do that.
There is so much in these old photos, from the magnificent to the humorous, but nothing compares in my heart to my wife and kids. Those treasures are mine, and I will not share them here.
Sometimes I feel like people judge me. People take one look and make their own assessment and then decide to be a part of my life, or more often, leave me alone. I would bet a lot of people feel just the same. They are lonely and want people they can share company with, and be friends with, and never feel betrayed by. It is harder than ever since the cross-pollination of Social Media and Politics leading up to, and including the national death of our decency. Hell, it pushed me off Social Media once and for all. I have not been back for more than to gather birthday wishes and have a peek to see what a few people have been up to in more than two years. I am not inclined to return, and while I have had an Instagram account too, I am now feeling like jumping that ship too. There are lots of things to look at, sure, and also on YouTube, but I am concerned about the amount of time I have left, and what I am doing with it. If there is one thing I am sure of, it is that arguing about things no one person could ever change on Social Media is NOT living. In fact, it is more like dying inside.
Not living will consume most of the time of the Universe. There is more than plenty of that. The dust that is my being will be consumed in the fire of the sun in an amount of time I cannot even properly conceive of. Humanity will have evolved out of existence by then. What will be here? Nobody can possibly know. That is a couple of billion years from now, and only 65 millions years ago, there were massive dinosaurs all over the place. They were around for something like three times the amount of time since they have gone. They changed a lot over that time, and I imagine we will too.
When we die, everything we are, and everything we have been born into loses all meaning to us. The living hold on to titles and dreams and nobilities. The dead are the same. When I met this guy, I realized though that the living are really all the same in many ways, too. The dead have no memory, and the living build everything they are upon the collective one.
Imagine if the next generation were born without any memory of what a King is, or a nation, or a border? Imagine if there were no recollection of tribes and skin colors? I am not saying that everything should be swept under the rug and forgotten. It is a dream only that it could even be. But where would we be if we could?
It’s thanks to file naming conventions and the number of pictures I have taken with my camera that I have now got a folder on my computer with photos of eight years spent in England interspersed with photos of the desert in Nevada, and the snowy landscapes of winters in Idaho.
I have seen a lot. It is enough to make me not want to cry…
Because, always, things just change. It never asks for my permission. Sometimes I am the agent of that change. But a lot of it just goes on, with or without me.
So it has been good to review the photos of these last two decades or so. I have not shared the best here. The ones I count as the best are the ones I would not share online. They are the ones of the best people I know.
P.S.: I am feeling philosophical right now. Part of that is the trip through some memories. Some of it is knowing that one day I will lose everything I have. Part of it is just being acutely aware that the most of what I do have is shared with only a very few people, because I have been learning the hard way lately that there are not many I should be sharing much with. I have a mild feeling of betrayal coming from a couple of different angles, and I feel more like recoiling myself than putting more of me out to get shit on.