Stealing beauty

Right now I’m stealing time. It’s 8:10 at Westwood and the students are clicking away at the keyboards. I’ve tried to limit my personal computer time during work these first two weeks, but I still have coffee to drink and am officially not awake and so what’s a few minutes to let the few of you in on something.

This isn’t about my new job and it’s not about being back—both good things, but maybe not enough right now. This is about the important bits of beauty that come into your life and how you have to treasure them. Really this is about Skunk Ape. You know how in high school someone says with the worldly experience of a 16 year old that “everything is temporary” and you cling to that sentiment and their hipness and begin to emulate just how unattached you can become in your personal life and you cease reflecting on the recently discarded childhood and innocence and eventually, about 20 years later, you think “yeah, nothing is real” and the meaning changed? Or is that just me? Well, I have a few things that have buoyed me through the rootless ideological idiocy–family, friends, and the cats that possess me. And Skunk Ape, aka Ms. Monkles, russet nose princess of my heart had to be put to sleep this Monday.

So this is a plea to you all, find that beautiful bit in your life and enjoy it while it lasts. Learn from it, emulate it, document it—but don’t put it off or forget it’s importance. Because everything really is temporary, but experiencing it is real.

6 responses to “Stealing beauty

  1. The advice is good and I agree with you. But most people know the value of someone, once they lost them.

  2. Your reference to high school reminded me of The Outsiders and the Robert Frost poem:

    Nature’s first green is gold,
    Her hardest hue to hold.
    Her early leaf’s a flower;
    But only so an hour.
    Then leaf subsides to leaf.
    So Eden sank to grief,
    So dawn goes down to day.
    Nothing gold can stay.

    Everything is temporary, even our memories. But to document, with words and images, will help our memories last.

  3. Hi Julia, I’ve been quietly following from my (not-so) new life in California the travels and travails of yours. And, though I wish I’d popped in to say hi and how are you more often, I do have to send my most sincere condolences now for your dear Skunk Ape. I’m so sorry to hear this very sad news…

  4. Julia, I am so sorry for your loss. She was a very special being, and I remember your sharing of Skunk Ape at Goldstein. There will always be a part of her that travels with you. Thank you, Shelby, for sharing the Frost poem.

  5. And thank you all. Nancy, I miss hearing about your life. Resend me links to it. And Kimbre, you’re right she’ll be with me. Right now it hurts, but with time I’ll only feel the presence and not the absence. Shelby, I couldn’t have come up with that and thanks, you remind me that I need to re-Frost from time to time. Love to you all and the email well-wishers.

  6. On Skunk Ape’s last morning she sat on the screen porch in the morning sun and watched a Japanese spider weave her message on the other side of the screen. Her sharp eyes wouldn’t leave that spider. She was probably trying to charm it. The next morning the spider was dead in it’s web; and I cried again. (uncontrollably). But today our vet sent a wonderful card with a poem about our departed pets. I’ll send it to Julia to share.

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