If wishes were ponies....

We get up and get started right away, Lynn is a “do-er” so there’s no hemming and hawing about what we should do. This is the person I need to become (again). So we make our way, off for an exploratory hike in the ‘woods’ outside of Santa Fe. Only 4 miles roundtrip (the Bear Wallow trail) but some steep inclines and an elevation that I am not used to. We live at basically sea level; we are at approximately 7,000 feet here. We encounter many lovely people, interestingly most with dogs. We both lament how we miss ours. I find myself getting a little out of my head, which is a relief.

It also happens to be Kentucky Derby weekend; I look forward to the Triple Crown events every year. I have been a fan of horseracing for awhile, and in fact exposed HIM to the sport; I even took him to a couple of live races. We spent the year before watching the Derby together on a weekend where we also went to a concert of one of my favorite bands, the Neighbourhood. I rented us a fancy hotel for the night and we went downtown, shopped for vinyl records and enjoyed some cocktails. Vinyl was his thing; we went to a record store and I found an album from one of my favorite local bands from back in the day, guys that I knew. I had to ask the guy who was working at the store if they had anything from this particular band and he very reluctantly pulled out an album from the behind-the-counter, you-have-to-be-in-the-know area. They wanted $75 dollars for the album and I was mostly just curious if they even had anything from them. I got my nostalgia on and went back to join him in the stacks. He asked what I was talking to the clerk about, I explained and then we moved on. Later, he was purchasing his selections and he ended up buying it, on the sly, presumably for me; he handed it to me with a grin. I though it was the sweetest gesture! Later, we went back to our room, watched the Derby, then joined some friends for the concert. One of the best weekends I had in a long time and was one that (I thought) was cementing our relationship. He still has the album as far as I know, and had never heard of the band before he met me; I hope he keeps it; it would be a shame to get rid of a local collectors item. I cannot imagine his 22 year old even appreciates his collection, let alone has heard about vinyl records before.

So this Saturday, the Derby had a melancholy effect on me. I wondered if he thought of me, if he even knew it was happening; thought about that weekend from the year before and that stupid album and the way I felt. I’m trying to not attach meaning to every little thought our memory that comes into my mind. I tried to put those things behind me and enjoy the race, trying to not associate the two moments in time as much as possible. This was my thing, not our thing. He just happened to be part of it for awhile (repeat this mantra over and over). This also helps:

Luckily, Lynn was game for the race even before we got to Santa Fe, so we spent part of the afternoon watching it before moving on to the Georgia O’Keefe museum. I didn’t know too much about her, except that she painted flowers that look like vaginas. I guess if that’s your niche, more power to you. Turns out, she was a lot more than that, and in fact, there has been misinterpretation of her work (although it’s hard not to see the vaginas in some of hermore famous paintings). Some of that misinterpretation came from some nude photos that her one time lover, a photographer named Alfred Steiglitz (who was married when they met) showcased in an exhibition. The critics mistook her later works to be a reflection of the sexual person she must have been, based on these photos. Steiglitz ultimately left his wife and married O’Keefe. They inspired each other artistically, but alas he cheated on her too. This isn’t supposed to be a dissertation on O’Keefe, just an ironic moment. Seems that, more often than not, a woman can never be amazing enough, good enough, just...enough. The grass is always greener and inevitably the cheat-ee is left in the emotional devastation of the cheat-er.

O’Keefe ended up out in the outskirts of Santa Fe, alone in the vast expanse, but still creating, still surviving. I wonder what she learned or took from that experience on an emotional level. You can be a housewife or a famous artist and you cannot escape emotional bullshit. Can certain people in your life see or appreciate you for what you are and what you have to offer them, or are they too afraid, maybe they can’t feel like they can live up….? We can only spectulate; the person who hurt you cannot or will not give you the answer that will satisfy your soul and make everything ok.