In the last year, several people have seen Mary's paintings and contacted me because they either knew her, have one of her paintings or would like to own one. I think putting them on Pinterest has been a factor.
Mary was raised Episcopalian and gravitated in the 60s toward Eastern spirituality. She and my dad both practiced yoga and accepted the Buddhist precepts of karma and reincarnation. Their lives were very spiritual and helped me find my own way on my spiritual path, admittedly with many detours and mid-course corrections.
Mary's been gone nine and a half years, and it's hard to believe. I live with her paintings at home and at work, and I miss her, and yet I know this is as it should be. We are born, we live, we grow old, and eventually we die. Next week I am meeting up with one of her dear friends while I'm attending a professional conference in Southern California. She made and kept many good friends, and most of them are gone or we've lost touch.
This week would have been my parents' 64th wedding anniversary. Recalling this got me thinking of how they drove down into Mexico, into Baja California, on their honeymoon, driving Daddy's Studebaker "Delilah." They came to an arroyo where the road was washed out and sat there looking at the water, wondering how they would get across. Out of nowhere a group of what I was told were called "banditos" complete with crossed bands of bullets across their chests and guns at their hips appeared and surrounded the car. My mother said she was scared. Then they removed their pants, put the bundles, including weapons, atop their heads, and carried the car safely to the other side.
I have always thought this was very cool. Still do.
