Goo-o-o-o-od early mornin', Push-Ups readers. Coming at you live from Colorado Springs where I've had a heartbreaking front row seat to the carnage of the wildfires up in them there hills. I'm here for my niece's wedding -- she's the only daughter of my eldest sister -- and six of my mother's eight children will find themselves together for the first time in at least ten years. My sister and her husband are situated on the east side of I-25, miles out and high enough to boast of stunning views of the huge range sprawled out to the west: the awe-inspiring Rocky Mountains. Only the awe inspired in all of us here yesterday, not the first day of this outbreak of creeping conflagrations but most likely the worst, was an awesome dread for the people whose homes succumbed to the wind-spurred flames.
The smoke, in all its varying hues of gray, white and black, accompanied me, my mom and my little sister on our trek into Springs from the metro Denver area earlier in the day. By four'ish, the very air in the streets hung dark and heavy, thick with the cloying scent of smoke. The red sun felt like it belonged in another planet's atmosphere. I was reminded of the time when a volcano in upstate Alaska erupted, spewing enormous amounts of ash into the sky, and those of us in Anchorage were plunged into eerily darkened days which refused to yield to the pleading of the sun beyond. We wore masks to reduce the inhalation of the particulates for several days, if memory serves right. That was the beginning of my sophomore year. Mid 80's. And everything felt like a brooding painting, surreal, depressing, indicative of existence interruptis.
What always strikes me about natural disasters is the sheer beauty of there form and force. There's a bit of a guilty struggle within as I find myself mesmerized by the will and scope of a tornado or forest fire or flood, even as the loss and sadness of those affected strikes with equal measure at the heart. Whether our evidence of humanity, our conquering of the earth's surface and such, existed or not, neatly lined up along a Florida beach, or winding through cul-de-sacs on a steep hillside in Colorado, or spreading from farm to farm in the plains of Kansas, these natural phenomenons would still display their prowess across the land and seas. Perhaps battling one another instead of us puny but determined humans. There'd be no witness to their swirl and whirl, their rush and retreat, their devouring of all in their whimsical paths. And as odd as it sounds, I think that would be a shame. What does this say about me? As deeply empathetic as I am to my very core, my profound appreciation for beauty in all things encourages an admiration for a thing, or things, which are responsible for human destruction on a large and regular scale. (If we did the math, I still believe us humans have killed, maimed or destroyed the lives of our fellow men, women and children than any teammate on mother nature's roster.)
I'm not really going anywhere with this. I don't have a tidy end. A lesson. Just mental meanderings from a satisfied heart, a tired body, a praying spirit. Running concurrently alongside the story of these multiple destructive fires is the equally beautiful and important story of a wedding. A wedding which is also a family reunion of sorts. A wedding which has allowed me the opportunity to offer my services up to my sister in any way she sees fit as she counts down the final days to the marrying-off of her youngest child. Her girl-child now college graduate young woman. And wife . . . after Saturday early evening. So, on this fine seafaring vessel nestled amidst the wandering sprawl which is the suburbs of Colorado Springs, I am the master of the galley. The cook. Head honcho in the kitchen. And Jill-of-minor-back-and-forth chores. And I'm loving it all. Even as tired as I am. My famous Hollandaise sauce, the cornerstone for my Eggs Benedict ala sauteed veggies (tomatoes, spinach, mushrooms and asparagus), wowed the hungry breakfast crowd this morning. Did my heart wondrous good. My niece responded quite favorably to her introduction to homemade lemon curd (to lemon curd, period), smiling sweetly beyond the refreshing tartness of my thick concoction. And I got to hang out with my brother-in-law and sister at every turn. Not to mention the chance to observe and interact with the groom who is a very good egg. Cracked only in the most humorous of ways.
Now I perch on the edge of a cushioned folding chair, in dire need of a shower, awaiting the arrival of my brother, John, and his family. Even with my burning eyes and fading alertness, I'm excited to hug each and every one of them before we all pass out for the remainder of this morning. The kitchen has been cleaned for the umpteenth time. All of the hard-working wine glasses are drying on a towel. The large batch of candied almonds expertly tossed by my hands at the behest of the mother-of-the-bride has cooled and sits in an airtight container awaiting its fate at the wedding reception. I'm wishing the coyotes would set to howling just one more time. I'm hoping for more than the brief rain which fell during my earlier run/walk, whereby I trotted down a long winding sidewalk, fist-pumping the air and thanking the Lord for the moisture, willing it to move on over just a bit further west! I rue the fact that there is no self-cleaning button on me. Blechhh. I have pictures. Probably several decent ones. But the thought of plugging in the camera and loading the images, poring over them, and getting them to the blog is simply too much after the past two days.
So, wait as patiently as you can for the pictures. You'll HAVE to read the words today. Take care. I'm safe. We're safe. And pray for Colorado . . . pray for the many who exist in a state of crisis outside of our awareness, living with us in time even as those among us, and sometimes us, ourselves, celebrate life with births and weddings and parties. Because whether we know them personally or not, whether we can look outside of our picture windows and see the loss with our own eyes, somewhere there is a someone, a good many someones, suffering a loss, sudden or otherwise, on the opposite side of celebration.
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