Leaving Amanda's last night, the rain was coming down with such force that I was soaked in minutes. There was no point in waiting for it to stop, so I hurried to the bus stop on Broadway and soon the bus came and filled with other drenched humans. We were in good spirits, generous with one another. The sound of thunder interrupted our conversations. It was a real summer rain, the kind that breaks the heat. And here it is only June.
It was Amanda's birthday and her apartment was filled with people she loves-- so many people she loves! It was something to see. She is a wizard of love. A sorceress of love? We were all there. Her special people. Family and friends. Her two grown children who adore and respect her. Her lovely husband. Her mother-in-law, fully present and wise at 93.
It was even more remarkable than the rain storm. The love she gathered around herself. The love she inspires. I couldn't help but compare my own pitiful ability, to gather and keep. Friendships, sisters, children. So many people. On the way home, I thought of who I would invite if I were ever to fill my apartment with my loved ones. Am I just more selective? Or do I lack a talent for love? It's a painful question. I think of my father, not my early father, but the later one-- sitting in silence in front of the TV, walking out of the room as I played my guitar. The father who had little interest or need beyond his own small world. Smart and charming as he was-- or could be, he was alone.
But I'm an artist. I'm not like my father. Am I like my father?