Ruth looked at the world differently than most. She had an eye for the unconventional. I took that for granted. It was around me all the time, so I assumed there were others with her vision. There may be, but I’ve learned the hard way that people like her are not the norm. Ruth is the only person I know who has works of art on display behind the stacks of dishes in our kitchen cupboards.
Like Vincent Van Gogh, Ruth saw beauty in the simplest things. She gathered leaves and twigs, seashells, driftwood, and heart shaped rocks. Some became parts of a larger work of art, while others just stood alone. She cared for them like pieces of gold.
My California kids, Ruth’s sister, Kathy, and I went to see the Van Gogh exhibit in Indio, California over the weekend. Young Jackson James was with us too. I found the experience to be overwhelming. I’ve never been an art connoisseur. Ruth was. The moment I saw the first picture, and heard the first sound, I knew she was with us. It was an emotional experience for everyone.
I’ve wondered since if I would have been struck by the sights and sounds if Ruth was with us physically. My guess is, I wouldn’t have. It would have been a nice experience, but not the emotional roller coaster I found it to be.
We all took several photos. I wonder now what will become of them. We capture moments, but if we don’t revisit them from time to time, we lose their importance. They become almost non-existent. They should be shared, and through the sharing, we’ll increase their value.
