The Sadness of Old BuildingsWritten by Gary E. Anderson
The Sadness of Old Buildings (From book No Smooshing!) Gary E. Anderson www.abciowa.comFor years, I’ve carried on a not-so-friendly debate with some of my artist friends from West Coast about their ideas of what constitutes a good subject. We seem to be able to agree on certain things, like apples and oranges—and even certain landscapes. But when it comes to their paintings of dilapidated old farm buildings, we part company. Some folks see rundown farmhouses and caved-in barns as romantic. Artists paint pictures of buildings with weathered boards, leaning at impossible angles—and people take those paintings home and hang them on their walls. But for me, I see those same abandoned farmsteads as unspeakably sad. After all, each one of those boarded up farmhouses represents death of someone’s hopes and dreams for future of their children and themselves. I get same sad feeling whenever I pass through a small town that was once a thriving place, full of life and activity, but now sits empty and lifeless, slowly crumbling back into black earth from which it sprang. Last week, I was lost on some back road (not an unusual situation for me) when I came across just such a ghost town. There was no name that I could see, but there were three buildings, huddled next to each other against prairie wind, and I could still make out some faded letters above their doors. The first one had been a general store, second a garage, but it was third building that captured my imagination. On its side was printed word “Hotel.”
| | June WeddingsWritten by Gary E. Anderson
June Weddings (From book Spider’s Big Catch) by Gary E. Anderson www.abciowa.comAs June wraps its arms around us like warm hug of a favorite aunt, I begin to think about weddings. I've been a musician for thirty years, and I've played at scores of weddings and receptions, sometimes more than once for same person. It was a way to make a living—the money was good and there was usually decent food. As a wedding soloist, I’d sit off to side, watching brides in white dresses and grooms in rented tuxedos promise to love each other forever. But somehow, I couldn’t shake a sadness that always hung over me as I watched, knowing that one in every two marriages will fail. I can’t explain it, but over years, I developed an eye for knowing whether a couple was going to make it or not. There was just something about way bride and groom related to each other—the look in their eyes and their body language—that offered clues as to how their marriage was going to turn out. Then one afternoon, while our band was playing for a large reception in a small town ballroom, I casually looked across vast sea of people. My glance moved from table to table, until I saw bride and groom, sitting alone in a corner. They were sitting in total ease, holding hands, saying nothing. Her flowing white dress and his tuxedo seemed out of place, but their happiness and comfort with each other was totally apparent. There was no question that those two people belonged together. They would’ve been sitting there in those same two chairs, still holding hands in exactly same way, if they’d been wearing blue jeans and overalls at someone else’s reception.
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