Things Done and Things Left Undone

Today will be busy. I have much to do before leaving this afternoon for East Texas, the first leg of my return trip to northern New Mexico. My list-in-progress is made. The back of the Toyota already shows evidence that someone is going somewhere. I already know, beginning with the day I traded my Ford crew cab for the 4Runner, that the back area of this mid-range SUV holds a mighty stash of treasure, but today will be another proving ground. I suspect that any plans I might have had about having room for any treasure hunting on the 700-mile journey will be foiled. Clothes, books, the boxes of merchandise I brought to Texas with the hope of selling for friends in Santa Fe will be mostly making the return trip, along with three precious Rubbermaid tubs of Pueblo Indian pottery, the third installment in my efforts—so far unrealized—to lighten my load of vintage American Indian arts. As of this writing, “antique” baskets and rugs have languished in a Santa Fe gallery for the last nine months, priced by the gallery owner so that “I couldn’t afford these prices,” I observed after consigning them. There must be a message here, one that I will have to consider seriously when I get back to Santa Fe and before turning over any more collectible goods to be offered for sale.

Here on the land we are on day three and the final day of a mini family reunion of Hollis cousins. My older sisters, Sue and Joan, and I are being visited by Cousin Marilyn, the daughter of Daddy’s youngest sister, Frances. We’ve had a grand time. In the true Hollis tradition, Marilyn came with food, and food has been the centerpiece of much of the visit. We’ve dined in my garden, relished cheese and wine on the second story deck of my barn home, reminisced with bowls of Cream O’ Wheat sitting in the kitchen area of the bunkhouse part of the barn, and lunched on venison and pork sausage, complemented by mashed potatoes and sauerkraut on the patio of Joan’s home, which is the family home on this place that our parents bought as retirement property in 1973. Mealtime is a special time of celebration in the Hollis family. We’ve talked about everything from recipes to religion and politics—in spite of everything we all know about the danger of discussing R &P—“Only a fool discusses religion and politics,” Mother often quoted her daddy Frank as saying. And of course, we’ve had plenty to say about family, both blood and otherwise.

I told my sisters and cousin late yesterday that today I have to focus on closing up this place and getting on the road. And though I have been slowly, slowly, getting things in place for my departure, the last day always demands a last-minute burst of energy and focus, focus. The list will be observed, line-by-line, even though some things just might not be checked off. And that, I have learned, is okay. The floor will be mostly swept, the commodes—all three of them—cleaned, the bed changed and the laundry done, the refrigerator emptied of perishables—especially in consideration of the two most unfortunate experiences I’ve had over the last two years because of power failures in my absence.

The garden is lovely and lush, following life-giving rains over the last six weeks. And though the beds and paths are a little weedy, I’m letting it pass. I’m leaving money with Joan for paying the hombre who I hope will do a little cleaning in my absence. He knows the drill after helping me a couple of times. It doesn’t really matter all that much for right now, however. The water feature will go silent this afternoon. Only the birds of song and hum and the butterflies and various things that bzzzz will fill the air with sound in this sanctuary. I’ve noticed lately that rabbits are enjoying this garden space, and I wonder, just like I have about the cardinals, if maybe, just maybe, some people I have loved and lost, though just for now, might be in this space. Not one of the winged and four-legged creatures cares a whit about a patch of “weeds” here and there. On the contrary, working on the notion that a weed is just a flower out of place, they’ll all probably sigh in relief that it’s a little messier around here than it used to be, and that's cause for celebration of the artful wildness of this place.

So I will work my list today, taking time for coffee and Cream O’ Wheat with sisters and cousin, while I do my laundry, mostly sweep my floors, stow the worldly goods making this leg of the journey in the back of the Toyota, and set the AC to 85 and the ceiling fans upstairs and downstairs a whirring in anticipation of a Texas summer. On-off, up-down, in-out, sigh and go. Some things will get done and some things will be left undone. I’ve given myself permission to be messy and incomplete and a little more at peace than has been my habit in the past.

Things Done and Things Left Undone—Normangee Texas (April 16, 2009)
R. Harold Hollis