Dripping with Friends

My Sweet Al has always referred to my artist friends as “Flaky.” To me they were unconventional, with a slightl twist of strange behavior.  Al has changed his mind over the years about my friends. He’s become more tolerant and they’re become more tolerable. They’ve settled down and we’ve grown up.

I never understood why he didn’t like my friends. They brought life to the party. They were the party. Grant it, they enjoyed their colorful reputation as engaging eccentric artists. I found in my Greek studies, eccentric means ex – ‘of out,’  kentron ‘center.’ Out of center. That makes sense to me.

And yes, they were over the top. They sucked up the room with new ideas, their own importance, and how they thought the world needed them and their creativity. That’s what made them charming to me. I could trip with them.

I have an artist friend who has turned to writing. She’s all over the place. She’s a loose canon. She jumps from one idea to another and pulls at the reins. Her excitement can’t be reined in. Writing is a new discovery for her. Whatever she does, she tackles it like a brewing storm and rides it like the tail of a hurricane.

She sends me a story she’s written, and before I have time to critique it, she sends another story of the same story. Within an hour, I will have received another version of the same story. I want to tell her whoa, slow down. But, I know what’s happening. She gets excited and she can’t help herself. She wants the world to enjoy her words because she enjoys writing them.

I love her gusto for life.  I have a feeling her husband must be cut from the same cloth as My Sweet Al. It takes a unique kind of guy to turn loose the reins and throw them over the back of his wife and let her have our own head.

I have another friend who called last week. She lives on the western slopes of Colorado and wants to relocate in a small town on the other side of Wolf Creek Pass. I cleared my schedule for a week so I could travel with her around the southern part of the state. Her goal was to find the perfect place she could live and have an art community around her. Sounds good to me.

My friend, Jubilee, is flamboyant, adventurous and fun. Her gigantic white hair, big brown eyes, long black lashes, bright pink leggings and funky shoes could be a little out of place in Pagosa. She wears sparkly gems in her hair, around her neck and around her waist. She drives up in a new black Lexus with a tiny little dog named Huck who is never out from under her arm.

She has a big generous smile. I run to meet her with my packed bag and with my own excitement. We leave for our trip and My Sweet Al says, “Go have fun,” and then he flinches.

She and I went to a little town, which was like Telluride forty years ago. The town has brought in the arts, a great coffee shop, and galleries. It has darling little old remodeled houses. It’s an artist’s dream.

Her friend Dennis is her contact there. He drove us around the area, and took us to his favorite restaurants, and hangouts. He introduced us to his real estate person. We walked from gallery to gallery. He followed and meandered behind. He was either enjoying watching us as we discovered his little town, or he didn’t want to be seen with us.

Dennis has a strong, quiet demeanor. My friend has a very energetic excitable personality, and I was enjoying both of them. Maybe my friend was too much for this little quiet tow, which wants to grow up to be a town for artists.

We walked from shop to shop, gushing with dripping words of oh and awes, wow and out-of-sight as we looked at the vendors’ wares. Art is easy to get excited about. My friend is a willing buyer for anything that catches her eye.

I said to Dennis, “Are you doing okay?”

He said, “I’m tripping with you.”

I thought he said, “I’m dripping with you.” So I said, “Dripping or tripping?”

“Both.”

Now, I understand why My Sweet Al can’t get caught up with my friends, he doesn’t know how to drip with them.

Next week I’m writing about Al’s one and only best friend. I call him Zum. They are perfect for each other. They drip with each other and gush over each other’s Kubota tractors. He waters his grass and the spray come over the fence to Al’s grass. 

Al says thank you for watering my grass and Zum says that’s what friends do. It’s a cute, sweet friendship.

Zum’s philosophy is much like Pooh. He walks across the field to visit his best friend, and plays the guitar and sings to the birds and butterflies on the way.

This is why Al drips with Zum, his best friend. “It is more fun to talk with someone who doesn't use long, difficult words but rather short, easy words like "What about lunch?”  ― A.A. Milne, Winnie-the-Pooh

Final Brushstroke: It’s amazing how friendships begin and how they develop over the years.  Al has grown more at ease with my friends, in fact, truth be told, he probably likes them. You’ll never see him gush or drip over anyone, except maybe his best friend, Zuma.