Field of Dreams

Washed of colour, ill-defined and crumpling, the birthday tulips fresh three weeks ago droop limp beside the dry vase.

I keep them there on the dining table, though, not as a reminder of a past joyful celebration, but simply because they inspire me as I watch them grow more beautiful in their diminishment, more graceful in their fragility. They speak of a dignified humility in their acceptance of who they are.

“We’re flowers till the end”, I hear them murmur to each other.

It was years ago on the island of Barbados in the Caribbean that I met a retired couple from Germany. Watching them play social tennis everyday between swims, I started to visualize what it might be like to “retire” in such a manner: with friends, daily having a happy hit or two before breakfast, before sculpting, before other work.

The vase of tulips made me realize the tock was ticking. More importantly, their spirited presence kept me motivated and determined for the three days the excavator scraped the field flat as a start in fulfilling this dream of community coming together via tennis.

To be honest, I’m not really sure of its ultimate end use. For lack of funds, maybe just a dirt volley ball court. I do have other dreams to consider — such as expanded artist-in-residency studios.

What I do know, however, is that to make any vision a reality — whether artistic, scientific or otherwise — a bit of “irrational”, “out of the box” thinking needs to enter into the equation along with courage to do what seems impossible.

It also helps to accept that the journey is more about discovery than end results, and, that for anything to unfold some sort of start must be made for the possibility to unfold. Staring at a blank canvas never created a painting. Staring at a sloping field never created a level playing field.

But my knees “are” shot and my lower back “does have” degenerating discs. Walking is always a bit painful, let alone trying to chase a tennis ball.

But still….

But still….

Dreams never sought after result in a crippling of the soul.

When neighbour Yve and I ran around the dirt yesterday making winning Wimbledon shots, it didn’t really matter that we were…. were….. were what? Silly, stupid, naive, childish?

What we experienced was a moment of pure potential. A moment where the world was all that we imagined it could be.

A moment when this “field of dreams” became real.