Osler's Razor

There are some moments that seem more important than others.

A few weeks ago, I was in Detroit, visiting my parents.  It's hard to go back, in some ways, because every time I go to that city it seems to have slipped a little in some way.  Right now, it is slipping into bankruptcy, which now appears to be inevitable.   Even with each stuttering step backwards, though, there is something good that blooms.  I remember once driving through the East Side with my Mom and Dad, near the social service agency where my mom was working.  There was block after block of... well, nothing, just empty fields where there used to be stores and houses and a thriving community.  We fell silent, because there was nothing to say, until my mom pointed and said "look at the wildflowers!"  She was right, of course.  There was an explosion of color hidden among the ruins.

In the past few years, my dad has gotten into a wonderful routine at a new place, the Dirty Dog Jazz Cafe.  It's a bar and restaurant that is a real labor of love for the owner, a longtime jazz fan and supporter.  My dad's role is something like house artist; he paints or photographs the musicians, and those portraits line the walls.

We went out to dinner there when I was back home.  The band was sitting around in a back room, and we popped in on them to say hello.  Really, my dad did; he is gregarious in a way I will never be, and he knew them.  Or maybe he didn't-- it's hard to tell because he has that rare gift of treating strangers like old friends.  They talked about the music, and the place, and art.  When we sat down, it was beneath a great painting my dad did of James Moody.  In the picture, Moody is smiling, warm, content.  There is no darkness in it, no brooding; he looks like someone who can't believe he has such a great job. 

So, now that is who James Moody is to me.  That's what art, and an artist, does.  I see him do it and it all seems like a magic trick, like conjuring a dove out of nothing.  He stares at the canvas, squints, and draws the character out, seemingly by force of will.  Then... there it is, looking back at you, smiling, warm, content.

Not all moments are equal, and I loved that one.