Joint ventures
between the need to please
and in between
the joint ventured motion of marriage,
inarticulate,
invertebrate,
cartilaginous,
disjointed notion
of two in one
we pluck each other’s feathers
and we purr.
EW, 2004
It was, and still is, a long time in tandem. So, I gathered lots of humor, a trademark that inhabits both of us, and I invite you to celebrate this remarkable person I met, by chance, back in the early eighties, around Dupont Circle, in Washington, D.C. We were both invited to a party upstairs, in this ex-officio Peace Corps volunteer gathering, now returned from duty, and graduated to owning the entire building, of course, where we rented. We eyed each other then, and never quite separated, seriously, after that. His birthday in heaven is on June 19th and he was born in 1931, a Gemini free dual soul to the best of his being. There is a friendly saying that Gordon James Turnbull did his last swing at the wheel this time around, and stepped off for good on August 6, 2007, at a few minutes to midnight. I like the motion. When we lived in Borneo, his engineer work partner and our cooking lessons’ Chinese wife and friend, took us to many Daoist ceremonies, in cemeteries, where their family returned every year to leave a material wish for the dead ones, at their birthdays, and as they progressed in their afterlife. So, tiny origami refrigerators, flowers, sometimes, tiny plastic baby toys, marital bridal proposals, to ensure the departed could continue to enjoy the plenty of now. Then there was delicious food, always carefully cooked prepared and prayed for the occasion. It is a marvelous concept in celebration, and we loved the leftovers, of which no practitioner could partake.
When he died, in 2007, we, all of us, near and very far away, placed tokens of affection for him, as he left color for the flat grayness of blue, as he left the thesaurus of language. As he brought back no other than Peter Pan, tied to a post on a rock, as the waters rose: “To die will be an awfully big adventure…" Peter is saved at the final moment by a creature for whom he had done a good deed, the Never Bird." by Sir James M. Barrie, foreword on page xi, by Patricia Barrett Perkins, 1987
So, we continue the celebration.
Here is dear friend Lalado, a Buddhist without dogma, in the House of Spiders, in the Island of Itaparica, Bahia, Brasil, praying for Gordon, a few years after his death. They never met, but they knew each other well. Lalado was thanking Gordon for having the forbearance of having known me and having endured me! Patriarchy never sleeps…^--^
Gordon had a refrigerator list and would always stop you to tell you about his latest scheme: Harry, the houseboat, was one of them. We would build Harry, live in it during the growing season, and go slowly cruising south in late fall and winter. That way marital conflict was avoided, and a nomad could meet a stationary soul, and vice versa, in a compromise within the appropriateness of attractions and shifting times.
Federal prison – the grand scheme! No more fretting about old age and no money. All you have to do is commit a federal offense. But mind you, listen, (with a twinkle spark), it has to be well researched and thought out, a bona-fide federal offense attached, never mind minor courts. Think big, post office offense, like laundering money…?, those are prime offenses. Guaranteed housing, food, health and peace, till you die. Walking on water
When Gordon said he was walking on water, he meant it. His deep sense of humor helped you feel like, yes, I, too, am walking on water!! The trip to Cuba was in the planning stages, for many many years. He had contacts at State and eventually at the Department of Interior to obtain permission to sail legally to Cuba. His logical argument was that he was self-sufficient and thus would not be "trading with the enemy". The project got stalled when the bureaucrats said he would be necessarily trading for water! Desalinization water projects for boats are still somewhere here in this house, now, as they were the focus, then. I do not believe going to Cuba was the ultimate goal, but rather to be free to sail away - the truest expression of freedom. Gordon was a baker extraordinaire, having Julia child as one of his gurus... He preferred to bake outside, al fresco and liked to talk about the pricing of his goods according to your mode of transportation... if you walked miles to get to his famous cranberry biscotti you most certainly would get a free rye to take home. Prius did not rate as high as an old beat up farm pick up truck... Lexus, BMWs and Mercedes Benz did tend to get heavily penalized... but all conflict could be peacefully negotiated.
And then the time came when he wrote a letter to me, for my birthday, in January, 2007, where he promised to take care of all the laundry and ironing for the entire household, from this day forward.
That same year, in August, he died. Not fair!
I admire him and love him almost every time, as I randomly, but methodically and carefully, somewhat cheerfully fold a t-shirt, after laundry and after ironing, if needed, to prepare it for the guarding space, the organized world, inside the closets.
So many years later, I like to think I understand a bit more now about the needs of the living and of the dead.
And yet, still today, I need to wish him luck in his journeys, while at the same time what simmers is the strong wish to have him near, once again, to keep him, closely attached… as himself, as themselves, or as someone else, birds, butterflies, well baked bread, loved food, friends…
A peculiar thought keeps coming back to me —
Love without attachments is only available after life, or maybe rather after death...
Like the great poet Carlos Drummond de Andrade1 said, back in the early sixties, in his celebrated famous little poem:
Memória Amar o perdido deixa confundido este coração. Nada pode o olvido contra o sem sentido apelo do Não. As coisas tangíveis tornam-se insensíveis à palma da mão. Mas as coisas findas, muito mais que lindas, essas ficarão.
Carlos Drummond de Andrade, in Antologias Poeticas, 1962
Memory
Love of what is lost
leaves the heart
confused
Oblivion
against the senseless
appeal of Nothing
Tangible things
become insensitive
to the touch of hand
yet the things that end
glorified in beauty
they remain
(free translation)
May you, my dear friend Gordon, live forever! and may you, travel into eternity and disappear... It was, and still is, a long time in tandem.
More advice from the same great poet "Vai, Carlos, ser gauche na vida!" "Go, Carlos, be gauche in life!"
For some of his poetry, in English translations
https://allpoetry.com/Carlos-Drummond-de-Andrade
A loving piece.
Oh, Gordon. What a gem of a human! There are so many delicious moments in this writing. I love the practice of leaving small tokens for those who have moved into the beyond, though I'll admit to having a special fondness for the origami (refrigerator? how fun!) because unlike the tiny baby toys, it, too, will leave in time. I remember how much I enjoyed chatting with Gordon about his bread-making, particularly his technique for focaccia, leaving the dough to "age" for several days, as I recall.
Mr. Barrie also gave Peter Pan these words: "To live will be an awfully big adventure!" And, yes, the celebration continues. Thank you for sharing your heart, Erica.