"Bittersweet Memory"

Sometimes life brings you gifts which you ignore, often out of shyness, or not wanting to be inappropriate. This story I share with you:

I lived in Carmel-by-the-Sea, California on Crespi Avenue over by Mission Trail. The meandering path behind my house led over to Carmel Mission, where I was (and still am) a member.
Every Sunday morning I would go out into the garden and pick fresh new blooms. I would make a small bouquet tied with pretty satin ribbon and the other blooms, I would weave through Lucy's collar.
Lucy-in-the-Sky was a sweet, jet-black cocker spaniel. We would walk the trail over to the mission. I would leave the bouquet at the feet of the Virgin Mary and put Lucy on a bench in the church yard. I sat on the last pew near the door so she could keep an eye on me and vice versa. She would patiently wait while I attended mass.
I loved that the trail was an extension of my backyard. Such a lovely place.

The cottage we lived in was more than adorable. I named it Morning Glory, after me. I am definitely a morning glory. Anyway, the cottage was tiny and looked like someone had dropped her right out of the sky from Wales and she landed in our yard that was full of gorgeous blooms. Many times after work Lucy and I would return home to find someone taking pictures.

One early morning, I was in the front garden with her curved walkway made of polished sea rocks. I was adding birdseed to the feeder while waiting for the paint to dry on the canvas that was sitting on the easel filled with acrylic paint. I was painting new blooms prior to walking over to the gallery when a silver-gray Porsche drove by. It slowed to a crawl as it reached my cottage, then continued on down the road.
The paint was dry enough now and as I added more colorful strokes to the canvas, I heard the car again. It did another slow drive as it passed the cottage. I continued to paint.

Within a few minutes I could hear it coming down the street again and this time the driver stopped. Right there. Just a few feet away. I stopped painting, turned toward him and smiled, “Good morning“.
He returned my smile with a gorgeous grin and said, “Oh my gosh, I don’t mean to be rude but I had to come back. You take my breath away. This is, well, this scene is just FAR OUT. The beauty of this place, the cottage, the rock chimney, you in your bonnet painting out here in the garden, well it is FAR OUT.”
“Yes”, I said, “Carmel is the most charming place on earth.”
“Well”, he said, “thanks for letting me look.”

I smiled.
He drove away.

The driver was John Denver. I had a collection of his works inside the cottage. Why didn’t I invite him in for a cup of tea, or at least offer to show him the backyard that was a thousand times more charming than the front yard? I kicked myself for being too shy to do that.

The next week while listening to the radio I heard the news. John Denver died four miles from my little cottage as he flew his new plane over Monterey Bay. I was so sad. I was grateful for the gifts he had brought into my life with his songs of hope, happiness, wonder and heartbreak.

Lesson learned:
Don’t be afraid of life and when the universe offers you a gift . . . take it.
You may not get another chance.

I'm so sorry that I did not invite him into my cottage for tea or to my gallery to see paintings he may have loved, including the Big Sur series.
We all want and need the same things in life . . . to love and to be loved.
Kindness is all that matters.

At the time of his death, John Denver lived in Carmel Highlands.
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