We were at a very lovely reception this evening for Ruth. Who was our neighbor for years and years and years. Until friends helped her move into a retirement home. Where she recently passed away.
The neighborhood came to celebrate. Ruth.
On display were her many paintings.
Fabulous landscapes of covered bridges and forestscapes in moody blues and greens. Countrysides filled with colorful flowers. Renderings of an Evanston past.
Who knew that Ruth was such a prolific, talented painter?
Who knows anyone at all?
Ruth had become an eccentric, elderly widow who passed her days standing in her front yard, talking with all passersby. She didn’t ask for much, but a good long chat.
And still. Even with those chats. I didn’t know her, really at all.
Is it that I chose to not know?
No time? No patience? No room?
To be open.
To not judge. Or categorize. Or assume. Or decide.
I only knew a glimpse of Ruth.
And I wish I knew more.