I decided to curate a lilacs show in the WIndowsill Gallery this morning, our lilacs – the official bush of the American farm – began blooming this week. Lilacs have a special meaning for me. In my other life, I was married for 35 years to a very good person, over time we came to see the world in different ways.

My move to Bedlam Farm began the dissolution of that relationship, one of the most important in my life. I thought we would both end up living there, but that was selfish and short-sighted of me, my wife did not want to live on a farm, move to the country, share a life with animals. I should have seen that, but did not. Other people did, a painful thing for a memoirist.

When I got to the farm, I immediately set out making it my own, buying furniture, building fences, acquiring animals in the frantic way disturbed people sometimes do when they are trying to fill up an empty life. I did not consult anyone, or include anyone, I was on a mission, delusional and without perspective.

Animals cannot fill a deep hole, they can only distract one from it’s depth. My wife then was not a part of all, not really, she was too smart, too wise perhaps. One thing we did do together was plant some lilacs around Bedlam Farm, we researched them together, went to buy them together, planted them together. It was a hopeful thing.

I was wrong about that as well.

Whenever I see a lilac bush – they are everywhere around here – I think of my other life, in other places, living in other ways. In my mind, I think of my life in two parts. Before Maria, After Maria. I do not dwell on the past, apologize for my life or speak poorly of it.

Lives are filled with loss and gain, sorrow and joy. I am working on joy, on making joyful noises to the world in my life and work. This morning, when I curated our windowsill gallery – I seem to still be doing it – I looked at the lilac bloom, and it touched my heart. I am grateful for my other life, and for my other marriage. It will always be an important part of me. Life takes us in all kinds of directions, we do not always go where we mean to go. The lilac deserves it’s own show, it’s own spot in the light.