"The Golden Hour"

If you're reading this, I am quite sure you know I have no training in cinematography. That said, I am a fan of the work of Terrence Malick. Malick, a fellow Illinois native, in my opinion, is one of the greatest directors of his generation; moreover, he is quite particular about the look and feel of his films. Malick, as I understand his work, only shoots during "the Golden Hour." "The Golden Hour" is the last minutes before dusk or dawn: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Golden_hour_(photography).

Like my usual writing, I am initiating this with a long preface. The reason I took so many words to write about photography and Terrence Malick was to express that the design behind it just smacked me boldly in the face. Thirty minutes ago, I was walking down to the drop slot, to pay my August rent. I was in a pair of shorts, with keys and rent in one hand, and my phone up to my ear with the other. As I strolled the fifty yards to the mail slot, I looked up the grassy hill leading up to the ridge where a neighborhood of affluent houses resides. Looking up the hill, in the midst of this Golden Hour, there she stood, a beautiful doe simply nibbling on the grass and foliage there on the hillside.

Talking to my aunt on the phone, about a trip to see her and my family, I stood there dumbfounded. Much like seeing the fox again this morning, walking into my office building; paying my rent this evening, I was again reminded that I live somewhere new and quite special. The point behind the verbose and tangential preamble was that there are few words to express how serene and beautiful life is for me, here in Boise. Growing up in the country, we saw deer, but never in such close proximity or with such graceful presence. Shhhh... don't tell anyone.

Peter and Maria, Mike and Anu

Writing is such an amazing means for communication or meditation. The latter was what had me pull out my notepad here in SEATAC. What had me thinking of that was thinking about what I had earlier written to my wedded friends Maria and Peter.

Maria and Peter were married today; this was the 20th of July. There I stood at the reception thinking about how truly joyous and special their wedding was for me. It wasn’t special due to anything exceptional concerning Peter and Maria’s circumstances or the material components around their wedding—with the exception of their location, view and weather. Rather it was special because of how joyous and expressive they were for one another and their love.

Reading that as I wrote it makes me self-conscious about how cliché that sounds. Nevertheless, it was truly between them, and abnormally expressive coming from my friend Peter; to read that, or to fully understand that, you have to know my friend Peter.

Peter, a great guy, is someone whom often times keeps emotions more to himself. In this case, Peter could not have been more proud and happy than to be marrying Maria. This was evident and expressive in the broad and white smile born across his face. Moreover, in the apparent face of the minister speaking too softly into the microphone; there Peter was, with a booming, “I do!”

There I stood at the reception thinking of all of this, along with my overwhelming enthusiasm for my friend Peter and his beautiful bride Maria. I decided I needed to go write something more substantial to the guestbook than I did earlier, at the front of the reception.

There I stood, over at the guestbook table penning this relatively lengthy note of joy. Of course, I was conscious of anyone coming late, or taking the opportunity of distraction to write something away from the earlier lines. When a woman came up behind me, I offered to set down the pen. Upon offering, she declined, and walked away from the table with a smile. It wasn’t of any consequence.

Following from that, I was finishing up my paragraph, and I found a couple behind me. I apologized immediately, but this time I promised, “I am just finishing.”

The attractive young woman said, “What you didn’t get them a card?” with a broad smile across her face. Her husband stood next to her, amicably smiling, but also ready to move forward with signing the guestbook.

I stated to explain, but didn’t go into detail, after I finished what I was writing. Instead, I went to find Peter to wish him a wonderful evening, express what I am now writing in the airport, and to say “goodbye,” as I had to be leaving for my flight. I introduced myself, and they reciprocated with good manners.
“I am Matt.”
“I am Mike,” he said. “I am Anu,” she followed. It was perfectly amicable and nice, with her grin at catching me in the act of writing a rather verbose note to Peter and Maria.

It was indeed a pleasure to see faces of so many I had not seen for a while, but the real pleasure was seeing a dear friend find his true love. After this wedding, it was the kind of good fortune and beautiful display of love and happiness you wish you could laconically articulate to others during a warm toast, wishing them the very best of life and love. “May you meet a spouse to make you as happy as my friend Peter was today, this the 20th of July.