About two weeks after Alice died, I caught the last 20 minutes of Thelma and Louise on television. The ending brought a flood of tears because, well, Alice died in her car, too.
I mention this because yesterday morning I flew to CA for Alice's hokehankist (Armenian for "the resting of her soul" -- in the Armenian Apostolic tradition it's believed that it takes 40 days for the deceased's soul to rise to heaven) and the Grand Canyon featured prominently in my experience.
Usually I'm too occupied to notice beauty around me. Peter often points out the gorgeous light of the afternoon sun as it hits certain buildings, while I'm busy staring at the sidewalk. So on the flight yesterday I was immersed in When Will I Stop Hurting? Dealing with a Recent Death which Iris sent to me, when the captain announced that for the next 3-4 minutes we would be flying over the Grand Canyon to the right.
I thought "I've seen it before, I don't want to be bothered." Then, I thought of Alice. She appreciated the intense, and fleeting beauty of sunsets. Something so common that I overlook it, when its grandeur is truly rare. Alice could revel in the moment.
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