When I moved from Washington D.C. to Tucson (around 2000), I drove from D.C. to Chicago, picked up my BFF Lynn, and we continued the drive—making a vacation/road trip through Wyoming, Colorado, New Mexico, and down to Arizona. During Lynn’s stay in Tucson, we made the tourist trip to Nogales, parking on the U.S. side and walking across the border into Mexico. Lynn has “the eye” for great décor, and we walked back across the border carrying a large pewter tray and Flaco (Mexican nickname for a skinny man). Both have been part of my life ever since—as has Lynn.
Flaco on the wall with his batty friends
Flaco is the apotheosis of Mexican folk art. A life-size skeleton created in the oeuvre of Día de los Muertos characters, he became as much a part of our household as the kitties and the tortoises. In Arizona, he hung on the wall between our offices. When we moved to our new larger Chicago condo, he positioned himself under the bats and next to our portraits.
But the day came after Ed’s death when 60% of our art collection had to be dismantled to create a “clean” look for potential buyers. Down came the bats, the portraits, and Flaco. Much of the collection has been sold off or given to friends and family. But Flaco is my love and not so easily dismissed. So, with no wall space in the small condo to which I moved, the only place for Flaco was in the closet. I garroted him to a sturdy clothes hanger and placed him lovingly among my dresses and coats.
Yesterday, I began the seasonal process of packing and sorting summer clothes and bringing up from storage the winter things. As I rummaged through summer dresses, there was Flaco begging to be a part of life again. He’s carved of soft wood, so I lovingly took him into my arms, into the living area, and set him in a chair. Instant happiness! His toothy grin and stiffly articulated body illumed the formerly dull corner. My mind’s eye instantly saw him sitting across the dining table sharing breakfast with me; lounging on the sofa, catching a nap; even riding my exercise bike. Living alone is not fun. But living with Flaco is. My friend is out of the closet and spreading joy.
It’s a year on October 24 since Ed died. Sure, it’s anthropomorphizing. Flaco is not Ed, but a girl can dream.
Flaco hanging at our Tucson home
Flaco seated in my apartment with the large pewter tray