An Uncommon Life

I cannot separate my daughter’s  passionate nature from her art, because that is the way she meant to change the world. She had a burning purpose to uplift society, to send it rocketing skyward from its plunging and dwindling spiral down. She believed that artists were the ones to get that job done.

When Cedar died, I felt the world had lost a great crusader for change. I guess most of us have endless  hope invested in our children’s potential. I had it in droves.

Cedar was not only immensely talented, but had an incredibly strong purpose to use her gifts to help. In her twenty years, she did a damned good job.

What effect did she go for, above all others? Laughter. Belly-achingly, unstoppable “guffawing until you” cry laughter. She thought there was too much sorrow and seriousness all around. Much of her art, and most everything she wrote was funny. Her heroes were Buster Keaton, Charlie Chaplin and Laurel & Hardy.

Cedar had her private sorrows, but laughter was the antidote she prescribed for herself and life in general. It’s what I try to remember when things get to feeling awfully serious, which seems easy these days.  Cedar died before the economy took its plunge and the great oil leak began creating havoc with some of the gulf shoreline. She would have been concerned with today’s events, of course. But she still would have recommended a good belly laugh to balance things out.