"You have to promise to accept the surprise that's coming this afternoon."

Vincent hesitated, "But I don't know what the surprise is. How can I say yes to something I don't know?"

 "If I told you what it was Vincent, it wouldn't be a surprise. It's OK if you say no though. There just won't be a surprise."

 When the oldest, still teaching professor of art from UT says, "Oh why not? I trust you Marley. I know it'll be something special," when your mentor and friend says, "OK, I trust you," you don't let him down.

 I've been waiting anxiously for Vincent to accept a ride from Austin out to CastleRock Texas. Finally, after months of teasing him about the die cast habits of the elderly, he relented.

 "Can my lady friend Natasha come along?"

 Vincent's old fashioned. He thinks a trip to the country should include a pretty lady at his side.

 He's right.

 Vincent's right about a lot of things. Eighty years alive earns you the right to be right about a lot of things.

 As we drove through the country, nothing escaped his sparkling sculptor's eyes. Blue Bonnets popping up along the shoulder, variegated olive greens, cedars and oaks, the sharp blue of the sky, all racing by at seventy miles an hour.

 Vincent sees the world as a child sees the world. I was excited he was coming to visit CastleRock and our home because I wanted to see through his eyes. I wanted to experience it through Vincent.

We stopped first at the Java Bean, brand spanking new coffee house and Josh served us three Chai teas. We stood at the base of the Mountain of a Thousand Fountains and he got it. Vincent got it.

 He couldn't stop exclaiming, "Oh, where did you get this rock Marley? My god, it's so beautiful and look! It lines up with those three rocks and then those five up there on the cliff. What's going on here? I love it. Is this my surprise?

 "Nope."

 We climbed to the top of Eagle's Nest. I told him the story of Tommy Yazzie, my Navajo friend. He listened, silently nodding, as the wind whipped around the tower and his long, white hair. The vultures reminded us both of our short time here.

 We hung around for a little while, talking, taking in the vistas, walking over the land, touching the rocks.

 Vincent talks to rocks too.

 And it was time to go down to the house, to meet Lynn, hug everybody and sit for a spell in the shade of the Palapa, on the water's edge, a lazy afternoon.

 As Vincent recounted the day and all that he had seen and touched and heard and felt, he was that young sculptor again, vibrant, open, painting his words in grand gestures and smiles punctuated with the sparkles in his eyes.

 Oh, but the surprise---

 As we sat there, I watching life through the eyes of my eighty year old childhood friend, Lynn and Natasha laughing at the two white haired and bearded kids making plans for sculpture and art and music like we had all our years ahead of us instead of behind--- the sound of a helicopter.

 The machine approached, like a far away buzzard, larger and larger until we could see the faces of the people inside and the little Chihuahua on the lap of another dear friend, Beau.

Beau and I conspired to surprise our friend Vincent with his first helicopter ride and trust me, he was surprised!

 As Beau and Senor (that's his little Chihuahua) got out, so did Anton and his girlfriend ... other friends still and another story ... Lynn and Natasha climbed in the back and Vincent took co-pilot seat.

 And by the seat of his pants Vincent got to experience the world as I know he does everyday in his mind. Not since he jumped out of glider over Europe some six decades ago, had Vincent been carried in body to this vantage point.

 I wasn't in the helicopter with him but I knew what he was seeing and I knew he was smiling and I knew I would see it dancing in his eyes when he landed.

 Dinner with Vincent and Natasha and Lynn was perfect.

 Except Lynn's potatoes came cold. Vincent had a word with the manager.

 He's kind of old fashioned that way.

Marley Porter