April 14, 2013
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Breaking Ground or Plowing Onward
I have missed many evenings of sitting down and letting my fingers decide in a Xanga moment what will weave through my head in to some legitimate conversation, for in some of you; I have found a friend, even if I never see you, I think of you in your corner of the universe, for you have been kind and left words of healing, words of humor, or even simple expressions of deep care, and these are from friends, not strangers. I almost can hear voices in your words, and I do not make as many comments as I should, for you give to me a richer life, for wealth is only our friends, that we are loved, and that our needs are provided for physically, mentally, and spiritually. The social aspect of it differs from person to person as to their need, and my truth about society is that we cannot run away from it, but I do not have to have the strokes of it to prove to myself that I have self worth. I used to have a lot of parties, and we would go to many parties, run across the street to neighbors, and feel lonely if I did not have visits each day with someone dropping in or just me knocking on a door.
I see many people, certainly older than I am, who just cannot be without the idea that their calendar is full, but something inside me has changed and those needs are so secondary to just enjoying the quiet, the mind’s photographing of the day — an expression some will understand and others will just not imagine that such a life is not lonely. One reason I have not been blogging was that, per usual, we get either wiped out from moving back and forth between cities, but we always catch someone’s respiratory infection from plane travel, and thus we did. If bird flu comes our way, I certainly hope that most of our children meaning yours and ours from adult to child has had enough exposure to good wholesome dirt to fight off such a horrible and dangerous virus. That CDC is preparing ahead of time is merciful, for just endeavor to imagine vaccinating an entire population of a continent, and the vaccinations are first given to the care givers, hospital personnel, and those who were in immediate contact with an infected person. The reason is too obvious — That if the caregivers are wiped out, then it is entirely a survival of the fittest, for one plane load of exposed people can take it from one coast to the other. “Ain’t no mountain high enough; Ain’t no river wide enough to keep it away!! With my own background in biology, having just enough to get the picture, especially in micro-biology, the words of this old song ring like a trumpet’s bell in my ear as I think of these virulent little microbes.
Where do all the companies send folks these days, because the world’s largest market has opened up? You’ve got it; Beijing, Singapore, and Hong Kong, and I can guarantee you that the industries are not sparing people that travel right now for fear of any chickens being brought in on primitive country carts fresh for the market. Be certain that it is not boiled fowl which you are apt to get it from. I am not even going to get started on one of my raves about the older folks knew what they were doing wanting their meat cooked so tender that it fell off the bone, No, you are not going to hear me say these words today; No sir; “Cook your frickin meat ladies and gentlemen.” Alright, I am sorry — it just slipped out.” Anyone got any jokes about, “Mad Cow Disease?” I know that was a cheap shot too, and I should not say that living on a farm for 17 years did teach me that pigs are the filthiest animals outside of the jungle. I think rats have way better ideas of what they will consume than pigs, and you can wash them up, scrub them down, turn them in to beautiful pork chops, but sweet baby, you have still got a pig, so you want it a little pink?
I have not written in so long that I have forgotten how, except for those photographs in my head, the first day I had fever must have been really high, because I was telling my mother that I could not go to school today. Mama has been gone for several years, but I could feel her, and I felt really bad, so I had to tell her, “I cannot go to school today, Mama.” I almost wanted to just lie there, for I thought that I heard her call my name, and I have missed her so very much, but I am so happy she can come across the veil when I am so hot, and when I am sick. She always gave us coffee with milk and sugar and two aspirin, and I thought that coffee tasted wonderful, but the best was yet to come, for she felt the medicinal powers of Coke, so might just call someone and get a package of colas if her hens were laying enough eggs, for Mama somehow related to pain and on those days we felt love even if she was bickering about the extra work load we were causing her.
Xanga was the farthest from my mind, still on the third day after this latest plane flight induced respiratory devil bastard of a form of the cold virus. “Devil Bastard,” is about the worst cold you can have, but maybe it was that almost delusional state which awakened me to the sun setting in the evening sky, and as if I had bought the most glorious painting, I woke up to the surreal, for painted on the sky were a few dark clouds under the most magnificent and pink flash of sunlight over the evening sky as darkness was just a magical color of twilight, and for a second I just stared, for from a sound sleep, I thought my imagination was playing tricks, but we are six floors up here, and it was real, the turrets of the building next door were barely visible, but I captured that picture, and I cannot give you one of your own. You must simply look for a similar evening, your own painting, and capture that moment. That way it is yours, so you can keep taking it out, keep loving that moment, one my Daddy would have looked at and would have said, “There’s a storm coming in tonight,” On the fourth day, I could get up, and endeavoring to sleep is futile. The sound of a train is near the river now, and I can see it coming out on the Kentucky side, the hills of other towns sparkle in a distance.
These moments are simply too valuable to miss, so why must I sleep when I am going to miss so much between now and daybreak?
Barbara Everett Heintz, Author of Pinkhoneysuckle on Xanga, and “Pinkhoneysuckle,” the book, Amazon, Kindle, and Create Space
