Tuesday, September 11, 2012

early human carvings

These were everywhere. Clarkco State Park, where people go to tell strangers they love each other.



If you find yourself alone, not Tom Hank's Castaway alone, more like you reach a certain age after finding you couldn't do the long term thing with another individual and the child you reared has gone off to college, you could notice a change in your speech pattern. Some may suggest early onset dementia but I think it's best if you term it the change.


Let's face it, you could spend a majority of your time talking to a dog, a cat and two horses. Not that anyone's complaining, mind you. They could keep a person busy, making sure everyone gets along, developing a feeding schedule, seeing if any of them need anything in particular and making sure they're still around.

I thought I had lost Silly.

I didn't.

She's back after twenty-four hours and even friendlier I think. Though it could be she lost some love for me when changed her over to real cat food after three days of Cafe de Sillie where she dined on specially cut for her fresh chicken with a little whole milk stirred in.  Seriously. She's now eating those dried little pellets of what's supposed to be good and she's saying thank you but only after a certain level of disappointment.


Anyway, reports from the life on this planet include a special malfunction after I saw a Mrs. Bea who is and always has been the town's speech therapist. We were in a meeting and I recognized her and when she spoke it sounded like a female voice in a French song and diction and rhythm and confidence and this is how it is done. I stuttered in intimidation and overcompensated with volume but I did attempt to cut back on quantity (you would have hoped since it was my first meeting and I hadn't seen most of these people in twenty years). Some could ask why I didn't just shut up and listen.

We'll call it the change.
It could be that being an adult in a place where you were always a child is weird, like how we can be the most wretched of people in how we dress and how we speak and still, we can be loved. 



Today I am so very grateful for life in this house, in this neck of the woods, outside of that town and it's people.

2 comments:

Nan said...

Shea, I am so glad you are happy.You sure deserve a little of that!

Shea Goff said...

Don't we all, Nan! Thank you, my dear friend.