Friday, August 31, 2012

other than sketchy internet

There is a magnolia exploding to my right. I think if anyone wanted to cut it back they wouldn't know where to start. I guess at the bottom then outward in. Green, green grass it's fallen cover. An overgrown flowering something or nuther below it.  A strong breeze blows through it. I can hear the leaves clap. It's the first place I've found for us to talk, read, watch, listen. There are crickets and toads and every now and again an owl, a grasshopper, a car on the road.



I once told my Mom I didn't want to come here 'cause I didn't want to die here. A childlike fear it seems stemming from the fact so many people who lived here had died. The adult in me finally told myself that if we live long enough anywhere we're bound to die at some point so here I sit with two large tree limbs behind me on the ground. This time if they find me dead it won't be the at the hands of Kim but at the limbs of the tree I assure you. Somebody please build a hurricane wall 'cause though I'm inland at one point last night I thought dolphins were falling from the sky.


Mosh pits need to be located under metal roofs.



Priscilla is nesting, collecting twigs and leaves and feathers and gum wrappers and weaving them into an intricate pattern so that Marley or Jackson or not Mae Belle can find themself cozy and light through windows and sockets with plugs and cabinets with catches and she'll never ever ever never think of everything but she'll always be trying. So will Josh. Like Jason and Madalyn, good parents are always trying.




So are good daughters.
I left at age twenty-one. Double those years later and I am back still their child but now I am supposed to be an adult.


List of adult things to do.
  1. Sunday lunch at my place.

The third one will be this weekend but the first time my Dad will sit at the table in a room where both his grandmother and mother served Sunday lunches. Tons of pressure but the best kind.



Today I am grateful for history, for a sense of obligation to the memory of the women who came before me.

Saturday, August 25, 2012

has anyone seen the camera?

A farmer's market sits on the east side of the road just south of town. I read about it on Mama's facebook and think to check it out. In my mind, the expectant everything is heaven side, I had pictured a long tin covering held by beams donated from the people who provide us energy. I am guilty of farmer's market profiling though I tell myself that's okay 'cause in my mind all races, sizes, nationalities, genders and socioeconomic statuses can grow or make something and take it to a place and share with the locals at a fair price. Same people can buy there as well. Just the thought of it makes me smile. People at farmer's markets just seem to be cool people. There it is again. Profiling.


I hear a woman laugh across what used to be a small convenience store. I turn not only because I am addicted to laughter but because she sounds like she has some Slay in her. She sounds like Aunt Marilyn. Aunt Marilyn, she of the pickles, the flower beds which give Disney World a run for their money. She of the quentisential Slay laugh. It's not her but the woman who carries the genetic trait catches my eye and I her's. Then she says loud and slow, Well I didn't mean to eat everything. I'm gonna get fat without even buying something. Them jalepeno pickles. Uuuummm hm, those are good. The nice lady at the cash register nods, and I smile. I just want to hear her laugh again.





This place specializes in the Amish goods which makes sense since the Menonites stay north of  town. If you're ever gonna profile someone I'd say it would be most correct to tell that those are some hard working folks, those of extreme focus with a genial nature. Always a smile, never much into gossip, finding the land to be of a take care of all your needs type of place. The woman with the Slay laugh says for the small room, I tell you why this stuff is so good. It's still made with some country in it.





I think this may be a store I'll be frequenting.







Today I am grateful that no matter where we go we find ourselves there.

Friday, August 24, 2012

anthropologist

I don't think I'm here yet.



Dad's truck is still packed with the last of what in the end could only be considered junk. During times like these you can start to shake your finger at your consumerist side. It had been a while since I had taken inventory and there's nothing quite like a move to make you look at what might be worth hauling. You were here. I had a rummage sale, took truckloads of purchases to a local charity. Even went to the dump in the hopes somebody would just bury it.




It feels like jet lag, culture shock, where do I sit, do I walk in there, front porch/back porch. I have yet to unpack my skillet.





I do carry shame unwrapped 'cause there's no wrapping paper left. How could one woman and one kid collect so much? And why. Past a good night's sleep, proper food, covering up our privates with at least a banana leaf and being kind to those we meet what else are we doing? Sometimes I think we like to watch shows like hoarders so we can feel better about ourselves but we're not any better. Just doing it differently maybe.





Here's the thing.
If I had to report to you my findings in this new place where I have yet to truly settle we'd call it the early discoveries and I'd tell you there is a kind people here, always a wave, some nice smiles, a night sky with more stars than you've ever seen and families settling into Sunday lunches all over town.




The way to do fieldwork is never to come up for air until it is all over.
Margaret Mead








Today I am grateful to have a place (time to get that truck unpacked).












Thursday, August 16, 2012

no such thing as goodbye

It is the remainder of the stay, the last morning to sleep in so I do so till 6am. Then I remember I need to write and I feel rushed because I also need to go to the laundromat and call someone about maybe, possibly, could it be that I will have internet at the new place.

Oh yeah, it is the last morning to meet you here.
Here. where we've been meeting.




Weird. I think we met here. it's like the old bar we all sat around. the concert we went to. the times at the beach. it was family. where we discussed Kim's homicidal ideations and Billy Sue's suicidal ones. I revealed my promise to torture a child. there was that one time I got mad. at least a couple of men I liked. movies, music, television shows. we saw art. photos.


geez. that you're still here is amazing.
I can drone on and on.



In fact I couldn't stop now if I wanted to. That's why I am going to prepare us a new place to meet. I'll be back soon with pictures and stories that are sure to be.

what did she just say, 
wouldn't it have been better to do it another way, 
you've got to be kidding, 
Billy Sue and country life.


While I am gone you are welcome to fall in love with these women.
Just know I'll be back and you'll be missed.




Today I am grateful for an excitement, an oh we are doing this. it's happening. we are moving, going on a new adventure. what's the plan? just that we'll meet there but one day soon.

Wednesday, August 15, 2012

winnings

Word Face II ~ Cindy Aune

There is a tightening of the muscles I didn't even know I still had in my abdomen. These moments are why we need distractions. You tell me a story because I'm having a problem stomaching mine. It's five thirty and I haven't eaten anything so I heat up a spinach souffle.



Word Face I ~ Cindy Aune



I should have taught him to eat better, take better care of himself. I could have done better at that. He's smart though. He knows. He may just do it despite me (think that's what I've been counting on).







Now I realize why I was drawn to Cindy Aune's work. I think it is the honesty of those faces, that sometimes we say shit. we're scared, frightened like a child who tries to jump from the doorway to the bed just in case someone under there will grab her legs.




Matted Word Faces ~ Cindy Aune $65





I feel selfish.
disappointed that he could live without me.
fearful that he can't because I didn't tell him something important.
paralyzed by the thought we're losing something.
guilt because I could have done better.





Then he smiles, tells me he loves me and gives me a hug.
He is good.
This is the Publisher's Clearing House of raising a kid.





Today I am grateful for art, for Cindy Aune and for all those times as a child I practiced jumping from the door to the bed.

Tuesday, August 14, 2012

wait

when there is no such thing as goodbye


I tell you things seem to move too fast and you remind me I've been planning this for two years. I deny this since it only proves I am a poor planner. I needed to be here for you.

just in case




I don't know why.


It's just that this is the hardest leaving I ever had to do and that's okay 'cause I hear life is not always easy and sometimes things are hard and sometimes that's where we are born.


Infinity sounds like a long time, scary long.
The only way I can alleviate the scary part, all that I fear, is to remember it includes loving you.


Need I say I am grateful for you? I am. very.

Monday, August 13, 2012

we're all lab rats

Spring Afternoon






Subject one calls to apologize which is weird since I never thought I needed an apology.
It is not going as well as I would have hoped for her, but that's common huh.
we always hope more for people.



Subject two says he tells everyone he's had sex with me.
This is not a problem and a common phenomenon.
most men who have had sex with me would refuse to admit it.
(less gold medal, more certificate of participation)



Subject three sends me something about the dollar blowing up, being destroyed.
bursting into a flame in my purse.
I look up economist Friedrich Hayek and read about his life.
This is not fun.
It is serious on a Sunday.



Subject four walks in. He's smiling, two days off.
There is someone he doesn't like at work. He claims incompetency.
Then he laughs.
Then he argues with me, critiques the writing and we laugh some more.
Tuesday he moves into his own place.
I will miss him.



Subject five hangs on my every word.
I am the boss and source of her food. She stands in between subject four and subject six.
Her favorite show is Modern Family. (seems that she has a thing for Phil)
An empty Sprite bottle is the best toy.
She has to sleep with me and thinks I am the bomb.




Subject six sometimes struggles with the things she wants to do and things she does.
All in all she thinks life is pretty funny.






Today I am grateful for the ways our shoulders touch.




Sunday, August 12, 2012

human failing

Cousins & Sisters



For what can we be forgiven? Everyone I know, with the exception of a couple of people and they're just joking, have admitted they've fallen short a couple or a million times. we all do. right? you. me. we all do.


But as humans we have categories of the failings, and I think though I don't know because I'm not whatever kind of ologist that would be, I think this is broad spectrum human stuff. not just spoiled chic hanging out at her computer. not just religion. it is dude at the cave stole your stick vs. dude at the other cave slept with the woman you drug up. One or the other is worse on a gut scale (or how bad did he need the stick)

We judge by instinct.


Of course, we're also taught certain judgments. We absorb them from the sounds, the words, the smells, the tastes. We all have a filing system. If we didn't then life may be too confusing. Without a system the papers go everywhere and we can never find anything and how did an A get in the Ps  and where the heck are those notes?





Maybe at the very core of us is this round organ which cycles all the nature and nurture with every pump of the heart. Our judgments beat within us but what if we are wrong?


What if we were just here to love?
Surely not.





Today I am grateful for the ability to love.







Saturday, August 11, 2012

glow

Moon Hollow Farms ~ Como, MS



Today I am so very grateful for a peaceful quiet.

Friday, August 10, 2012

chupacabra



He ran away from home when he was nine years old. So I tell him, You have to tell me that story. Like a good guest I pay my dollar to see the chupacabra though I feel it is my duty to tell him I don't believe in one. 

He smiles, Can you keep a secret?



Yes, I can keep a secret.

It's real, he says while the grin takes over his face.

A groan from me and I hand him a twenty though my plan was not to break it. I'm paying you a dollar for the story. I don't even want to see that thing. I am standing in front of an aquarium covered with a faded striped blanket. 

I gotta go get you change, he laughs. Go back there and see it. It's dead. It won't hurt you.

Then he's gone, and I'm alone in a tent with a dead chupacabra and a kitten with six claws on each paw. If I hadn't have gone back there to see it then I would have been too ashamed to write this story.

Squinting, one eye open, I lean in my upper body, keeping my feet in a get mark, get set, Go! stance in case I need to run. These are the kind of things I do for you.


Excuse me while we take a commercial break for the sweetest, smartest, most wonderful little baby bunny in the whole wide world. All the other little bunnies were basking in a hot sun (it was too hot to move) but this bunny was brilliant as evidenced by him sticking his precious little paws into the water to cool off. Then the strangest thing happened. He looked up at me and asked in the cutest little cuddly bunny rabbit voice, Do you know Kim?

And I was all, Ohmygosh. She's my best friend.

So the cutest, most awesome little white bunny said, Can you tell her to come get me, take me to her house and love me like I deserve?

Of course, I replied. Then the lady in charge of the game told me to keep walking.

Dear Kim,

Tate County Fair, Senatobia, MS. He'll be there tonight. I told him you'd go get him when you got off work.

You're the best,
Shea



Where were we? Oh yeah, the chupacabra and the six clawed kitten.
And the guy who ran away from home when he was nine years old.

He comes back to the tent to tell me he can't find change but he trusts me to bring him back a dollar.

So how old are you? I ask.

Thirty-eight. I look older, huh?

No. You were nine when you ran away?

Yes.

How does that happen to a nine year old? Take me there. It's Friday night, 11pm, your parents are asleep, you were born with a special wanderlust so you sneak out the window and take off down the road?

He smiles. No. I was just working at a local fair. Ya' know, going to get stuff for people and making a dollar. I was making good money, fifteen hundred dollars. When the fair left town I just got in the bottom of one of their trucks. Nobody knew I was there. My face was even on a milk carton. Five years later I called my Dad from Tulsa, Oklahoma and told him I needed a ride home.

Three teenage boys walk by the tent slowly so I yell at them, You guys need to see this chupacabra. You won't believe it!

They stop and the runaway all grown up tells 'em he'll let 'em all see it for a dollar.






Today I am especially grateful for adventures we can take by walking out of our door.


Sorry, but if you want to see the chupacabra you're gonna have to pay him a dollar.

Thursday, August 9, 2012

lines

Carrollton, MS


I prepare for his arrival but the more I prepare the more anxious I get 'cause it's never gonna be good enough and here I'll get this and that looks better but it's never gonna be good enough and I'll do that and what an improvement but it's never gonna be good enough. When he arrives he takes one look at me, hugs me and tells me to slow down. I didn't expect that, didn't even consider it to be in the realm of possibilities, had no idea I needed it but then I took a good, long breath and figured it was okay.



Today I am so very grateful for the rain which can do wonders on an August morning.

Wednesday, August 8, 2012

also, 'cause I'm feeling so bossy

I'd like to suggest three writers.

Chantel is. huh. A mother. If you ever want to hear what your mother says, if she can't still speak to you or she's busy that morning or you need to know there is love and care and sweetness and talent in a how did she do that kind of way then take a gander at what she does. She'll slow you down, make you think. Trust me, we all need her.




Pearl. Read Pearl everyday for some hellyeah, preaching to the choir, giggling till you laugh, it's good to know she's out there day in/day out kind of need.




Sharon. oh good gosh. (or whatever word the British use to say genius)




Today I am grateful for people who not only share their lives but do so in an incredibly loving way. Had enough of dark, insane, paranoid, craziness you can sometimes get on what is fed you? These women will give you hope for your fellow man. Seriously.




when there is a breeze

It's been a long time, baby.
Yes, it has.
Why don't ja stick around?
'Cause I always go. It's kinda my thing, ya' know.
Yes, I know. But why?
Depending on who you ask, I guess.



It is a front porch with a swing, all screened in.
The swing used to be on the other end.
We'd swing together.
It has since gotten a carport.



You at least staying the weekend?
One night.
I guess I should feel lucky.
There ya' go. that's a good way to look at it.



The kitchen looks out over the den, smaller than what is here but plenty of room.
There'll be a loveseat, a leather chair. Slater's toy box, the coffee table.
My desk to the right under three windows.
A horse, a spider.



What if I wanted more?
Then I would support you in finding it.
You'd lose me.
That's sad.
You'd risk losing me?
You're holding yourself hostage?



Formal dining and formal living will be closed off.
Though I wonder if I can stick to it.
Maybe it is where we'll have Sunday lunch or maybe dinner.
That's how it used to be.






Because you come here for your latest movie recommendations of movies that are not the latest and because this post is sponsored by the lit candle on my desk, soundtrack by Ray LaMontagne Gossip in the Grain, I would have to suggest the movie Drive. It is intense and surprisingly quiet and complete sexiness in one scene. Confusing, serious, it makes you uncomfortable. You may talk to the screen and warn one of the characters. He can't hear you. I only know this because I tried.





Today I am grateful for an upswing, what got sent my way, blessings abound, how did that happen, don't question it kind of day.


Tuesday, August 7, 2012

That dog

I once heard that people didn't go to state parks anymore because of the drugs. I know that's where I get mine. Just joking, silly. I have mine delivered by the Domino's guy. Okay, that was a joke too. Don't call Domino's to get your drugs. They won't deliver them. I know. I asked. Let's just stop there. We could do this forever.


Billy Sue and I went to the state park yesterday evening to not get our drugs but rather to explore.



And let me tell ya', that place is covered with nobody. Ain't nobody doing drugs. Billy Sue sniffed the place out.




She loved it. Though I should probably keep her in some kind of air conditioned protective bubble, watching her explore a new place is like seeing a kid open presents on Christmas morning.

Okay, let's figure out what this is. 
Okay, okay. I got that. 
Now this. 
Let's find out what this is. 
Nice. 
Where's the next thing?
Oh, here it is.

Forever and ever until the panting starts.



This is where she is saying, Hey, genius lady who let me get beat up by a cat, this is not a smile. Dude, it's August. Call 911 and tell them to bring the air conditioned bubble.

And this is where Billy Sue wants me to tell you that bulldogs are prone to heat stroke. It rates right up there with drowning for them. Crazy, I know. I always thought dogs invented dog paddling but Billy Sue said she hadn't ever heard of it. She'll sink like a stone. As an owner of the breed you are responsible for keeping them from killing themselves at all times.


Don't do it, Billy Sue.

Think suicidal when you think bulldog.

Which is strange.




'Cause it totally looks like she's smiling.





Today I am grateful for the means and the ability to explore.

Monday, August 6, 2012

the color of the sky

Beautiful.

the lion and the wolf

In the story of all cats think they're lions and all dogs consider themselves to be wolves the lion is the victor. The moral, maybe we'll find out. The cat seems fine with who he is. At no point does he think I would sure like to be that dog. But that dog, well, the dog always seems interested. She sniffs out everything. And the cat, he is something new so the dog being that she couldn't help herself even if she wanted to, becomes a tad bit obsessed with the cat to the point you wonder if she's a zealot.



she's not.






The cat has just eaten and is sitting in a chair, a chaise lounge of sorts. Anyone observing could say, That right there is the cat's chair. It is the cat's chair. He is unconcerned with me. He is laid back or all laid back, the coolest of the cool. I must admit at this point I look at the cat and think I'd like to be him. He seems good, pretty relaxed. The cat, feeling someone observe him, could not care less.


it's true.





That's when the dog started the fight though I don't think she meant it to be one. I told her, Stop that, Billy Sue. Don't mess with that cat. First three times she heard me but then I got distracted listening to another story someone else was telling. Billy Sue was left to fend for herself in the wild of a carport ruled by a cat relaxing in a lounge chair. The odds were against her from the start. Nobody in their right mind would have bet on her.


she didn't know that.



Which might be part of the problem since Billy Sue decided for a fourth time to sniff out that cat during said distraction. What resulted was not pretty. I guess we could call it a phenomenon, a time warp black hole of what the hell just happened.

As far as I can figure piecing everything together that cat had had enough. He thought Billy Sue needed to be told and saw I was distracted. The cat took it upon himself to provide her redirection. I don't know if it is the cat's skills or his ability to halt the passing of time which more impressed me. Both are pretty impressive.

At some point in the time warp continuum of I think this is when it stopped I was made aware of the dire situation and my jaw dropped. Looking back now I would say it was eight seconds of my mind saying, wha? and my body being without the ability to move. Eight seconds of a cat who is still partly relaxing and the other part throwing a left at six claws per second. Doing the math one would conclude Billy Sue, as she seemed to be frozen in the form of a statue offering her face, got forty-eight swipes right smack in the nose.


before she was rescued.


I don't know if there is even a moral to this story. You tell me.




Today I will take a picture of Billy Sue who is just fine. It may be tempting to call the humane society since two weeks ago I let her jump out of a moving car and Saturday I let her get beat up by a cat but I swear I'll try to do better. It's just. That dog.





Again I am grateful for That dog. She keeps the material coming.



Sunday, August 5, 2012

the cave where we stayed and who came

A good inspector will scare you, she is pulling down the attic door. I look into what will be a guest bedroom. Two large windows face me from across the space, another door to my left or east leads into a sun room. She is looking for me now, found I had not followed her up the stairs. I hear my name but open the doors to a closet which looks like a tiny hall. This could be a darkroom off a studio. She is behind me so I tell her.


I walk through a bathroom heading north. Here is pink of the medicinal kind. It is the main color of the house and I wonder if the previous owner got a good deal or if it was the construction crew she said had lived here turning every room into a bedroom. Cable hookup throughout.


Across the hall is Slater's room, my favorite because of the huge bookshelf built into the wall. Books, all his books will go there and  there is room for more. Nine foot ceilings, a shelf above the door, a mantle, a fireplace, a roomy closet, a window which looks out front. In the lead, a boy. This is where he will be. I tell her. She responds, Yeah. This is one of my favorite rooms.


I turn left into the hall. It has wood floors until I reach a far east into the addition. Here is an old shag carpet. It will have to be replaced, but this could be my bedroom. It has it's own bath and five, count them five windows. The bed will go over there or maybe there or maybe against this wall. It has it's own built in bookshelf as well. A place for the ones I choose to keep, those I haven't read or my favorites. Wealth of Nations by Adam Smith, volumes one and two. Viktor Frankl and meaning his search of. Stephen King on writing and Anne Lamott too. First edition Shogun and Three Years in Mississippi. The Great Gatsby and Walden. Who could live without Thoreau? Hemingway, Gertrude Stein. JD Salinger changed my life. The Holy Bible and Twain, we've always had prophets. McMurtry, I love that man 'cause he gave me Gus. Vonnegut and his slaughterhouse. Faulkner with that sly grin. Daddy and I call him Willie. He built Rowan Oak. You should see it.


Sold. I want it. I'll take it. Whadda we do?
You need an inspection.
Okay. Let's do it.








what coulda been remained a closet







Today I am grateful for the house which became our home, our center, where we met in the evenings and on weekends. A place that has seen tears and laughter but much more laughter I assure you. Fifteen years worth. We have sanded, painted, built and refinished but did nothing more than it did to us. It's a good one.



Saturday, August 4, 2012

Water Valley

What She Sees

White Tiger (Endangered) ~ Patti D'Amico
Acrylic on Metal

Ms. Mary Mack, Mack, Mack ~ Nicole Gladden
Acrylic/Collage

City from Overpass ~ Michael T. Maxwell
Oil on Board

Bozart's Gallery in Water Valley, MS


Word Face III ~ Cindy Aune
Mixed Media

Medusa ~ Thomas Grosskopf
Oil on Canvas

Elvis has not left the building


Wheat Field ~ Cindy Aune
Acrylic


Today I am grateful for what is being discovered in our rural towns. There is a pulse here, a palpable energy spreading from individuals like Karen Ott Mayer and Mickey Howley and so many others who are working hard to show us what they see in these places. I saw some of it last night and it is beautiful and contagious.

If you are in the area and don't want to miss out, the Watermelon Festival is happening this weekend. Just make sure you swing by Bozart's Gallery and witness this for yourself.

Friday, August 3, 2012

TriBecca Allie


It's a Thursday evening in downtown Sardis, a small Mississippi town with a population of about 2,000. A production of Cats is running at the playhouse next door. Karen and I walk into a restaurant carrying a bottle of Pinot. We grab a table next to the kitchen and it's not long before Rebecca is at our table, smiling, joking, uncorking the wine. Karen hollers at Dutch, Rebecca's husband, who wipes his brow and places a pizza in the handcrafted brick oven.

It is lively here with so much to absorb. Rebecca, Dutch and their silent partner opened this place for business in 2009 after spending years renovating what was originally a post office. Now in 2012 you feel like you're in the middle of their dream. Both still maintain their jobs, Rebecca as a high school swim coach. Dutch, a coach for college golf. In between their cooking and visiting the tables the talk lends itself to the Olympics and as their guest you realize it is not only the food which brings people here. It is also their passion for people and conversation. They won second place for their pizza in a national competition, but I doubt they could have done that without their attitude.

Yet you can't deny their food. Don't tell them I said so but they could have provided the service of Seinfeld's Soup Nazi and I'd stand in line and quietly hand my money over for those roasted mushrooms, fresh baked bread, another slice of that Magnolia Rosa Insalata pizza and someone please help me a chocolate cobbler. The fact I was able to roll out of bed this morning obviously has much more to do with genetics than choices. (thanks, Mom and Dad)

Does anyone else notice that Karen has two pizzas in front of her? That girl can eat, I tell ya'!


Leaving was hard, Karen and I had to be shoved out the door. Returning will be easy, and I can't wait to take Slater and Kim. Maybe Shelby can go. I plan on running my mouth about this joint. imagine that.



Today I am grateful for small business, for people who through hard work and determination and passion and help from their family and friends and in Rebecca's case a swim team are able to serve as an example of what can be done.

And pizza. I am so very grateful for the pizza at TriBecca Allie Cafe

Thursday, August 2, 2012

meh

I became listless, apathetic without even the energy to roll my eyes into the back of my head.
I joined a group called the majority whose members were tired of the hate so we began to ignore it.
Someone may have said that hate could win if we didn't pay attention.
That's when we replied, Win what?



Today I am grateful for what hate taught me. It seems silly to say it is the opposite of love, but sometimes I think it's good to be reminded.




Wednesday, August 1, 2012

I heart Willis Carrier

The morning looks innocent, the palest of blues behind the silhouette of leaves. For just this reason I linger. Well, that's not exactly true. It's the birds too, the light on light before streetlamps fade. It is the transformation of green. A neighbor's cat who likes to explore before the humming begins. He, like me, seems to attach an importance to this part of the day.

Maybe also like me he knows the importance of this part of the day during this time of the year.

Though I know we must live in the present with the understanding the past is done and the future holds no promises, this morning is all that much more important 'cause the past has taught me what noon will bring. It has happened before and will again. There are patterns here with few exceptions to this rule. Right now is the first of August and I live in Mississippi.

Fry an egg on asphalt. Oppressive heat with an air so thick moisture sticks and then slides down your face, your neck, your back. Give me cold water, put lots of ice in that sweet tea. Let's just go lay in the creek. This is when you pray for the people who roof and mow and don't have one of those fancy contraptions which makes the air cold.

I know your place could be warmer, but it's August first and on this celebrated day I allow myself to complain more, constantly, get it all out, jump into the neighbor's sprinkler and raise my fists to the sky,


Why? Oh why? 
I promise to appreciate every moment of Autumn.

Mama said you never make deals with God but I like to take August first as some kind of secret bargaining time. I don't know if you've noticed but all descriptions I've heard of hell include heat.



Today no matter how much I bitch I will sincerely end each conversation with I am so very grateful for air conditioning.