(By special request. Identifying info has been edited out to maintain everyone's privacy)
There was a girl who lived under the table.
She never came out.
No one ever went under with her.
Heck no one knew she was there.
She would watch the goings on in the house, but not say a word.
Many people came and went and she knew them all by their shoes.
Sometimes she would pinch their toes and try to get their attention. It never worked.
Other times she would be napping and get woken by a kick, or worse a smelly ol' sock right in the nose!
Sometimes she would cry. Wondering why no one was looking for her.
She wanted a friend to play with. She was lonely.
One sunny spring day, all the feet were under the table, and above she heard angry voices.
It was "YOU DO THAT!", or "YOU DID THIS!" and "I HATE YOU" and "I DON'T LIKE YOU!"
and "TELL HIM TO LEAVE US ALONE" and "I DON'T WANT TO REMEMBER" and
"I'M NOT GOING TO BE COMPLIANT WITH THERAPY" and "YOU CAN'T MAKE ME HEAL" and on and on.
It hurt her ears.
There was talk of so and so leaving and so and so taking charge and all sorts of nonsense.
It hurt her heart.
They are a family, she thought, they should work together to do what needs to be done.
Swiftly and silently like a cat she laced all their shoes together.
There came a loud KABAAAMMMMM!! as someone smacked the table over her head.
Then one of the chairs slid back and toppled over as someone stood up quickly.
"I AM LEAVING" screamed a voice "I CANNOT LIVE IN A HOUSE FULL OF DISCORD AND CHAOS!"
The girl watched as the orange sneakered feet whirled and took flight.
They didn't go far.
With a zipping sound everyone was pulled from their chairs and leveled to the floor.
Suddenly the girl under the table found herself starring into the surprised eyes of the faces who belonged to all those feet.
They stared back at her in surprise.
No one spoke.
Her brown eyes bubbled like cola and she covered her mouth, "heehee"
A few eyebrows disapproved of her laughing, but she didn't care.
"Why don't you all just work together?" She asked.
"We can't" said the orange sneaker girl leaning up to untangle her shoe laces. "there are too many of us."
The table girl watched them unsuccessfully attempt to untie themselves.
The more they worked the tanglier they got.
At last they just got up and learned to walk and work together to get around and do things.
Later that summer the tangled feet came back to the table. "will you tell us how to get out of this mess?"
"heehee" the girl smiled. "Just slip off your shoes."
Their laughter shook her table. That night they set a place for her and she sat at the table with them.
They were a family after that. And she was not lonely again.
When they had troubles or problems or obstacles (as all families do) they would sit at the table and get everyone's opinion on what they should do.
And it was peaceful in the house.
Thend.
Tuesday, July 8, 2014
Flippers (a moldy oldy for a friend)
OOMPA....SQUISH....WHAPPITY
You sit up with eyes wide.
OOMPA....SQUISH....WHAPPITY
Through the haze of the dark night I materialize. I have a tuba wrapped
around my torso held by one olive fingered hand, scuba flippers on and my
lantern duct taped to my head. I just stare at you with one eyebrow raised
like Spock. "Wwwwhat?"
You can't help yourself and you smile.
OOMPA....SQUISH....WHAPPITY, I come and sit next to you.
"Want my two cents?" I ask then continue on anyways, "long time ago when the
horse fell on me and I had a munched up pelvis and was bed fast for six
weeks, my mind got clouded by depression and got bored...it started
messing with me, it took advantage of the fact that bed had never been a safe
place, that I was a captive audience, that I was in pain, and I was isolated
from my regular routine.
My mind succumbed to the undulating waves of depression. Once there it was on
familiar turf and it was a short slid back into flashbacks and old thoughts
stirred up.
Sounds like your mind is messing with you too. You've got all those
doctors and people messing with you, you have the isolation of pain and
limited mobility, the very real fears of what if?
You have all this crap going on in your system. And your mind is
like..."too much for me" and so its injecting something familiar to "chew
on" so to speak. The stuff with your injury is open ended, you don't know how
it ends...the abuse...you know how its ends its a lot safer for your mind to
tumble that through the wringer cause, though disturbing, its familiar, and
more importantly it will end."
You stare at me like I'm insane.
I continue way past my two cents and round it up to $1.23. "Rather then
inject chaos into the mix, try injecting a few of these...and see if it
doesn't help:
1. stay connected with people, have a slumber party, invite a friend or two
over for a tea party (have someone pick up coffee/drinks and a dozen donuts)
2. Cats make great therapist for the bed bound, borrow one.
3. Change your scenery, have someone move your bed by the window or go lay
on the couch for a bit.
4. books on tape.
5. prank phone calls (oh wait caller id had kinda killed that sport) better
yet prank someone who will know its you...LOL.
6. Rent a stack of old comedy and have a movie night.
the key is to combat the depression first my friend. Then the monsters will
get the heave hoe and return to whence they came."
I strike a match and light your lantern. I lean over and hug you and then
one by one transfer a hand full of olives onto your fingers.
I stand up and take my leave, OOMPA....SQUISH....WHAPPITY
You let me get a few yards away before you can contain it no longer.
"Alright I give! What's with the flippers?"
OOMPA....SQUISH....WHAPPITY, I turn back "cause its a fashion faux pas to
wear skies with tubas after new years."
You sit up with eyes wide.
OOMPA....SQUISH....WHAPPITY
Through the haze of the dark night I materialize. I have a tuba wrapped
around my torso held by one olive fingered hand, scuba flippers on and my
lantern duct taped to my head. I just stare at you with one eyebrow raised
like Spock. "Wwwwhat?"
You can't help yourself and you smile.
OOMPA....SQUISH....WHAPPITY, I come and sit next to you.
"Want my two cents?" I ask then continue on anyways, "long time ago when the
horse fell on me and I had a munched up pelvis and was bed fast for six
weeks, my mind got clouded by depression and got bored...it started
messing with me, it took advantage of the fact that bed had never been a safe
place, that I was a captive audience, that I was in pain, and I was isolated
from my regular routine.
My mind succumbed to the undulating waves of depression. Once there it was on
familiar turf and it was a short slid back into flashbacks and old thoughts
stirred up.
Sounds like your mind is messing with you too. You've got all those
doctors and people messing with you, you have the isolation of pain and
limited mobility, the very real fears of what if?
You have all this crap going on in your system. And your mind is
like..."too much for me" and so its injecting something familiar to "chew
on" so to speak. The stuff with your injury is open ended, you don't know how
it ends...the abuse...you know how its ends its a lot safer for your mind to
tumble that through the wringer cause, though disturbing, its familiar, and
more importantly it will end."
You stare at me like I'm insane.
I continue way past my two cents and round it up to $1.23. "Rather then
inject chaos into the mix, try injecting a few of these...and see if it
doesn't help:
1. stay connected with people, have a slumber party, invite a friend or two
over for a tea party (have someone pick up coffee/drinks and a dozen donuts)
2. Cats make great therapist for the bed bound, borrow one.
3. Change your scenery, have someone move your bed by the window or go lay
on the couch for a bit.
4. books on tape.
5. prank phone calls (oh wait caller id had kinda killed that sport) better
yet prank someone who will know its you...LOL.
6. Rent a stack of old comedy and have a movie night.
the key is to combat the depression first my friend. Then the monsters will
get the heave hoe and return to whence they came."
I strike a match and light your lantern. I lean over and hug you and then
one by one transfer a hand full of olives onto your fingers.
I stand up and take my leave, OOMPA....SQUISH....WHAPPITY
You let me get a few yards away before you can contain it no longer.
"Alright I give! What's with the flippers?"
OOMPA....SQUISH....WHAPPITY, I turn back "cause its a fashion faux pas to
wear skies with tubas after new years."
Wednesday, July 2, 2014
we interupt this blog....to bring you....
....a forced break.
My neck is having issues and the nerve pain in my arms has gone ballistic....Both arms are burning most of the day. I am going to try to stay off the computer for a week. See if I can't get the pain levels back in control. They re-x-rayed my neck this morning at my doctors appt, to see if the degeneration has changed any since 3 years ago. ( was listed as moderate/severe then)
They also started me on Lyrica for the nerve pain. ....its a cousin of Neurontin that had adverse side effects on my head a few years back....so we shall see. I am willing to try ANYTHING at this point to get the burning nerve pain back under control.
So I'm adding limited computer time to my summer changes already in place. I will make an exception for our four man Baldur's Gate no-reload trilogy scheduled every Sat morning....a girl has to get in her gaming time!
Sitting at the computer blogging for hours is not a good thing for my neck right now. We shall see how long I can live without blogging. I have really REALLY enjoyed the extra free time to write this month. Lots of stories in the works.
Last night I wrote this, but then didn't post it. Its a short testy documentary of what burning nerve pain will do to me. Um, yeah...I get a little bitchy. heh, see you all in a week.
* * * * TRIGGER WARNING* * * *
My physical pain tonight is 10/10. I have an appointment in the morning to get help. I am feeling INCREDIBELY HOSTILE AND ANGERY. I want to hurt my selves in all sorts of ways to try to get away from the pain. Yeah...that doesn't make more sense, but that is how SIV works....
My neck arthritis flared up last week, I have neuropathy goes down both arms causing my arms to BURN LIKE A MOTHER FUCKER from armpit to wrists. Its incredibly painful. If I had insurance or a job I would be in the ER right now begging for them to be amputated.
Normally I can deal with the chronic pain but I also aggravated the low back/pelvic issues as well a week ago when I added a easy exercise routine. I am hurting in too many places to ignore. I am falling apart and it pisses me off.
I have tried to blog twice today to just refocus my head, but its too had to type with my arms/hands numb.
My neck is having issues and the nerve pain in my arms has gone ballistic....Both arms are burning most of the day. I am going to try to stay off the computer for a week. See if I can't get the pain levels back in control. They re-x-rayed my neck this morning at my doctors appt, to see if the degeneration has changed any since 3 years ago. ( was listed as moderate/severe then)
They also started me on Lyrica for the nerve pain. ....its a cousin of Neurontin that had adverse side effects on my head a few years back....so we shall see. I am willing to try ANYTHING at this point to get the burning nerve pain back under control.
So I'm adding limited computer time to my summer changes already in place. I will make an exception for our four man Baldur's Gate no-reload trilogy scheduled every Sat morning....a girl has to get in her gaming time!
Sitting at the computer blogging for hours is not a good thing for my neck right now. We shall see how long I can live without blogging. I have really REALLY enjoyed the extra free time to write this month. Lots of stories in the works.
Last night I wrote this, but then didn't post it. Its a short testy documentary of what burning nerve pain will do to me. Um, yeah...I get a little bitchy. heh, see you all in a week.
* * * * TRIGGER WARNING* * * *
My physical pain tonight is 10/10. I have an appointment in the morning to get help. I am feeling INCREDIBELY HOSTILE AND ANGERY. I want to hurt my selves in all sorts of ways to try to get away from the pain. Yeah...that doesn't make more sense, but that is how SIV works....
My neck arthritis flared up last week, I have neuropathy goes down both arms causing my arms to BURN LIKE A MOTHER FUCKER from armpit to wrists. Its incredibly painful. If I had insurance or a job I would be in the ER right now begging for them to be amputated.
Normally I can deal with the chronic pain but I also aggravated the low back/pelvic issues as well a week ago when I added a easy exercise routine. I am hurting in too many places to ignore. I am falling apart and it pisses me off.
I have tried to blog twice today to just refocus my head, but its too had to type with my arms/hands numb.
Monday, June 30, 2014
Baja, Flames and the Firemen
When you put them all back to back like this it sure appears I have lived an exciting life...for someone so dull.
Please note that the paper in my home town had an issue with getting my name correct. In my little town my family names were ....totally freaking out there unique. My name is FOUR letters, its not hard, and I always spelled it out too. But still they insisted on butchering my last or first name, every chance they got. This spelling was a particular favorite of theirs.
This nice tidy little recap however isn't he whole story. hee...he..hahahar! Nothing in my life is that cut and dry.
Neither is this follow up article.
To get the full picture, and totally enjoy the show you must pull up a chair and hear it from me or my sister.
*pulls up my chair and cracks my knuckles*
Ready?
First off this is all that is left...melted keys in the ignition.
Second off....my sister and I cast a frightening accurate foreshadow on that Tuesday evening, on our way driving out to the Rollerdrome. Shortly after getting in my sisters old dodge dart, Vangelis - Chariots of Fire came on the radio.
Being the creative writers we are, we naturally added our own lyrics to the instrumental.
Which included.....
"My chariots on fiiiiiire.....my time has expiiiiiiired!"
over and over...
The night was filled with the usual Roller-skating crowd and the skate was uneventful, until suddenly the rink went black. Not willing to let a black out spoil the evening, we kept skating while the owner shined a flash light on the giant mirrored disco ball to give us a wee bit of light. After ~15 min, and multiple crashed into the walls and each other, we had to give it up, and we all reluctantly called a end to the session.
We were among the last to leave and as we backed up there was a tiny bump then the sound like we had driven over tin cans. Knowing there is nothing in the parking lot drive over/or make that noise/sensation. my sister braked instantly and looked at me with a what the? look on her face.
Here is where the story goes covert.
My mind, my writers mind, INSTANTLY jumped to full gear and started throwing out causes. We ran over a can of spray paint...we can over cans....we ran over a power line....and that one clicked with the power outage already in play.
WHICH then got my anxiety to chime in with its knowledge about cars and downed power lines. and I instantly pulled my arms and legs inwards away from the car.
The line was starting to arc at this point, and give off a glow and strange sound.
My sister opened her door and leaned out to see what was going on. I waited watching. My mind already envisioning that she would get fried once she stepped from car and grounded herself. I half laughed to myself, as my brain tried to shake off the strange crazy idea that we were on a power line and in danger. I at that point honestly thought my run away imagination/anxiety was just nuts. I had no idea we really WERE on a power line.
Still I waited to see what would happen as she stepped from the car.
She didn't die.... so I opened the door without touching anything metal with my skin, got up on the seat so as to not touch the frame at all and jumped from the car without touching it or the ground at the same time.
Clearly laughing at myselves for being such a drama queen, for inserting danger into normal situations.
Once away from car we and the other people could see the rapidly increasing ball of raw power where the line was arcing. Thoughts were tossed back and forth including the idea it was a road flair. Some of the bystanders even suggested that my sister GET BACK IN AND DRIVE IT OFF the object!!
The writer in me was enjoying this whole situation. I don't remember who finally figured it out and called for help. By the time the police arrived it was arcing to a point it was looking very menacing.
It would take Pacific Power and Light quite some time to get the power shut off so there wasn't anything to do. So my sister, me, the newspaper reporter, the police and the fire department stood back and watched the show. Which was spectacular! The combination of cool night air, burning flames, the evil sounds of raw power zapping and spitting and hissing, and adrenaline, was quite thrilling.
The line finally got to such a size it ignited the car, and it make short work of consuming it.
At one point my anxiety couldn't contain itself and it pondered aloud, "should we be standing so close? Is the gas tank going to explode?"
The big burly police man chuckled and said, "That only happens in the movies."
A few seconds later one of the tires blew.
We all jumped and the cops stepped behind my sister and me using us as shields.
"Ummm many be we should watch from over there" a fireman said backing off.
Once the power was off they doused the car in short order. A fireman walked to the other side with a flash light and looked at the downed line where it was under the car. I will never forget the look on his face as he made the discovery. He came right over to us, and brought us back to show us just how close we came to being fried crispies.
When my sister rolled onto the wire it curled up and the ragged end was about 3-4 inches from the frame. The firemen told us if that end had connected with the frame itself this would have been an entirely different accident. A very tragic accident.
holllllllllliiiieeeeeeeessssshhhhhhhhiiiiiiittttttttttttIIIIwwwaaaaasssssalmmmooostcoooookedaliiiive!!
That's when my anxiety started doing its cocky little I told you so dance.
The police drove us home and about 1/2 way there my mind burped up our foreshadowing song lyrics, and I burst into nervous giggles, and leaned over to my sister...and sang...."My chariots on fiiiiiire.....my time has expiiiiiiired!"
We laughed like manics....at the warped humor of it. Hey, if your going to cheat death, you have to at least enjoy it.
We woke out parent to fill them in. I'm not really sure they fully comprehended it until the paper came the next day with the above article in it.
A very interesting phenomenon occurred in the following days too. Apparently a time/space portal opened up and transported quite a few students homework into my sisters car, where it perished in the flames, as the number one excuse for not being able to turn in homework/projects was..."it was destroyed in ____'s car!"
So.
Despite what the paper says, it was NOT the urging of bystanders that saved me. (hello?! get back in and drive it off? what the!!!)
It was the fact that I watched EMERGENCY! as child and I learned from squad 51 the proper way to exit a car with power line on it.
It was the fact my mind is not normal and everything thing I experience is turned into a drama that is directed by my anxiety. My heightened awareness of my surroundings saved me....so in other words. I can thank my PTSD, and TV for getting out alive.
But I credit my sister for saving my life.
She is the one who taught me the What if? game.
What if I leave you here?
What if we run out of food?
What if the cow stampede is heading our way?
What if the dam bursts?
What if there is a robber in the closet?
Playing this endlessly with her as a child taught me to think quickly, assess the situation and come up with fast plan.
What if your car is on a power line?
You wait till your sister gets out and see if she dies...then you get out properly. heh.
Please note that the paper in my home town had an issue with getting my name correct. In my little town my family names were ....
This nice tidy little recap however isn't he whole story. hee...he..hahahar! Nothing in my life is that cut and dry.
Neither is this follow up article.
To get the full picture, and totally enjoy the show you must pull up a chair and hear it from me or my sister.
*pulls up my chair and cracks my knuckles*
Ready?
First off this is all that is left...melted keys in the ignition.
Second off....my sister and I cast a frightening accurate foreshadow on that Tuesday evening, on our way driving out to the Rollerdrome. Shortly after getting in my sisters old dodge dart, Vangelis - Chariots of Fire came on the radio.
Being the creative writers we are, we naturally added our own lyrics to the instrumental.
Which included.....
"My chariots on fiiiiiire.....my time has expiiiiiiired!"
over and over...
The night was filled with the usual Roller-skating crowd and the skate was uneventful, until suddenly the rink went black. Not willing to let a black out spoil the evening, we kept skating while the owner shined a flash light on the giant mirrored disco ball to give us a wee bit of light. After ~15 min, and multiple crashed into the walls and each other, we had to give it up, and we all reluctantly called a end to the session.
We were among the last to leave and as we backed up there was a tiny bump then the sound like we had driven over tin cans. Knowing there is nothing in the parking lot drive over/or make that noise/sensation. my sister braked instantly and looked at me with a what the? look on her face.
Here is where the story goes covert.
My mind, my writers mind, INSTANTLY jumped to full gear and started throwing out causes. We ran over a can of spray paint...we can over cans....we ran over a power line....and that one clicked with the power outage already in play.
WHICH then got my anxiety to chime in with its knowledge about cars and downed power lines. and I instantly pulled my arms and legs inwards away from the car.
The line was starting to arc at this point, and give off a glow and strange sound.
My sister opened her door and leaned out to see what was going on. I waited watching. My mind already envisioning that she would get fried once she stepped from car and grounded herself. I half laughed to myself, as my brain tried to shake off the strange crazy idea that we were on a power line and in danger. I at that point honestly thought my run away imagination/anxiety was just nuts. I had no idea we really WERE on a power line.
Still I waited to see what would happen as she stepped from the car.
She didn't die.... so I opened the door without touching anything metal with my skin, got up on the seat so as to not touch the frame at all and jumped from the car without touching it or the ground at the same time.
Clearly laughing at myselves for being such a drama queen, for inserting danger into normal situations.
Once away from car we and the other people could see the rapidly increasing ball of raw power where the line was arcing. Thoughts were tossed back and forth including the idea it was a road flair. Some of the bystanders even suggested that my sister GET BACK IN AND DRIVE IT OFF the object!!
The writer in me was enjoying this whole situation. I don't remember who finally figured it out and called for help. By the time the police arrived it was arcing to a point it was looking very menacing.
It would take Pacific Power and Light quite some time to get the power shut off so there wasn't anything to do. So my sister, me, the newspaper reporter, the police and the fire department stood back and watched the show. Which was spectacular! The combination of cool night air, burning flames, the evil sounds of raw power zapping and spitting and hissing, and adrenaline, was quite thrilling.
The line finally got to such a size it ignited the car, and it make short work of consuming it.
At one point my anxiety couldn't contain itself and it pondered aloud, "should we be standing so close? Is the gas tank going to explode?"
The big burly police man chuckled and said, "That only happens in the movies."
A few seconds later one of the tires blew.
We all jumped and the cops stepped behind my sister and me using us as shields.
"Ummm many be we should watch from over there" a fireman said backing off.
Once the power was off they doused the car in short order. A fireman walked to the other side with a flash light and looked at the downed line where it was under the car. I will never forget the look on his face as he made the discovery. He came right over to us, and brought us back to show us just how close we came to being fried crispies.
When my sister rolled onto the wire it curled up and the ragged end was about 3-4 inches from the frame. The firemen told us if that end had connected with the frame itself this would have been an entirely different accident. A very tragic accident.
holllllllllliiiieeeeeeeessssshhhhhhhhiiiiiiittttttttttttIIIIwwwaaaaasssssalmmmooostcoooookedaliiiive!!
That's when my anxiety started doing its cocky little I told you so dance.
The police drove us home and about 1/2 way there my mind burped up our foreshadowing song lyrics, and I burst into nervous giggles, and leaned over to my sister...and sang...."My chariots on fiiiiiire.....my time has expiiiiiiired!"
We laughed like manics....at the warped humor of it. Hey, if your going to cheat death, you have to at least enjoy it.
We woke out parent to fill them in. I'm not really sure they fully comprehended it until the paper came the next day with the above article in it.
A very interesting phenomenon occurred in the following days too. Apparently a time/space portal opened up and transported quite a few students homework into my sisters car, where it perished in the flames, as the number one excuse for not being able to turn in homework/projects was..."it was destroyed in ____'s car!"
So.
Despite what the paper says, it was NOT the urging of bystanders that saved me. (hello?! get back in and drive it off? what the!!!)
It was the fact that I watched EMERGENCY! as child and I learned from squad 51 the proper way to exit a car with power line on it.
It was the fact my mind is not normal and everything thing I experience is turned into a drama that is directed by my anxiety. My heightened awareness of my surroundings saved me....so in other words. I can thank my PTSD, and TV for getting out alive.
But I credit my sister for saving my life.
She is the one who taught me the What if? game.
What if I leave you here?
What if we run out of food?
What if the cow stampede is heading our way?
What if the dam bursts?
What if there is a robber in the closet?
Playing this endlessly with her as a child taught me to think quickly, assess the situation and come up with fast plan.
What if your car is on a power line?
You wait till your sister gets out and see if she dies...then you get out properly. heh.
Friday, June 27, 2014
Paja, Pepsi and the Police
Time to lighten the mood.
This is a true story. Every detail is true and can be corroborated by eye witnesses. There is even a police report in some file out there in court house land.
BWAHAHAHAH!!! even just thinking about it cracks me up.
First let me introduce you to Hellfire. a Mercury Montago. I was in my twenties and this was my wheels. Take note of the chicken barn behind the car, and all the fat chickens. That is also my travel trailer on the far right. Those trees above it are where the chickens like to roost. Oh, and that is my man Troll strutting the cat walk there.
Um yeah....I have a prior history for painting vehicles....
He also had the most coolest Gum Man on the dash. There was a split on the dash and I put gum in one day when it was super hot to see if it would bubble up into a monstrosity. Then the kids started adding theirs. The man joined before too long.
But I digress...
It was a spring day a long time ago when I lived on the farm. Probably circa late 1990 long before I was disabled by the OJI.
I was unable to sleep in my trailer because of the heat. I went into the house and watched TV for a bit, then announced I was going to the store for a Pepsi.
I got in Hellfire and made it the top of the street we lived on and the engine chugged and died as I stopped at the stop sign.
I freakin blew a mental gasket. I HATE HATE car trouble. Nothing pushes me over the edge like it.
I tried to get it to start and as my anger mounted I finally had to turn on the hazard lights and admit defeat. I got out and locked the door and slammed it shut.
Okay fine, I am going to use my therapy skills and deal with this problem rationally. I will ask for help.
I started the hike back to the house. Occasionally looking back at Hell fire and its blinking lights. The anger was building and stewing with me. I had planned to go into the house and ask Farm grandma for help. But each time I glanced back at the car the more furious I became.
I walked into the house.
"You got your Pepsi already" Farm Grandma asked.
"Nope." I snarled and went to the junk draw in the kitchen and yanked it open. I grabbed the hammer and headed back out of the house.
"where you going now?" she asked.
"Car broke down, I am going to fix it." I said raising the hammer so she could see it. And left before she could comment.
By then it was growing a bit dark as the sun was setting.The hazard lights blinked a taunting message "ha - ha" "ha - ha" in the distant as I made my way back up the 1/2 of a mile road, to the car.
We had worked on expressing anger in therapy, letting it out vs keeping it bottled up. That's is when I finally snapped and started running. I had one thing on my mind as flew up the road.
I am so going to put those *&^^%$^$&^ hazard light out when I get there.
And this what I did. Two fast swing of the hammer and they went out. The action tripped the mercury switch in me and I lost it completely. I screamed and ranted and went around Hellfire beating the crap out of it with the hammer.
It was a life time of rage and anger and pent up emotions spewing out in a toxic volcano of hammer blows and screamed obscenities.
Then in a blink it all dissipated. I was left standing on the road holding a hammer. My mind cleared instantly. I was panting like I had just ran a marathon. I leaned against the car and started chuckling.
Oh Richard, you were right when you told me that someday I would find my trapped emotions.
The absurdness of what just happened and the laughter turned into hysterical belly laughter.
"Okay P" I told my self, "now lets go ask for help."
I made it down the road to the drive way before I saw the police round the corner and pull up next to Hellfire.
Rafff. I did an about face and started back.
About this time it finally clicked in Farm Grandma's head, that there isn't much in the way of car repairs that one can do with a hammer and she sent one of the boys to see what was going on.
The police headed my way so I backed up and waited for them at the drive way.
The stopped a fair distance from me and an officer stepped out staying behind the open door and shined a flash light on my face blinding me. He mumbled something I couldn't hear.
"What?!" I asked gesturing with my hands that I couldn't make out his words.
He adjusted the flash light off my face and put his hand on this holster, and very slowly and calmly said. "MA'AM. PUT. THE. HAMMER. DOWN."
I glanced at my upheld hand with the hammer still there in it. Oh shiiiiiiiit I am going to get gunned down for threating the police with a hammer. I dropped it like a hot potato. "Hah...sorry, I'm part Italian I talk with my hands."
He approached me with his hand still on his holster and kicked the hammer away from my feet. "we received a report of a tall man beating up a car with a hammer." He said looking down at me. All 5 foot 6, 115 pounds of me.
I laughed nervously. "No man involved it was me, that's my car. It died on me and I beat the crap out of it. I hate car trouble." I looked at him with innocent doe eyes.
He looked at me like I was insane, then hollered back to the driver of the back up unit. "This is our tall man right here!" and cracked up laughing.
...and that when the boy farm Grandma sent to check on things showed up. The very tall boy.
Flashlight swung and they grilled him like he was my accomplice. As if this young man didn't already think I was a total freak, hah!
Once they ran the plate and found it was indeed my car they shook there heads and we joked about women and car repairs. The officer paused for a second before getting in the squad car. "Tell me why a hammer?"
"There wasn't enough extension cord to use the power saw." I grinned.
He laughed and climbed in and left.
The boy and I went and collected the battered Hellfire and pushed him to the drive way where Grandma was waiting. He left us and Grandma and I continued the job.
Of note the drive way is filled with holes from puddles. Also its exactly 1/10 of a mile and is fenced on the right side for about 1/2 of it and all that is on the left side is a single telephone pole.
One single lone telephone pole.
So Grandma digs in behind the car and I have the drivers door open and I am steering with one hand as I push on the frame with my hand and right shoulder.
I clear the pole with the front of the car by about 8-9 inches max.....totally - TOTALLY FREAKING FORGETTING ABOUT THE DRIVERS DOOR THAT IS HANGING OPEN TO THE LEFT OF ME. My only thought was: don't hit the pole with the car.
Thank heavens that the sound of the door striking the pole caused me to straighten up and move my neck out of the door jam. In the next second the forward motion of the vehicle caused the telephone pole to shut the door.
There was no stopping or escaping. It was a sensation like nothing I have felt before or ever want to feel again. I literally got shut in the door. It was in a weird slow...smooth motion too. arm - shoulder - ribs - collar bones - neck.
You don't have time to scream as the air is crushed out of you, you just make a horrific squeal like a hamster being violated in a perverted manner. The pain levels go off the charts...my mind had just enough time to think, oh shit I'm gunna die...and the door cleared the pole and swung open.
I toppled to the ground and laid there trying to catch my breath while farm grandma stared on in horror. My heart was beating all crazily from the unorthodox chest compression it had just received. Oh thank goodness she was there to keep the car moving. The wheels had settled in one of the many holes in the drive way.....she had pushed it past the pole. I just came frighteningly close to crushing my self to death.
When I could speak I lifted my head and addressed the car. "What... was that Hellfire?! ...retaliation for me hammering you?!"
It took a few minutes before I was able to sit up and access the damage. I was numbed by the sudden adrenaline flow and other then feeling like I was still being squeezed. I couldn't tell if anything was broken.
"Someday" Grandma nervously giggled "this will be funny."
"No," I wheezed, breaking up "this is funny now!"
We continued our task. THIS time I sat INSIDE hellfire with the door closed and Grandma pushed him alone. Once parked in the yard I went with her to the house to fill her in on the complete Pepsi saga. We laughed and laughed at the absurdity of all of it. None more then when I lamented "...and I still didn't get my @&*(^&%^9$# Pepsi!!"
Did I go to the ER? I didn't have insurance at that time. So no. Matter of fact I had to work that night so I went out to my trailer to lay down for a little bit. As I stood there unlocking it the chickens who roost in the pine trees above my trailer started cackling and then ....shit right on my head.
I sat down on the trailer step and HEE-hawed till I was crying as the chicken poop ran down my head. As if this little life adventure needed anymore comedy added to it.
Back to the house for another round of laughter and a shower.
************************************
I should have taken pictures of the bruises...they were spectacular.
Years later when I did have insurance and I went to the doctors because for muscular chest pain that would not go away, he carefully palpitated along my rib cage where I had been crushed. He guessed I broke at least three ribs, and mangled the cartilage that attaches them to my sternum. As I showed him the results of effect on my collar bones he winced. "Ow! that must have hurt really bad."
Yup. All healed without proper treatment. Being young and dumb I had just ignored it all and didn't even miss a single day of work. I am left with some lingering after affects that plague me now as arthritis has set in.
And Hellfire? He never ran again. Didn't need a mechanic to diagnose cause of death either. Two days prior the Pepsi/Police event I had drove him to the coast and back (4 hours round trip) without any oil in him. His death was ruled a murder. He was offed by a stupid young girl, who has since learned the importance of oil in cars.
...also of note is ....no one will go on Pepsi runs with me anymore...bwahahahahha! cowards!
This is a true story. Every detail is true and can be corroborated by eye witnesses. There is even a police report in some file out there in court house land.
BWAHAHAHAH!!! even just thinking about it cracks me up.
First let me introduce you to Hellfire. a Mercury Montago. I was in my twenties and this was my wheels. Take note of the chicken barn behind the car, and all the fat chickens. That is also my travel trailer on the far right. Those trees above it are where the chickens like to roost. Oh, and that is my man Troll strutting the cat walk there.
Um yeah....I have a prior history for painting vehicles....
He also had the most coolest Gum Man on the dash. There was a split on the dash and I put gum in one day when it was super hot to see if it would bubble up into a monstrosity. Then the kids started adding theirs. The man joined before too long.
But I digress...
It was a spring day a long time ago when I lived on the farm. Probably circa late 1990 long before I was disabled by the OJI.
I was unable to sleep in my trailer because of the heat. I went into the house and watched TV for a bit, then announced I was going to the store for a Pepsi.
I got in Hellfire and made it the top of the street we lived on and the engine chugged and died as I stopped at the stop sign.
I freakin blew a mental gasket. I HATE HATE car trouble. Nothing pushes me over the edge like it.
I tried to get it to start and as my anger mounted I finally had to turn on the hazard lights and admit defeat. I got out and locked the door and slammed it shut.
Okay fine, I am going to use my therapy skills and deal with this problem rationally. I will ask for help.
I started the hike back to the house. Occasionally looking back at Hell fire and its blinking lights. The anger was building and stewing with me. I had planned to go into the house and ask Farm grandma for help. But each time I glanced back at the car the more furious I became.
I walked into the house.
"You got your Pepsi already" Farm Grandma asked.
"Nope." I snarled and went to the junk draw in the kitchen and yanked it open. I grabbed the hammer and headed back out of the house.
"where you going now?" she asked.
"Car broke down, I am going to fix it." I said raising the hammer so she could see it. And left before she could comment.
By then it was growing a bit dark as the sun was setting.The hazard lights blinked a taunting message "ha - ha" "ha - ha" in the distant as I made my way back up the 1/2 of a mile road, to the car.
We had worked on expressing anger in therapy, letting it out vs keeping it bottled up. That's is when I finally snapped and started running. I had one thing on my mind as flew up the road.
I am so going to put those *&^^%$^$&^ hazard light out when I get there.
And this what I did. Two fast swing of the hammer and they went out. The action tripped the mercury switch in me and I lost it completely. I screamed and ranted and went around Hellfire beating the crap out of it with the hammer.
It was a life time of rage and anger and pent up emotions spewing out in a toxic volcano of hammer blows and screamed obscenities.
Then in a blink it all dissipated. I was left standing on the road holding a hammer. My mind cleared instantly. I was panting like I had just ran a marathon. I leaned against the car and started chuckling.
Oh Richard, you were right when you told me that someday I would find my trapped emotions.
The absurdness of what just happened and the laughter turned into hysterical belly laughter.
"Okay P" I told my self, "now lets go ask for help."
I made it down the road to the drive way before I saw the police round the corner and pull up next to Hellfire.
Rafff. I did an about face and started back.
About this time it finally clicked in Farm Grandma's head, that there isn't much in the way of car repairs that one can do with a hammer and she sent one of the boys to see what was going on.
The police headed my way so I backed up and waited for them at the drive way.
The stopped a fair distance from me and an officer stepped out staying behind the open door and shined a flash light on my face blinding me. He mumbled something I couldn't hear.
"What?!" I asked gesturing with my hands that I couldn't make out his words.
He adjusted the flash light off my face and put his hand on this holster, and very slowly and calmly said. "MA'AM. PUT. THE. HAMMER. DOWN."
I glanced at my upheld hand with the hammer still there in it. Oh shiiiiiiiit I am going to get gunned down for threating the police with a hammer. I dropped it like a hot potato. "Hah...sorry, I'm part Italian I talk with my hands."
He approached me with his hand still on his holster and kicked the hammer away from my feet. "we received a report of a tall man beating up a car with a hammer." He said looking down at me. All 5 foot 6, 115 pounds of me.
I laughed nervously. "No man involved it was me, that's my car. It died on me and I beat the crap out of it. I hate car trouble." I looked at him with innocent doe eyes.
He looked at me like I was insane, then hollered back to the driver of the back up unit. "This is our tall man right here!" and cracked up laughing.
...and that when the boy farm Grandma sent to check on things showed up. The very tall boy.
Flashlight swung and they grilled him like he was my accomplice. As if this young man didn't already think I was a total freak, hah!
Once they ran the plate and found it was indeed my car they shook there heads and we joked about women and car repairs. The officer paused for a second before getting in the squad car. "Tell me why a hammer?"
"There wasn't enough extension cord to use the power saw." I grinned.
He laughed and climbed in and left.
The boy and I went and collected the battered Hellfire and pushed him to the drive way where Grandma was waiting. He left us and Grandma and I continued the job.
Of note the drive way is filled with holes from puddles. Also its exactly 1/10 of a mile and is fenced on the right side for about 1/2 of it and all that is on the left side is a single telephone pole.
One single lone telephone pole.
So Grandma digs in behind the car and I have the drivers door open and I am steering with one hand as I push on the frame with my hand and right shoulder.
I clear the pole with the front of the car by about 8-9 inches max.....totally - TOTALLY FREAKING FORGETTING ABOUT THE DRIVERS DOOR THAT IS HANGING OPEN TO THE LEFT OF ME. My only thought was: don't hit the pole with the car.
Thank heavens that the sound of the door striking the pole caused me to straighten up and move my neck out of the door jam. In the next second the forward motion of the vehicle caused the telephone pole to shut the door.
There was no stopping or escaping. It was a sensation like nothing I have felt before or ever want to feel again. I literally got shut in the door. It was in a weird slow...smooth motion too. arm - shoulder - ribs - collar bones - neck.
You don't have time to scream as the air is crushed out of you, you just make a horrific squeal like a hamster being violated in a perverted manner. The pain levels go off the charts...my mind had just enough time to think, oh shit I'm gunna die...and the door cleared the pole and swung open.
I toppled to the ground and laid there trying to catch my breath while farm grandma stared on in horror. My heart was beating all crazily from the unorthodox chest compression it had just received. Oh thank goodness she was there to keep the car moving. The wheels had settled in one of the many holes in the drive way.....she had pushed it past the pole. I just came frighteningly close to crushing my self to death.
When I could speak I lifted my head and addressed the car. "What... was that Hellfire?! ...retaliation for me hammering you?!"
It took a few minutes before I was able to sit up and access the damage. I was numbed by the sudden adrenaline flow and other then feeling like I was still being squeezed. I couldn't tell if anything was broken.
"Someday" Grandma nervously giggled "this will be funny."
"No," I wheezed, breaking up "this is funny now!"
We continued our task. THIS time I sat INSIDE hellfire with the door closed and Grandma pushed him alone. Once parked in the yard I went with her to the house to fill her in on the complete Pepsi saga. We laughed and laughed at the absurdity of all of it. None more then when I lamented "...and I still didn't get my @&*(^&%^9$# Pepsi!!"
Did I go to the ER? I didn't have insurance at that time. So no. Matter of fact I had to work that night so I went out to my trailer to lay down for a little bit. As I stood there unlocking it the chickens who roost in the pine trees above my trailer started cackling and then ....shit right on my head.
I sat down on the trailer step and HEE-hawed till I was crying as the chicken poop ran down my head. As if this little life adventure needed anymore comedy added to it.
Back to the house for another round of laughter and a shower.
************************************
I should have taken pictures of the bruises...they were spectacular.
Years later when I did have insurance and I went to the doctors because for muscular chest pain that would not go away, he carefully palpitated along my rib cage where I had been crushed. He guessed I broke at least three ribs, and mangled the cartilage that attaches them to my sternum. As I showed him the results of effect on my collar bones he winced. "Ow! that must have hurt really bad."
Yup. All healed without proper treatment. Being young and dumb I had just ignored it all and didn't even miss a single day of work. I am left with some lingering after affects that plague me now as arthritis has set in.
And Hellfire? He never ran again. Didn't need a mechanic to diagnose cause of death either. Two days prior the Pepsi/Police event I had drove him to the coast and back (4 hours round trip) without any oil in him. His death was ruled a murder. He was offed by a stupid young girl, who has since learned the importance of oil in cars.
...also of note is ....no one will go on Pepsi runs with me anymore...bwahahahahha! cowards!
Thursday, June 26, 2014
Connecting with the world P style
I am very shy in real life. To a point it is actually crippling at times. When people see me or talk to me I get all twisted up inside and dissociate. I worked nights for nine years, on a locked geriatric psych unit. It was a perfect fit.
When I started therapy one of the things Richard suggested to me STRONGLY was I needed to get off night and re-connect with the human race. Uuummmm....no.
When I was injured and work had to do something with me they were going to send me to days. The horrified look on my face must have influenced there final decision to place me on the PM shift.
I can function with ease with young children, the elderly and animals. The rest of the planet not so much.
I have always been fascinated with people who can just walk up to someone cold and start a conversation. It boggles my mind, how they can do that without tripping over themselves. When I try that, I end up blushing and saying stupid stuff.
My talent with words ends with writing. It doesn't translate to a verbal skill at all.
I have been thinking a lot recently on what I want to do when I go back to work. Which leaves to wonder....can I learn to be social? Can I lean to be at ease with people? So today I thought I would work on connecting with people and see just how much work I need to do.
I have been observing people who are at ease socially for a very long time. Trying to pick up what ever skill they have that makes it look so easy for them. At the very least I should be able to fake it Right? RIGHT?
HAHAHAHAA!
Uh, nope, not even.
I decided to man up and print out the fireworks blog and hand it to the gentleman this year on our annual trip to buy fireworks. The plan was to hand it to him and then run like hell before he could read it or ask me any questions. Cause well, that is the extent of my courage.
The rule was if he spoke to me I had to hand it over.
And that is exactly what happened.
Which totally foiled my plan of handing it over and running like hell. HAH!
We were only 1/2 done checking out which left me in a position where he was reading it on one side of me and my kids were asking me stuff on the other side. I could feel my self turning red and running in my head. A thought shot through my head....if I bolted for the exit and left the kids here could they find there way home?
Now, I know that I am an eccentric lunatic and should come with a warning label so I made sure to include my little blog disclaimer over there next to my picture at the top of the copy. I didn't want to scare him. He laughed out loud after reading that line and asked if I really had that on my blog.
So now he knows my name. Not how to pronounce it, but at least what it is. I figure by the time Hansolo had graduated high school I will work up the nerve to finally ask him what his name is. That is if he hasn't already filed a restraining order on the weirdo blogger who visited him today. LOL
Dude, I can say with absolute certainty it is not possible for me to even FAKE the ability to be a social creature. Ha!
I have a lot of work to do on my social skills. I must learn to be more social. Now I really, really wish I had listened to Richard's socialization lectures more closely.
When I started therapy one of the things Richard suggested to me STRONGLY was I needed to get off night and re-connect with the human race. Uuummmm....no.
When I was injured and work had to do something with me they were going to send me to days. The horrified look on my face must have influenced there final decision to place me on the PM shift.
I can function with ease with young children, the elderly and animals. The rest of the planet not so much.
I have always been fascinated with people who can just walk up to someone cold and start a conversation. It boggles my mind, how they can do that without tripping over themselves. When I try that, I end up blushing and saying stupid stuff.
My talent with words ends with writing. It doesn't translate to a verbal skill at all.
I have been thinking a lot recently on what I want to do when I go back to work. Which leaves to wonder....can I learn to be social? Can I lean to be at ease with people? So today I thought I would work on connecting with people and see just how much work I need to do.
I have been observing people who are at ease socially for a very long time. Trying to pick up what ever skill they have that makes it look so easy for them. At the very least I should be able to fake it Right? RIGHT?
HAHAHAHAA!
Uh, nope, not even.
I decided to man up and print out the fireworks blog and hand it to the gentleman this year on our annual trip to buy fireworks. The plan was to hand it to him and then run like hell before he could read it or ask me any questions. Cause well, that is the extent of my courage.
The rule was if he spoke to me I had to hand it over.
And that is exactly what happened.
Which totally foiled my plan of handing it over and running like hell. HAH!
We were only 1/2 done checking out which left me in a position where he was reading it on one side of me and my kids were asking me stuff on the other side. I could feel my self turning red and running in my head. A thought shot through my head....if I bolted for the exit and left the kids here could they find there way home?
Now, I know that I am an eccentric lunatic and should come with a warning label so I made sure to include my little blog disclaimer over there next to my picture at the top of the copy. I didn't want to scare him. He laughed out loud after reading that line and asked if I really had that on my blog.
So now he knows my name. Not how to pronounce it, but at least what it is. I figure by the time Hansolo had graduated high school I will work up the nerve to finally ask him what his name is. That is if he hasn't already filed a restraining order on the weirdo blogger who visited him today. LOL
Dude, I can say with absolute certainty it is not possible for me to even FAKE the ability to be a social creature. Ha!
I have a lot of work to do on my social skills. I must learn to be more social. Now I really, really wish I had listened to Richard's socialization lectures more closely.
Tuesday, June 24, 2014
Standing in the light of the fire works
I have friend who doesn't know he is my friend.
He is like no other friend I have. I only see him once a year, for a few minutes. On rare occasions sometimes twice a year. He doesn't know my name, and I do not know his.
He runs the firework stand on the outskirts of town. For a few weeks each summer he pitches his tent and deals with unbearable heat, freezing nights, dust, excruciatingly long hours/days to make sure everyone gets a great deal on fireworks. He blows me away every year with how he runs the business and manages the young staff. There is just something so... magical about him.
He gives off a light that outshines every last fire work he sells. I get a kick out of, for a few moments sharing in this human being's light. Quietly enjoying his presence. It's like seeing a comet that comes by only once a year and lights up the night, and leaves you breathless and feeling connected to something greater.
He first caught my attention when my son was little. It took JUR till he was four to discover his inner pyro, and once he did I couldn't wait to share my love of fireworks with him. We went to the stand on the edge of town and went in. The smell of the place lite up my brain instantly, and I exhaled contently with a loud aaaahhh.... I am a junkie when it comes to things that go boom and light up the night.
As my son wandered around looking at stuff, I became distracted by the man behind the counter teaching the young kids how to run the register. He was a quiet humble teacher with seemingly endless patience.
He came by a few minutes later to make sure all his customers were finding everything. I am so used to being invisible that it shocked me when he looked me in the eyes and then asked about the color of my son's hair. Wait, your talking to me? Are you really taking the time in the middle of all this bustling foot traffic, and hectic business day to speak to me? oh that sealed it. you sir fascinate me to no end!
The next year we returned and truthfully I had forgotten the pervious years encounter. I walked into the tent and see him and my memory stirred and reminded me of the other encounter. I smiled and watched him again. As we paid, he said, "nice to see you again."
What? nah, there is NO way he would remember us. I am not that memorable.
"Look how tall he's getting!" he smiled at my son.
Noooo.....he met us for a nano second a year ago and he remembers us?
I left, even more intrigued by this man.
Each year after that the same story.
A few years back he got booted from his usual selling spot and once we found he had been displaced we tracked him down like professional stalkers. No one gets our fire work money but him.
My son was not with me, just my daughter. No red hair to tip him off. A true test to see if he was just yanking my chain all these years with recognizing us.
We walked into the tent at the new location and he glanced up with a big relieved smile, "Oh I am so glad you found us!!"
We exchanged more words that day then we had in all the years combined.
I also noticed for the first time, how he greeted people as they came in. It was "welcome" to some that he must have not known and a different greeting that clearly indicated those he did recognize.
I realized that this man does remember me, not for the few dollars I spend each year or the various children who accompany me, but for a reason I cannot comprehend.
He is indescribable. Just a quiet person who enriches others with his presence.
I wonder every year where he goes after the firework season is over. What other areas of life get blessed with his presence.
Some how it would remove the magical quality to his life if I were to know anything more about him. My writers mind is captivated by him, much the way a young child delights in the magic of visiting Santa once a year. A pure enjoyment of seeing and being in the light of someone unique.
I have often thought I should at the very least learn his name. Or tell him my name is P and I have enjoyed quietly standing the light of the fireworks with him for all these years.
That I am thankful that in a sea of faces that he swims in each year, he always somehow see's mine. I know that its not a business ploy to keep customers...its a dazzling testimony to the man he is...and I appreciate his gentle attentive care of other human beings.
He is like no other friend I have. I only see him once a year, for a few minutes. On rare occasions sometimes twice a year. He doesn't know my name, and I do not know his.
He runs the firework stand on the outskirts of town. For a few weeks each summer he pitches his tent and deals with unbearable heat, freezing nights, dust, excruciatingly long hours/days to make sure everyone gets a great deal on fireworks. He blows me away every year with how he runs the business and manages the young staff. There is just something so... magical about him.
He gives off a light that outshines every last fire work he sells. I get a kick out of, for a few moments sharing in this human being's light. Quietly enjoying his presence. It's like seeing a comet that comes by only once a year and lights up the night, and leaves you breathless and feeling connected to something greater.
He first caught my attention when my son was little. It took JUR till he was four to discover his inner pyro, and once he did I couldn't wait to share my love of fireworks with him. We went to the stand on the edge of town and went in. The smell of the place lite up my brain instantly, and I exhaled contently with a loud aaaahhh.... I am a junkie when it comes to things that go boom and light up the night.
As my son wandered around looking at stuff, I became distracted by the man behind the counter teaching the young kids how to run the register. He was a quiet humble teacher with seemingly endless patience.
He came by a few minutes later to make sure all his customers were finding everything. I am so used to being invisible that it shocked me when he looked me in the eyes and then asked about the color of my son's hair. Wait, your talking to me? Are you really taking the time in the middle of all this bustling foot traffic, and hectic business day to speak to me? oh that sealed it. you sir fascinate me to no end!
The next year we returned and truthfully I had forgotten the pervious years encounter. I walked into the tent and see him and my memory stirred and reminded me of the other encounter. I smiled and watched him again. As we paid, he said, "nice to see you again."
What? nah, there is NO way he would remember us. I am not that memorable.
"Look how tall he's getting!" he smiled at my son.
Noooo.....he met us for a nano second a year ago and he remembers us?
I left, even more intrigued by this man.
Each year after that the same story.
A few years back he got booted from his usual selling spot and once we found he had been displaced we tracked him down like professional stalkers. No one gets our fire work money but him.
My son was not with me, just my daughter. No red hair to tip him off. A true test to see if he was just yanking my chain all these years with recognizing us.
We walked into the tent at the new location and he glanced up with a big relieved smile, "Oh I am so glad you found us!!"
We exchanged more words that day then we had in all the years combined.
I also noticed for the first time, how he greeted people as they came in. It was "welcome" to some that he must have not known and a different greeting that clearly indicated those he did recognize.
I realized that this man does remember me, not for the few dollars I spend each year or the various children who accompany me, but for a reason I cannot comprehend.
He is indescribable. Just a quiet person who enriches others with his presence.
I wonder every year where he goes after the firework season is over. What other areas of life get blessed with his presence.
Some how it would remove the magical quality to his life if I were to know anything more about him. My writers mind is captivated by him, much the way a young child delights in the magic of visiting Santa once a year. A pure enjoyment of seeing and being in the light of someone unique.
I have often thought I should at the very least learn his name. Or tell him my name is P and I have enjoyed quietly standing the light of the fireworks with him for all these years.
That I am thankful that in a sea of faces that he swims in each year, he always somehow see's mine. I know that its not a business ploy to keep customers...its a dazzling testimony to the man he is...and I appreciate his gentle attentive care of other human beings.
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