Summer Days

They had huge respect for everything.  When the early afternoon hit and there was no denying the incredible heat, they didn’t huddle around the only AC unit in the living room. They didn’t even go to the bathtub for relief.  But everything did shut down, the old house quiet, and intensely hot, inside and out.

The windows in their house were long and skinny, around 36 inches to ceiling, basically, if I had to guess.  There were three of these big tall windows in the dining room.  That room seemed to get the hottest.  I’m sure they had blinds, and they had to have drawn the blinds, I just can’t remember.  I do remember sneaking out to the road once, when I just wasn’t feeling like a nap, and hot hot the old black-top road was.  It was sticky, and stuck to my shoes.  I remember how the pine trees around the corner where things grew more wild, began to get sticky too.  And the smell was intoxicating.  Walking in an old pine forest on my own, being bold and independent when I was so young…  coming home with a puppy, of course.

To this day, I don’t know how it was possible, because I never saw them do any housework, especially my grandmother.  But their house was always in order, floors always clean.  Staged, basically.  In a very homey way.  Their dining room with the big windows sat in the very middle of the house and there was a big table and chairs, and a china hutch.  That was it.  Nothing else.  She always dressed her table in a big white table cloth, and that was pretty much it.  They weren’t excessive at all, about anything.

Funny thing was, they could have been.  My grandfather was so tight, you’d never know that guy was flush.  He had several bank accounts, and he was known to help people out from time to time, but he never acted in extravagance.  What they had was nice, and they lived a decent life.  But the resources they saved, saved for no one, could have…  wait…  what could it have done?  What does simply throwing money at any problem ever do…?  My own mother would talk out loud from time to time, as I remember, and a lot of what I heard had to do with money, and not having enough.  But at my grandmother’s house, they never talked of such things.  They always had things to do.

The contrast that was lived in their home was tenable.  From the relentless heat of a summer’s day to the twinkling lights of winter cold, it was always raw, real and visceral.  The water from the tap always cold, with a taste heavy with iron.  They’d always had a well and I’ve long forgotten when they did switch over to city water.  When they’d begin to wake up after nap, things would stay quiet, and still so hot.  This was a good time to present the new puppy as neither was keen for argument at this point…

As I look back on it all, I pretty much did whatever I wasn’t supposed to do.  I was just a curious little kid.  I wanted to investigate things and explore.  I didn’t have imaginary friends, and my brother was never there, so I enjoyed time with animals.  I often wonder if those small town country days are over, or if somewhere out there, still lives a sweet, innocent bunch of good people, just trying to make it, and help each other.  Where no one needs to lock their doors and people don’t do without.  They just don’t.

As you went more south of town, you would find the best places to explore, but I never went much past Old Jim’s place, or the sisters on the corner.  I loved them so much.  They were always full of mischief and play.  You could just see it in their eyes.  I always wondered how they got their yards so perfectly clean.  Not a rock, not a blade of grass.  Just dirt floor flat and clean, all around the house.  Maybe sometimes we might forget, as the years have blended us so much, but Susie’s skin was very black, except for her pink hands and feet.  And I loved to look into her eyes.  They seemed like they were full of a million stories.  And they always had animals around their houses.

Now we’d consider those houses just a shack.  They’re probably gone now, just like the people who lived there are gone.  You might not remember people from years gone by, but my heart wells up to think of them all.  They were good people.  Not a bad one in the lot. My grandmother enjoyed them as well, but mostly the amazing giant vegetables they might bring for her approval.  The vegetable truck which came once a week was always a big deal.  They pulled that big heaping hulk of a truck up into my grandfather’s driveway, squeaking and straining under the weight of a thousand pounds… and they’d start honking, the old woman yelling out “Veg-tabulllllssssss…”  very loudly, as if no-one was there to hear her at all…  and kids hanging out, hanging on…  to all the vegetables all over the back of the truck.  It was quite the spectacle!

Since all those days of summer are just memories now, the idea of a new summer ahead of us makes me wonder.  The possibilities are endless.

 

 

 

 

Another Cloudy, Cold, Wet Day…

A comment I added to an expression/pic of anger against cruelty and harm:  whether we kill, or be killed, whether we eat, or be eaten, whether we are in total alignment and walking our own sacred path, or find ourselves wound into a furious tornado of anger and rage at injustice we see, it is all part of the whole that must be, without one there is not the other, sometimes when anger speaks, it is… God trying to spell things out for us… there is no reason to wonder, there is forgiveness enough for all, in fact, it is our inherent right, just to “be” or to take up arms against an army, we are still loved, we are still worthy, and even in the face of the greatest cruelty lies the change we wish to see, to embrace…. that for which we fight so bravely… each in our own way…  there is no angry God to judge us, it is just us, all alone, in our own little/great path to reason.  Two nites ago, for me, it felt like I was alone in Bermuda shorts, trying to climb Kilimanjaro with nothing, against furious blizzards of cutting shards, and two days later, I reached the top, successful in that task, that purpose, but still with tears, still looking down upon the whole of those left yet to save…  IT IS NOT MY JOB!!!!  THAT IS THE LESSON.   IT IS NOT YOUR JOB TO SAVE THE WORLD.  We are all doing the best that we can at all times…   there is no judgment except for what we place on ourselves.  We were always loved, and always will be. We were born worthy.  Each and every single living breathing creature was born from love and imagination and inherent worthiness.  Whether we are surrounded by our family, our home, our Mother, or find ourselves very much alone now, in this physical, beautiful place, I believe we are here to experience every imaginable emotion and sensation, however sublime or intense, that is our only purpose, to observe, and to aid those we can, and always, always have our hands open, with love to give from God, from Mother Earth, from the Heavens, we are only reflections of this amazing creation…  ♥  and I am filled with love today…

Love

my sonWhen a man turns away from the kind smile of a woman, he will never be the same. Sometime, maybe when he tries to sleep, she returns. She can stir his heart even then…

Want to know what a woman is? A woman is a kind and gentle flower, drops of rain on her petals, beauty of untold stories. Or, she can be like the Lioness, who cannot stop herself if she must kill, she goes mad, until there is nothing left of her enemy…. nothing… it is true…

We were dropped off here once, by some sad yet benevolent race, yes, they just left us here. Maybe they thought they were saving us…. But other spirits flew wild above, like black wraiths in the night, and they gathered like an army for their leader, and swore to enjoy our suffering and torment forever…

Others turned the innocent ones into slaves, gave them graven images, fed them poisons and created fake wars to watch the bloodshed… forced them to be slaves for a governing Elite, a hybrid race of monsters, not human anymore…

Women were killed, abused, neglected, babies were left hungry with disease, innocent creatures of Our Divine Creator suffered endless ages of suffering, being broken and lost forever from their true destiny, from their true nature…  Men turned against man, fear was fed to them like a furious screaming demon, and darkness fell upon them all….  and the women cried rivers of tears, but no one cared anymore…

It was hell on Earth and the last living Kind Ones knew the end was in sight. Dragonfly machines louder than devil monsters flew through the sky and the wild horses of the peoples fled for their lives, and many were left dead and dying as the roaring machines continued after the others… and the innocents cried…

One small child in Pakistan stood up and boldly defended her right to know, to learn, to have an education, Malala, and a child slave without mind nor heart, guided by some unnamed fear, raised a weapon to her head and fired.

Maybe there is no saving it now. Maybe it is past the point of no return. But my heart is like Arwen’s. Like the Elven Clans of old. There is a very old book coming to my door, and I wait each day, patiently, looking for the post truck to bring it from across a huge ocean.  It was written in 1849 by a man of the Kymry people of Wales. It is a first edition, with the original genuine clip of the obit where the young author, a beloved hero of their people, died far too young.  This is his book.  And for some unknown reason, I have found it….

It tells all their stories. In their language, and then Thomas adds in explanation and lends insight of those times. We can’t always just look at ourselves. Sometimes it is very important to try to remember. To accept whatever gifts inexplicably come our way, and even if we don’t understand, we know they are sacred. Sacred in a world long forgotten and its people in ruin…

Find your people. Find your love and your passion. Do not stop till you do. Do not be cavalier anymore. That time is long past. Stand up. Be ready to face it all with the bravery that runs in our blood from our warrior grandparents…

The true Kind Ones, the Humans left here so so many centuries ago, alone, to fend for themselves, they are few now. Our beautiful children must not forget us. They must not forget. Because everything that was ever done before, was for them, now. On the holy Sabbath, tonite, I send courage and great love to all children of the Earth, we must be strong, and know what is worth fighting for. I can tell you what will save us. We’ve just lost sight of it. Love. Only love.

Fiona

For the life I’ve lived, I can’t explain much.  It’s like Rogan says, we don’t know shit, and the people who say they do, are lying….

But tonite, I ran across a little non-descript black female dog, they call Fiona.  She looks so sad and lost in the pic…

She’s one day away from being killed in a kill shelter here in my county.

I notice horses, donks, dogs, cats, all of them, every day, that need a good home…  But when I saw Fiona, I knew if I didn’t try, maybe no one would.

I need another dog to love, because I can.  Because I have the room, and the knowledge, and the ability, and the desire.  I am more at ease with my dog pack than with most any group of people…..  sad, but true…

Last spring, my heart was broken because I made the very difficult decision not to take in two little equine, a miniature stallion and his donkey friend.  When I faced reality of the cost of their feeding and care, it was overwhelming, when I have to work so hard to feed two of us, plus the pets, as it is….

But I’m not quite dead yet, I am here, wanting to help someone…  and there was Fiona…   something in me will die again, if they reject my app….

I need a miracle again…  I just want to be a good person, and I have so much love to give, and she will help me to get out and walk again…  I want to love her, call me crazy…  I love my pets, every one, from little blind Jerry, to old Cleo, all of them, they are my life, my babies, my pack….

If you pray, or have wishes that you send up to the universal divine power, I ask you to think of an old lady gardener, who wants to make up for past mistakes and love a little dog that has about zero chance, right now….   but maybe I’m her chance… maybe I am….  maybe this one can make it….

How can an old gardener with Joni Mitchell songs going on in her head, keep going, when life is so hard… I’ll tell you, by love.

I used to think after my husband left me, I’d die of heartbreak.  I still miss him.  You don’t stop loving someone…  But now I am older, I can survive, I am smarter, and all the hard work I did in my younger days is going to start paying off…  but all I want is one little black dog….   please God, don’t let them kill her…    I help people every day, really, no problem, but sometimes you just have to ask for help, and this is one of those times…

just mainly need your best wishes for the life of this little dog…  she represents us all….   we are all one, we really are….   even little black dogs….  I’d do whatever I have to, to save her life…

post script to story on Fiona:  I received a two line response from the kill shelter that went something like this: “Fiona must be kept as an “inside dog” only.  She is a climber and will scale any fence.”

In the app it asked if I would buy a crate and use it..  I said absolutely not, I consider them torture.  That probably did it right there.  Honestly that is the craziest line of bull I’ve heard in a long time.  What animal wouldn’t love to have freedom to run off leash.  She could have that here.  My dog Biscuit can jump straight up six feet fairly easily, and he hasn’t managed to “break out.”  Anyway, they wouldn’t if they could.  They love living here.  Poor, poor Fiona.  Just another black dog that didn’t catch a break in this world.  Maybe Jim was right.  “Can’t save them all.”  How very sad.  We can try and try and sometimes we fail.  We just have to never give up trying.  I never will, even in the face of total absurdity.  Good luck Fiona, wherever you go….  much love….

She speaks to me..... I just want to bring her home, to love her...

She speaks to me…..
I just want to bring her home, to love her…