As I predicted, today was phenomenal. It got even better when the headphones I bought with Sam’s club points arrived. Along with my yellow shirt. Someone at work told me I needed a yellow shirt to go with black pants so I could look like a bumblebee. It seemed reasonable, like climbing a 70 ft tall tree in February. I saw the world from a different perspective up there. Don’t worry ~ I have insurance. Both life and health for that matter. It’s been 5 months since my surgery. Go ahead, ask me if I’m happy. I try to imagine what life would be like if everyday were this sublime. .
The scammer leaned against the brick facade of the inconvenience store as I pulled up. Luckily, someone distracted him as I exited my car. On the way out, though, I made the mistake of eye contact. As he began his elaborate and well-rehearsed story, I listened attentively.
“What do you need the money for?” I asked him, smiling.
“A room, as I said.” He paused.
“I’ll give you $50 for your headphones. Will that help?” His headphones were worth as much as two of my car payments.
He smiled broadly. “Okay, you got me there.”
I laughed. “I tell you what. IF you tell me an interesting story, I’ll give you all the cash I have, $8. Is that fair? Just make it a true story.”
He thought about it a second. “Ooh! That’s easy. For $8, I can tell you ten great stories.”
I leaned against the brick facade next to him. “Hit me, dude.”
Here’s what he told me:
“Back a few years ago, I was in Nashville to scam my way into the VIP area at a private concert. I managed to get inside, of course, insisting I was the sound engineer for the band. I’ve met Nelly, 50 Cent, and a few others doing that. After about an hour, a few of the entourage went to a private bar nearby. Everyone was doing drugs. Even the waitstaff. I like to smoke but I wouldn’t touch the stuff they were using. I’d grabbed at least twenty joints from the little case one of the entourage had and stuffed them in my pocket. After a few minutes, a couple of men entered the main room, and one of them shouted, “Police. Everyone stay put. You are all being detained.” I ducked down to the floor, hoping I hadn’t been seen. I crawled around the bar and crouched low. I pulled out a case of wine from underneath and quickly yanked a couple of bottles out and put them on the floor. I could hear the mayhem on the other side as people were frisked and handcuffed. One of the detectives walked around the bar and saw me there. I looked up at him and nodded, and kept pulling wine bottles out of the case. The detective assumed I must have worked for the bar as he nodded back and walked past me. After a few seconds of that, I stood up and lifted the case of wine to the bartop. Everyone was sitting at tables, most of them cuffed. I kept pulling bottles out and putting them on the bar. This went on for a few minutes. Because of the confusion, I then started putting full bottles of the good vodka, whiskey, and gin in the wine case. When I had it full, I waited for the detective who’d seen me on the floor to look in my direction. I pointed to the case and then toward the back storage area. The detective nodded. I picked up the case of liquor and headed through the storage area. There was a plainclothes cop at the back door. He assumed I had been waved through because he didn’t stop me as I strolled past with my stolen case of goods. I walked out of there, laughing. I sold the liquor for $250. I shared the joints with my friend who was in Nashville with me. We got so high we could barely walk.”
I laughed. “That is a good story!”
“I learned that if you act natural, a lot of times you’ll skate by. And be polite, no matter what. I got caught with an unbelievable amount of pot in Atlanta one time. Enough to smoke up an auditorium full of people. When he asked me what it was for, I told him the truth, that it was to get higher than a kite for about a month. It wasn’t true, no one could smoke THAT much pot in a month. But he laughed and told me to be more careful about driving around with that much at one time. “I get a bulk discount though,” I told him. I think he was just caught off guard by how nonchalant I was about it.”
“Here’s your $8. Thanks for the story.”
As I went to get into my car, he quipped, “Are you sure you don’t smoke? That car color screams “high as-f” to me.”
“You’re right. On the other hand, those shoes you have on bring up an entire litany of questions.”
He was surprised as he looked down at his shoes.
He laughed. “You got me.”
“Offer to tell a story for money. You might make a lot more money.” He nodded.
I woke up at 3 a.m. to a snow moon this morning. I didn’t know until today that it’s called that thanks to Native Americans. The white billowy clouds moved across the sky rapidly and the wind created silhouettes of witch fingers across the parking long as the bare limbs danced and swayed. Güino gleefully ran outside and across the landing, enjoying the 59 degrees of the February morning. I walked down the landing in my bathrobe, waving at the neighbor’s security cameras, in an attempt to corral him back toward home. Since I had to do a metabolism test this morning, I tried to summon the spit demons to produce enough to fill a vial that seemed larger than a beer stein. And then, in the ultimate act of self-amusement, I jabbed myself with the needle to produce enough blood for a blood sample; this resulted inadvertently in enough blood to mimic an impromptu crime scene. The downstairs neighbors had to hear me laughing like a fool up here.
I’m enjoying a bitter cup of coffee, one made so strong that it might melt through the cup. As the minutes fly by and music plays softly on Alexa and Güino sits on my lap as I type, I realize that it’s a beautiful morning, a perfect one, to start the day. I’m going to laugh a lot today, get some sublime hugs, and wonder about the surprising ways that life still sneaks up on me with lemon moments. Whatever I had envisioned for myself in the previous months, this is a morning that’s difficult to complain about.
Güino agrees and purrs as I finish this.
I’m ready for the day. I hope it’s ready for me, too.
Guino sang the song of his people ~ the crystal I placed in the window violated some unspoken compact regarding things in the window. He jumped from the window to my lap as I perched on the end of the bed. And when I tried to take a picture, that too ran afoul of his interminable cacophony of objections.
I looked up in the trees after hearing a commotion. Two squirrels were relentlessly chasing and fighting across the tall tree in front of me. One did something audacious, something I’m not sure I’ve ever seen. He climbed up on the limb about 8 ft above the other squirrel. And then he jumped on the back end of the squirrel below. The lower squirrel was so surprised that he fell out of the tree to the ground below near the creek. After a few moments, I saw him move away. That’s what he gets for starting a fight with Evel Knievel squirrel!
For anyone who wants to read an intimate and personal explanation about their experience with God and the divine, this is for you. A friend shared it with me. It touched me beyond words. * *
Recently you posted about how you seemed to wish you were certain of God’s love for you.
I feel the need to share a painful personal story with you.
Let me preface it by saying that faith is a gift I was given as a young child. I don’t know why or how; I only know that I have always had faith. Not just faith in God, but also faith in other people. It is hard to describe the certainty.
Fast forward to my early 30’s. My daughter was 2 years old. She reached childhood milestones early and was speaking, singing, and whistling. In 1996, she had her first seizure, and it was as if the computer in her brain was wiped clean. Rebooted, blank slate. All forward progress was gone. We started over with teaching her to speak and do the things other children did. Each and every seizure took some progress. It was awful. The seizures were poorly controlled, and we were desperate for answers. Which led me to the public library for information. I found several books covering seizures. The one that provided the most information was by John Hopkins University. From that book, I figured out that based upon her seizures, she had one of two conditions. I read that book midday, and it upset me. That was the day before Easter. I went to work that evening, but I was unable to concentrate to transcribe because I was too upset. So I left early. I cried all of the way home and had a VERY angry one-sided conversation with GOD. When I arrived home, I dried my tears because I still had Easter Baskets to make. I made the baskets and went to bed. That night I had the most amazing dream.
It was raining, and we were walking into an unfamiliar building. As we approached the building, the clouds parted, and a face poked through the clouds and said, “You will be ok. It will be difficult, but you will be ok.” Then the face disappeared. That is all that I have ever remembered of the dream. I awoke with the most complete sense of peace. A few weeks later, we took my daughter for an appointment at ACH in Little Rock. We pulled up and discovered the building from my dream. I burst into tears. We were at the right place for her treatment. I also knew that everything would be ok. It has been. She was placed on the correct treatment during that visit, and her seizures became better controlled.
It may sound like sentimental blabber, but I am certain that it is real. I am also certain of GOD’s love because he made certain I had what I needed when I needed it most.
Throughout my life, when times became difficult, there has always been someone new to bring a positive perspective and to show me the way through the pain.
I don’t expect you to grab onto this and suddenly feel GOD’s presence in your life. It is there; you identify it every day in the stories you write. So many of your stories include some form of Divine grace. Open yourself to the possibility that you are worthy of his love because, my friend, you are worthy.
Sometimes we need to forgive ourselves before we allow the best stuff to enrich our lives. * *
Love, X
P.S. Imagine someone sharing this kind of story with you? This is the stuff of a life well-lived and appreciated.
When I glimpsed her through the window, I first thought she was a dumpster diver. She looked into the dumpster with a quizzical look on her face. Her right arm poked into the container, unable to reach whatever she saw there. She moved to the opposite side and used the disposal lift weld-on to boost herself shakily up. Her upper body leaned into the container. For a second, I was confident she’d tumble inside. I’ve seen it happen before.
She emerged upright, her right hand holding a strange lamp. It had no lampshade, and I could see that the black cord was cut and frayed. She looked down and wondered how she would hop down from her perch. She grabbed the frayed cord and let the lamp gently go inside the dumpster. She held the edge of the cold dumpster and stepped down, her grip firmly on the cord. She then pulled the lamp out of the container and held it, looking at it.
She turned it in her hands, scrutinizing the metal birds that adorned the column of the lamp. I think she was considering tossing it back inside.
I walked out on the landing, for some inexplicable reason hoping she’d keep the lamp.
She walked back toward the apartment building.
“Hey,” I hollered.
She looked up at me as I gestured to her.
She turned to walk toward me and walked over to the bottom of the stairs.
“That’s a nice lamp!”
“I thought so too. The birds are interesting,” she said, turning it and holding it up for me to see.
“If you’d like, I will re-wire it and paint it any color you’d like. It won’t cost much. Just a little bit of time.”
She smiled, surprised.
“That’s kind of you to offer. Hmmm. Blue. I’d like it to be blue.”
“Blue it is in, then,” I told her. “I can get a wiring set for a few dollars and fix it to look brand new. But, if you’re interested, I can do one better. I can show you how easy it is if you want me to. That way, you can make all the lamps you want to.”
“Oh! Really? That would be awesome!” I could see her imagining that she could do it.
“I’ll get the paint and the wiring assembly. Let me know when you want to give new life to your lamp.”
She smiled. “Deal. Thank you.”
Sometime soon, I will give someone the gift of making her found lamp come to life.
I’m stealing a moment. Sitting by the creek and the trail. Though I love all types of weather, with the breeze on me and the sun on my head, it’s hard to imagine a better moment. I’ve had a few surprises, each of them making me wonder why I ever doubted my optimism. The beautiful vista doesn’t negate any of the valleys I have walked through ~ each of them temporarily giving me pangs of self-doubt. Were y’all sitting here with me, I would tell a stupid joke, one which would hopefully make y’all snort. We might look up at the arborcast sky and know that the moment will pass. The shadows under the trees are just that: the sun will soon turn and glancingly illuminate the previous shadows, each in their own time. Like I always do, I pause for a little bit of gratitude. Meanwhile, the breeze passes over me, a whisper of things to come.
There are days when coincidences flood my life. Because we are thinking animals, it’s easy to find a nexus and connections where there are none. Other days, the barrage is so consistent and overwhelming that I feel like I’m the titular character in a Richard Bach novel. I stop and pet a dog and look up to see that owner bundled in warm clothing is someone I once knew. That a new neighbor gives me a stack of t-shirts and one of them is a green Spongebob-inspired one. (That’s a more complicated story.) A stranger writes me on Ancestry to tell me that they read about one of their ancestors on my blog. A DM of words to tell me that something I wrote five years about my personal history gave them hope that anything can become a story and not a constant reminder of pain. Another to tell me they’d read about 400 of my blog posts and told me he didn’t realize that he could just write about anything he wanted to. Or that he could be honest about the things he was not proud of, a couple of which he shared with me. I got a quick peek at what my life would look like in a year. A succession of hugs, causing laughter and a little bit of merriment. Some hugs are built from scratch and others feel like comfort. I won’t detail all the coincidences, but it was a minor crescendo as the day progressed.
I hear the mockingbird, too, in my head. When I wrote this line, A small bird flew up to my feeder, singing as he ate absurdly large suet balls. My window blinds are open, of course, so that I can watch the world whiz by with ridiculous speed out on Gregg. My feeder is less than five feet away from me, directly in my line of sight. My cat Güino is laying on the extra-wide windowsill I installed, even though the air is chilly through the window. I hear him chirp in response to the small bird, though he doesn’t jump to nuzzle and nose at the window as I expect.
I went for a haircut today, too. I sat and joked with the duo of older barbers. I’m guessing they are unaccustomed to rapid-fire humor. Instead of telling my barber how to cut my hair, I asked him to cut mine as if he were doing “The Ugly Bruce Willis special.” I waited. “How the Jason Statham one where he looks like he lost his mind. Can you do that?” And then I relented and told him that my haircut was the easiest in the world. “#1 attachment and do the rest any damned way you’d like.” He laughed. “Well, I guess you’re right. That is the easiest.” When he was done, he started to hand me a mirror to examine the cut. “Are you kidding? Where’s your self-confidence?” He laughed again. “My Grandpa told me that you should never paint a burned house. Whatever happened here, it’s on me.”
As I left, I asked them where the special bottles of spray were. The older of the two said, “What spray are you talking about.” I smiled. “The one that really good-looking men use to keep the women at bay.” They paused and then cackled. “Oh, it’s not for me. It’s a gift for a friend!”
During my errands, I encountered a few more coincidences. At Peace at Home Shelter Thrift Store, at Harps, and even on the drive home. I felt like a special filter had been placed on my brain.
The brooch is one of several I made for my sister. I have a small collection of both meaningful ones – and lunacy-inspired ones, too.
I chose joy today, even though I had a couple of moments that were like running on a treadmill, blindfolded, and in reverse. But I felt myself insisting on pushing aside the indifference and negativity from the world.
Even as I write this, I know I’m going to have a couple of more coincidences happen. I can feel their scratches at the door of my life.
P.S. Parenthetically Speaking 