Category Archives: Lemon Moment

Death, Family, Lemon Moment, Nostalgia, Personal, Psychology

What Was Will Once Again Be (A story)

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I looked across the bright blue tablecloth the staff used for decoration and practicality. Behind the older lady sitting uncomfortably slouched in a wheelchair across from me, attempting to eat between coughs, I saw him standing there.

When I looked over the lady’s shoulder, he hadn’t been there three seconds before. He was an older man dressed impeccably in a dark green suit. His eyes were wrinkled yet sparkling. The tall windows behind him didn’t seem to add any illumination to his profile. I could see the sun shining brilliantly down between the wings of the care facility.

When my eyes met his, I didn’t need to be introduced to know who he was. He nodded and smiled, which, under different circumstances, might have made me uncomfortable.

I nodded back, but I didn’t return his smile. Only time softly converts the repeated truth of reality into recognition, if not acceptance.

The older man looked at the framed picture in front of me. “What was will once again be,” he said, although his lips did not move.

It didn’t surprise me that I heard him in my head.

“You’re not here for her, at least not yet,” I insisted.

“No, but I’m always here. I am everywhere to untie the bind when it’s time for each of them.”

“She needs a little more time,” I answered in my head.

He shook his head. “No. Once the mind opens and self-awareness occurs, every moment is borrowed. Do you see the sunlight behind me? Smell the food in front of you? Do you not feel it when you hug her?”

“Yes.” I already knew the point. It had periodically been hammered into me throughout my years. Many of my worst moments were when the lesson slipped from my mind.

“What was will once again be. Take the pleasure and the people around you, and let it be enough. Looking forward or listening to the sounds of the grains in the glass is folly. Just as looking backward too long focuses you on what’s lost. You are here. Now.”

I closed my eyes briefly and listened to the myriad voices around me.

When I opened them, I lifted the soup spoon and gingerly fed it to the woman I was visiting.

There would always only be this moment. A long succession of them experienced individually.

For some, more. For others, fewer.

The voices, the smells, and presence.

We are all the same story, written in different verses and distinct melodies.

It is enough.

When I looked toward the window, the man was gone. The windows were dimmer, but a piece of me felt brighter. Truth is its own luminescence if we let it shine even into the dark corners of our lives.

Love, X
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Animals, Lemon Moment, Personal

WWE Squirrels

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The surprise happened quickly. I walked along the trail spur where I usually encounter my favorite terrier Max. I could hear squirrels animatedly chattering at one another close by. I pulled my phone from my pocket and looked down to input the code. That’s when the unlikely coincidence happened. I didn’t have time to react. What I thought was a large bird swooped down in front of me so closely that it was only inches away – and hit my right shoe precisely when my shoe contact with the concrete. 

My brain realized that a squirrel had jumped or been knocked from the tree above me. It bounced from my shoe to stand about two feet in front of me. It hunched on all four fours and chattered at me. Above me, I heard a squirrel scratching furiously at a tree. A half second later, the squirrel from the tree barreled the short distance across the grass and dirt and sideswiped the falling squirrel. It was a WWE move. Both squirrels ran around in circles for several seconds, up the chain link fence and then into a tree. 

After laughing, I snapped a picture of the skydiving squirrel. 

It seemed to have forgotten the incident entirely. Which means these squirrels routinely practice their wrestling moves. 

Had I been walking slightly faster, the squirrel would have landed squarely on my head. And I wonder what I might have looked like in that scenario. 

I’m standing in the low creek as I write this. I had hoped for a rainier September. September is the month with so many milestones for me. Don’t get me wrong. October is fabulous. But September holds weight for me, and anchors pieces of me that are hard to explain to other people. 

Love, X

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Lemon Moment, Personal

A Tree

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While waiting, I took the opportunity to explore. Along the road were a series of maple trees that had some of the best climbing branches I’ve seen in a long time. If you’re wondering whether the urge to climb the tree over took me…. Does a conservative jump at the chance to make strawman arguments? (The algorithm loves political jokes.) I jumped up to the first branch and made my way up. Joyce Boulevard looks different from high up in a tree. The shade and breeze were amazing. When I came down to the last branch, I swung without thinking. Even though the tree is 15 ft away from the side road, the woman driving the maroon Yukon obviously didn’t expect a man to apparently fall out of a tree. I waved at her to let her know I had intentionally came out of the tree. Although she might be right if she claimed she saw a nut fall out of a maple tree this afternoon.

You would never know how brilliant the sun shone looking at my picture.

I sat under the shade of another tree and looked at the blue sky canopy above me – and the mix of dark clouds interrupting the sky. The breeze joined me as my mind went a thousand different directions. In the distance, I watch the clutter of traffic on Joyce.

“Grow up. You’re too old to climb trees,” some might say to me. I pity those people. Trapped on the ground in every sense that matters.
X
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Deanne, Death, Lemon Moment, Personal

Rememory

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It’s been 17 years, or 6,210 days, give or take one due to the uncertainty of the day emblazoned on the calendar. 

Some years, it is sufficient to look at her family tree and at the countless pictures I indexed for those wishing to remember. 

I’m more of a spontaneous remembrance person, allowing random moments to drag me into the past.  

The bridge that might transport me back is a duality of both distance and proximity. Everyone who gets old enough feels the clock spinning like a roulette wheel, for its speed and also for the uncertainty regarding where its stop whimsically occurs. 

Even if we’re unaware of our demarcations, we divide our lives in to eras. Most of our demarcations are passive. Childhood. Graduation. A child. And the rest launch from the magical yet persistently somber consequence of being alive in this world.

I had my turnstile moment this morning. Disrespect pushed me into a flare of brilliant anger. Because of the anniversary, I didn’t need to think about how I should probably respond. Anger is a call to action for remedy or an immobilizing force. I never need to intellectualize how she might have reacted. If something made her mad, it was a certainty that those around her would not need a soothsayer or psychic. The words would flow with a grimace to match. 

I managed to merge and juxtapose her reaction with my natural inclination. The words came. Those who’ve ridden the ride and exited the fairgrounds know the stupidity of living inauthentically. Once your ticket is torn and handed it to you, the clock is already spinning. 

And so through these words that will seem vague to many and perceptively painful for others, I tell you that it’s a dangerous game to be reminded. 

I did not have a ticket rendered in two pieces in my hand today. It was given to me 57 years ago. 17 years ago, I had to come to terms with the fact that it probably should have been my ticket being requested.

I was supposed to use the alchemy of motivation and memory to live unapologetically. She handed me the baton and pointed me in the right direction. 

When the weather chills in early September, even my oblivious bones haunt me a little. 

That’s the way it’s supposed to be. 

We are all busy and occupied instead of being purposeful and satisfied. 

She whispers. 

And I listen. 

Love, X

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Fayetteville, Lemon Moment, Personal

Trelicous

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As I stood at the intersection where Garland opens up to the fields, I watched as a car inexplicably went down the wrong side of the median. Opposite the intersection are the beautiful homes that have been remodeled one by one. They are much more striking in the dark early hours of the morning. I turned in that direction out of curiosity, observing that the car made a left onto Sycamore. It’s undergoing what seems like a permanent closure due to reconstruction of the road. I carefully walked along the gravel temporarily placed on the roadbed. Not too far from the intersection where the street intersects with Leverett, the car was pulled over and whoever was driving it had the brake lights activated. Because I am either fearless or stupid, I approached the car from the driver side, taking a wide approach so that the potential occupant could see me. As I came within about feet from the driver door, the car roared away. I watched it bounce like a volleyball as it went over the juxtaposition of gravel at a lower height than the pavement. It was an auspicious start of the day for me wandering and wondering around in the dark. I suspect it was an inauspicious ending for the driver, one undoubtedly proceeded by questionable choices and liquid dopamine. I noted the irony that the next song that played on my headphones was a lyricless version of “Peace Of Mind” by Boston. I zoned out as I walked along the beautiful new sidewalks that were recently completed. Off in the distance, I had the privilege of watching the dark skies turn purple, pink,and rosé as the clouds broke on the horizon and the sun peeked through.

The next song on my playlist was a lyricless version of “Don’t Fear The Reaper.” I laughed and felt pity for the reaper. No one takes the time to consider that he’s never welcome. Or that he has to do his job in this humidity wearing a heavy cloak. I bet that sometimes the reaper wants to sit and have a good cup of bitter coffee in the morning and listen to the birds.

PS I prefer the word “lyricless” over “instrumental” because the latter usually denotes a different version than that to which we are accustomed.

Love, X

Lemon Moment, Music

MMMBop Reimagined

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So many people claim to hate the song MMMBop. I challenge each of you to read the lyrics. Hidden in plain sight is an undeniable truth of life. Take a moment and try to imagine what the lyrics are. And then go find them. It’s a joy to hear a song in a completely different way after hearing it 1 billion times as an upbeat pop song. 

X

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PS I will put a link to a video that highlights the disparity between what we hear versus the words being sang.

Animals, Lemon Moment, Personal

Tag

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I followed this bird upstream for a long time. It was aware of me. As long as I stayed in the middle of the stream, it would let me go past it slightly. It would then take flight and perch a few yards from me. We repeated this cycle for 20 minutes. Just me, the bird, and the cool water. It was the most Zen match of tag.
X
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Humor, Lemon Moment, Personal

Monkey Balls

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I went tree climbing a little bit earlier. I’m not perched high above the creek with my phone in my hand. I am standing in the middle of the creek in the cold water though. I saw that one side of the walkway dam had a couple dozen Osage oranges. The last time I looked them up for trivia, I was amused to see that Pennsylvania residents refer to them as ‘monkey balls.’ 

What still fascinates me about these and the trees that produce them is that only female trees produce the fruit. These are the largest fruits derived from trees in the United States. Thousands of years ago, these trees proliferated because mammoths would eat them and then spread the seeds as they traveled. I’ve still not tried the stinky process of roasting the seeds from these. It can’t be much different than watching my dad “cook” suspicious and unidentified meat, or looking at my mom’s famous Winston cigarette ash-speckled mashed potatoes. 

I did climb the tree in the background of the photo. While I was up there, I practiced a few fake bird calls, hoping passersby might question their sanity or wonder if a small pig was being forced to listen to excerpts of Donald Trump’s book of poetry. 

Ciao.

X

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Behavior, Lemon Moment, Opinion, Personal, Psychology

Tourist

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“Take a minute before the minute takes you.” – X

If you’re waiting on life to be simpler or less distracted to do something, you’ll turn gray waiting for your fingers to stop tapping. Doubly true Is the folly of waiting for someone else to appropriate time. Time is the currency we use to pay for our decisions.

Someone smart told me that they couldn’t stand the phrase, “Stop and smell the roses.” Take the time to grow them. Or go outside where they grow and meet them on their own terms. We’re all too busy making money in order to buy the flowers, something that’s available in abundance all around us.

You can go to Disneyland and bring back the memories. You’re still going to have to find a way to enjoy washing the dishes that stack up on the counter, in the sink, or in the unloaded dishwasher.

I made it clear that jumping out of an airplane wasn’t to test my fear. I never felt a moment of apprehension because it’s an entirely safe act. Yet these things spray gray across things that should be as colorful as a prism’s rainbow. You don’t get a taste of the diverging universe that’s out there for you without thinking about the million mundane ways that you focus on ridiculous nonsense.

I say these things as a hypocrite in the truest sense of the word. I also say them as a tourist, visiting places but staying at the airport.

X
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Lemon Moment, Nostalgia, Personal

Arc

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I did a small thing for someone who didn’t ask for it. His reaction was beyond gracious. I wish I could describe how big his smile was. And how small and selfish I felt a couple of minutes before. Driving away, the disparity must have triggered something in my head. Tears came to my eyes out of nowhere. I stopped randomly to enjoy the outdoors. It turned out to be the complete opposite of random. The moment and place spanned backward in a huge arc, traversing almost 40 years. I’m not sure if I’m crazy or the world is. Since I’m a part of it, there might be no difference, much in the same way that colors on the opposite end of the spectrum are an illusion of optics and nerve endings. 

X

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