You can read this if you wish although it consists of thoughts and fragments as I attempt to free write 750 words every day. Some of this may end up in a Story or a Conversation. Anyway, this is how one learn and shapes up The Craft.
Then there is everyone in the middle. The group of people who have realized all they really want at the end of the day is a fire, a hot tea, and someone who knows how much honey they like in their tea. This group spends a lot of time trying to avoid fights with the people screaming at others.
I count myself as someone in the middle. Two teaspoons please.
I moved. As I unpacked, I found the letters, the files, the folders, and the various office supplies. Everyone went into a cabinet or a drawer. At roughly 3 this morning, I realized I did not know where my extensive collection of music went. Did I forget to pack it? Sure, I could just download most of the music. However, there was a few eclectic discs in the purse and I was not sure how I would replace them. And a few were original music; so much of what I find from 1980 and past is a re-recording; audiophiles can tell folks! Buried in one of the boxes I hid below the bookcase was my collection. Now, where should I put it so I don’t lose it again?
My uncle Karl, who lived until 102 in one of the original homes in Point Loma, used to write letters to his family on an old typewriter. There was not many mistakes. He would tell stories of his life, his childhood, and adventures.
He told me a story about how he traveled to Germany for genealogy. He had been born in Minnesota, yet he still looked very German. He was standing on a train platform waiting when two girls from the states approached him and asked in broken German how to find the train to Bonn. He started answering in German, providing them with instructions on the platform they needed. After a few minutes, one of the girls said in English, “This is too hard. This old German guy will never understand us.” And they ran off. My uncle shouted at them, “I’m from the states,” but they didn’t hear him.
After months of snow, the thaw arrived as if the weather knew we needed to leave the house. The ice melted into the creek. The spring rains added puddles in the field of melting snow. Clouds rolled over the pines and sunlight refracted in the ice.
The air outside felt cold on my arms. Yet, I left my coat inside. It felt good to strip off the bundles of heat and feel lighter. My mom pushed my sisters out into the melting snow. They hesitated under the maple waiting for the porcupine to rain needles down on them. The animal held us hostage for two weeks raining down needles whenever we walked under the tree. Now, the porcupine was gone and the girls ran over to me in the slushy snow.
New leaves poked through the ice melting off the tree limbs. Daffodils and tulips bloomed next to the house. Our shoes melted through to the grass below. Each blade of matted grass popped up through the shoe print free of the winter blanket.
As the sun shone brighter, a rainbow arched through the sky to land on the far side of the meadow. The colors rippled through the ice melt. We stood astonished.
“There is a pot of gold at the end of that rainbow,” my mom said.
“Really?” I asked. My youngest sister Carrie put a hand around my leg. The other two kicked the snow.
“Do you want to find it?”
Carrie looked from behind my leg. “Can we?” she asked.
“Sure.” my mom said. She started off across the meadow. We followed her. All of us were talking at the same time and glad to be out of the house.
“I can walk out of the garage, I just can’t get back.”
“Did you use the stairs?”
“They lead out but you can’t walk down. Who builds a garage without a door?”
“You can drive down.”
“Yes, but then what?”
“Just sit in the garage until it is time to go?”
“We’d like you to show up for work.”
“Showing up is not a problem. Reaching my car at the end of the day is a challenge.”
“Then it is settled; you don’t need to ever leave.”
“I think my wife might wonder why I spend all of my time at work.”
“She might welcome the vacation.”