With a warm breeze blowing out of the east, I got my back turned towards the sun. Just listening to my EMC neighbors hollering at each other like most tradesman do. Even with a breeze the sand gnats are a buzzing determined their pound of flesh from me. I woke up in a good mood this morning despite all the shit going on around here. But to be honest I’m feeling a little feverish and I’m having trouble focusing my eyes. According to old wives tales my Granny would tell me, it usually means a change is a coming.
Still I muddled through this morning doing some research for the next chapter in my Never Gone Series. Digging up the most interesting information about my hometown and it’s contribution to the war effort during World War 2. It’s amazing how history gets lost in the shuffle of wanting to move forward. How the attitude of most good people is to bury their mistakes in folktales and outright lies. I often see myself as a unicorn among storytellers, in that I’m not here to try to always tickle your ears. Much like my Granny Geiger that would tell it like it is, never overlooking the mistakes, but always willing to forgive.
That was always a problem for me, learning to forgive… myself. I don’t see myself as a saint or even a victim for the matter. I’m just a man as plain you can get, with a gift of gab not many people really want to hear. A relic of a dying age where friends and family confessed their sins one to other. Either sitting around a kitchen table or a fire pit, with a glass of sweet tea or a can of beer. But time has become a commodity and not a precious gift that should be shared. Instead we’re living for one task to the next, till we’re buried in the ground.
The end.
Still I muddled through this morning doing some research for the next chapter in my Never Gone Series. Digging up the most interesting information about my hometown and it’s contribution to the war effort during World War 2. It’s amazing how history gets lost in the shuffle of wanting to move forward. How the attitude of most good people is to bury their mistakes in folktales and outright lies. I often see myself as a unicorn among storytellers, in that I’m not here to try to always tickle your ears. Much like my Granny Geiger that would tell it like it is, never overlooking the mistakes, but always willing to forgive.
That was always a problem for me, learning to forgive… myself. I don’t see myself as a saint or even a victim for the matter. I’m just a man as plain you can get, with a gift of gab not many people really want to hear. A relic of a dying age where friends and family confessed their sins one to other. Either sitting around a kitchen table or a fire pit, with a glass of sweet tea or a can of beer. But time has become a commodity and not a precious gift that should be shared. Instead we’re living for one task to the next, till we’re buried in the ground.
The end.
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