The Grackles love Arlington, Texas. They congregate here, oblivious to us lowly humans, shrieking and preening and strutting, flocking in quantities that make my mouth go O in awe.
In a short amount of time, I’ve driven two-hundredish miles just in the city of Arlington, and most of that is back and forth between either my mom’s house or my brother’s house and MCA hospital. While doing this, I notice how I have not seen any license plates that are not TEXAS license plates. It could mean no one visits here (except me) from other states. However, a proud Texan would say, “Once the visitor visits, they never leave but instead convert to Texans.” :-D
Hospitals are strange places with little communities and I notice those communities even more so in the hospital cafeteria. There’s the break-down of staff: nurses, doctors, therapists of all sorts, maintenance, etc. There are the volunteers. There are the visitors (like me). There are a sprinkling of patients who are allowed out of their rooms. Each little community leans over their table, eating, talking (or not talking), without an awareness of what is going on in the communities around them—except for me, since I am aware of everyone and probably taking notes, even if I do not realize this “note-taking.” Somewhere, a hospital setting will occur in some book; I am betting anyway.
Listening to the radio in my car, I recognize how nothing has changed in the years since I worked a “Desk Job” and drove my car daily to and from The Office. The announcers sound the same; they still repeat the same song(s) in some kind of cycle throughout the day, every day. There are still give-aways of tickets to concerts. There are still songs that I want to turn up the volume and those I quickly click off. It’s rather comforting to know this Radio Thing has lasted through The Ages of Me.
I have many more friends than I ever thought I had, and most I have never met face-to-face. The thought of all these people extending their hands and hearts to me, this woman who isn’t anything special, makes me feel a profound gratitude.
I can go longer without food than I ever thought I could. This is not a good thing. The same goes for sleep, and quiet, and writing.
Texas drivers are more courteous than I realized. They’ve more than once taken pity on this North Carolina driver who is skirting the edge of complete exhaustion. Thank you Texans!
Sometimes a dream about a huge gigantic venomous snake that fills you with poison is just a dream about a huge gigantic venomous snake that fills you with poison.
To the young woman in the hospital parking lot that I impulsively turned back to her and told her she should really stop smoking, and we both smiled at each other—me with “really, I hope you quit” and she with “Aw shucks, I’ve heard it all before.” I wonder, will my voice be the one that makes you go, “Hmmm . . . maybe I should quit,” even if it is subconscious?
I haven’t thought about my book sales in two weeks. It’s rather freeing. There is this “well, what happens, happens” thing as I clip my father’s fingernails, rub lotion on his bald head, on his hands, feet, arms, as I slip a little teeny bit of water on his dry tongue, as I hold his hand, as I adjust his pillows and covers, as I dab a wet cloth over his face and eyes. There is a perspective to life and living. A priority thing.
I look like hell in a state full of women who are perfectly coifed and shaved and make-up’ped and dressed and jeweled, but guess what? Nobody cares. Nobody notices. Nobody snatches me up and says, “Gawd, you look like hell.” Thanks y’all.
I wonder if my mountain cove and mountain and ridgetop and the critters and my dogs (dawgs as I say and make no apologies for it) and my GMR and the creek and wind and trees all miss me as much as I miss them?
Finally: Again, I thank you all for the love and support you’ve shown while I am here in Texas Land with my family *blows kiss*