Saturday, I read Orientation by Rick R. Reed, and then stared at the TV until past midnight. I wish I could develop a tenth of Reed's facility with the language and, better, story telling.
Today, I piddled around, thought about going to the lake, didn't, and finally went for a short walk. As you might know, I'm prone to find odd things when I'm out and about. This walk was no exception.
At the end of the drive, I turned left without thinking. That was probably a natural aversion to walking past the theatre and it's parking lot with cars going and coming without much looking, likely due to the howling children riding along who would have been better served by a nap this afternoon than some cheap flick.
Taking the left meant I was going to hike the edge of the Kmart parking lot on Western. This is not a problem. The lot is huge and the patronage meager. My only challenge would be to avoid the screaming teens offering five buck carwashes. In that regard, I was successful.
However, I found some of your clothes in the grass. What should I do with them?
Noodling along, I discovered a Rotella T gallon oil jug in the kudzu. Rotella T is an oil used in diesel engines. I've been through barrels of the stuff, though marketed under a house label. My diesel truck used four gallons of oil, which I changed every 10,000 miles. The filter was changed every 5,000 miles. Don't you feel whole knowing that?
Most large retail companies like Kmart sell the cardboard packaging to recyclers. Food Lion was about the first to do so in this area. If I heard correctly a something I might not should have heard, the income to Food Lion from cardboard recycling is equivalent to the company's net profits.
Did you lose this four of hearts? When I was 16, I bought a pack of cards at the country store near our house. Tink Campbell ran it. When my parents saw the cards, they made me return them. Playing cards was a sure way to wind up in hell. I never learned to play cards of any type, and also never found much interest in learning.
I'm pretty sure hell is not filled with Texas Hold 'em players unless there's something else going on, so it's likely my disinterest is baggage rooted in that lie from my parents. There's probably more of that baggage elsewhere.
I've never known a time when this Kmart was not here. However, it had to be built at some point, uprooting the lives established in the area. You never know what mysteries lie just inches beneath your feet.
Barring a bird dropping a seed directly by the fence, I suspect this bush with orange fruit in the fall was a part of someone's yard sometime way back. The trunk is certainly thick enough at the base to suggest some age.
Do you suppose that somewhere a silent granny is rocking on her porch remembering her special plant by the old house, the one given to her by her husband on their third anniversary, the one with the beautiful orange fruit in the fall that the birds liked so much?
I grew up having to hate morning glories, though I secretly thought them especially pretty.
This one somehow missed death by Round-Up. It sprouted and took root where all the other plants were dead. A single tendril now reaches for the fence. In a very few weeks, the vine will start it's life growing in it's place. Shortly thereafter, before even the first blue blossum appears, the frost will kill it.
I know how that plant will feel that soon to come October night.
You might remember the banana picture I posted last week or so. The banana is gone. The peel remains. I suppose it will until someone cleans up.
That person will call the peel trash, and few, if any, will argue. Even fewer will pause to see that without the peel, we'd never have the banana.
No, I have not been smoking banana peels.
Posted from a mobile device