Lately, I’ve been attracted to a voice that makes little sense, or makes convoluted sense. Playing ventriloquist again, only I’m the dummy.

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A Letter Home

I guess you’ve seen the news.

It’s not as bad as it should have been for me. The worst parts are on our sides, and above and below. It’s been less pleasant here since the storm. The skies are almost blue, and the generators don’t pump water like they once did, so that’s good. Still, new stories were not given out here where we live.

What do I mean by that? Some say that bad weather takes. It does, but it also gives, in the way that death gives. It gives people a new story to tell by taking away the old one. How else could we ever look back and ask things like, remember that time when we never moved, or when we stayed open when nobody else did, and we got washed away and when we lost everything? Or what about that time when we shut up, never re-opened and never went back, and lost everything?

That’s what I mean. Here, I’m surrounded by new stories, which makes mine something like, remember that time when we were stuck in the middle? Whatever happened to us? Did we still lose everything? So that’s a long-winded way of saying no significant damage here, unless you count personal items. We’ll still try to survive with the same old story, just like everybody else who does.

The hardest part of the clean-up effort (which took maybe 30 minutes) was finding the blonde hair on the table. It was stuck in one of those things that women use to hold a ponytail. I couldn’t bring myself to throw it away. The hair I mean. The ponytail holder thing is gone. I couldn’t help but think, what if she dies and it’s the last thing I have to remember? I’m not ready for that story titled, “A Single Strand, Broken”. Maybe it wouldn’t be as dramatic as the title, but the potential is there.

Speaking of, I finished two more chapters of my book. I don’t like them. I’d almost use the word hate, but I hate that word. It’s over-used for trivial things that frustrate us or that we simply don’t like, and it’s under-used for the things we really hate, but are too timid to admit it, so we avoid offending someone never liked, but don’t yet hate. I wish we could get our act together.

Let’s just say that I’m not happy with the new chapters. I’m not satisfied. I don’t like where they’ve gone. The story took an unexpected turn, an impromptu exit onto an unnamed road. I told you I was the passenger, not the driver.

Still, my inner GPS is now confused, and I don’t know whether to cut ties with the new chapters, or cut ties with what all the work previous to the new chapters, the stuff that remained on the highway. Technically, I guess it’s all considered progress, so I’m complaining a little less than I usually do.

Did you ever suddenly hear silence, like someone sucked out sound and stuffed your ears with a bunch of void, all in one swift motion? It’s like something had been running in the background for so long that your ears stopped hearing it. Then the stopping of it grabs your attention. You become instantly aware that you’re not hearing it. That just happened. I have no idea what just begun to sound like silence, but it’s very loud.

But enough about me and my silence. Did you ever go to the doctor? Did you tell her what I said? If so, what was her response? I’ve still got that note. Did she remember, or did you make the visit all about you and your condition? It’s okay if you did. Sometimes we all need a little selfishness.

How are things with everybody else? Have you heard from them, and are they okay? I hope not. What would we write home about if they were? I don’t wish ill on people, especially family, but I do wish interesting on them. I do wish a story.

How else would new chapters be written, if not from the hands of those who are not okay? Who else is given new stories and new chapters that take us down side roads that we sometimes nearly hate? So, what I’m saying is, I hope you and they are not okay in that way. I guess I’m hoping the same for me and mine.

Write back when you can’t, or when you feel like doing something more important, or when you don’t think you’ve got the time. That’s when you say the most interesting things. That’s when you blurt. If you’ve got nothing to say, I understand. Sometimes we are all shut up like that. It passes.

As always, you know exactly how if feel,


PS – The bird feeders are empty again. Do you know when they stop coming?

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