So, a rare, silver back gorilla is dead and a little boy is probably scared for life. At least, I know I would be.
As many of you know, I had a close encounter of the sorta first kind with a silver back who happened to be Willie B.'s son. I'm telling you, it was love at first sight.
I have nostalgic feelings for Willie B., whom I visited every day for about a week when I was 8 or 9 years old. He was in a glass cage with a TV mounted up on the wall and a tire swing.
After day two, when he saw me, he would stop what he was doing and come sit by the wall/window and watch me.
And I'd watch him.
I'd talk to him, some, too, if nobody else was around.
I've kept that in my heart all my life. Then a few years ago, got to visit the compound where his son was residing at the time.
The compound owner heard my story when I contacted them for a date for a visit.
The gorilla was waiting on us at a window when we drove up. He looked totally bored, his head leaned up against his hand. He was there because he knew visitors meant food.
She talked about him, and brought out fresh fruit. Then, with a twinkle in her eye, looked at me and asked, "You wouldn't want to feed him, would you?"
I said something profound, like, "Boy, would I!" which made the small crowd of folks laugh.
She made me put on one of those tight fitting gloves so I wouldn't give the gorilla some dread disease. I scooped up some melon and slowly put my hand at the window bars.
He looked me in the eye, then looked down at the fruit. Gently, his big old fingers picked the fruit from my hand, then he ate it, rather thoughtfully, I imagined.
We stayed as long as we possibly could that day, a day I will never forget.
I was heart broken over the news that a child had got down there with that kind of big old beast.
I was sadder still when I learned they had to kill the male gorilla.
But I am beyond sad thinking about the terror that little boy went through while he was drug around the compound. That's a day he will never forget, but not with the same kind of emotions I was given to remember.
I pray someone can help this child work through the terror.
He's gonna need all the help he can get.
Today marks the 44th anniversary of my high school graduation.
Somebody please tell me this is a joke. How could I have graduated before I was born?
I only look fortyish. As long as I am in soft light several feet away on a cloudy day. But hey, I take what I can get.
I remember the graduation ceremony like yesterday. I sang the class song. We were all nervous. We were the first class to graduate in the new stadium and it was a beautiful evening for it. I think this was the only time my daddy heard me sing in person. He was always at work when I did chorus and he never came to church, so...this was it.
And what's up with convertible cars? Everyone of 'em is driven by a balding geezer, with a bleached blonde of questionable age (and no, it's not me) beside him.
The only time I recall riding in a convertible was when I was around seven or eight. My cousin's daddy had just purchased it. He also purchased himself a divorce shortly after that, not that I'm saying the two are related.
And I am a geezer, and my hair is not quite as blonde at the roots as it is elsewhere, so don't get all up in my grill about what I said.
I've been watching the bird feeders this morning: 3 Goldfinches, 1 Indigo Bunting and two humming birds.
Since we now have a porch that is screened (yay) the cats are lolly gagging out there. They watch the birds, but seem to know they can't get to them, so why bother.
Now, bugs are a different matter. Mimi gets all twitterpated when she sees a bug.
Well, let's get back to porch settin' and bird watchin'.
Okay, let's really get back to working on that novel.
Now, mush!
I read last week that the oldest living person died. She was 116 years old; not lacking many days before she reached 117.
She was the last American living who had been born in the 1800's.
For some reason, that gave me chills. I don't even know why.
To my best mathematical ability (which is almost nonexistent) that means she was born in July of 1899. She was only four years younger than my grandfather, who died at age 87 in 1982.
Wow.
Now the oldest living person, also 116, lives in France.
Most of us won't be around that long, and will be fortunate to make it to our eighties. My family seems to live to around 87, for some reason.
I hear people talk about lifespans of years ago, and how it wasn't for very long, and I'm sure that's true when you average it all together. When you include plagues taking out babies and average that with death in childbirth, etc., we fail to see many people even "way back when", still lived to be over a hundred.
In fact, people have been doing that since the beginning time. (And then some, in the beginning.)
But it's still a rarity, that's for sure.
I have a friend whose grandmother lived to be well over one hundred, and she firmly states she doesn't want to hang around that long. Her grandmother's body was strong long after her mind was not.
I reckon none of us want to be here with our mind shot: not knowing our own children, or saying terrible things that in our right mind would have never said.
Nor do we want to be in terrible physical shape with our minds staying alert and aware of the agony it's bringing to us and our loved ones.
So, although we admire those folks that finish the race way over the hundred year mark, perhaps most of them would have rather not. I don't know.
Right now I'm in a considerable amount of pain at age sixty-two. I can't imagine going on like this (and likely worsening as time goes by) for forty plus more years.
Come, Lord Jesus, come!
I know, I know. It's been a while.
But I have a truck load of excuses. Let me trot 'em out for you.
I was in bed in a useless shape for about three weeks, then got better with the miracle tape and had to catch up on everything.
There were some commitments I had to fulfill, and had looked forward to.
The serious part of that is I had to shave my legs twice in less than three weeks.
Now, I don't know about you, but my legs are down yonder ways, and they are long on top of that. My back does not appreciate it.
But I was dressing up, and pants just wasn't gonna cut it.
All these big doin-zis has got to stop, so I can at least catch my breath.
I've also been working on my next book, and possibly my next other book, I just ain't sure which is which.
I've read a great deal too. Did you see in the paper the article about the woman who lost her eyesight twenty years ago in a car wreck? Then she fell down a few weeks ago, and hurt her neck. When she came to out of surgery, she could see again. The docs have no idea why, and to top it off, she could see in color. She'd been colorblind all her life, previous to the blindness.
Which reminds me of a story I heard years ago about a woman who was disabled by severe pain of some sort (can't remember what was wrong). Anyway, she was in her kitchen and it came up a big storm. Lightning shot through the window, hit the floor where she was standing and actually put a whole in it. When she came to, all her pain was gone.
We've also been flossing up the back and front porches, making them livable again. I love seeing how they look in the spring after being ignored all winter. I feel like I have added on to my house.
Poor Eli, my Maine Coon cat, was so matted from shedding he had to have more than a crew cut this year. All that's left is his fluffy tail, his ruff around his neck and his long britches down his legs. He looks a great deal like a poodle, and I'm sorry for it.
We've been storming the gates of Heaven praying about a job Daughter has interviewed for. It seems just right for her.. You can add a prayer too, if you will. Our feelings won't be hurt a'tall.
Oh, and I've had an eye infection. They forget to tell you that the antibiotic drops you put in your poor old eye hurt almost as much as the infection. But it's better.
Well, I guess I've rambled enough for tonight.
I'm gonna try and get regular again.
About blogging, I mean.
Finally, at long last, you can buy my books on line from ME!
Look to your right and you will see a "button" that says Square. Click on it, go to "my store". You can see pics of the books, read what they are about how much they are. Square will take your payment and it will be mailed to you within one business day. How's that for service?
Pretty cool, huh?
It only took me, like, a year to get it done.
Now, I must lie down.
This kind of stuff will wear you out.
(PS: Just ask Daughter. She figured it out.)
A few years ago, (I don't know how many. I'm at the point it feels like it was two years ago, whether it was two or fifteen. Other than my childhood, I'm done with accuracy as far as year of events)
I was invited to a James Taylor and Carol King concert.
My friend invited a half dozen of us, all the same age (we graduated high school together). He fed us a wonderful meal, the concert was about five minutes from his house, and I stayed over as did another friend so we didn't have the long drive home late at night.
Talking to my mother later, she was worried until Husband called to tell her I had a great time and was headed home.
The reason she was worried was because one of her friends saw on the news there was a big fight in the parking lot of a concert in Atlanta that night with several people hurt and one killed.
Was that the concert I attended? Did I know anything about it?
I told her I didn't know anything about the fight, but could assure her it wasn't at the concert I attended. "Mother, it was baby boomers in BMW's and Mercedes Benz. They wouldn't have dared fight, it might have scuffed their docksiders or torn their polo shirts."
That story brings to mind something I continue to struggle with. That struggle consists of being the mother of an adult child. How do you do it?
How do you leave behind the infant that couldn't even raise their head? The toddler, that if not watched every single moment would have: a. fallen down the stairs breaking their neck b. fallen up the stairs knocking out their new baby teeth or c. swallowed either poison or dog food. How do you leave behind the preschooler who thought you knew what they dreamt about if you were in the dream? Or the kid who couldn't get well for a while and you just about lost your mind? Or the teenager who still stayed close and obeyed your every command? (okay, okay, I exaggerated there a little).
How do you do it?
How do you keep your mouth shut? How do you not fret as if they were still a little kid?
I saw a sign yesterday that said, "When your children are little you talk to them about Jesus, and when your children are grown you talk to Jesus about them."
Amen.
