Straykitty wrote in…
This from the heart and keyboard of Straykitty…
You’re right. WikiLeaks and True Lies bring their own kind of perspective.
Today I’m listening to the heavy sigh of the decade’s final winter — the ending of the first decade of the twenty-first century. Has it been that long since the man Bush set up this scenario? Was that the ultimate True Lie? What incredible things drift into my December memories…
Our first great-grandchild came this winter — such a typical woman, refusing to leave her womb-like comfort for nearly ten months. Even now, she looks at out with week-old eyes that say, “I know everything!”
“No, no,” I want to caution her. “Not everything.”
Don’t be like me, I would tell her. Don’t see the things I see and have seen. Don’t habitually go for that old Find The Darkest Lining So You Won’t Be Disappointed kind of thing.
Perhaps little Sophie won’t have to look at what I see this winter. In her 72nd Season, perhaps there won’t be a Wal-Mart. She might not look out at vast parking lots populated with vacant eyes and heavy, dreading bodies. Or smile back at round-backed women who have been forced from retirement to welcome people at the door.
Will there be the black-tinted windows of a new SUV lurking in a subtle alley — scanning, running license plates in a tiny town of 280 people? Will she be one of those half-naked children trying to board an airplane with her parents? Will she read on the Internet about another astonishing Leaker brought down by a perfected, 2000-year-old Entrapment?
A given: She will have grown up with the embarrassment of this nation. She will reap the aftermath of our wars that dot the world. So many nations ruined by our bombs. There is no escape. War is the new normal. Even at our farm a pair of peregrine falcons moved in for a violent two-week feeding frenzy this summer.
Ah, but many wonderful things I want to show our little Sophie. There’s our youngest nanny goat who never fails to run up and nuzzle…the pair of gold and white Koi who loll at the lake’s shady edge…the shiny jars of blackberry jam and bread-and-butter pickles that line the pantry.
So many things I want for this great-grandchild. I want her to be able to trudge to the mailbox on a hot summer day and to bend waaay down to find the cucumbers hiding beneath springy vines. I want her to be able to sample sweet figs from the bush and that oh-so-tart berry from the bush, and pick the pears that the squirrels would rob.
But I and my generation won’t be here by then. What we have done with our lives will remain. Oh, my! I must give some thought to this.