For That Which Remains to be Defeated
This day was complete crap, but at least it's nearly over.
There are some days when I look at my young adult life (as I remember it) and wonder if that was really me.
My parents had 200+ acres of gorgeous land in the middle of nowhere, MN, primarily used as fields for crops that grew food for humans & animals alike. My Pappa traded his decidely ill-gotten (i.e. poached-- but how can they call it poaching when the land is yours, and you grew soybean crops especially to draw in a herd or two??) venison with friends & family for other goods/services.
They raised beautiful Italian bees that produced the most sinfully delicious honey. In the spring & summer, bees had ample opportunity to work the numerous apple & pin cherry tree blossoms, plus the sprawl of spicy clovers & intoxicating crown vetch. Even the black walnut trees, which stubbornly refused to bear nuts most years, would get a work-over.
My mom was a fan of goats (as was my grandmother), so we milked goats 2-4 times a day, depending on whether or not Grams needed help with chores.... chickens & ducks, 4 Tyranosaurus Rex gardens of fresh vegetables & herbs that my Mum slaved over to can & preserve...
My Pappa witched water, was a right-proper luthier, but never once had a fire pit the entire time we lived there. I think this was very odd, but perhaps it was a pact of sorts, made between him & the land. Who knows. When he was at his best, he drank in energy from the trees, water & earth. He could slow his heartbeat & breathing to extraordinarily low rates... He was a decent fisherman.
I have no idea what I was going to type. It's gone. I'm sure that there was a revalation in there, somewhere.
Some days it sucks to be in the age bracket of an adult that most people would assume "knows what's going on," or at the very least, is a horrible parent to several very young children. Nope. No such thing, either way.
I miss thinking that I knew what the Hell I was doing.
I had a rogue thought yesterday, that I should try to get a part in an Independent film, or perhaps theatre. Even though I have nearly zero acting experience and am certainly not a face/body that would inspire young men/women to swoon unecessarily-- this expressiveness in me, that so persistently refuses to be typed or written or poured into any other art that I otherwise adore... maybe that's where I could be, just once.
Blargh. What AM I tyoing, anyway? Drivel! That's what. OK, stopping the train of doom-n-gloom & going to do something else.
Cheers