Wednesday, July 25, 2012
Or maybe not.....
all rightie..... see, there is stuff....and there is such...and there is Stuff&Such.
ok, that ain't no never mind and ain't so hard to figure out if you are really really willing to try, but I is here and you aren't so I will get into it a bit... just in case there is a small insignivicantal bit of maybee confusingification which would not do and would not float in a bathtub, see.
See, the sky can be a neat shade of blue, kinda like babies eyes when they smile... and that is stuff. Then there are the clouds, white as all get out, that float through making neat shapes...and that is such....and when you look away for a second the cloud patterns have changed, as if a new artist had taken over the painting, and it seems so fresh and clean that it reminds you of when you were young and a sweet girl said she loved you and you embraced the words fully. That is STUFF&SUCH.
Did that make any sense?
Gees, maybe not.
Let me try again.
There is a morning when you are seven or eight or six and your Mother takes you out in the June morning to pick strawberries at the pick-your-own farm. The heat has not risen yet from the East as you look down those long rows of berries. That is stuff. As soon as you are out of sight from your Mom... you start eating. Nice big juicy strawberries. Your hands turn red...your face is red, your nearly new white Hanes T-shirt is stained with all that deliciousness. Stuff. Later, when you get yelled at for not picking enough and for ruining a good shirt... you just grin and take it cause you know your older brother and sister picked enough to take home and you will still get some with home-made shortcake. That is Stuff&Such.
Or maybe I am just feeling too much.... instead of thinking....Or..maybe not.
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7 comments:
yeah, like walking along a dirt road looking at the horse shoe trail and then suddenly you smell that sweet manure, and your mind in an instant goes back and you wish you could just hug your horse once more. Kinda like that stuff. (Which happened to be yesterday)
Dude, it's not nice to not share your stash.
Mother takes you out in the June morning to pick strawberries at the pick-your-own farm.
My grandparents did the same thing with all their grandkids. Except it was a butter bean field and it was something more akin to slave labor than a family outing.
okjimm, you just painted pictures in words that are as vivid and evocative as Cezanne's finest.
Let's see... picking blackberries as a kid and eating more than I put in the little pail I was told to fill... going out to the garden with a shaker of salt and eating all of the ripest tomatoes before anyone else knew I was out of bed... eating enough watermellon to make me look like Buddha at the age of ten... the smell of honeysuckle vines coming through an open bedroom window... the scent of model airplane glue when I was a kid building models... finding that sorghum syrup didn't taste nearly as good as it smelled... the flavor of horehound candy made in a little store in Ontario, Wisconsin when we visited my grandmother there... the smell of pencil shavings in a sharpener at school...
Things that take me back, whether I'm packed for the trip or not!
Sherry.... yupperz...once you get a smell of horseshit, you never quite forget. ;)
Randal... only stash I have left is some Prozac....not sharing.
Dear Bum... Strawberries trump butter beans anyday. I remember taking my daughter blue berry picking years ago. She didn't bring back many.
SW...Cezanne? Didn't he run that pizza joint in Milwaukee's old 3rd Ward? Sir, you flatter me unduly. :)
Squats! Ontario! I grew up some twenty miles north. Have biked that area often. It is good country.
Makes perfect sense to me :)
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