October 23, 2023
It was already well passed one in the afternoon when I mustered enough motivation to drive into town. Wasn’t a “want-to”. It was a “had-to”. Important and timely papers requiring my signature to be notarized. Signed. Stamped. Mailed. One less thing to be sucking on my mental energies.
It was a craving. Of all things, I had a craving for a #1 Whopper, fries, and a Vanilla Crème Soda. I’d take it to that memorable park, sit where we sat, recall soul-warming memories, and take my unhealthy lunch outdoors. So, I did.
It’s interesting to me. Those few months ago it was so difficult to revisit places that evoke memories. Now? It’s not so difficult these days.
When the flow of memories come to stir these depths of emotions that I never knew before Shirli died, I feel so detached from this world and everything going on in it. It comes and it goes, but, at times, I’m not even aware of the wind in the trees or the traffic on the streets. The experience adds an interesting touch to the surrealism inherent in this unfolding life-transition. There is, very definitely, a deepening spiritual aspect involved in this. And, like the other facets of this rock being chipped away at by forces that can’t be seen, it can’t be forced or manipulated to suit my own personal preferences and fancies.
I have to write. There is no way around it. Writers write. I’ve been doing it, in one form or another, most all of my adult life. I wrote some really dark poetry in my early twenties. I was living a really dark life and way beneath my human dignity back then. I still have those poems in a folder. That folder has made every move that I have made since I was in my early twenties. Imagine that. That’s a lot of moves. One of them was going out-of-country into Canada. One of them was returning in-country to the States.
This journaling thing?
I’m just talking to myself. Hah. That’s something that I do a lot of anymore and, for the life of me, I can’t tell you when, this side of July 4th last, that I started doing it. Between talking to myself, with Shirli, and with Jesus, I’m saying something all the time to one of the three of us.
Canada. I loved living in Canada though it is not my home and native land. I loved that church. I loved those people. I gave myself to them as fully as I knew how. New people were coming to church. Three years in, the power holders in the church pissed down my back. So, I moved my wife, two small children, and all our personal effects back to the States. We landed in Virginia for a while before relocating from there to Fairhope. That was a good long while ago. Where did the years go?
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