Part Seventeen, What Lies Beyond: A Tale Told With Time

What Lies Beyond, Part Seventeen

Thorns, But Flowers Too

Joan Ann Lansberry

November 5, 1998

Cacti have thorns, but flowers too. . .
Amazing Claims

I had the strangest dream this morning. We were meeting a group of intelligentsia for dinner. They fancied themselves among the cutting edges of intellects. I wasn't so sure. They were particularly proud of one of their associates, a tall blond woman just on the south side of forty. She was beautiful, but espoused a bizarre philosophy. She believed herself to be the next evolution in humanity. The next evolution will no longer need to eat, for we will process energy via photosynthesis.
I whispered to one of my friends, while we were in the restaurant lobby, "Just watch her make a big show of not eating anything tonight! When she goes home, she'll stuff her face." He nodded in agreement.
It was bad enough when a St Theresa claimed not to need food. But this woman was an atheist, and supposed champion of rationality.
When I saw the quality of food the restaurant was offering, I thought, "Augh, it's not going to be hard for her not to eat any of this!" Various jello salads did not appeal. Fat, gray, disgusting sausages almost turned my stomach looking at them. There were no vegetables or potatoes anywhere. The dessert counter held more promise, so I cut myself a huge piece of blueberry cake and a smaller piece of chocolate cake. But even so, I craved lean meats and fresh vegetables.
Laura and Julia were also disappointed with the food, but got into vigorous debate with the company. As I observed these people carry on, I remembered a quote I saw somewhere:

"Believe those who are seeking the truth: doubt those who find it."
     ----André Gide

November 6, 1998
While sitting in the car, waiting for Julia to exit work, I kept the radio on. A rich bass voice began singing, "I believe I can fly, I believe I can touch the sky. . . I think about it ev'ry night and day, Spread my wings and fly away. . .I believe I can soar. . ."(R. Kelly) I looked skyward. A group of eight or ten birds gracefully circling the blue sky made a perfect video accompanient. They flew low enough, I could see their dark gray wings rapidly moving to achieve the feat. The birds made several circles, separating and joining together, as if choreographed. They disappeared one by one, until at song's end, the remaining lone bird flew high and out of sight.

November 7, 1998
Across the seas, another online journalist was also observing nature yesterday. John Bailey's observations inspired a poem which I'm clipping into my scrapbook here:

Winter harvest
On the claws of my thornbush
three woollen twists mark the passage
of careless walkers.
I expect to see them all winter through,
fading slowly, matting in the rain,
returning to their flocked origin.
Next Spring, a bird, more careful,
will pass through the bush,
avoiding thorns, gathering these
fleecy fragments for a new nest.
Black thorns, freed of the winter harvest,
will protect white blossom, shield new leaf.

Copyright (C) 1998 John Bailey
November 6, 1998

*      *      *      *      *

We've been struggling with just one car since Julia went to work. Yesterday, we got a second car. It is a well taken care of metallic blue 1994 Ford Tempo, with only 50,000 miles on it. Its only thorny problem is a stick shift, rather than automatic shift. Only Laura knows how to drive such a car. I nearly learned ten years ago on a truck we had, but the thing kept dying on me when I turned corners. "You'll strip the gears!", Laura yelled ferociously at me. I got angry in return, parked the car by the side of the road, got out, and let Laura drive, nevermore to touch the wheel again.
We will try again with this car. Laura has promised not to yell, and I've promised not to quit. We'll see how it goes.

November 10, 1998
3:10 am

The house is cold, 68 degrees (20 C.), frigid to desert dwellers. The heat, set to 70, just clicked on. I pushed it up to 72. I shiver but at least my thoughts keep me warm:

Writing allows one to order her thoughts, so that all things fall to right proportion, neither minimized or magnified.

In this sacred space, I face myself and learn my hidden angles.

*      *      *      *      *

Finally forty! Yes, today is the day I turn f-f-f-orty. It rolls not well off the tongue. It types awkwardly, too. By the time I'm used to being in my forties, I'll be in my fifties.
I've already had much birthday celebration. We had a good Sunday. Laura made turkey, stuffing, real mashed potatoes, corn, and baked beans. We had Glen and Mother, Anton and Cynthia, and James over. Real yummy food for us unreformed 'carnivores'!
Afterwards, the dirty dishes were spread high and wide over all our counters. After my turkey induced nap, I tackled those.
My mother sent a beautiful sterling celtic pendant, Laura's mother gave me a pendant with a real opal, Julia got me two cactus pins jeweled with malachite, turquoise, onyx, and coral. Laura took me to Fry's Electronics yesterday. I bought three music CDs, ( Instrumental Moods, a Virgin records compilation, John Whelan's Flirting With the Edge, a celtic crossover album, and a Bobs acappella album with their covers of various hits, ) so I've been well gifted. It almost makes getting "old" worth it!
Also, though not a birthday present, I got a new blue heather sweater Saturday. It has a zipper, so it's easy on, easy off, much better for late fall Arizona days than a heavy coat .
Although a heavy coat would feel good right now, pause, DOES feel good right now.
My first driving lesson went well. Mentally I keep rehearsing the steps:

Check to make sure the gear is set to 'first'. Clutch must be all the way in to start the car, let up on clutch gradually, while pressing down on gas. Once going fast enough, press clutch all the way in and move gear pole into 'second'. To stop the car, both clutch and brake must be pressed.
The next lesson will cover higher speeds and backing up.

November 12, 1998
This poem is simply an attempt at a creative way to express the bad mood I was in today. However, even when the sky turned sunny, I still felt blue. I queried to Laura, "Perhaps I've sucked all the gray clouds into me?"
This evening, I feel more cheery.

Pervasive

Gray
spreading across the sky,
dulling interior shelter,
pervading even
my inner canopied spaces.
Small candles
cannot fight this invasion.
Small hands will not
lift these clouds.
All around,
the foggy gray bears down,
pervasive.

JAL, 11-12-98

*      *      *      *      *

Snip of an interesting e-mail we recieved:
"...Please make sure the Triad remains for the world to see...without organizations like yours, the world is left believing that those ridiculous transvestite ball room dancing, pink moo moo conventions are all that's out there...God help us all..."
We're not exactly an 'organization', but her comments made me smile. It brings to mind visions of thundering herds of heavily made-up queens prancing in pink tutus.

November 13, 1998
Friday the 13th . . .
We'll likely be dropping more bombs on Iraq if we can just decide where to aim them. Wanna bet "Sodamn Insane" holes up with a bunch of women and kids, or in some hospital somewhere?
Here on the home front, we have a new fighter in the war against crime, keeping us safe from the prisoners, and the prisoners safe from each other. Anton passed his COTA (Correctional Officers Training Academy) schooling THIRD in the graduating class. Laura and I went down to Tucson in a two vehicle caravan with Cynthia, who went in a friends truck, to his graduation ceremony. Anton looked so proud and happy! We wished we had the foresight to bring a camera. I've been wishing I had a digital camera so I could have instant pics and zoom lens capacity, but what good would it do if i forgot to take it anywhere?
Anyway, he's all graduated and we're all so proud. Laura made him a special cartoon instead of just buying a card.
Afterwards, we all ate at La Parilla Suiza, and I had my number '37', grilled pork bits piled with salsa, chilequiles, and seasoned .beans. Poor Anton couldn't eat as he might, for he was still suffering form food poisoning. Tarter sauce gone bad. But he was so happy we came down to share his moment. I remember eleven years ago, when Laura and I went to his high school graduation. He's done a lot of growing up since then. we're all so proud of him.