Loved the Rain, And You

I've always loved the rain, and sharing it with you.

The opening lines of a complete regretful eulogy of a song, complete with instrumentation and a wistful familiarity.I had the whole song, as I sat on the porch watching it storm and missing Tammy.

Yes, I know. I keep going back to that.
It was important.
It was something to look forward to.

And something that never happened.

I doubt I will ever realize it's raining again without that thought.
If you knew Tammy, you'd know.

Anyway, the song.
It was so familiar, and so wrong, but right at the same time.
Loving the rain, and enjoying it, and sharing it. The storms, lightning flashing, thunder booming or rolling.
The rain slanting down.
The clean smell of it, even those first soured minutes onto hot pavement in the heat of a summer afternoon.
Walking along under the trees.
Laughing at children running into and out of shelter, laughing, not knowing if they liked it or not.
But laughing at Mommy and Mammaw playing, dancing, jumping in the rain with them.

In and Out, In and Out, a tapestry (tap dance?) of rain and laughter and love. Every stitch, every step a part of a larger, joyous pattern.

And the Music stops and the pictures of what was, what is, and what will now never be stops also, frozen in a moment -- ah, but such a lot of moments! -- forever.
And the rain forever falling, and the laughter, and we, too, are falling and floating with it, because it is what it is, and we both loved it then, and love it still.


It was in a dream, so I lost a lot of the words when I woke up, but they've come back to me, a line or two at a time.
As yet, I can't put them in order.
Maybe someday...

The familiarity bothered me.
And I found the song.

https://youtu.be/ixa7-EG0YhE

See what I mean about it being both wrong and right?
And even if I do remember my words to the music, I'll not be able to use them, except privately, which seems almost a shame.  The music belongs to someone else, and most of the words. And I'm not someone to go begging for exemption from copyright infringement. That's a big deal.

Ah well.
It's one thing I know I did right, loving the rain, and sharing it with you.
Now you can ride the clouds, up and down,  in an eternal bonding with your beloved rain.
Enjoy, my pluvial Pisces.

Traveling Time

Besides writing, I have always wanted to travel.

Writing is something I have never classed as a dream. It's what I do; it's a facet of Who I Am. If I do, or don't do, or dream it, I will write it. Some way, some day. This is a fact, not a goal; not an ambition; not a dream.

Travel is the dream.
Something I have always wanted to do, but have done little of . Life has a way of stepping in and putting things back, for the someday that may never happen.That will probably never happen.

Well, my sisters started making it happen for me. Two years ago, they invited me to be part of their trip to Niagara Falls.









This June they invited me to participate in a Great Smokies getaway.

I can't thank them enough.

I've been looking into myself recently to see where all the desire went.

It didn't go anywhere, but it did get buried.

Buried under worries about him and them and cars and jobs and kids and health and homes and aloneness.

Once, I had a goal to walk the West Coast of the US, from San Diego to Seattle. I tried to save for it by saving change, but never managed to fill even a small peanut can with money. It kept being used, or borrowed, and I don't even remember when I gave that up.

Besides, my "big dream" was overshadowed by the neighbor across the street.
He had a goal, too.
His goal was to walk around the whole dang world.

Made my dream puny in comparison.

And then he actually did it!
And published articles, letters, and books about it! (yeah, that one, too!)

Thanks, Steve!
(Steve Newman, Dream thief.)

Seriously, at the time, it was encouraging. If he could do this GREAT BIG THING, there was no reason why I couldn't do something on a smaller scale. In fact, it proved that there should be, could be some way of doing it.

I don't know when or why I put that dream away.


But, as my life is slowing and sorting itself out, and there is time again, I am finding this dream goal once again.

 My sisters, part of the "Life" that whittled the dream away from me, are now giving it back.
Aren't they wonderful? Am I not lucky?

I want to go there.
I want to see that.

Somehow, I will.
Come hell or high water; come junk cars and minimal budget; come life or death.
Come life or death.
death. the ultimate journey.

Blessed, Beautiful Balancing Sleep

I have been sleeping a lot the last couple of weeks. It's so much better than dozing and waking. It's a wonderful place to be, asleep. No worries, no demands, no unsolvable problems to solve. Just being.

Not that there are no problems in the sleep  world. There are.

In the lovely half-worlds between awake and asleep, and between asleep and awake, there are many many things. Thoughts, memories, wishes realized, dreams not dead, stories to be told unrolling.
Punishments exacted for sins known to the dreamer, be it willful, accidental, or circumstantial sinning.

But at least the dreamer knows.
Unlike life, or a so-called loving god, in the dream state of partially self-inflicted tortures, the dreamer knows what the punishment is for. Knows the why. Knows the how. Knows the when and where. Even knows that the way to end it is to rouse to wakefulness.

There is something soothing in knowing why pain is inflicted.
There is something beautiful in punishment balancing sin, even when the so-called sin was minor and the punishment is angry and excessive.
There's a reason for it.

In waking life, there is no reason.
There is no why, no explanation, no lesson learned.
God, the 'loving' father,seems an abusive irrational parent.

Any decent parent knows to tell their child why it is being punished. The child may not understand why something merits punishment, but knows that x(wrongdoing)= y(punishment). It's pretty basic.

Someone should tell god, maybe.

dreaming and scheming -- again

So -- I'm back at it. Trying to figure out a way to fill my time and maybe my wallet, while I wait for the anonymous rich uncle to gift me enough money to sell my books which will all become runaway best sellers. I'm not to sure which will (not) happen first.
I think they are tied.

What I've been thinking is that if there was a venue -- a venue that didn't cost too much -- I could pay a monthly rental fee. Should be able to get a discounted rate, too, if I could do it that way.
Or I could partner with someone(s) also at odds with their current lifestyle and in need of flowing cash every now and then. Even so, we could do the monthly rental thing with its potential discount.

I (or we) could also sell used books online. I've looked at a couple of free make-your-own-websites. Weebly is the one that looks most interesting to me. But -- and this is a big but -- how do you make lists of books visually appealing?
One could take pictures, of course, but how long does it take for the eyes to tire of looking at pictures of books? Not long, for me, .and I am a book lover! There needs to be a something extra.

Then there's shipping. While I wouldn't mind counting shipping as a cost-of-doing-business, I'm not sure that's prudent. Either many small orders or one crazy huge heavy order could break the bank.
Business over.

Since I don't have a business, that's not really a concern -- yet.
Since there's no viable venue, there's no overwhelming concern about splitting the rent, either.

Besides the books, I'd like to offer used clothing as well. Not quite thrift shop quality, but too good to throw away. For now, I usually give them away, often to a local charity that jams them in with all their other donations. There's nothing wrong with that, of course, but I'd so like to see my granddaughter's outgrown clothes go to a good home. Silly of me, perhaps, but that's how I feel about some of the  garments and toys.

There are household items and knickknacks, too, although I have few of those.

I'd really like to sell handcrafted items, but my hands aren't too  crafty, and there's no money to buy things for resale.

Not yet, anyway.

Oh, but I can see it so well, in my mind. A front table and a side  table, boxes and or shelves of books, some type of clothes rack. The tables have white plastic tablecloths taped to them. A pedestal fan flutters the edges. Padded folding chairs for my fat behind to fall off of. Children looking at toys, people talking together.
Yeah, right. A talker-to-strangers I am not.
But I can be. I've never had too much of a problem speaking to customers as a server of sorts. (I may have problems after they have walked theirs stupid selves away, but I can be polite enough while face-to-face.)

Well, those are my maybe-babys for today. They aren't getting me anywhere -- not today. 

But, it's possible, someday in the future, if I keep dreaming and thinking, that these plots and plans will come to fruition.

It's even possible that the fruit will be good.