How do I know that optimism thrives on this planet? Because somewhere out there a person thought to make wind chimes. They took the most pestering form of nature and turned it into something pleasant. Tinkling hollow tubes hang freely to inform us every time Mother Nature is pms-ing.
I think she’s resentful of fun and happiness, because it’s the picnics, parties and weddings where she turns the most sour and cranky. Anytime joy and celebration show up, she’s right beside them, fervently trying to maintain a wicked balance.Is it a bit dramatic to say I hate wind? Can one really use such a fanatical word to describe a natural element? Perhaps this very instant someone is cursing the sun.
Just like the sun can turn the walking dead to an impotent pile of ash, wind can furiously destroy a city … simple as that.
She might pleasantly deceive you a bit, but don’t underestimate her presumptuous power. It starts with a cool breeze in triple digit temperature, then ends with dreadlocked hair in strangling form. Paper plates turn into Skynet frizbees, and napkins go all Alfred Hitchcock “The Birds” style. She waits for chaos to turn frantic before she perversely swirls and twirls up your skirt, impregnating you with unexpected embarrassment/anger. It’s a great look for Marilyn Monroe, but how many pictures are just punctuated fabrications?
Here’s the bright side: we’re opportunists. We buy diamonds from enslaved child soldiers, and combat wind into windmills, sailboats and kites. The bright side of a disaster is business…disaster relief. Someone is always making it big from unfortunate situations, and so it goes…
Optimism.
You’ll have to forgive my rant. I’m still dealing with last weekend’s molestations. It started like any other horror flick; a tap tap tapping on the window and a husband opening the door despite his wife’s earnest warning. I’ve heard the story “Thump Drag” enough times to know you don’t open the door unless you want to drag around bloody stumps.
He still opened it and surprise….nothing. That nothing emerged to our shocking dismay the following morning.
What the hell???!!!
Dean blames himself for the neglected Christmas tree he left in the corner. The weeds started fooling around with it, and one thing led to another… I tried to make him feel better by telling him it was only half a Christmas tree. I was slowly hacking it up and disposing it with every garbage day.
My choice in wording didn’t comfort, it only added fear to his guilt. For a disaster like this to end up on our lawn!?! Let me elaborate. You know those people who have lawn so lush and green and manicured to unnatural perfection; the type of lawn you want to pee on cause it bugs so bad? That’s typically our lawn.
Needless to say, he wasn’t too excited about me sharing this photo. He mumbled something about white trash blah blah blah, my wanting an above ground swimming pool and firepit blah blah. Scrap wood nailed together looks trashy, blah, blah, blah.
It comes down to this: Dream catchers block out nightmares, rabbit feet bring good luck, and I don’t choose to live in Utah to be surrounded by “The Hamptons”. Fence regulations, tree house restrictions, and people who make 100 g but act like they make double turn me way off.
My estate resale value adds up to free choice, which I redeem priceless. It’s an additional bonus if the neighbors aren’t child molesters. Hell, toss in some chickens and beehives and you’ll fit right in here.
If only I could do something about this recent bloody wind.
My picture above serves dual purpose. It sacrifices image for the price of humor, and inadvertently recruits a support group. A shout out to my friend Randy who was blown into the curbside trash can and courageously rolled down his steep driveway; to the Reary’s who purchased a new bb-q only to have it blown and smashed to bits; to everyone who’s trampoline dangerously took flight, and to all the unlucky, who have a Bermuda Triangle trash receptacle like me.
This post is for you xoxo
