Hoo boy, to say "I'm late" on this post would be a gross understatement. The last two weeks have been full of needles and tubes of blood and x-rays and doctors tsking and a whole lot of unexplained pain and inflammation. Currently, I'm either in remission or I'm better. Neither is confirmed, neither is ruled out.
All I know is that the endless hours of pain I was in has magically receded, and I'm happy to take it. If it's just for today, that's fine because I lived the hell out of today. There is nothing like brushing up against the terror of unknown aggressive illness to bring you screeching to attention, a metaphorical hand snapped to the brow in salute, acknowledgement, and respect for your life, such as it is.
So today I stopped and smelled the roses, and then I bought them. 10 luscious blushing roses and some eucalyptus branches to complement.
Now, onto the pick from the week before last. I picked this one from PurpleMoose Gazette because it just speaks to how vastly, and sometimes ashamedly, different our culture has become.
Judging the Johnsons
“Real shame, that,” John murmured, as he shuffled by.
“What a waste,” agreed Sue from her porch.
The city stepped in and wrote a citation for overgrown grass and the trash in the ditch.
Yet not one person knocked on the door and asked after the aging couple who had lived there for 30 plus years; the couple who had cheered on the accomplishments of each boy and girl on the street; the couple who bought every magazine and box of cookies proffered.
Letters were written – complaints filed – heads were shaken. But nobody checked.
Nobody knew the couple was gone.
As you all know, a post never went up last week, but y'all submitted anyway through Facebook or comments on last week's prompt, HANDSOME. My pick from that bunch is from Lance at My Blog Can Beat Up Your Blog (a name which cracks me up every time I see it). Mostly because it captured my mood since coming back to life, back to reality after (or during this reprieve, or whatever) the last couple of weeks.
Back to Life, Back to Reality
Her cute toes, highlighted with sparkling rose nail polish, fixed on the dashboard. She sighed moderately, and reached for the car radio buttons with her left hand; nails the same color. A station playing "generation x" music made her smile; she settled. Pitch perfect, she began singing with the chorus "back to life, back to reality" the 20 year old pop song memorialized, poignantly, the end to a weekend, long for it's two extra days, and revelatory ocurrences. Nothing would be the same. She slowly moved her head towards her adoring husband. She cooed at him "you're so handsome."
And with that I think we're all caught up. The prompt for this week is from The Social Interpretation of the French Revolution by Alfred Cobban.