Dangerous Compassions

strawberries are my jam

“It must be a red letter day.  I’m wearing a bra and deodorant!” I said.  “Deodorant is the worst thing I ever heard of.  Or ever smelled of,” I added.  I can only wear the unscented kind.  I hate that stuff.

It’s so windy tonight, it’s too much.  We went to Corn Creek yesterday.  It was good to get some sun and see the water.  Creeks are my favorite.  It was a Worker outing.  It was just us Workers and the granddaughter of a Worker.  The kid who said that when she grows up, she wants to be a ballerina or a saint.

A strawberry was floating in the creek.  Lately strawberries are my favorite fruit.  They grow in my homeland, and they were part of the service for my mom.  I want strawberries really bad, lately.

J said, “Look!  Your mom was here!”  I didn’t know how to feel about that.  True, it was odd.  I never really saw a strawberry in a creek before.  It’s not like someone dropped a whole fruit basket in the creek.  It was one large strawberry.

J picked mint too, from the bank of the creek, and we put some into my little rainbow pouch.  I guess the show must go on. 

There was a picnic area with six tables.  We were all spread out, after the walking, just quietly sitting–well, R was lying on a table.  There were bits of conversation.  G poured some water on R’s pants to make it look like R wet his pants–that was odd.  Impulsive.  I was glad R seemed totally unfazed.

It was nice when we were talking about Aesop’s fables.  I mentioned the dog who had the meat in its mouth and saw a dog with more meat, so it dropped its meat to get the other dog’s meat, but it was just a reflection.

R said the dog was swimming, and Ming said the dog swimming would be churning up the water and couldn’t see its reflection.  So it must have been a dog on a bridge.

I said yes, I thought the dog was on a bridge.  R remembered the dog was swimming.  I said, “Maybe a mermaid swam by and held up a mirror.”  No one seemed to like that idea.

That’s what I like about Ming, one of the thousand things.  He is always very smart and observational and insightful, and caring, gently pointing out reality to anyone who will listen, between narcoleptic naps.

Then the grandchild saw a lizard.  It was darting around on some railroad ties.  It had a lizard ledge.

Even if I took down all the windchimes, I would still hear the wind in the trees, and this art thing on the wall outside bumps the wall over and over again, quietly, when the wind hits a certain gustiness.

Something in me waned to tell her, “Please don’t be a saint!  It doesn’t end well, for them!”  You know they get killed by their dad for being Christian or what have you.  Shot with arrows, or carve stuff about Jesus into their own body.  Oh, saints.  Not sure it’s really worth it.  I hope she chooses ballerina.

By Laura-Marie

Good at listening to the noise until it makes sense.

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