In Brief—Bay reflects on the past weeks in the warehouse where he lives. This time it’s different.
Cranial Pinball Machine and Random Thoughts—
The fog of depression over the election results lifted to reveal the trees standing naked, with sparkling snow having nudged autumn’s oranges and golds aside. By the time this column makes its appearance, winter’s snow will have spread a thicker blanket on the ground.
Though it arrived a bit late, the train all of us are on stopped to let two of us off at their destinations. One empty room has been filled with another passenger who will join us on our journey. Another room waits for a new occupant. More gray hair.
Gray hair fills these rooms, these halls, so I was jolted to see dark hair on a girl of about eight passing me in the corridor. “Hey,” we both said. Without another word she continued down the hall to visit her grandmother. This warehouse is filled with gray hair.
Messages from distant friends bring me news of other lives, other activity, other places. Recipes for cherry tomatoes and brie [Oh, God, I miss the taste of cherry tomatoes!] remind me of the past. I savor those recipes. At first, it was torture to watch others eat, and I would absent myself. Now I try not to think of the tastes as I’m fed through a tube. We don’t appreciate how our social life is enhanced by eating.
Close-by friends send me comedy, issues of justice gone astray, films and photos. They stir my synapses and, as anticipated by sensitive friends, give me reason to face another day here in the warehouse.
Other valued correspondents share their thoughts on the screwed-up politics of the day. It gives me a chance to reveal my skepticism and cynicism about what I see in the media. The media are designed to attract eyeballs to keep those profits rolling in. Journalists are just humans with the same biases we all have. It pays to remember that their paychecks are signed by the elite who own the media. We all believe what we want to believe. Are friends just allowing me to be me, cynicism and all?
Like a well running dry, my blog motivation seems at times to be drying up only to return with gifts that propel me forward. Sometimes two or three gifts; sometimes the well is dry. I wonder if an empty bucket is the future. Will I be like those people who sit and stare, lost in their own world?
Gifts from a dear friend feed my reading addiction. I read voraciously, non-fiction, fiction. The eyesight is fading now, my world is a bit dim, so the reading is becoming a bit manic. Just one more book! One more after that! Will an operation at my age arrest that dimming or is the future dark?
I realize people in the outside world have other interests, other experiences, other talents. They think in ways that are different. We are all unique. When I’m being mellow I say “Thank heavens.” On occasion my baser side emerges: “Some folks are three bricks shy of a load.” Never make the mistake of believing someone else thinks as you do. If you do, that’s a big mistake. The election results clearly show that.
My train ticket destination is written in invisible ink. Most are the same. Since this is my first time waiting for the conductor to announce my destination, I shouldn’t be surprised. Awareness of our respective destinations would devastate most ticket-holders. Not me. I would be reassured. The train moves on. The waiting continues. What does the future hold?