Music
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Month Half Done
Yesterday was as fine as a day could be, and today was its equal. Saturday a shining, sunny snapshot of purest gold, with wind and leaves, the symbols of death and change in the living air. Sunday a cloudy, rainy room of adoration and reflection. We are aware of how rare such days are, and this awareness made them all the more precious to us as we passed through our weekend, holding hands, joking, laughing, choking up in emotional pauses, quiet conversations, silent hours of reading next to each other with snoring dogs all around us, barbecuing chicken, baking pecan pies, rehashing last night’s dreams, taking our naps, cleaning out…
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Because It’s Sunday
That Sunday gloom has settled in on me, which is a common lifelong thing. I’ve learned to accept it as part of my genetic makeup, and I’ve learned to ride it out rather than seek solutions. Today’s somberness was probably brought on by an extended period of thought about my mother, that unknown and unknowable woman who shaped me and with whom I fought and argued all the days we had together. I was looking out at the leaves dropping from the branches and listening to Jinx snore softly at my feet, and I could see her so clearly, with her sad expression, and I wondered again at how she…
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The Cold Rolling Towards Me
I began this post in longhand, sitting at my desk this morning, allegedly working, watching tufts of cool mist hanging in the air outside the glass door. This is the time of year when the nearest neighbor is separating his cows from the calves, in preparation for market. The worried mamas have been bawling all day, as they have been for the two days before. The air over the farm is anxious, fretful, which is a shame, because we’ve just gotten our first dose of fall-like weather, about 50F at night and in the mid-70s today, air as clear as an infant’s eyes, same deep blue, same lack of omens…
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The Queen is Dead — Long Live the King
May Elizabeth Regina II rest in peace, and may God grant His Majesty King Charles III grace and wisdom on the throne of England. He will be crowned in a completely different world than the one that existed when his mother began her long reign. ~ S.K. Orr
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At the Curtain of Dusk
During a recent trip to the county dump, I tossed all of our garbage into dumpsters, then took a baggie of dry dog food from the front seat and poured the cup or so of food onto the gravel. I didn’t see the little cat that has greeted me for a while now, and I called to her, but she didn’t show. Driving out of the parking lot, I noticed for the first time a sign that warned against feeding feral cats, and indicating that anyone caught doing so would be considered the cat’s owner and would be responsible for damages and any fees incurred. I shrugged it off, but…
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September Morn
Today is, as near as we have been able to figure, Jinx and Bluebelle’s third birthday. When I walked out of the bedroom this morning the spotted twins were waiting for me. I sat down and they jumped all over me, greeting me. And JInx, predictably, scratched me with one of his ragged claws in his exuberance. I was grateful that he got me in the beard-covered area of my chin; the swipe drew blood. But it was okay. It’s the heeler twins’ birthday, but they are gifts to us. So Happy Birthday, you wild, rambunctious rumpus-makers. We’re so glad you’re here with us. ~ S.K. Orr
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Synchronicity and Sadness
My friend William James Tychonievich writes frequently, eloquently, and in a lively manner about the synchronicity he observes in his daily life. Today I thought of WJT when I learned that a talented but erratic country singer named Luke Bell apparently killed himself yesterday, the same day I learned of the suicide of my childhood friend Len. Mr. Bell seems to have lived a life that could be accurately described as tortured, and the life-taking whispers that chased him for much of his life finally overtook him. You don’t have to listen to many of his songs to recognize his talent and his emotional depth. I thought I would post…
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Almost Dog Days
The heat of August seems to be steady and unmoderated all over the United States. I’ve talked to people from all over the country lately, and I can’t recall a single exception to the “It’s very hot, and even worse, it’s very humid” remark when I ask about the weather in someone’s locale. Mrs. Orr was talking to the kids and grandkids in Texas last night, and I spoke briefly to Numbah One Grandson. I asked him, “Is it hot there?” And he replied, with eyes cast up at the ceiling fan, propellering above his head, “Oh, it’s real hot.” This from a Texan. ‘Nuff said. Yesterday was a two-shower…
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Home In High Summer
We went down into town this morning for an outing, but we almost didn’t go. Mrs. Orr has been battling a sinus thing that has migrated down into her chest and she’s been very weak from all the coughing. But she wanted to get out of the house and so we did. We ended up forgetting to buy the one thing we really went for, but that was all right. There’s an oriental market (yes, I’m aware that I’m supposed to say “Asian,” but that’s just too bad, innit?) where we sometimes shop for staples like Japanese matcha green tea, soba noodles, miso paste, and the odd vegetable like immaculate…
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The Value of Moments
This morning, this gray and dripping morning, I walked in a neighbor’s corn field, thick-grown with silage for his cows. Except for the soft sighing in the tops of the trees in my woods behind me, the silence was deep and cyclical, like a tide, like a black spot in space between two stars. I stood in the chest-high corn plants and listened, and heard nothing but breeze, and I listened again, and inexplicably, a song came into my head, a song I have neither heard nor thought of in years. I walked on through the corn and then at the perimeter found some bear scat. A calf watched me…