Many years ago Johnny Caron had as his guest a voluptuous young women “whose upper quadrant was highly developed” ….or as we say down here on the south side….”she had a rack like Bambi’s daddy”…anyway, you get the picture. So, the conversation came around to dating and what the young lady looked for in a man, and her answer was, she had the prospective turn his back to her and she then asked, “What color are my eyes”. Of course her statement caused lots of nervous laughs and embarrassment cause few took time to notice the color of her eyes. I’ll never forget the look on Carson’s face as he admitted he was too busy looking elsewhere to notice her pretty green eyes. This morning I plan to finish my facebook posts (which is like doing your homework on the school bus headed INTO school in the morning), get my shower and dress for the day….and go out on a date with Mother Nature. No, I’m not some weirdo looking for a transcendental, metaphysical, metamorphosis between the natural and the eternal…..I just mean I’m going to get outside and enjoy a little time in the cool morning air of Fall, riding in my jeep with the top down, watching the sun come up and being thankful for another day above the frost line”. My Cherokee kinfolk (and many other native groups) practiced “going to water” first thing every morning and seeing that it was outside, it was not just a quick shower before the workday, it was a spiritual thing which carried with it the refreshing and washing off of the old. I was in Cherokee, N.C. the other day and from what I understand there is still not and “App” for that. This is the time of year when the days get shorter and cooler, the nights get longer and we as a family huddle together around the big fireplace. It is the time of year when my Celtic ancestors thought the sun was dying and the darkness was overtaking the earth so they looked to the evergreen and the light of the candle and the Yule Log. When the cool winds started to blow I put away my shorts and my baseball glove and cleaned my shotgun to do my best against old Mr. Bob White Quail. Our English Pointers would awaken from their quiet dignity to begin barking frantically every Saturday morning to remind us of the coming hunt. And mom would brace herself for the early morning breakfasts and the late night dinners to be eaten only after the Quail were cleaned and put in the freezer, the dogs were fed and our guns and equipment were put away. Nope, I’m not just going down to the Quicktrip for a cup of coffee and to run a few errands, I’ll be out there riding with my memories and thanking God (Mother Nature’s boss) for the blessing of family and friends who in the coming days will sit by a fire and tell a few lies…offer a hand with a chore and say thank you when offered “a mess of Quail” or a deer steak of two. And in a few weeks when the fire is once again burning in the hearth I’ll look among the glowing embers and see the faces of my family who has gone on before and be glad…there is no “App” for that. I’ll see yál on the off ramp.
Posted on: Mon, 21 Oct 2013 11:40:55 +0000
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