Sunday, April 30, 2017

"For Real Post Op Musings. # 12" ...I think.

(Granted this may be getting tiresome. However I need to write it down. If you just look at the pictures, and move on this would not at all offend...loves ya)

The warnings I was given by so many here, on FB, 'not' to drag my 50 pounds of laundry in by myself were more than correct. It was not without consideration of the dangers, but I thought it needful. The whole month of April has been damp humid rainy. Mildew abounded...esp. in my hamper.

I had to get that stuff dealt with so did.

Getting there was difficult, but I made far so good. However the coming home...
To begin it was a very warm humid day...shades of the summer to come.
It was the warmest brightest part of the afternoon. The sun seemed to get brighter as I walked. All the colors were being washed away the edges of things blurring. Sounds becoming soft.

I was in an extreme sweat,...a kind of heat stroke?

I leaned against a building wall to catch my breath. After a time a few minutes...half hour don't know I continued on. I got to my digs, and fell at once to sleep.

I'm guessing I was out for perhaps 10 to 12 hours since it was near dawn of the next day when I awoke.

This event put me in mind of my surroundings, and the coming, and going of life our lives all life.
My digs are in a building near 120 years old. For any structure on the continent this is a near Roman relic.
The European era in these lands are so recent our oldest makings are actually rather recent. In other parts of the world Asia, and Europe things are very different.
People still live in places that have been in continuous use for centuries. 300 to 500+ years old, and still with folks hanging out carrying on living in them. Imagine if not for the mass bombings of WW2 much more of Europe's medieval real-estate would still be with us.

This puts me in mind of that now classic S/F film "Brother from Another Planet". An off world ship without notice quietly crashes into NY harbor. It's only crew who happens to be Black swims to Ellis Island. There as he touches the walls through his fingers he hears the voices of the many generations that passed through this place. Came through in hopes of a new better life. Somebody please tell that to Trump.

So here in my near 120 year old digs. Would that I now right now this very moment reached out, and touched my walls. I would through the faintest touch of my fingers hear German Polish Yiddish Spanish French Creole, and yes even English.
The words murmurs, and prayers of the generations that lived in these very rooms from which I now post to the world.

Bless you all.


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