Last night I was all jumpy due to noises above my head. With Hick gone to Sweden, I KNOW there is nobody up there walking around. I was minding my own business in my dark basement lair when I started hearing thumps at the front door. I turned down my underdesk heater to make sure no one was knocking at 11:00 p.m. They weren't. It could have been the dogs sprawling up against it, I guess, even though I heard them barking over by the goat pen.
I hollered, "What are you doing?" Twice. You know. Because that would signal burglars that
Later, around 1:30 a.m., in my OPC (Old People Chair), blissfully heated and vibrated, I heard noises by the kitchen door. Walking. So I hollered again. "Hey! What's going on? I though you went to bed!" To allow the next set of burglars to leave, you know. Because obviously the man of the house was sleeping with a shotgun under the bed, just waiting for punks like them to break in. Apparently, even punk burglars need to use the facilities, because I heard walking in the boys' bathroom directly overhead. I won't lie. Usually this stuff doesn't faze me. But I was shakin' a little in my Crocs.
I went to bed around 3:30. Didn't notice anything unusual upstairs. I slept a little later than I'd planned this morning. I'd wanted to leave home by 9:30 to do the Walmart shopping. I didn't get away until almost 10:30. Hick had sent me a text. I had to check my internet usage, which can only be done on Shiba, my laptop. While I was logged on, I noticed that Bing had a picture The Pony would appreciate. He writes science fiction, you know. And I often tip him off to an inspirational photo. I won't put the picture here, because I am generally not a copyright infringer, but the link is here. It's the Dongdaemun Design Plaza in Seoul, South Korea. Very futuristic. I didn't have time to send it to The Pony, since I was trying to get out of the house and get to Walmart without more delays.
When I got down to the county road by EmBee, I saw that the creek was way up, so I turned left instead of right, to take a little detour of a couple miles by the auto body guy, and miss the low water bridge that always overflows.
Since it was my Walmart day, I stopped by the cemetery for my weekly talk with Mom. I put the radio on Sirius XM Prime Country for her. George Strait was singing a song I didn't know. I told Mom about Sunday's trip to the casino with Genius. And how Hick had seen the ladybugs in the BARn, and The Pony had seen a ladybug in the Student Union. That reminded me about the Bing picture. So I picked up my phone to text him. As I swiped the screen to get into the texting thingie, I heard a familiar intro on the radio.
Holes in the Floor of Heaven. By Steve Wariner.
This is the FIFTH TIME I have had this song start playing in some association with my mom and The Pony. It shook me up. I used to think I was just stringing together these associations, making connections that weren't really related, because I have a hard time letting go of Mom. Like when people look at shadows or a pattern in wood grain, and see a face. Human brains are wired to make sense of stuff like that. But this is one too many coincidences for me!
I know that Mom does not control the playlist for Prime Country. That it's probably planned out months in advance. But like the flap of a butterfly's wings in New Mexico might lead to conditions that cause a hurricane in China (if you believe in the Chaos Theory)...something put me in the cemetery at that time, with the radio playing on that station, starting a text to The Pony, at the moment that song started to play. I had frittered away my time with conscious and unconscious decisions that put me in that moment. Sheryl Crow might as well have hopped into T-Hoe's back seat, trying to out-sing Steve Wariner's "...watchin' over you and me" with "...every road has led us here today" from Diamond Road.
Just as I was getting ready to groove with Mr. Wariner, those two men who have interrupted my graveside chat on three out of my last four attempts came chugging up from a side road on a 4-wheeler pulling a cart. All I had managed of The Pony's text was: "Bing is futuristic today!" I left then. My Mom conversations are not a spectator event. I drove the mile to Walmart. Parked. Finished my text to The Pony.
"Stopped by the cemetery to talk to Grandma. Those darn men interrupted me again. As I scrolled my phone to text you, you know what song came on, right?"
"Holes in the floor of heaven?"
Yeah. I think The Pony and I both get the message.
I'd apologize for making you all amble down this rabbit trail with me today. But let's face it. You were probably meant to. And you most likely needed this exercise. Not in the physical sense.