I climbed up high
that I might see
Just who was in
my family tree
So very strange
I found a limb
but could not tell
a her from him
Piercing and tattoos
they had
No one smiled
they all looked mad
None at all
did look like me
like folks you find
from DMV
No one famous
I could see
and no one left
a thing to me
No heroes pictured
in a frame
One had a horse
but with no name
A rootless tree
is what I found
A summer breeze
could knock it down
So now I know
the who I am
one who falls
for such a scam.
As it turns out, my vision is such that in order for me to see the keyboard the tip of my nose almost touches the letter jay. I’m thinking I should probably address that issue, at least move it up on my list of things requiring attention.
There are others of course. There has been one broken string on my violin that I have ignored, even though many of the songs I play sound hideous because of it. My garage door is stuck half-way. Not sure why. It is just enough that I can no longer get the car in or out.
I really should update my will. Many of the people I’ve left things too are long dead. I should have never believed the newspaper; people apparently don’t die in alphabetical order.
Today is Monday. I really don’t want to start any projects
today. Maybe I’ll wait for the weekendj.
We sat at the kitchen table. It was, just days before, our mother’s kitchen table, but now she was gone and we were suddenly the ones left.
As we talked, as brother and sister do, she was going around the house gathering various jars of pennies, coffee cans of lose change and when she began counting it out, I finally I asked what she was doing. “We need to divide things up.” She said, as if my thoughts were headed down that road.
“I do not want anything. I replied. We just need to make some phone calls to see what it is we need to do next.” That took place in 2011. It is now 2026. My sister and I live across the country from each other.
The last time I got to see her was when I was told by the doctor that I had Leukemia. She flew out to spend time with me. As you can see by this post, I survived. Other than our various operations and general growing old pains, we are still enjoying each day.
Today I received a
mystery package in the mail. It was a
book. I did not order it or even know
why anyone would send it to me. Then,
tucked in the envelope with the book was a note from my sister. She had read on my blog about a time I had
found this book in a bookstore. It had
made an impact on me and she thought I should have it.
"At the age of eighty my mother had her last bad fall, and after that her mind wandered free through time."
It is the power of manipulation that allows some things to come into focus, while leaving others in a fog.
There are obviously
limits to fine-tuning certain aspects of life.
Most remain out of our control and for good reason. Until we have all the facts, human logic
tends to be influenced by a variety of distractions, whims and personal
preferences.
***
The mind loves the illusion of the manual setting.
Turn the wheel, narrow the aperture, slow the exposure — and suddenly it feels as if clarity is a choice, as if the scene will obey.
But life is a camera with a mischievous streak. It lets you adjust just enough to believe you’re steering, then slips a hand over the lens and fogs the glass to remind you that some things refuse to be captured cleanly.
We focus where we can: the crisp edge of a single
thought, the glint of a moment that cooperates, the one detail that stands still long enough to be understood.
Everything else drifts in and out like weather. Human
logic is a skittish creature — easily startled by preference, distracted by whim, seduced by the nearest shiny certainty.
And maybe that’s the mercy of it. If we could fine‑tune
everything, if every variable snapped obediently into focus, we’d lose the soft blur that makes life bearable — the fog that protects us from too much truth at once.
Clarity is a privilege. Ambiguity is a buffer. And the shutter, adjustable as it may be, always clicks with a little rebellion in it.
