Blinders Keepers On More Levels Than You Can Count
Two horsemen War and Death ride. They might as well with the world especially the US leadership, economy, you-name-it, going to hell in a handbasket. In Missouri there was nothing with that nothingness being captured so much so I thought this book couldn’t possibly be for me, but it all exploded in a blink and the Two sprung forth through the flame. Famine and Conquest could not help but follow and weren’t going to miss it. The lamb indeed follows with them and treks across the country with nowhere to hide while the father watches over his son or is it his guardian angel leaving notes? He’s drawing a blank and keeps it up relentlessly, we the readers don’t know yet, but it’s any man’s game in an apocalypse.
Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride holds nothing on this book although I’d be afraid to imagine what a Blinders Keepers Wild Ride might be. Everyone around him keeps dying but our protagonist just can’t figure it out – I figured it out. I mean, if I can figure it out what’s his deal? Have you ever wanted to yell at a movie screen when the character isn’t moving fast enough or you know what’s going to happen next but s/he doesn’t. I wanted to grab Noah by both shoulders and shake him but realities keep becoming just too blurred. Turns out the father and guardian angel are one and the same double agent, if you will, keeping him alive. To top it off there’s this meteor that doesn’t really exist but the President sees opportunity in opinion polls going up in his favor pretending it does. I don’t know why he just doesn’t send Noah’s dad and a military crew into space to napalm it like they do to so many others.
When you read Blinders Keepers you should hold on to something.
I am very tired not from anything constructive that’s kept me so occupied all day but from relaxation. True that with each thing I did, like washing my face, I cleared the sink off, sprayed it down and cleaned it, finally got to the mirror and removed splash spots and going to the bathroom I put a new tablet in the tank and washed the bowl. I’d been peacefully asleep but the winds picked up to the point of rattling windows as if they would blow out of their frames, well more accurately it sounded as if the wall might be ripped open while rain slapped the side of the building. Kind of like sleeping through a tornado it wouldn’t have been impossible to sleep through it all but this sensation insisted on presenting itself that I could be getting very wet very soon. “Oh, the towel” that’d been draped over a chair on the balcony made me wonder if it were still there not that it would have more of an impact than a wall being torn off a building. Nonetheless I got up to check and was surprised when I went to its rescue it just wasn’t that wet. Is this scenario, or should I say this time around the bark of the elements was worse than their bite? I don’t even care if that sentence makes sense. That towel I now have hanging in the bathroom with a fan blowing on it to dry is making the entire place smell wonderfully fresh. Now that’s worthwhile.
And I’m annoyed with myself for letting this thing distract me when all I want to do is close my eyes.
While I’m thinking of it I’m taking my stuff into the bedroom. Maybe I’ll stop typing and find a movie to lull me back not that I think it’ll take much effort on my part to nod off. There goes that wind again pushing the unseasonably warm out of the way of the cold it should be. Huh, says who… Is that thunder? There’s the rain again that shouldn’t be here, by now it was supposed to have stopped. Do the weathermen really know for sure? Mother nature smiles a “the hell you say”.
In any case like I said, I am tired and for the last time I’m going to read this thing through. Though under the covers my slippers aren’t keeping my feet warm and my flannel shirt isn’t keeping the rest of me warm.
“A picnic table with a tablecloth no less, a yard, trespassers comfortable, using our driveway to cut a path.” Megan sat back musing. “No wonder I can’t sleep. Beachfront property? How do you justify owning the ocean, never said… well, we don’t actually, still; the beach counts. How do you get the message across to people and keep smiling? Maybe… but shall we close the borders?” Kreep bellowed a laugh. “Define ‘the borders’.” His arm panned the turbulent vastness, no other land in sight. “She’s restless today. Netting. Wouldn’t look pretty.” Megan sighed. “Think someone might try to play tennis?”
The Prompt: …but shall we close the borders…
100WCGU – Week#175
Get out she says, I want you out.
Joe just stood there. Now what… This time he’s not willing to lose everything or leave behind things she covets just to pacify. “Pacify what, how does that go, ‘don’t try to figure out a plan, you can’t reason with a headless man’ in this case a woman. How can I do this in a more rational way with an irrational woman whose mood could change like the flip of a switch?” None of this stops friends and family from giving age-old advice “don’t worry about it, it’ll take care of itself”. He hopes as he sits espresso in hand reflecting on what’s come to pass; in a matter of moments fate has been decided… or has it? His usefulness came to an end and he’s now outdated. “One door closes another opens, another wise-old-sagely goody, but it’s hard to see what that new door will be. What will it bring?” Suddenly an air of relief tries to enter, a breath of fresh air, hope, possibility. He can feel it as if it were a breeze but in a split second it’s gone. It all seems so dead. It is death but Joe wants life to go on preferably with her… and his stuff.
“Do the thing you fear most and the death of fear is certain.” – Mark Twain
This was quoted in a blog I’d read and it brought to mind a flood of memories. I’ve been a single mom forever. Even through and around other failed relationships it turned out I was the grown-up of the pair. I had to rally against any odds that came my way and stand tall first with my infant son then with my infant daughter and son. I faced terror unknown and unexpected unbeknownst to my children. I’m no superhero; I just knew they could never see me falter, if they did I’d be crippling their chances at the same good life others get. Just because they each respectively had dead-beat dads didn’t mean my kids had to be statistics. I went head-to-head each time with whatever cropped up and true enough I stood while fear took the dive. Never resting it continually tried to creep up on me even with the simplest of things but I slammed the door on it. They’re grown now.
Sounds tough stuff with Helen Reddy’s “I Am Woman” blaring in the background, “I am Strong, I am invincible, I am woman…” and I usually throw in “I am tired” but I faced another fear when I got to the point I might be ready to publish running out of excuses why I wasn’t ready yet. At first I saw, legitimately, that after living ex-pat teaching English I’d taken all the languages I was learning to heart. In other words not only was I learning the language, but I was speaking it in English, which means I was writing out long constructions that were how my students translated English in their minds never realizing my language had become imbalanced. Now compound that by three after living in three other countries outside the US that had three specific ways to process English. Working that out made room for general insecurity: I’d never be good enough and everyone is going to hate what I write; I’m an idiot; and if that weren’t enough: there’s no way I’m going to be able to publish anything without thousands upon thousands in the bank, and the list went on. I was more than willing to accept these as truths and not recognize them as fear, that crafty devil now personified as sitting at a desk plotting.
Like the book “Virtue” written by Benjamin Franklin, the point is there’s always going to be something you can work on to master inside yourself. That excuse I was trying to use held no weight. Franklin took each virtue and spoke of how he mastered it, but as a result he discovered two more virtues he needed to master and so on. One way or another it’s an everyday lifetime project. What would be worthwhile to accomplish as well as practical, is to go from investing in Mylanta 2 stock to instant recognition of fear and dissing it in a blink of an eye. (Listening to Helen Reddy piped through the clouds is optional.)