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sublingua | |||||
| The heart with a mind of its own.(Be present.) | The mind with a heart of its own.(It's past.) | The dream that is your waking life.(Go there now.) | |||
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Burning martyrs
This is the deal: So, a few weeks ago, we went up to UWT, Co. (Uptight White Town, Colorado), to see Max's Mom (MM) and, incidentally, to meet our doppelgangers, Heather and Dave. (Frightening, but more on that later.) MM asks us to use our new digicam to document all her things in case of a fire (she lives in a wood house in the middle of 40 acres of brush and scrub). I was all, like, no way do I want to spend my Sunday morning taking pictures of some rich old white woman's many possessions, so Max had to do it. Poor Max had to take picture after picture of paintings and silver and jewelry and antiques and paintings and sculpture and jewelry and three closets worth of rich old white lady clothes. When it was all over, I felt as though I should burn sage around the digicam to clear out the bad spirits of consumerism and possession and attachment. Well, lo and behold, MM calls a few days ago: the area around UWT is burning. There are homes being destroyed half a mile from her house. She had loaded up the horses (yes, she has horses, too) into the horse trailer and attached it to the Jeep and was waiting for evacuation directions or whatever. Well, the wind shifted and her possessions were saved, and out came the horses. A few days after that, we called her back, and I asked her if she had given any thought to staying in town, and she was, all, "Whaaat about my hoooorses?" and I was like, "Your horses can stay in town, too, I'm sure." And then she was all, like, "I've got a plan." And I'm like, "You're sixty. You have Parkinson's and it takes you two hours to get yourself dressed in the morning, and you want me to believe that, as your house is burning, you're going to be able to calmly gather your two cats and a dog and load two horses up into a trailer and grab whatever supplies you might need and get away without so much as a singed hair?" And she's, like, "Yes." And I'm, like, "Whatever. It hasn't been official policy to burn martyrs for some time, you know." And then I passed her onto Max who had just come into the room and they had the same convo all over again, and then I hear him say, "Well, don't you think your friends are going to have concerns of their own to worry about if their houses are burning?" Arg. Get a clue, lady.
More lies:
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