Daily Archives: June 2, 2008

This and That at The Peanut Butter Cafe & Roadhouse

Sure, I can write some . . .

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People have told me for a long time that I have a talent for writing; I think, to some extent, that is true. And there are times when I like to just talk about things, to try and capture the feelings of a moment, the sincerity of a concern . . . to try and pass on someone’s thoughts and deeds to another.

I think one of the incidents that most moved me was when I wrote about a pilot who was shot down over German-occupied France in WWII. He was in a POW camp which was liberated by General Patton; he said the General looked at the men around him, pointed out that he did not look directly at him, and said, “Men, I’m proud of you.” He told me at that moment he would have followed Patton anywhere, anytime. Having a link to such a moment in history was sort of beyond the usual dimensions in which I live. It enlarged me.

But that wasn’t the part that moved me. That was when he told me of an experience he had after the article ran. He said he was up on his roof, fixing or checking something, and when he came down two young men were standing there . . . and they said, “We just want to shake your hand and thank you for what you did for us.”

Now, I thought that was something; that made me feel as if, in the smallest way, I had said “thank you” too.

But this blog, and others I have started . . . Why do I write? Yes, honestly, I guess it is part of me. But, most of all, I write for you, the one who does not read what I say here. I write because I hope you’ll get to know me maybe more thoroughly than you have before . . . Oh, shoot, now, when I need them most of all, words fail me.

Just Me - AmeliaJake

They tell me it is to rain this week

Right now, as I look out the windows to the west and north, I see blue sky and sunlight on the greenery. I like that. I like the sun at his angle . . . I think I’ve said that before. These are the days and mornings I wish would last forever.

But, then, anyone looking at me would see a round-faced occidental geisha in T-shirt (although it says – in embroidery, “San Diego” and has a classic “woody” on it) and cargo shorts, for I am letting the white creamy facial cleanser slowly seep into my pores and do its work. I don’t mind the tingly feeling, but I think when people see me unexpectedly they feel a tingle down their spine. No one seems to get used to it. Once I opened the door, forgetting it was on my face.

What is really effective it so be active while it is on my face and the pores open up with the heat and the chemicals mix with my perspiration. I’ve said this before, but no one has listened to me. Well, it’s their loss. I, and I alone, will be the delightfully lovely one here.

A rabbit, I think, ate one of my newly planted perennials so I am going to put in more day lilies. They leave them alone. Today I need to put my supports over the tomatoes and call and order a dumpster. Yes, it is throw things out time. I must declutter. But is so hard – I might need those old coke bottle telephone pole insulators. Oh, and not my old New Yorkers . . . nor my collection of pieces of bricks from buildings long torn down . . . nor my dish of broken little wooden Christmas ornaments who are in the hospital for broken legs and arms and missing beards. Nor my rocks from Lake Michigan, nor my Pacific Beach sand, nor my menus I collected from various places. Not the huge pile of afghans –

And no, no, don’t take my pile of cute bears that convinced me to pick them up at Goodwill because their little faces said to me they were real and not just material and stuffing.

I may need a shotgun.