He
never had much need, or use, for the “modern” conveniences; Oh! True enough, he
had several cars over his space of time and the abode had running water and
electricity, but, these were “necessities” for the family more than for
himself. He could be “self-sufficient”!
The
old man had owned a watch, once, somebody had given it to him as a Christmas,
or birthday, present somewhere along the way; it had been quickly, and
permanently, relegated to his top dresser drawer along with other trinket
commemoratives collected over quite so many years, come and been and gone. The
exact or particular design of the clock with regard to “measured-time” seemed
un-important to him in the scheme of his being in time and space. Just, do what
needs dong when it needs to be done. Seemed quite “simple” on the face of it;
no need getting excited; just let it come, let it be, let it go. Most of the
“big” catastrophes and “important” necessities were simply figments of “bored”
pilgrims’ vacancy impressed with their own over-hyped elite-royal self-indulgent
faux imperative, anyway. Like: Buy ’em for what they’re worth; sell ’em for
what they think they’re worth. Instant wealth! Yeah! Right!
“Simple”
is Truth! Truth is best! Amazing how the obfuscations evaporate with: Truth!
He
had read some books, even knew a lot of the words and understood their meaning---somewhat!
Finished elementary school, too, all eight grades in a one room building; must
have particularly liked third grade, took two years to accomplish that one. Had
a full year and a half of high school under his belt, also!
And,
Yes! Sir! Once, the old man had actually driven by a university. Or, was it a
prison?
Well!
“Erudite-intent!” If it had ever even mattered. He smiled at his incessant
irreverence.
Getting
up to stoke the fire by poking the carbon-blackened spear to rearrange the
burning logs after opening the glass door caused the old man to absently drop
the afghan to the floor.
Stepping
back to the rocker after giving the fire proper air in which to burn a bit hotter
with enhanced oxygenated flames turning to orange, long, licking tongues, he
reverently picked up the flag replica, gently gave it a soft shake and smoothed
it over his legs once he was re-seated. Sacrilegious to disrespect “Old Glory”!
Perhaps the effort salvaged some modicum of reverence.
Ole
Boze, a tiger-striped feline with a muted hint of mixed-in calico on its two
front paws and the tip of a long tail jumped to the old man’s lap sensing that
he had retired for the night; for its reward, the master gently scratched the
cat’s chin starting its purring motor. Sometime during the long night, Boze
would get hot from the toasty fire warmth and hop down to seek refuge on the
wide sill of the room’s window for a short nap. Then, awakening with a chill in
its tail, he would retreat to his owner’s warm afghan repeating the tag game of
“hot” and “cold” several times through the darkness of the mid-night time.
Wondering
what magnificent tales these old logs burning in his wood stove warming his
body on a cold winter night might tell, if they could talk, his mind slipped
beyond the present concern as he deftly rubbed Ole Boze’s furry chin enjoying
the pleasant purr received in return.
(Part 4---Tomorrow's post)
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