The Daily (W)Rite October o8, 2o15 WK o2

Norman-town, Thursday, October o8, 2o15

On this beautiful fall morning (yes, I said morning! Hard to believe, isn't it?), David and me rolled over to the Westboro Baptist Fair! You know how David LOVES his fairs. Unfortunately, it was rather . . . disappointing? You had your Westboro folks on one side of a barrier singing their songs to old, very old rock songs and holding up their "HATE" signs. One sign's statement forced me to ponder its meaning: "GOD HATES OK" If God had ...actually been here when Trump was in town, I could understand His holy indignation. Then there were the anti-Westboro people, about fifty feet or so away from the barrier (Some rather intimidating police folks guarded that DMZ, if you will, with savage, suspicious eyes.), and this group was . . . well, very "activist wholesome . . ." if there is such a phrase. They smiled a lot and sang a lot and laughed a lot, usually all their frivolity was aimed at the Westboro people who looked both stern and . . .sort of bored. They looked like they wish they were somewhere else, doing something . . . more productive? One cute WBCer carried a "Love Thy Neighbor Equals Rebuke" sign in her right hand while she busily shouted abuses (which I couldn't hear) at the wholesome group and  shooting off a text to some unknown entity  with her left hand! I could NEVER do that! I wonder who(m?) she was texting?! Anyway, there were also some TV folk with cameras and such . . . they seemed almost as disappointed as me. No yelling, really . . . no fights breaking out, no police clubbing unruly protesters from either side of the . . . issue? I don't even know what the hell this protest . . . excuse me . . . this FAIR was about!

Driving from the "protest" I watch the sidewalks fill up with pretty girls and mountain bikes. In a hurry they all seem to be as the steer quite professionally around the slow moving backpacking walkers. Where are they all headed? Why of course. They're headed for class, the last day for learning this week because everyone will be heading off to Texas for the Red River Showdown. A yearly event that I never attended when in school at OU. And it hits me as a watch some guy in a bike helmet riding what appears to be . . . motorized roller skates?! It hits me. I miss being in school.

Saturday, October 1o, 2o15
A bit of a fall inspired breeze last night at Art Walk. Brought out a whole bunch of other "art lovers" to walk the street between galleries and restaurants and tattoo parlors and various art and crafters on the streets selling their wear from the top of long, portable table-clothed tables, the kind you find in grade schools, and the food trucks! The new fast food, hot chili dishes, BBQ sandwiches, Thai and Chinese  . . . the spicy perfume of cooked meats and rice . . . alluring, yes but the Christmas lights wrapped  around the Elm trees that line have just been lighted and our feet begin to slow down a bit because it is getting darker. But there's a loveliness to this darkness that is peppered by the amber light radiating from the windows of the antique shops just a block down the street from the shadow musician playing the Sitar, cross-legged on a rug, black, black hair on top of his bowed head his fingers picking lively at the steel strings . . . The antique store that he squats in front of captures my attention. So much stuff to look at, a beautiful junkyard of candlestick holders, ornate picture frames smothered in a gentle dust. And books, old books, the edges of their pages a yellowish-brown, a rocking chair for a child made of whicker, I think, holds a jack-o'-lantern in it's lap..  And goodness! Mirrors, large, golden framed  mirrors, on the walls, on the floor. One tall, thin mirror fastened securely to an antique dressing table, stares directly at me, and I with a fast defensive gesture raise my camera up to my chest and . . . click.

  Monday, October 12, 2o15
October breathing in deep, exhaling a cold rush of breath that force the early autumn leaves to tap dance across the crack asphalt street. Buchanan Ave. shivers a bit, Othello's wraps itself up in the warm sun streaking through its windows. But the breeze, even as ornery as it is to David's white-straw cowboy hat, is a blessing, a cool prayer that my body has wished for all summer long.

Happily orange and green, the pumpkin patch plopped down in the grassy part of the church parking lot has nothing but smiles, autumn leaf smiles to offer the children and adults who take the time to stroll about the neat, sturdy piles of  pumpkin bodies. I take a ton of pictures of the massive patch as David stands on a sidewalk contemplating the meaning of a red sign stuck in the side of a aging hay bale, Pumpkins Priced by Size. No telling what he makes of that, but I'm sure whatever he's thinking it probably has little to do with pumpkins. {smile}

Wednesday, October 15, 2o15

Didn't get as much writing  completed on the blog. At least, not as much as I wanted. Summer is a mean and stubborn time of year. here it is October in Norman-town and the Oklahoma sun is just biting at us. Yes, autumn tries its best to comfort us with a cool breeze roaming through the elms, the giant oaks, the blackjack trees. My mom use do the same sort of thing whenever I burnt my hand as a kid . . . blow on it. The true being her breath was so warm that it caused the burn to hurt even more! But the idea of my mother's large hands cradling my injury and gently blowing on it, trying to relieve my pain . . . was at the least, comforting. Autumn is like a mother who tries as best she can to relieve the pain caused by a heartless father who's only desire is to be noticed. The Oklahoma sun can be  a ruthless demon whose only pleasure is the suffering he causes others.