I am sitting here inside of my little blue house at the end of the road.
The sun is sending brilliant light to the south window's panes, on through the Venetian blinds and lacy white sheers. The warmth brought forth by the rays is kissing the leaves of my wintering over geranium sitting on the polished tiger oak table, ever so softly.
The Celebrity finch pair and the now widowed Zebra finch are watching Trek. The young and spunky orange and white outside cat is eyeballing them from atop the grape arbor outside of the west window.
If they only knew what that smart guy is thinking, which could be, "just how do I sneak in there and start spitting out feathers?" They might call on me to close the blind and lose the window-peep, for safety sake, for goodness sake.
If the little fellow, with the big appetite for "finch under glass," would turn toward the soybean field, he would see several sizable long-legged birds wearing dark plumage (wild turkeys) foraging grain nearby.
I doubt if he cares about biting off more than he can chew today, a flock of seven young toms and jennies. Besides, when the large fowl sense danger, the fast walkers and strong fliers move, swiftly and don't look back.
Do you remember that I named one of my male birds Barack? Well, he has been so busy arranging and rearranging the fluffy bedding in the nest this week. It looks as if he and his mate, Hillary, will be working together after all, to bring some change to the cage. Could be there will be a couple of happy kids living in the big see-through white house shortly after January steps aside to usher in February.
Last week, I told you that Paul was scheduled for two appointments, with specialists, at the Veterans Medical Center in Indianapolis on the day of the inauguration of the 44th president of the United States of America, Barack Obama.
We were thinking that we would miss some, if not all, of the coverage of the historical event as it unfolded.
The first appointment was at 9:45 a.m. We arrived a few minutes before the visit. He drove around every level of the packed parking garage, several times and found no vacated spaces. We, then, moved outside to an area that my husband thought to be used for patient parking and found the "perfect" space to place the car and kill the engine.
With little time to spare, we headed out toward the Medical Center, walking at a fast pace. The patient's name was called shortly after arrival.
The dermatologist was to address skin concerns and take the appropriate and necessary action expected when skin cancer and other abnormal lesions are present.
During the office visit, I sat in the waiting room and, yet, the TV was on and facing me. The picture was clear and the audio was adequate. My eyes were glued to the tube. I became a part of the crowd, for about 20 minutes or more and then, I heard Paul asked, "Are you ready to go to the cafeteria for coffee? We can watch a few minutes of the coverage there."
Since the section of which we were sitting had several empty seats and Paul Baby wasn't scheduled to see another specialist until 1 p.m., we sat there through the swearing-in ceremony and more. We ate a hearty lunch.
Thousands gathered on that cold day in the nation's capital. All children of God, to celebrate the promise of change and a better America.
Many came to celebrate the day that two black men's sweetest dreams became reality.
I am sure that most of the black folk across the nation expressed great joy, pride and relief, as did the folks in the cafeteria. People were in tears. Some were clapping and everyone had something positive to say with good reason.
I wish all of my old friends of Stringtown and across the nation, that went on before me, could have witnessed what I saw that day. That of which has now taken a special place in Black History!
Paul visited another doctor in the afternoon and then we headed out toward the car. On arrival, I noticed that something had been placed under the windshield wiper. My bad old boy had parked in a no-park zone. He received a courtesy ticket, a reminder and noted that the warning was well taken.
Now we must focus on helping the new president bring about a change for the good of all of us.
Rome wasn't built in a day and this nation won't be restored to full power overnight. It's going to take more than patchwork to mend the economic mess we are in. Patience, hard work, common sense and faith come to mind.
Well, the time is near to save toward tomorrow's grocery bill and heat up yesterday's delicious leftovers. That pasta is not going to fall into the pan without help.
I can be reached at 446-4852 or drop me a line at 613 N. Elm St., Brazil, Ind., 47834, or by e-mail at email@example.com.