Nothing Simple

Nostalgia is often driven by the sense of smell. Looking back through the tulle mists because of the smell you associate with your grandfather. The usual mythic detritus. We live in these congeries, sorting between hubris and revelation. Memory reconstructs, it doesn't recapture; but it is closest, I think, when smell makes us remember. History is a kind of diversion, interesting and often fun, but never to be trusted. I can almost remember today, don't trust myself on yesterday. Clean socks, and that funky smell is gone. I almost blewoff going to town, but I needed the library and the liquor store, might as well wash socks. I know, I know, buy more socks and get a hamper with a lid, but I use certain tells to keep myself organized, live by yourself and you can get away with shit, who's to say? And I don't feel like cooking, I want a footer (locally means a foot long hot-dog, with a thin ground meat tomato sauce, American cheese, yellow mustard, chopped onions, on a bun, steamed to melt the cheese) and onion rings. Stopped at the Dairy Bar, you order at one of two windows and pay, they tap on the glass and point to you went your order is ready. I always take a book and lean on the corner of the building, out of the way, watch people and read a few pages. Take it home, to eat with a beer while I read a new author recommended several times, Nam Le, he's pretty good. Minimalist Meta-Fiction. I make judgments from my lair. Act like I understand what's going on. Mostly bullshit, but I do look at things and there was this explosion of white in the drainage. I thought it was mortar shells but it was blackberry blossoms. Not carpet bombing with unspeakable chemicals, but a product of the recent fire: the far side of the grader ditch is thick in blackberry and the blooms are so solid that the canes dip. All this rain, they'll probable bear, bare, arrggghhhh. I thought about you today, I was hauling an arm-load of prickly litter, not that there's any connection, just that I thought about you, and a light went on in my head. I spent several hours looking at very small flowers, so perfect and beautiful, probably what would be called purple, but it was yellow and green and red, almost blue, ultimately purple. Steps along the way.