The Following Day

Before jumping to conclusions as to why I am late posting, I have to ask myself, "Why do you think I'm late?" This was a self-imposed deadline, after all. First I was only going to do one post and then I started dailies and then I figured out that this was a whole lot of work and there was nobody handy to be designated guest blobber. I settled on Tuesday for my posts as that is my favorite day of the week which involves a long story from my childhood, natch, and a George Gershwin songbook. This will be the Following Day. (I've liked the word following ever since I learned about the following sea). February is heart month. Personally, I can't think heart without thinking soul. We all care about our friends' physical health but how many of us shy away when we observe mental disintegration? I can't remember at what age I heard a sermon which branded me for life. It was what is known as a homily instead of a sermon by a kindly Irish priest. He was speaking of the Good Samaritan. He said all of us if we encountered someone having an appendicitis attack would rush to help the person realizing it was an emergency. Why is it, he asked that we are reluctant to do the same when someone is having a mental attack? Shouldn't the rush be similar to the urgency of the appendicitis event? I thought at the time it was because we wouldn't know where to turn, how to offer help. Maybe we'd be frightened of the unknown consequences. How many times have there been killings in the news which led to interviews with neighbors, teachers, even friends who shook their heads and admitted they knew "something was wrong." How often have we been witnesses to mass hysteria and shrugged our shoulders in helplessness. There was a woman in Eureka I called The Shouter. She would walk miles shouting in a language of her own. She often stood right under my window. I asked a neighbor if she had once lived in the house. The answer was, "No. She feels safe with you. She has picked you as her protector." I once saw her in a fast food restaurant on the other side of town. She was speaking quietly. How remarkable! She knew about, "Inside voices," a pre-school term for managing a classroom. Her unkempt look made me wonder at first if she were homeless but she didn't have a shopping cart. She didn't appear to have a caregiver or family. Did she eat from dumpster diving? Did she sleep on the beach? How sad that she had been allowed to sink to this strange yet happy existence. Where along the path had everyone given up on her, let her have the appendicitis of the soul? I'm thinking during heart month it might be good to remember the soul and the people who need soul mending. Heart & Soul. They are enterwined like the links on a delicate necklace. If one breaks, the other is not far behind.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

...may you find rest in contemplation and strength in stopping by the side of the road...