Breath our scents, walk our landscape, hear our melodic dialects, delight in our savory morsels, touch each rich texture, and the southern essence remains a mystery. The ethereal south, unfathomable to the five senses, lives in the heart. If you believe in magic, and can survive the devastating passions of an open heart, just possibly, you stand a chance of living a moment as a southerner. Most people aren't brave enough to be southerners, even the ones that are.

Thursday, November 30, 2006

Chicken Soup


Last night I had an Italian chicken soup with my dinner. I’m not ready for the structure of alphabet soup quiet so soon it seems. So here I am posting again without the alphabetical perimeters to contain my meandering musings. Or as I have been told, I am left loose on society to ply my mischievous misconceptions, uncontained by the bounds of common sense or moral judgment. I resent the implication that I exercise no moral constraints on my behavior or in my attempts to loosen the fetters to free thought.

After all is said and done, we aren’t so much what we eat, as we are what we think. I feel that I think responsibly most of the time. No one’s perfect. Left to my own devices to influence, I won’t dump an unsuspecting mind in the trash can. I will wave you over it, so that you get a whiff of where you could have ended up. If you later decide to dive into the garbage, should I feel guilty for introducing you to its putrid smell? I think not. Nor is there a need to discourse the rationality or irrationality of our lives here.

Suffice to say, those of us who can help ourselves should. Those of us who can help others should. Those who can do neither, are a good chunk of why the rest of us are here. Lee Iacocca used to say, “Lead, follow, or get out of the way!” Will Rogers said, “If you’re riding ahead of the herd, take a look back every now and then to make sure it’s still there.” The bull in a china shop approach bothers me. A little common sense never hurt anyone. A little whimsy can flavor our lives, or even our departure from this earth.

The divine Miss N notes a passing marked by whimsy on her blog today. I really don’t have a problem with someone who has a little fun with life right up through their end. Every time I read of a passing, I wonder where on the chalk board of life will I leave my final mark, and what it will be. And that my friends is the limits of my uncontained mischief for this spot today. There’s just so much else to be done today, here beneath the Carolina moon.

Posted by Dread who wasn’t quiet awake.
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