I am experiencing a little writers block so I picked up something for you from my file of unpublished drafts, I started writing this several months ago and finished it tonight, believe me it is just as fictional now ad it was whenI first started making it up
Andy, what’s with all the Pandas? Words I now hear all the time from people who are actually there, and since they are not not there - since they do not not exist, it is my duty to answer them. I must answer them with the dishonest truth / a tangible fantasy / an illusory reality.
AS IS THE PANDA FASHION
Several years ago I was talking to a characteristically happy vendor at the Magnolia Fest, an annual music festival held on the banks of the mysteriously beautiful Suwannee River. He had a large variety of hemp and other organic alternative textiles made using ecologically sound practices. I was looking for socks cut from that type of fabric. He giggled and said he had just the thing for me... Bamboo Cloth Socks.
Not everyone understands my sense of humor. I can place people into four categories... Those who get my jokes - Those who don’t get my jokes - Those who get my jokes before I tell them. Those who leave the room. When I heard that there was such a thing as Bamboo Cloth, which I had up to this point been altogether unaware, I naturally thought of Pandas, which I have a unsubstantiated imaginary fear of. Politely confessing to that I couldn’t wear any article of clothing made of bamboo fabric because of this fear and how if I were to confront the killer Panda that might be living in my backyard (this was before The Garden of Many Colors) it would stop at nothing to rip my feet off of my legs in order to get the delicious delicacy wrapping them, I couldn’t help but think... Bamboo Cloth... No Way... I might as well wear a Grateful Dead T-Shirt to a convention of Retired Undercover Policemen.
After this proclamation regarding my imaginary fear of Pandas, my category four retailer formed a look on his face that I am quite familiar with, a face of confusion, a stolen face that has been placed into the wrong bar - in a strange town - full of a different type of people. In one hour this face will either be having the time of its life smiling - laughing - drinking - dancing like the whole world is watching or it will be looking up at the schedule on the wall of the nearest bus station. I couldn’t tell if my man was going to stay in the bar or catch a bus. I couldn’t tell and it didn’t matter / I didn’t care. I don’t live and voice my metaphoric tales to quench my audience - I live and voice them because doing so is easier than remembering the truth.
He admonished me for acting like a frightened clown, and said that unless I lived in China there was little to no chance that I would even see a Panda outside of a zoo, much less be attacked, mauled and have my feet excruciatingly devoured by one. I’ve heard this argument before, I already had a reply. I proclaimed that just because you don’t see a ravenous, BlueBamboo crazed Panda behind a tree in your backyard doesn’t mean there isn’t one there. He could not argue with that logic, it’s flawless - it’s golden. He didn’t argue - he didn’t dance. He called for a cab to the bus station - I never saw him again, I never got my socks.
But I did get over my disfear of Pandas.
That’s just the beginning - that’s how it started - the is a whole lot more.
“Pandas in the Soup”
My life with the BoTai Panda - Not really bears... not really Pandas... Not really...
I forget sometimes, being caught up in this life of remembering, I forget how much I enjoy and relish certain, simple pleasures. Simple things, like grapefruit. These juicy bombs of fresh sunshine that I have enjoyed since I was a child are delicious, nutritious, and can be found almost anywhere at a reasonable price. They are one of the simple things in life that I recently remembered not to forget, as I added them to Kathleen’s grocery list and my desire became her wish. When she returned home from the store I immediately ate four of them huddled over the kitchen sink, so as not to bathe the floor with their somewouldsay sweet juice. Uncomplicated grapefruit, their taste, heath benefits, and availability are all reasons that I find them one of life’s simple pleasures.
As I ate my long lost “daddy they look and taste nothing like a grape” friends I felt something was missing, rummaging through the Kitchen drawers I bellowed at poor Kathleen asking her if she knew were the Grapefruit Spoon was. She wisely replied with proud sarcasm that it was probably in “The Garden” turned into a work of art and with even more wisdom but less pride admonished me, saying I didn’t need such a luxury - use a knife. She is so sage - her words to I’ve by. I wanted to turn my simple pleasure a modern man muckity muck. Grapefruit have modified and complicated their environment by becoming the only fruit that has its own spoon, a tool designed, manufactured and marketed for only one purpose - to eat Grapefruit. A tool that, although handy and convenient, is unnecessary, unneeded, and very unsimple.
“Tools do we really need them?” The answer may surprise you.
Hiatus - sounds like a condition your Gastrointeralogist
just say yes!
meet Andy Ward King, a professional musician and artist until a diagnosis of parkinons dsease at age 49 forced him into an early retirement., he now uses his music, his art along with the whimsical world he has created in this blog as therapy to ( as he puts it ) outsmart his brain and make the daily battles with parkinson’s a little bit easier, to give him that all important reason to get up on the morning, to make his life worth living. Andy has learned how to say NO to gving up \ NO to depression and apathy \ NO to following willingly the road of decline that stretches before him. he learned that to say no to all of these things all one has to do is say yes. Andy has learned to just say YES to life/\\