At the corner of Honey and Vine

...a dispatch from bewilderness and a new motto, too

In my first life, I deployed and re-deployed words into combat zones a few inches wide. Put words through the ringer and rolled them out transformed into sparkling gems of thought. Sometimes minus gems or thought. This was called freelance writing. Then I was hit by a drunk with a truck. The good news is I survived. The bad news was brain damage. I couldn’t read or write.

Until at age 56, I relearned how to read. So with reading skills revived, I turned to the internet and found a family cat who was accidentally donated while nestled in an old recliner. The cat survived.

I kept surfing and learned that heirs can now click-and-ship us to the afterlife with tasteful caskets sold online. Or, if you choose cremation, you can select an urn trimmed with leopard spots, a lighthouse, or a three-dimensional buffalo.

I turned again to the internet and found 54 billion, 689 million more things to do, say, think, see, try, buy, eat, hear, wear, go and know. These included which strawberry would do best in your yard, which mint makes the best mojito, and which big-leaf maple can’t cross state lines.

I also found an Arizona rescue team which spotted a sparkly pigeon wearing a rhinestone vest. If I had a nickel for every time I saw a pigeon wearing a rhinestone vest, I'd have one nickel. I clicked again and found a war. Then a huge hunk of land formerly known as Antarctica dove off a cliff.

Shift happens. I have “frontotemporal lobar degeneration,” “frequent phonetic breakdowns,” plus “articulatory groping and phonetic disintegration.” I take a walk. I fall. I pretend I wasn’t hurt. I get up and fall again. I’m at the corner of Honey and Vine. Here comes the new motto. Other than that, everything’s fine.