My "Culpa" Runneth Over

I heard from AnnaMR. ( http://futureofmypast.blogspot.com/ ) Awfully nice. AnnaMR does not believe my whining plaints about my dearth of friends. Good. I remind myself of that "Everybody Loves Raymond" episode where Debra is imitating Raymond : "Wah, wah, wah. Whine, whine, whine!" Thus does life imitate ART.

Anyhow, AnnaMR seems to have a photographic inclination and has a blog filled with sweet pictures as well as good words. In going over my recent stuff, I see that I have been (1) redundant, and (2) boring, and (3) tedious. I seem to have been obsessed by something. Perhaps aliens have returned me finally to the land of my birth and I am acting as if I were a member of the "4400" Club (- or do I have the tv show 4400 mixed up witht the 400 Club?-and does it really matter?)

So now I'm back and I'm not (1) a firestarter, nor (2) a telepath, nor (3) ibhabhalazi ( "hung over" in isiZulu). I will go through it and cull some of the literary tares. I shall also make some friends. This time I shall not treat them as if they were door-stoppers. I think that is a wise course. Nor shall I be as abrupt as an overly taut screen door, such as that on my parents' back porch that slaps you silly when you try to finish stepping through it. That is abrupt.
Speaking of my parents, they seem to have developed a fascination with whirly-gigs. These are multi-colored wheels of fabric that turn and turn...and turn and turn and turn...in the wind. You may sit for a rest in an otherwise charming and bucolic spot and be driven batty by the frantic crescendo of a forest of whirly-gigs!

Of course, my mother, having stock in OCD or Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, buys any that she happens across, and this results in having some that are not of the best manufacture. The last time I was sitting with her looking at the river, it was a calm day; all was right with the world: the cat was esconced on the window ledge, sleeping,and the whirly-gig was sitting in my peripheral vision. It had the distinct appearance of having seen better days, however. It had shed some of its spinners, or wings, or leaves, or whatever...the fabric that caught the wind. So...she was talking to it; muttering things like one should spin a bit more cleanly for 8 dollars ( the purchase price...8 dollars!! No wonder China is booming!!) and things like a day's work for a day's pay, and even if it were windy, it would probably be taking the day off. I expostulated, "You talk to your whirly-gigs !!??" "Shhh!", my mother said. "There's no wind today. When it's windy...", she looked at the flaccid, crestfallen whirly,"...it's turning so fast, I can barely get a word in edgewise!"