The Caregiver’s Tales: A Blog

The odd thing about the truth is that any claimant can wear its name and once clothed it becomes indistinguishable from the real thing. And we are so in love with the idea of truth that we will die to protect it or kill. So, we’ve done a lot of horrible things to one another and had things done to us all in the name of the truth. It continues because sadly, the idea of truth is a useful tool if you’re selling something or want something from someone like money or a vote.

I’m still on the truth. Partly because it’s interesting, and partly because it’s so elusive. It’s all wrapped up in the verb to be, the usefulness of which I came to doubt in a Victorian literature class when the instructor started talking about Modern Painters, Aristotle, and Plato. I was reviewing music and a great realization swept over me, that what I was hearing was probably nothing like what someone else was hearing. So, where was the truth in that?

I saw a promotion for a documentary on Thoreau yesterday, and during the promotion his search for truth was mentioned. It seems a common goal for writers, they’re always looking for the truth. Lots of people already claim to know the truth, just take a quick gander at all the worlds religions, or anyone trying to sell you something.

Every morning I go out to see what the clouds and the sun are up to. I stand on the end of the south porch and look east. Today’s show was particularly nice. Thin clouds spread across the sky reflecting the coming of the sun in various shades of pink, gold and lavender. The morning air was cool, with a slight breeze. It was idyllic. It was nature at its best.

And today we’re off in search of words, because yesterday was a day of rest. Although, I did go hear two friends play and sing in the company of many other friends. Wine and chocolate were involved as well, which combined with the cool weather made for a lovely day. The singing friends were Tina Mitchell Wilkins and Ron Flynt.

It’s interesting work refurbishing rooms well lived in. The rooms in question were occupied by my son, who now has a place of his own, after many years of helping me during his mom’s illness and after her passing. I’ve already painted one room, and I’m now working on the bathroom where water has proven a formidable enemy. I’ve painted, replaced baseboards, tightened up moldings, and all that’s left to do is caulk.

Ah, the flowers I have known. Their memories dance in the garden of my mind. Azaleas in front of our second home in Pasadena. A lush, full coral vine in the backyard. Antique roses flanking the drive in Alvin. Johnny Jump Ups by the front porch. The Gulf Muhly we planted upon our arrival at our current home. The red rose, planted at the east end of the house, that grew to well over six feet before succumbing to drought.

Over the winter I spread wildflower seeds in my wildflower garden, basically it’s a patch of untended ground given over to what most would consider weeds. The first bloom to appear after the Bluebonnets was a California Poppy. It was a nice surprise. I hope more show up, and I may order some seeds to give it company because it is an attractive bloom, and I think it would look nice in my front yard.