Rusty Pipes

Monday, after meeting the kids for breakfast,, I took Ginny to see a pipe of rusty pipes.

Hey, you can take any ‘ol gal to the yacht club, but you only take your True Love to the really special places.

I’d seen these pipes when I drove to the cemetery Christmas Eve and I wanted to show Ginny these beautiful rusty pipes.

Construction crews unearthed these along Riverside Avenue and dumped them as trash to be hauled away. Although the workmen probably didn’t notice, they inadvertently created a spot of unintentional beauty, of what – to my eye -- is organic art. And I wanted to share it with Ginny.

Who else would take her to see such lovely things the day after Christmas?

Ginny picked up an embossed brick as a souvenir of the place.

We prowled amid the debris for an hour or so relishing the odd shapes and textures and contours as we snapped photos of the city in the background :

Ok. Ok. I know this is nothing but a trash pipe – but beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and with Ginny beside me, even a trash heap become a garden of beauty.

Recently I’ve had a couple of dizzy spells and troubling spots of forgetfulness. At the breakfast buffet this morning I picked up a bowl of grits, put it at my place then went back to the counter for something else and returned with another bowl of grits. I knew there was something off kilter but I couldn’t put my finger on it till I got back to the table to find I had picked up two bowls of grits – that’s a bit worrisome.

And just a week or so ago, Donald and Helen came over and taught me how to do a computer thing I needed to do in order to edit the manuscript I’m working on. But when I tried it last week I’d forgotten how to do the things they taught me and I feel embarrassed to ask again.

Damn!

Whenever I’m not befuddled, I’m just plain fuddled.

I was hoping that I would mellow as I aged, but I fear I’m just curdling and getting more and more sour.