Something Has Changed

I wake up this morning feeling that something’s changed. My recent age, 69, is new. One thing for sure is that I am no longer a10-year old being chased by the police chief from the dark corridor of my home-town city jail. Jails seem to entice children.

Such remembrances pop up from dark pits. And who can fathom such phantasmagoric figments that a mind can assemble from its uneasy dreams? I wonder if I’m even living. I test the body to see. I wiggle toes, then feet, the fingers, arms and finally open my eyes. I live. Glad that hasn’t changed. But something has. I can feel it.

I stumble into the kitchen to discuss the situation with Mr. Coffee. I ask if it can do anything to improve my state. It’s like God, silent. But not the dogs, who bark out their hunger pains. Nothing new here.

By the second cup I’m able to stumble to the street and search for the newspapers. Today I discover them dangling from a giant shrub. Same old same old here. At least his aim keeps me guessing. But while outside, I feel that sense of change again. Hmmmmm.

I search the wet newsprint for some hint of my feeling. I see that the Clarion Resort on Jekyll Island is being foreclosed. Who’s surprised? It’s been a breeding pit, the palace-of-choice for noon-day trysts and bedbug infestations. The Authority says it wants no upscale resort to replace this derelict dive, but wants to keep things status quo. Business as usual over there it seems.

The thought of business comes to mind. I hear from some that my recent business model of hiring young people and relieving ailing banks from their cheap land miseries is suspect. I wish to answer by saying that it’s not confusing, it just transcends understanding. Some minds are shallow, hard to change.

Uh oh, I read that the local hospital has hung a ‘No Vacancy’ sign out for the sick and dying. All of a sudden I feel very ill. Could this be the cause of my sense that something’s changed? The ‘what-ifs’ slide under the door and fill the room. All of a sudden I feel this urge to call all of my doctors, reserve a bed. Now is this “change we can believe in,” folks?

The shuttle Discovery just landed. Says it’s now going to be in a museum. Is this what happens to the old and successful? What, 39 missions in orbit? Reminds me of some politicians who have soared in their worn-out orbit far longer than necessary. Maybe they should be stuck in museums for viewing, like the glass-entombed Chairman Mao, whom, they say, looks younger each year. The reason? Cosmetic chemicals from Chernobyl creatively applied. Some things never change!

Some friends have switched from business to bridge or golf. Perhaps I’m envious of their unchanging life. I recall what a non-golfing friend once said about the game. She remarked, “Hell to me is being chained to a chair watching golf all day.” Some minds are fertile, indeed.

Nothing seems to explain my sense that something has changed. So I shower, dress and prep to leave. Outside I notice the sun peeking through the oak trees, which are shedding leaves like an old garment. I stop, observe. Someone’s been in my yard with a paint brush. It’s a verdant green. Shrub stubble now blossoms with green leaves, birds sing and crowd the feeder. Something’s going on.

Flowers bloom all over. The seeds in the small packets seem to have germinated, thanks to the sun and my daughter’s tender touches. She has names for every shrub, flower and tree. She talks tenderly to them, nursing them as though they were her own children. Her Eden is alive and well.

With so much disturbing our lives these days, our unhappy land and plundered planet, I often don’t know what to think. But I do know one thing. Spring is the reason I feel a change…the perennial promise of that Someone who’s really looking after things.

Soon the green tree frog will emerge from the ground and paste its white belly, like putty, to the window pane. Its pals will assemble the cacophonous choir and chant from the trees and the small pond next door. Nature is what’s changing. I feel it.

And I know I’ll feel a lot better when I hear the music of the frogs again!

Bud Hearn
March 10, 2011