Thursday, October 30, 2014

Making Believe

Allegedly Tybee Island recycles.

I don't believe it for a second because just yesterday I've watched both the recycling and the garbage dumped into the same truck.

But ... like lots of places ...Tybee likes to play "make believe" ... so we pretend recycling is real because it makes everybody feel better ... though we don't really do it.

Now I'm pretty religious about putting the plastics and paper into the recycling can and the garbage in the garbage can ... and I have no idea why.

It all goes to the same place.

I suppose it's a question about my religion.

Why do I "make believe" there is recycling when there's not?

Why do I "make believe" whatever Government says is true?

Why do I keep putting the plastics and paper in the recycling can and the garbage in the garbage can making believe it makes a difference?

Why do I make believe Republicans are different from Democrats when they're self serving politicians trying to get elected?

These things depress me so I stand on the Beloved Back Deck to watch God paint the sky with the rising sun and ... I'm drawn to the yard art.

A long time ago ... as I went though a really bad time in my life ... nothing was going right ... wrong was winning at every turn ... my Mom redid the yard while I hid from everything in St. Martin.

When I finally came home I loved what she'd done.

Then years passed and things changed ... the kids grew up and left ... Sarah came home ... bringing her girls ... we got married on the beach under a full moon ... our family grew ... everything changed.

A few weeks ago the magic Mom made with the yard art had been bleached white in the sun and was as lifeless as I'd was then.

I suggested Sarah's girls repaint them ... breath new life into what was ... and eventually ... because everything takes longer than it should ... one afternoon they did it.

This morning ... there's new wine in old wineskins ... resurrection has occurred ... the dead walk again ... and the happiness of it all makes me laugh.

It's not make believe.

As my Mother is fond of saying ... "It is what it is."