Technology and Other Blessings

One day maybe we'll be able to project our mental images onto a wall or a screen, and record them photographically. This morning, one of the times I woke up, I was mentally walking the road from the top of the Mountain down to the Old Farm, seeing every detail on an early fall day. The iron-red sand-and-clay stretch from the Top to the rocks below the quarry, and the gently sloping rocky place with the huge slanting flat rock in the middle, and the rubble of rocks below. Then you came to a level light brown sandy part, the sand scattered with hickory nut shells, that ran to the top of the first big curve. The road and bank at the top of the curve was studded with gravel, and below it the sand was lighter beige and likely to be muddy, because a run-off stream ran down from the hill below the quarry and across the road, and down the steep banks on the left-hand side. There was a persimmon tree in this curve, and on the lower bank I remember picking a paw-paw and tasting it.

Up from the muddy place and at the top of the next curve, there was a huge hickory tree on the left-hand side, growing almost in the road. Below the tree, the road overlooked a field and then the plum orchard and the log barn. To the right, up the mountain, was Mr. Lowery's log cabin and a trail leading up to it. From here to Maw Maw's house, the sand in the road was powdery and almost white. At the end of Maw Maw's place, the road dropped down to red clay all the way across in front of the storm pit, the road to the spring, and our house.

What will Heaven be like? I'm almost sure that part of it, for me, will be a walk down from the top of the Mountain.
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Christmas and Birthday (or the Feast of Stephen) and my actual birthday Monday were so full of gatherings, feasting and adventure, that I can't even remember all of it. I gained two pounds and lots of lovely presents from my folks. I drove the Tracker to Trussville and back, shaking in my boots (literally) because I hadn't driven on the interstates for nearly a year. If I hadn't had Jed co-piloting and then leading the way back in his silver rental Ford, I might not be here today. He left the Tracker here for me, and we're going to donate the Lincoln or pay somebody to take it away. It's only 18 years old and has only been driven 48,000 miles. I may decide to buy a new set of tires and a major "tune-up," and keep it myself. Funny I didn't think of that during our discussions.

I've got to go this week and renew my driver's license, register the Tracker, and see if Birmingham is still there.