death by squeal

i'm aching from working hunched over my sewing maching all day. my back feels like someone from notre dame, and i'm pretty fried mentally. so what is the next logical step, write. yes. document my fried state.

i was thinking, as i soaped my aching bod, that one horrible way to die would be death by firing squad. probably the only pleasure would be that long drag on a kool, or some fine cigarette, before hammers are locked and all eyes fixed on blindfolded me.

it kind of reminds me of an old scorpions album, i'll have to find it. so you can see. okay, maybe without the forks, but you get the idea. (that is an excellent album, btw).

so i'm thinking, what would be worse? what could possibly be worse?

i have it!

i went with my daughter's girl scout troop to a horse racing museum (of all places). it elicited many of the issues i had with the stubbs and the horse exhibit at kimbell (such a snoozer for me). my beloved, daughter and i ditched that docent tour because it was all horses. hello!

my girl is in a horse phase, and asked me to go to the museum, so i did. but as soon as i get there, i'm looking for an out. had my mp3 player on hand, fortunately, and dwelt in my own little world for a while.

though i had immensely enjoyed the drive up because my girl's friend's dad drove me and he knew the area and gave me a guided tour of the region. as we turned in to the small town, there was a phenomenal cathedral. then another, then another.

it struck me clear as day, i don't give a rip about the history of this region (got invited to go on the schooner amistad on columbus day, and i wasn't motivated to make it happen). but i opted out of the horse museum to go walk to the various churches and sit in their sanctuaries. look through the stained glass windows. see who actually had the biggest steeple (that is what it is all about, isn't it? the presbys if you're wondering).

the best windows were the episcops, and the lamest windows were methodites. i sat in each sanctuary and smelled that aged wood. stumbled around on the slate walkways (very uneven). and even managed to sit front row of the episcopy church without waking the dead. (my noise to presence ratio greatly decreasing, praise be to God. a lady appeared from behind the altar and said,

i didn't even hear you come in. i thought it was the squirrels.)

very sneaky. who knows what trouble i'll get into now that i can slip in unawares.

before i left, there was a great marble carvy thingy at the aft of the church. it read, so and so, and so and so, he sat in the gates and was known by the elders (quoted correctly and in a fine font, i shall have to find to employ at some point). for her it read, on her tongue was the law of kindness (that scripture, quoted in full).

ah, to have that be my epitaph. i left there wishing it were so.

i reentered the museum to find the group upstairs, my hour passed rapidly, and i wandered back outdoors. perched myself at a bench by a felled tree which some high falutin horse used to graze at. the track for harness racing before me, two horses circled the field. it was quiet and i was quite content. there i could have remained for many hours.

but it was not to be.

i was squealed at by little girls perched on a balcony. they can't help it that they squeal, they just do. when they are in large groups, i've noticed. either delight, or fear, excitment or frenzy elicits these squeals. and they are so ear piercing, so loud, i think it perhaps the worst way to die.