On a video call with Ginger last nigh
she gave me a tour of her shop. It was
a few Christmas lights, dimly lit in red, white
and blue. I had called to speak with
Mom, who had once again had a couple
of nights recently spent in the hospital for
some reason (this happens, the reasons have
been numerous). Mom was there at Ginger’s
house a few miles from rural Charleston, in
Arkansas, where we all resided from when we
each were born until we left the home of our
parents. Mom was there at Ginger’s place, too.
She was who I initially attempted to call,
eating her supper, which consisted of some
combination of chicken and potatoes, followed
by dessert, which Ginger kept stressing
was a bit of a mistake in that whoever had
made it, or however it had gotten made,
it had gotten made rather than with cherries,
which I suppose were in the recipe, and for
some reason it would have “made more sense”
with the cherries, this dessert, but the red
fruity splotches that were in the heart of this
odd-looking cake-like dish were not cherries,
as it is noted that they should have been, as
if it it should have been obvious (wink wink) that
it should have been a dessert the red chunks
of cherries, but some wiseguy like character,
seemingly, had instead put in strawberries.
Somone mischeivous and wrong but yet slightly
naughty in that good sort of way, this all from
the different faces Ginger made as she kept
repeating apects of the story of how it had
become so, had gotten the bright idea to put in
strawberries (and some Cool Whip, and, for good
measure, sprinkles of slightly browned coconut,
as well). Oh, and Ginger’s shop turned out to be
much bigger than a few dimly lit red, white and
blue patriotic lights slung somehow slightly into
the wood next to which Ginger lives. There was
a huge warehouse filled with exotic-looking
vacationing automobiles and RVs, wherein
there had also been some recent time put
into adding a first facsimile of a second
floor room. And there was a warehouse-sized
open space that had a concrete floor with a roof
over it (no walls), a roof which I imagined as cover
to a large open shed rather than a shop, within and
outside of which there were potted plants with
nestling cats (one was named Betty and Betty
was quite a tiny cat) and there were otherwise
fountain-schaped sculptures of live plants
scattered about as if to mimic flowing fountains
from which came splashes of leaves and blooms
from the various plants within the “sculpture”.
These plants resided within the open-air shed
and were not actual spouting waters cascading
from elaborate sculpted spouts or spewing
from the lips of, say, metallic fish of various sizes,
around some sort of fountain periphery. Those
qualities would have made it an actual fountain,
and there yet may have been some of those somewhere
around what Ginger called her shop, which were
actually a rather elaborate set of spaces, slanted and
flat, walled in or open-spaced, wooded or more domecile
in nature, all of which apparently made up Ginger’s shop.
naughty in that good sort of way, this all from
the different faces Ginger made as she kept
repeating apects of the story of how it had
become so, had gotten the bright idea to put in
strawberries (and some Cool Whip, and, for good
measure, sprinkles of slightly browned coconut,
as well). Oh, and Ginger’s shop turned out to be
much bigger than a few dimly lit red, white and
blue patriotic lights slung somehow slightly into
the wood next to which Ginger lives. There was
a huge warehouse filled with exotic-looking
vacationing automobiles and RVs, wherein
there had also been some recent time put
into adding a first facsimile of a second
floor room. And there was a warehouse-sized
open space that had a concrete floor with a roof
over it (no walls), a roof which I imagined as cover
to a large open shed rather than a shop, within and
outside of which there were potted plants with
nestling cats (one was named Betty and Betty
was quite a tiny cat) and there were otherwise
fountain-schaped sculptures of live plants
scattered about as if to mimic flowing fountains
from which came splashes of leaves and blooms
from the various plants within the “sculpture”.
These plants resided within the open-air shed
and were not actual spouting waters cascading
from elaborate sculpted spouts or spewing
from the lips of, say, metallic fish of various sizes,
around some sort of fountain periphery. Those
qualities would have made it an actual fountain,
and there yet may have been some of those somewhere
around what Ginger called her shop, which were
actually a rather elaborate set of spaces, slanted and
flat, walled in or open-spaced, wooded or more domecile
in nature, all of which apparently made up Ginger’s shop.
