Grandpa Comes for a Visit--part 8

[Central Scrutinizer]

 

Grandpa Comes For A Visit--A True Village Life Ghost Tale--part 8

                 

                 Part 8

 

 

After I finished whacking the lawn as much as I could, and doing some other chores I had set for myself, I jumped into the shower and washed the day's work grime from my tired body. I changed into freshly laundered clothes, grabbed myself a cold drink of iced tea as I passed the refrigerator, (Yes, I do take other liquid refreshment besides beer! Hard to believe for some, I know!) and plunked my ass into a favored comfortable chair on the front veranda. It had been a day of hard labor, but it felt good to have accomplished all that I had that day. My back ached, but I had expected it would, and have come to ignore it's bothersome painful chattering along my nervous system pathways, except when it screams for relief. It was time to relax and rest up for the coming night's conjugal visit.

 

A couple hour's good massage from a professional masseuse would have done me well at the time, but alas there are none to be found in the village. They are all away in the cities plying their trade. I have to settle for the amateur massage therapists in the family to get myself fixed up at times. I've asked around, but there seems not to be any "retired" massage ladies even in the village who wouldn't mind earning the occasional baht pummelling my sore back once in a while. I need to delve further into this lack of professional massage therapists in the village area. I mean, where do all the old retired massage ladies go anyway?

 

As I sat surveying my property and the surrounding village I felt content and happy to be alive. I sipped my cold tea and thought to myself that I would fairly kill for a real lemon wedge to plop in it. A guy who has a house across the street from the Surin rental house has a lemon tree in his yard. I want one in mine, so I can pick a fresh lemon to add to my drinks when the desire arises. I'll have to get some lemon seeds and try planting my own one day soon. I've never seen lemons in the markets here, and always wondered why, as I've also always wondered why the Thais call limes, lemons. They're not even close to being the same fruit. I promised myself as I sat there that next time over I would bring a couple bottles of raspberry syrup along too in my suitcase. With all the cheap limes available here it would be great to show the wife and family the wonderful refreshing taste of a Raspberry Lime Rickey!

 

I had brought with me this trip some seed packets for Mama to try to grow in her garden. She has a true green thumb, and loves puttering around in her garden. She was thrilled when I presented these to her. I brought seeds for Beefsteak tomatoes to see if they'd grow well here. Those small plum tomatoes they grow here just don't have as much taste for making a tomato sauce for the noodles. Plus I brought some cucumber seeds. I wanted to see the wife's and family's faces when these grew out to a foot long or so. The Thai cucumbers are so small, and as they eat these with almost everything fried in the wok I thought the larger hybrid ones might be more cost and work time effective to grow. I also brought some large stringbean seeds, claimed to be okay for growing in very hot climates, and some watermelon seeds, to see how big they'd grow here. The Thais grow the smaller round watermelons. I hoped to grow some of those big bastards we grow in the states.

 

I also brought some pumpkin seeds. I know how to make pumpkin pie from scratch and look forward to doing so one day in the village. Their pumpkins are a smaller green variety that seem to be more of a gourd than a true pumpkin. Not much meat inside. I'll be using theirs for Jack-o-lanterns one October for Halloween. Should be fun showing our daughter and her friends in the village the fine art of pumpkin carving. They don't celebrate Halloween in the LOS. Maybe I'll explain the basis behind this holiday for them one day when I have a command of the language......Lao. I'd think the Thais would take to Halloween, being a superstitious and spirit world believing lot.

 

Sipping my drink I looked over to where Mun's shop sat next door. The Golem Tree sat over her shop. It stood all bent and twisted and bare of bark. It's malevolent presence glowered at all who passed. A truly evil looking wreck of a tree this is. The sun was setting behind the Golem Tree as I watched, and it's bare skeleton like branches were silhouetted by huge black thunder clouds that were racing toward the village from the west to dump another deluge this coming night. The tops of the sodden charcoal clouds seemed to reach thousands of feet into the sky.

 

In the distance I could hear what sounded like the booming of cannon in battle, an incessant rolling thunder that reached for many miles to my ears. The gods were at war once again. An odd sickly yellow glow filled the sky around the thunder clouds, and as I watched lightning seemed to sprout from one particular cloud in all directions. I had seen this phenomenon before in Tennessee in my youth. Ball lightning. An eerie sight if you've ever seen one. The air crackled with ions released by the impending electrical storm. The soi dogs were acting strange, running about and growling and howling, or whimpering, as their particular temperaments dictated.

 

The streetlights came on in the darkening gloom. Night was fast approaching, helped along by the cloudy skies. The neighborhood bat came out and started his endless circling of the streetlight by my home. He must eat a half kilo of bugs every night. He's there every night from dusk until dawn, eating his fill and chirping away in his plaintive voice. I watch him dodge and weave as he circles the light and searches his prey. A mouse with wings. God is a funny creator, full of mischief.

 

A cooling breeze flows out over the land, pushed ahead of the coming storm. Leaves rustle in the palms. The vegetation comes alive and turns it's face toward the heavens, awaiting the sweet fluids of life soon to be bestowed upon them. The greenery seems almost sentient, alive and brooding, their sub-sonic basso voice crying "Feed me!" like the man-eating plant from the play "Little Shop of Horrors".

 

I sit and revel in the breeze as it gently cools my sun burned skin, and continue to sip my drink while watching with interest and glee the awesome show nature is providing me, for free. No need for the nature cable TV channel here in the village.

 

My buddy, Mr. Toad, came hopping out from behind the potted plant where he sleeps the day away in the cool shade of a fissure in the concrete like Midas' son Anchurus. He hopped over by my feet and sat there with me and watched the spectacle of the storm rushing toward us with his glowing golden eyes, occasionally searching the floor around us for a fat cricket to break his fast with. I bid him an affectionate "Good evening Mr. Toad", to which he doesn't reply. I don't mind. Toads have a hard time utilizing human speech patterns. Too much tongue they have it seems, or so Mr.Toad explained to me once when we were having a few beers.

 

(to be continued)

 

 

Cent

 

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"The clouds consign their treasures to the fields,

And softly shaking on the dimpled pool

Prelusive drops, let all their moistue flow,

In large effusion, o'er the freshen'd world."

 

James Thompson,

The Seasons

 

[Central Scrutinizer]

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