The Farmer, The Car, And The Cornfield

This story is a result of a dream I had Saturday night and woke up Sunday morning reeling over. Written by Rynal Grant (THR) 2/6/11…Sunday morning.

I had a dream that I was in my home town. I walked around with my mother and we discussed how they were tearing down different buildings and building new ones.
She told me of how years ago this old man was given a car. In the trunk of the car was millions of dollars. He took the money and built himself a house, and started a farm.

Then I had an idea for a product that would make the world a better place. It was drinking water. But as the dream progressed, I wanted to improve upon that idea.
I went out and recruited a few folks that I believed could help me realize this dream. Among them a high school friend and a guy from India. We were in a room with an expansive view of our town fast becoming a city.

I asked them spreading my arms abroad, look around and tell me what you see? They answered but did not get it. I told them the answer, “No! Things (times) are changing.”

We proceeded to build our business. I had them recruit others (college students) to help. Then I got another idea for a small powdered packet that would add flavor to the drink while simultaneously making it cool. I got the idea thinking about people in other countries living under sweltering heat.

With all of the college students assembled in the classroom (slowly becoming a cornfield) I had the stage floor. I told them that this is the beginning of a company! I started to tell them what they had to do to help this come about. Simultaneously they disagreed and got up to leave.

After my failure I was walking through town and thinking to myself, I’m going to get with the Indian (from India) and see if we could still go forward with my cool water idea. I was walking with my friend down this dusty raod flanked by a cornfield and an older man, a farmer must have heard us talking and approached us. He told us, boys years ago someone gave me some money in a car, and I want to share it with you. I began to thank the man profusely. My friend began the descent down the steep embankment. I found myself on top of an old semi.

I told the old farmer that I’ll find another way down to the car. He seemed to agree that that was fine. As I searched for a safe way down another older man began to talk with him.

They spoke about the national anthem and hos someone sang it today. The farmer said with all seriousness, something about “they ought not to let him sing it! Sing about my America! I’d get up there and sing it myself!

It was then that I realized that these men were WWII veterans and my respect for them grew immensely.

The End.

In the beginning of the dream, the sky was obviously cloudy and dark. Towards the end of the dream, the sky was a bright golden color. I do not even remember seeing the blue of the sky. I never actually made it to the car that contained the money.
This dream was still so strongly in my mind when I work, I knew immediately that I needed to write about it before it went away. I did my best to accurately describe the story. I wanted to present to you the main parts or points.

Specific details of the city and the faces of people on down to the Indian, the farmer, and even my high school friend are very sketchy as I do not really recall ever seeing the details of their faces. It was as if I was dreaming out of my peripherals, only in reverse. Meaning the faces was more visible if I did not look at them directly.

Weird dream … huh?

Hope For Tomorrow

No deep thoughts

It seems the levy is dry.

No sweet thoughts

Only the tears I’ve cried.

No free thoughts

Controlled by baser minds

No sleep thoughts

In insomnia I confide.



The song, it plays

The only sound I hear.

The song, it stays

So deep within my ear.

The song, it betrays

My most secret fears.

The song it plays

The song must end here.



The darkest night

Pinnacle of the sun’s way.

The darkest night

ALWAYS vanish away.

The darkest night

What more can I say.

The darkest night

Bring forth the brightest day.

Palaver

Blue skies call my name
I will answer just the same
White clouds underneath
Help me forget about my pain

Stars flash with brilliant flares
And I cannot but stand and stare
Earth is turning underneath
As I proceed without a care

HIS gentle voice is calling me
I behold HIS infinite majesty
Strong hands hold me underneath
No longer shadows now clearly I see

…YOU do love me

Rynal Grant “The Hopeless Romantic”

Come On In, The Water’s Fine

The day at the Hotel was starting off reasonably good. As I walked into the office everyone was happy and all smiles. I shot the breakfast lady, Marcie my usual look of “nah, nah, ne-nah, nah” too which she responded with a scowl. This is our relationship. We kid back and forth like that. I proceeded to clock in pick up all maintence requests, my radio, clipboard, and off to the maintence shack. From there I began the general cleanup of the hotel grounds.

It was a cool Mississippi morning. I was grateful for this. This past summer was so very unkind to me. But the sun came out, it was still cool, and the day was for lack of a better word, gorgeous. I passed an elderly gentleman who spoke and said, “It turned out to be a nice day.” I replied, “So far, anyway.” He laughed rather hysterically at my response, but in my mind I felt I was a little negative. After all of those classes my Pastor taught on being “positive”, having a “PMA, positive mental attitude”, and “self-fulfilling prophecies”, I should have known better. But I went my way and completed all of my initial tasks.

The final task of the day is testing, cleaning, and opening the pool. This has to be done before 10am when the pool is to be officially opened. First I decided to brush the sides before vacuuming it. As I neared the deep end, Marcie stepped outside the kitchen and asked me a question. I answered it. Then Miss Judy showed up. She’s the head housekeeper. The harassment ensued. We went back and forth briefly. But I continued to brush the sides of the pool.

They began to say things like, don’t go falling in and such the like. I’m not clear on what I said. But I think I said, “I won’t fall in.” I’ve been cleaning the pool for almost 2yrs and never fell in before. Then I brushed the side of the pool one more time. Because I’m in the deep end, I’m trying to make sure I hit the walls all the way down to the bottom. In doing so, I leaned too far forward. Then I realize, like a cartoon character, that there was nothing holding me up except for gravity. All the flailing, arm waving, and yelling could not stop gravity from her nefarious deed. I went in head first into 60 degree water.

I came up for air. I’m panicking and trying to stabilize myself. As you all know, statics does not look favorably upon blacks and our swimming skills. Luck for me, I am in that 5% range that can swim. But there is a difference between diving into cool water and falling head first in to cold water! I got my bearings, found the edge and did a series of breast strokes to get out of the water. When I got to the edge I pushed myself down into the water and back out again to give myself some leverage to get out.

Once I am out I got a guest on my left arm tugging and one of the other breakfast ladies, Shelia, on my right arm tugging and helping me out of the water. Well, I was already out of the water and I said as much. Marcie who was watching me went and told Frank our General Manager who came running to see if I was okay. He glanced, saw that I was fine and went back inside. Marcie chided him for that, but had I been in Frank’s position, I would have done the same. Even the front desk girl, Kawanna came out briefly to see what was happening. Then promptly went back inside to “tweet” about it on facebook and twitter.

*Smiles and says, friends*

This is an accurate account of what occurred that day. My cell phone was in my pocket and my radio on my hip. Both got wet. As of this post, my cell phone is in good working order. If you wish to hear the M. Night Shyamalan version (the version with a twist at the end) you can contact Marcie the breakfast lady for that version. In her version, Sheila clears the pool fence without using the gate and pulls me out of the pool. Never mind that I’m 5’ 11”, 300lbs and Sheila is 5’6” 160lbs. Sheila must be Wonder Woman in disguise, or something. The moral of the story is … when an elderly gentleman says to you, “It turned out to be a nice day.” Reply to him, “Yes Sir, it sure has.”

-Rynal Grant “The Hopeless Romantic”

Unsympathetic

Times are changing in this crazy world, minds are straying on this hazy pearl, wasting precious knowledge on the insatiably lazy, chasing that elusive dream, a bottled genie.

Men are born amazed at their years of slumber. Babies die betrayed at the hands of their mothers, sacrificed to the gods who count and number themselves deserving of the adoration of others.

The voice of the oppressed go unheard on a daily basis, the deafening sound canceled on the mind's oasis, a pleasantry offered within the ignorant and walled cities of unbelief.

The gramophone has exhausted it's vinyl polymer, the gullible will soon meet their end. The music was made, they danced and they played and finally in the end they did win! His inheritance is gone with the wind.

And those who opposed the righteous' cause, which argued against them day and night, stood face to face with their own executioner's blade, reflecting the truth of their plight, uttered these word's to Death's unsympathetic face ...

"We were wrong, and they were right".

A Fool's Rule

Am I to roam the dark of night without hearing from you?
Even as I walk and ponder, my heart, it yearns for you.
So I take a penny to splash a wish, a word concerning you,
Because I can't remember the nights I’ve spent without you.

The thought of you is soothing like a silk memory in the mind.
Your gentle blush is a wispy cloud accenting a blue laden sky.
Who is that one who’d dare attempt to occupy your time?
Tis I! Constantly thinking, praying, working to make you mine!

If desiring gold is a foolish thing, then a treasure hunter's a fool,
A pick, an axe, a rope, and compass are a fool's tools.
I find within that a sobering truth, a letter of the very rule,
My pen and paper, words and thoughts, make me a fool for you.

Springtime At Grandma’s

I remember springtime at grandma’s. I’d get up in the morning and stretch for what seemed like an eternity. I’d wash up and head for the kitchen to find grandma who was already up and cooking breakfast. The smells of grits, scrambled eggs, bacon or fried bologna (edges black and greasy), sausage link, and something she called scratch biscuits filled the kitchen.

“I ain’t done, son”. She referred to me as her son even though I was her grandson. So I’d go into the den and see if there were any cartoons on. I’d wrap myself in her bathrobe or a blanket and sit there and watch cartoons whose names I can not even recall now. Meatballs and Spaghetti was one. And there was another involving a talking dune buggy. The driver was a character that reminded me of shaggy from Scooby Doo. I can’t recall them all.

When breakfast was ready, I go to the kitchen table and for lack of a better word, throw down. Sometimes the grits was so hot I’d swallow it without cooling it down and it would burn my throat and esophagus and even the bottom of my stomach. Naturally I’d chase it with water. The cool relief would travel the same path, ahhhhhh. Did, I learn my lesson about eating hot grits too fast? No. “Boy slow down”!

Grandma always had coffee, water, and orange or apple juice with her breakfast. Then she’d send me to get her pills. She always had a box full of pills. I had no idea what they were for. But there was a lot of them. But she was a strong and determined woman. She refused to allow old age interrupt her routine.

That afternoon, I’d go outside and run around with my cousins. Occasionally a tractor would drive by and the exhaust would fill the air. Strange as it sounds, I love the smell of those old tractors from the ‘80s. They were evidence of summer’s arrival. The tractors were going to disc someone’s field. They were going to plant one of three things: corn, cucumbers, or tobacco.

Sometimes my grandma would flag the driver and ask him to disc her field which comprised of half her back yard. Years later my aunt would put a trailer here. But for now, it grew our food. I had no idea how blessed we were. From that field we had butter beans, corn, snap peas, black eyed peas, field peas (yes there is a difference), watermelon, iced potato, and sweet potato. That’s not to exclude turnips, collard greens, mustard greens, cabbage, and string beans.

This field was my grandma’s first love. One day she got too old to do it. The mind was willing, but the body was simply too old. Grandma needed a walker to get around. She refused to use it. She’d rather use my arm and the walls of the hall way. She fought death tooth and nail. Death was going to win, but she was going to make him work for it.

During the glory days of the garden, she’d allow me and my cousin Chris to assist her. We’d take old T-shirts and fill them with a fine powdered insecticide. We would go through the beans dusting them. The powder went through the T-shirts at a controlled rate. It would protect the plant from bugs killing it, and we could eat. This was work, but to an 8 yr old boy it was fun. Sometimes we got more dust on ourselves than on the plant. Inhaling the fine dust would leave a sweet taste in your mouth even though you did your best to keep it closed.

Not once did I see a snake. But I knew they were out there. I never once saw grandma run, so I assumed she couldn’t. How could she protect herself from snakes. My grandma kept a sharp hoe with her. She had two of them. This is how she protected herself from the snakes. She’s chop their heads off and keep going. No me. I’d be watching from the top steeps of the back porch. Then I’d come see the headless snake.

My mother has ophidiophobia. She has an extreme fear of snakes. I believe that this is part of the reason she didn’t help out in the garden much. It is a very real condition. But it was labeled as lazy. I too have a as yet undiagnosed condition. I get very bad headaches when I bend over. I’ve been told that this is a symptom of high blood pressure. For this reason I avoided work. I became a hard worker by default but I had to learn to combat this headache effect by controlling my bend, angle, and flexing the proper muscles in my head. I told my mom and she believed me. But never took me to the doctor to ascertain what may be wrong. Therefore the “you’re just lazy” label stuck.

*I'm going to have to end it here. There is more to come at a later date*