Beaten a bit when I arrived in Beemer and was warmed by an offer of a room at the Tradewinds Inn at the corner where I had been told to turn, walk a mile up a hill and then some. The people at the local bank had made the arrangements and sent a messenger to let me know. And to think it was just after I'd wrote about feeling like a whinning child... The folks of the Village of Beemer pulled me from my silly mood getting me back on track. After a good 'supper and a seat at "the roundtable" in the Haybarn where all the locals 'scuttlebutt the weeks events. By the time I settled in for night where every time I 'woke for a moment I would flick the television on and the off because I could. Sleeping without a blanket or furry cap to keep warm. Though I did go to the van twice to make sure Nice (the dog) was covered I cleared my mind of the aches and complaints of the long walk from Laurel to Wayne then Wisner. Today I rose and found the old men at the 'table in the Beemer Cafe' telling them all my truths sounded like a string of lies at their "liars table"; walking from Lake Michigan to Omaha Via Fargo just didn't fly. I was leaving out the charity ball for diabetes and changed the subject to my lost fingertip by my dog. Another falsehood, surely. These men who believed at first I was a hunter there for the season opener couldn't make heads or tails, is he for real or pulling our legs when I told them I was no marksman. Once I had cleared the table it was down to me and one other. What would you say the odds are that he was diabetic (or that there would be one at the table the night before)?
It took a village to uplift me and clearing my mind like a breakfast table of dirty dishes, the chance conversations that prompt diabetics to be more active and Grandma's rolls delivered now in the moment I sit to write this that remind me what wonderful life it is... Love your self, your body; walk it around.