from Nanny Kay’s Famous Blue Suitcase:
Once upon a time I gave a person a car. Steve and I had three. Our Pontiac, a second hand, but beautiful set of wheels, and a new second hand car bought for me. Steve got a promotion and with it a company car, which gave us three. Then there was the disabled BIG YELLOW we called it, in the garage – from a car accident in Oregon, that we later sold cheap to some Hollywood guy in Cleveland.
So we meet this big huggy bear type black man, who came into the restaurant bar we frequented. He didn’t tell a sad story – just how it was. We’d been there; we knew. He was waiting for the bus. This was prior to 9-11, in case you were wondering.
He had to get jobs on the bus line. He didn’t know that we had three – plus one incapacitated. He probably figured we had one. But the way I was dressed, he might have thought none. After work I would go out – like working people do before they go home, but I lived and worked in both places; in other words I didn’t dress up.
He’s waiting for a bus. Stops in to get a tea. I have more cars than I need, so I give him one. Told him I’d meet up next time and get it ‘greased up and tuned up prior to handing it over. He agreed. Maybe he paid me a dollar for it, to make it all easier legally.
His wife writes me a beautiful thank you note. It seemed odd – the note – but not so odd when I considered a friend of mine who never thanked anybody for anything, because she was poor. I also was poor most my life, but still I would thank.
So, I transfer the car to him. He who has nothing – what – should only cross my path?
He had a son – who loved to paint – only he had no paints. The next time I saw him I had in tow all of my paints – the ones I had bought, as any artist would, to paint. I packed into that bag brushes – all I had – a few other things – that I forget now, but still an artist of the mind, helping a child who wants to paint.
Not long after, the Feds came down hard on me. So hard, that most of you would have succumbed. “PLO kills people” – slamming fists on the bar to make me listen. I did the right thing. No way the PLO five years before 9-11 would even know me. The only ones who knew of me were the Hasidic Jews and black Africans whose neighborhood I lived in.
In 2000 and 2001, prior to 9-11, I suddenly needed to paint- and I didn’t have the tools.
Thankfully, and in greater thanks to my God not yours, I went to the basement and retrieved house paints, the gallon cans. My brush was my fingers, except when I needed a real one, and my pastry chef brush became that which I needed to apply a harsh, suffering, yet gentle stroke. Prior to that, I turned off all the lights, except one in the kitchen and painted on the carpeted floor in the living room, so the nosy neighbors couldn’t see.
From those paints came:
Mars Painted By God 2000
Evolution painted By God 2000
Animalia Painted By God 2000
All my children, absent Pele – were painting with me that night. Pele was elsewhere. Joey was present. Howdy and Rascal were infirmed on the mattress – the beautiful bed I made while they were in my nursing home – cherishing them, caring for them, till they healed or their God said it was their time. Rose walking all about, barking for Rascal who lost his voice and seeing for Howdy, who lost his sight.
According to the Jews who helped spy on me from their houses for the Feds, the beginning of my end was not giving a car to a black man whose job opportunities were defined by the bus line. It was because he drank tea during certain times of the year.
Prior to that, what alerted the FBI to me was my criticism in a Word Warrior Newspaper for those Challenged by Handicap, Prejudice and Discrimination. ‘Why push a woman with MS (multiple sclerosis) out of a wheelchair at a KKK rally, because the FBI thinks she can walk again, and all of a sudden rise up from her chair to throw that wheel chair onto the stage, hurting the KKK?’
I stated and made the observation that the FBI was slamming MS people in wheelchairs. They additionally were taking away people’s car keys because they could throw them up on stage at the KKK members. Yet, they let the KKK stand up on stage, flags wagging back and forth – huge flags, which meant huge staffs, with points on them – looking like spears, marching quickly back and forth on the stage.
Why I asked, did you push down a woman with MS in a wheelchair, and a black Cleveland police officer did that by the way, did you allow hooded men with spears who could have used those same weapons to destroy anyone in the audience?
Eventually, after the FBI’s embarrassment, they let me know why they hammered me for so long.
One night, as one of our children was dying, I looked up to the T.V. and I saw that black cop throwing that white woman with MS in the wheelchair. I changed the channel. The same picture came up. I changed the channel again. Same picture. Every single channel I changed it to was the same. That was their message to me. You don’t ever criticize the FBI and get away with it.
So, it had nothing to do with me giving a car to a black man who drank tea and giving art supplies to his child – it was all about me criticizing the FBI during a KKK rally. Looking back, upon further investigation that Muslim black guy was probably connected. sldt
BIRTH OF A SEED™© 