hat and feet
A few days ago I was told rather straight forwardly that I don't appreciate what the white middle class suburbanites are bringing to the mountains. What? Country clubs? Big ugly houses? I was told conversationally in one statement with much concern for my benefit. Like I'm missing out on something, not being fair to myself that her agenda is not mine. I oughta, needta, gotta, should. There is so much I'm missing because I don't pay enough attention to the people of the culture I left screaming like Munch's The Scream, finding it a black hole to nowhere. It's like my fundamentalist mother telling me I'm not afraid enough of satan's power. People of the middle class have more money than I have. All the more reason for me to suck up to them. The only thing I could think: I don't know what the hell you're talking about.
I've known white suburban middle class people, a lot of them in friendly ways. Some of my best friends are in the white middle class. Cocktail parties at the Club? Is that what I'm missing? Something else I'm missing is everything happening in New York, everything happening in Paris, everything happening in Tokyo, everything happening in Istanbul. I'm actually missing almost everything that is happening on earth. So what if I miss a white middle class cocktail party? So what if I don't meet somebody whose ass I'm expected to kiss? I'd rather watch almost any movie. And I'm not interested in taking orders on how I'm to conform to this and conform to that, talk right, leave off that hillbilly twang in your accent, it sounds dumb, and the meaningless phrases you use. Talk natural. Of course, this was somebody who pays zero attention to mountain working class culture. Eew! They're not politically correct and care so little for appearance.
I suspect the reason I'm so irritated is that I'd thought better of her. I'm disappointed. I am here in the mountains for my own reasons that have nothing to do with her or her gossip set. I don't care about gossip. It's what we humans do. I accept it as that and don't care what they're saying about me, don't want to know, because they are not the reason I'm here. I have my own life, my own reason for being, and don't give the remotest shit for what gossipers are saying about me. I don't want to know. I don't want to be pulled into their gossip drama being told what they're saying. I had a friendly disposition toward her gossip set until yesterday. I won't be unfriendly, but I know now not to be open with any of them, about anything.
I thank her for putting me through a mind review of the reasons for coming to the mountains and staying in the mountains that I have maintained all along and will go on maintaining. Like writing this blog, the only purpose is to write something every day that might be worth reading. It's purpose is to discipline myself to write something every day. That is my only agenda. As for conforming to the checklist of correctness required to rub elbows with the white middle class, it's not something I think about and don't like it brought to my attention as something I oughta, needta, gotta, better do for my own benefit. Like she knows what my benefit is. I've found along the way that people who are interested in my own good are really interested in their own good. And I thank you, dear reader, for putting up with my rant. It helps throw it out of my mind. It put a little knot in my heart I'll have to untie over the next few days. Maybe I'll listen to a lot of old-time music, the music that opens my heart. A couple days ago I heard on the radio Hazel Dickens singing West Virginia My Home. That song fills me with so much love I want to be in West Virginia. It pulls me through thinking about how much I love these mountains and their people. Tears of joy ran down my cheeks.