Heard nothing good ever happens “after midnight!”
I beg to differ.
It’s “after midnight” when I am the most productive. Darkness loosens all of my defenses. Darkness hides all of my inhibitions. Darkness eases me into escapism. Darkness cloaks my insecurities. Darkness emboldens me. Darkness protects me.
My daughter curiously inquires about my desire for darkness. Seemingly, she suspects that either I rendezvous with Dracula and passes him classified secrets or I am a card-carrying member of Insomniacs Anonymous. Some day, plan to tell her that it is “after midnight” when her praying mother surreptitiously meets up with the Provider-in-Chief instead. During those clandestine sessions, divulge nail-biting dilemmas and seek His rescuing, His counsel, and His solutions.
Wonder if she knows that it is “after midnight” when I tiptoe into her room and gingerly place kisses upon her forehead and cheeks. Since her “induction” into the teen world, there has been a moratorium of her giving away kisses to her parents. Although I may merit a couple of them per day, getting more requires that I “steal away” into her room and while she is too sheepish to object, I am able to take lots more.
Meanwhile, really feeling sorry for my poor husband. Mantha recently announced that she is refraining from kissing all males, to include her dad, until she marries. Therefore, if my husband wants additional kisses, she recommended that he replenishes his deficit by kissing me.
Sounds good to me!
However, time will tell if “hard-hearted Hannah from Susquehanna” continues to ration her smooches with the onslaught of boys I foresee in her future (laugh out loud)!
Speaking of boys…
As usual, a myriad of thoughts keeps me up “after midnight.” For whatever reason, tonight I am visualizing my daughter dating. My husband swears that I am hyperventilating needlessly and should relax because he has the perfect remedy to all of my pending worries.
Coincidentally, it’s Nicholas’ plan to be cleaning his 12-gauge shotgun when Mantha’s suitor picks her up for their date. Strategically placed on the table will be the ammo. According to my husband, as he cleans this gun, it is his intention to be discussing with the young man the depth of his qualifications as a weapons expert, trainer, and as a bull’s-eye marksman. For added emphasis, my husband will put a round in the chamber and declare that if anything should happen to “our baby” he will not hesitate to “stand his ground!”
Sounds good to me!
Heard nothing good ever happens “after midnight!”
I beg to differ.
Told Mantha about my “tough” upbringing which required her mother’s ingenuity. It was “after midnight” when, as a “waste management operator“ (aka dumpster diver), I would leap head first into funky containers as if it were a swimming pool in search of junk with slight imperfections to be rehabilitated and restored to sellable condition.
Or, similarly to Fred on a “Sampson and Son” episode, “after midnight” one would find me scurrying and rummaging in trash cans throughout wealthy neighborhoods looking for discarded items with few cosmetically flaws. In either case, the redeemed proceeds from the dumpster dives or trash-can excursions were used exclusively for my food budget and living expenses.
Health risks be damn, instead of nestling comfortably in bed, it was “after midnight” when I slogged through land fills and picked discarded and spoiled food for my maternal grandmother’s stinkin’ hogs. Flashbacks from digging for that putrid slop conjured up dreadful smells and scents which still sicken my nasal cavity, stomach, and appetite decades later.
Could have used a couple of “welfare checks” from Department of Children and Families at that time!
Heard nothing good ever happens “after midnight!”
I beg to differ.
It was “after midnight” when enslaved blacks were the most productive. Darkness loosened their defenses. Darkness hid their inhibitions. Darkness eased them into escapism. Darkness cloaked their insecurities. Darkness emboldened them. Darkness protected them.
My daughter’s curiosity about my desire for darkness now has been answered. Transported her back to throngs of fascinating but gut-wrenching stories of how, “after midnight,” our ancestors would secretly meet to develop plans and strategies for freedom and then execute these tactical and ingenious escapes in order to flee from the cruelties and savagery of slavery.
Who could ever forget the herculean bravery of the “Moses of Her People?” It was “after midnight” when Harriet Tubman would privately commune with God. Like me, Harriet begged God for strength, endurance, courage, and sought answers to her most complex problems. There’s no doubt that God energized her, as He has countless times, done for me!
It was “after midnight” when the North Star beckoned Tubman. Some how, she cleverly remained undetected and began “walking” from Maryland to Canada looking for the sweetness of emancipation. Historical annals documented that this heroine remarkably defied bounty hunters, snitches, and naysayers by victoriously “freeing” over 300 enslaved blacks from the horrors of the “peculiar institution”—-all “after midnight.”
Heard nothing good ever happens “after midnight!”
I beg to differ.
While darkness may be synonymous to misery, to me, it is my “proving ground” where I gain meaningful and thundering visions and messianic messages. It is “after midnight” when I devise a menagerie of solutions to those inflammable problems. It is “after midnight” when the spirit of inspiration visits and signs my permission slip.
It is “after midnight” when I experience the “fires” of jubilee. It is “after midnight” when the “source of my soul” prophetically speaks to my bones. It is “after midnight” when my intestinal fortitude slaughters complacency, fear, and my cemetery of doubts!
Heard nothing good ever happens “after midnight.”
By “proclamation,” Harriet and I beg to differ!
