{"id":147830,"date":"2025-03-20T07:31:00","date_gmt":"2025-03-20T12:31:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.thelocalvoice.net\/oxford\/?p=147830"},"modified":"2025-03-19T17:03:35","modified_gmt":"2025-03-19T22:03:35","slug":"the-view-from-the-balcony-attacked-by-a-plastic-bag","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.thelocalvoice.net\/oxford\/the-view-from-the-balcony-attacked-by-a-plastic-bag\/","title":{"rendered":"The View From The Balcony: “Attacked by a Plastic Bag”"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

I love the wind. As a child I reveled in being in the wind, especially when there was a whirlwind. Many were the times that on my elementary school playground I would chase a whirlwind (dust devil), trying to get into the middle of it. I rarely succeeded. Nowadays the only time I really, really dislike the wind is when it blows my hat off, but I suppose that\u2019s on me. After all, I know that\u2019s a possibility and I choose to test the fates by wearing it outdoors.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I\u2019ve often wondered how cowboys in the old westerns could beat the crap out of each other and still keep their hats on, as well as how their hats stayed on when they were riding horses full out. I\u2019ve read in more than one place that in the first Indiana Jones film Harrison Ford couldn\u2019t keep his hat on during riding scenes either. What did he do? He stapled his hat to his head. I kid you not. But I digress.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Last week there was a particularly windy day, one in which I almost had to go indoors to light my pipe. I held my pipe in my left hand and anchored my hat with the right until the wind took a big breath and I could let go for a few seconds to light my pipe.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I\u2019ve always taken great delight in watching small items, propelled by the wind, fly through the air with the greatest of ease. That is, until one of those pesky plastic grocery bags slapped me in the face and hung on like a mobster trying to suffocate me to get information I did not have. I promise you that the proverbial quip \u201cHe couldn\u2019t fight his way out of a wet paper bag\u201d became real for me that day and I understood for the first time what it must be like to be on the wrong end of the Cosa Nostra, er-r-r, fellowship.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

While wrangling with the bag, which only led to a greater entanglement, I heard a voice say, \u201cSlow down man! Just relax. Every little thing\u2019s gonna be alright.\u201d I frenetically, furiously, frantically, and fruitlessly resisted until I took what I feared to be my final breath. Then I let go and the bag stopped its assault.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The bag said to me,\u2014yes, thus spoketh the bag,\u2014\u201cThank heavens, man! I thought you were gonna kill us both!\u201d My eyes darted left and right, up and down, trying to find the source of the voice, until I had no choice but to accept that I had been waylaid by a talking plastic bag.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat the hell are you trying to do to me?\u201d I asked.
The bag replied, \u201cI have no control over where or when I go. I yam what I yam and I yam wherever I yam. So\u2026the answer, my friend, is blowin\u2019 in the wind.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"<\/a><\/figure>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOh, c\u2019mon,\u201d I said. \u201cThat\u2019s the cheesiest answer I\u2019ve ever heard.\u201d
\u201cNo cheese here. Only breeze,\u201d said the bag. \u201cI can\u2019t go against the wind. I must ride with the wind and trust the wind beneath my wings.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I groaned, then I groaned again, then I groaned even more. \u201cAt least you didn\u2019t say you\u2019re gone with the wind,\u201d I said.
\u201cOh, but I will be\u2014 soon and very soon,\u201d said the bag, \u201cbut it\u2019s a wayward wind. I think they call the wind Mariah.\u201d
\u201cCarey?\u201d I asked.
\u201cNo, dumb butt!\u201d he said. \u201cWhy don\u2019t you go paint your wagon while I break wind over that one!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I held my nose and was grateful that I did, for when the bag broke wind it was a ghastly gust of god-awful gross that propelled the bag through the Square and spun it round and round and round the tip top of the courthouse, eventually hurling it through the air off to the west.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Since then I\u2019ve wondered, \u201cWhere did the wind wind up?\u201d Then I recalled the words of Yogi, Prophet of the Diamond: \u201cIf you don\u2019t know where you\u2019re going you might wind up someplace else.\u201d And that\u2019s exactly where I think my talking bag must now be \u2014 someplace else.
\u201cBe here now?\u201d I thought to myself as I took a long draw on my pipe. \u201cNaw. Be there later.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2026and that\u2019s the View from The Balcony.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Randy Weeks is a Licensed Professional Counselor, Board Certified Telemental Health Provider, Certified Shamanic Life Coach, ordained minister, singer-songwriter, actor, and writer. Sometimes he\u2019s little more than a bag of wind.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"<\/a><\/figure>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

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