Karma Apples from Heaven

Do you believe in Karma?  You know the “Reap what you Sow;” approach to life. Many people do. My ex-mother-in-law would say in a threatening tone,” What goes around; comes around!”  NBC had a popular sitcom called “My Name Is Earl;” which lampooned what to some is a very deep and personal belief. Whenever I think about Karma, it sometimes makes me shutter to my very core. I admit I have done a few good things thus far in my life, but it’s the, “Bad Things”… that haunt me.  You may know what I’m talking about?  The stuff you do while you’re still learning about yourself and others; what’s good, what’s bad and what’s just plain stupid.  It scares me because I should have known better… and yet, I still did what I did.

I believe it was 1967 and I was in my eleventh year. In our neighborhood, just one block west and two blocks north was a nursing home.  In those days we kids called it “The Old Folks Home.” It was a grand old building with gilded trim and majestic adornments.  It was not unusual for us on a hot summer day to find ourselves passing by the old Folks Home.  Having exhausted all adventurous activities for the time being. We would stop in and visit with the residents there.  We were joyfully welcomed by most and spent time listening to tales of the good old days. In the lobby was an old soda cooler; it opened like a chest and the bottles hung in rows, like little solders suspended in a magical cold mist.  A nickel would get a freckle faced towheaded boy 12 ounce of refreshing Orange Crush.  Gulping it down would give relief from the tart atmosphere that can stew in an old structure that was without a modern cooling and ventilation system. The patrons there were always kind to me and I felt close to many of them. I cannot believe it was I, who perpetrated such an offense against them.

Across the street from the Old Folks Home was a failing fence, the usual tall grass and then a sandy field with a sparse carpet of wispy shorter grasses; And of course at least one ancient, twisted and water starved apple tree.  We kids spent many a hot summer afternoon digging underground forts in the soft sand.  Our handy work produced a structure featuring a sun bleached plywood and plank roof with hand scooped shelves into the submerged dirt walls for holding our candles supplying needed interior illumination.  Once the roof was in position and the candles lit; our sand pit became a cool (as in groovy and cool as in cold) dark Gothic refuge.  You could taste the dirt with each earthy breath.  This particular time we had gathered a good pile of the sour and bug blemished apples as a cache of surely needed ammo.  A bunker like ours could easily be attacked from neighborhood foes.  The war ripened fruit would be well suited to repel any advance from the enemy.

There we sat, with our eyes peering through strategically placed gaps in the forts construction. Watching and waiting.  Cars zoomed by. Candles flickered. Blades of grass bowed in submission to the wind gust while sand peppered our anxious watchful eyes.  Nothing…  I was selected as a scout, then commanded to go out, observe, return and report.  I nimbly crept up to ground level while doing the classic Army Man crawl.  Clearly, I was an expert at this maneuver.  I made my way through the rounded dunes; I popped my head up quickly and then back down hard.  This method insured I would not be captured by the enemy.  All was quiet; all except some movement from the direction of the road.  A mad lizard like scramble and my chin was now resting on a fence board. I reached up and parted the tall grass, fully expecting to see a large contingent of enemy forces bearing down on or stronghold.  Alas there was nothing. Not even a cootie-infested girl who like to force dolls on us and into our underground fort. Nothing that is except family members across the street helping their old folks out of a car and into wheelchairs.  Rats! I crawled back on my belly and slid down into the fort.  I commenced to give my report while I scooped the sand from my pockets and dusted out my bellybutton.  Hopes of an all out war dashed.  But you guessed it. There was one kid. I honestly cannot remember who for sure; was one of those, “If you’ve been given lemons, then make lemonade” kind of people and with excited eyes said, “Ya know we have all these apples and we really can’t leave them, the skunks will get in tonight and sabotage our fort.”  “I say we attack!

Without hesitation, we loaded up our arms and army crawled over to the fence. I’m sure you’ve heard stories about what can happen to people under the spell of a mob mentality. It is true what they say about being caught up in the movement of the event. There we were taking aim and letting fly a barrage of hot weapons of apple destruction.

The ground around our target erupted in an applesauce hell. Many a round found its mark as their objections began to be screamed. The Old Folks looked around to see the source of the fruity offensive. A simultaneous retreat was achieved as we all Army Man scrambled into our fort hoping to escape the return carnage. We had dabbled war and now our hands were filthy dirty with its spoils. My heart pounded in the silence we all shared, waiting for the inevitable counter attack. It never came.

This is why I worry. If Karma is real then I should expect to be attacked. In my later years. When vulnerable, helpless and fully engulfed in the angst of old age. To be spattered with something sweet and sickly-smelly. Fully deserving of it. However, is that necessary? I quickly realized the error of my ways that day of apples from heaven. What I am hoping for is perhaps the Old Folks we bombed did something rotten when they were kids and Karma sent me there to administer their dose, with apples…. If not, then Karma is endless, those who deliver Justice will have Justice served on them, and the kids who smack me will get theirs, and so on, Apples from Heaven… Endless, Karma Apples. And so too it goes in war…

Me? I’ll keep my gaze upward.

About The Art
This is my latest work and is titled
“Doll Cross”
It is 85in. tall and about 50in at the widest part.
It took me about a week to complete.
It has nothing to do with the story
“Karma Apples from Heaven”.
I just took the opportunity to show it
off with this story.
It is currently being shown at
ANGST Gallery
1015 Main Street, Vancouver, WA 98660 360.253.1742 Leah.AngstGallery@gmail.com
Wednesday to Saturday, Noon to 5:00 pm or by Appointment