foggy

The word foggy carries several meanings, the first couple being the obvious ones of the misty type. The one I chose for the purposes of this missive would be – blurred or obscured – or vague. A sentence as an example in my case would be – I haven’t the foggiest notion as to where the latter part of last week went. And while this sentence is not totally true because I know roughly what happened, it would definitely fall under the blurred or obscured part of the definition.

The fogginess was caused by a medical procedure that required pain meds and writing under the influence of those would have produced ideas and concepts that would have made even less sense than usual – if that be possible. The recovery from said procedure is well underway and the need for the meds has lifted – whereupon I once again venture forth to trip the light verbalistic.

Couldn’t help but notice that the second definition of a verbalist is a person who is more concerned with words than with ideas or facts – hmmm. Won’t comment on that as it might tend to indicate verbal looseness and indiscretions on my part in the past and/or present.

Traversing back to the first definition of the word foggy, I remember a few times that fog played a part in my life. This would be the misty physical fog and not that of the mental. One particular incidence of reference was in the winter of 1962-63. My place of work and residence was in Lexington, Kentucky but my heart was in Augusta, Georgia. The reason? This was the residence of the one of whom I was enamored and/or smitten. This beloved one was to be the future Spice.

Since the position of the heart and of the physical body was not the same, this necessitated a visit every several weeks. Keep in mind that we had no email or interstates – snail mail and an occasional expensive phone call was our life and love lines. The distance was in excess of 500 miles and took 10 or 11 hours – as the 1962 Volkswagen Bug flew – I didn’t even have a radio in the car.

Most of the trips back home were just long, boring and tiring – the one of reference was all that, as well as foggy for about the last half of the journey. Entering South Carolina found the midnight fog even more dense and this very sparsely populated area was as dark as three shades of sackcloth and the traveling was about like hurtling through blank nothingness with only the center yellow line to guide me. I remember riding the yellow line a good bit to make sure I stayed on the road.

The only point of this story, besides being slightly informational, is that nothing bad happened and I arrived safely. Looking back at this, the thought comes to mind that the Lord looks out for the mentally deficient and the ignorant – whether I was one or both of these that night, I was grateful for His protection. ec