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If by "applecart" you mean all the little safe routines we hide behind, then let me be the first to say that it's way past time to upset the applecart. I can almost hear the crash it will make, the cart itself turning over, axle breaking, one wheel cracking, the other spinning off into the darkness (applecarts are more properly upset in the dark, giving us the opportunity to face the unknown). And then there are the apples, those predictable, cherished apples: my things, my habits, my foods, my animate and inanimate loves. You know the drill: all my fabrics, all my papers and paints, all my children (oh, I believe that phrase has already been used).
See those apples rolling beyond reach, leaving the cart empty and me bereft of apples. Some are trapped under the cart. Some, having chased that spinning cartwheel off into the dark distance, are gone forever. Maybe by the time the light comes I will even have forgotten what they were. And then I'll never miss them.
Perhaps I can push my old broken cart upright again, call in the wheelwright (or maybe he deals only with wheels, not axles; no matter, since I need two new wheels as well). Get this show back on the road. A road show. Now, remind me where I was headed.
Oh, of course. I was moving in the direction of The Land of Old (or am I already there?). Now I'm traveling with a cart empty of apples rather than overflowing with a superfluity of them. Though at the moment I wouldn't mind having a few on hand for sustenance. Can I make it the whole way without food? I've become dependent on the kindness of strangers, though I have to say that there have been better times and better places for such reliance. I'm well aware of that, having passed three panhandlers in the last two days without dropping so much as a loonie in their cups. If I can't rely on the kindness of strangers during the rest of this journey, then that leaves me with only myself to rely on. Ye gods and little catfish, what a concept!
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