Monday, January 12, 2004

Call Me the Fake Spandex Man

"The mother bird has an egg and she says, 'I think my baby bird will be hungry.' So the mother bird goes to look for some food for her baby. The egg jumps and jumps and the baby cracks out of the egg. The baby says, 'Where is my mother?' He looks up and down and can't find his mother. The baby goes looking for his mother. He meets animals and things and asks, 'Are you my mother?' They all say, 'No.' When he finds his mother he is very happy.

I like this book because it is fun to read over and over again. My favorite part is when the baby bird finds his mother. This book reminded me that it is scary when you don't know where your mother is. I recommend this book to children that are learning to read because it was one of the first books that I could read all by myself."

-Lissette R. age 7

Driving to work in the wee wee hours Saturday morning I got one of those signs that God does indeed exist. On my car stereo I was cranking, and I mean seriously cranking, the techno music mix the Asthmatic Skater was kind enough to burn for me. It was almost as if I was hoping (and praying) that the searing sound of the throbbing beats along with my head bobbing would heat up the car quicker than the blowing air from my heater. In my yet to have coffee stupor I was thinking, seriously thinking, about exactly where I was/am going. And it had nothing to do with the highway I was on or the streets I was passing. Time's running out, the timing belt probably needs to be changed and my thoughts were a thousand miles away. But I snapped to when I passed the Industrial Blvd exit. Techno blaring and I pass by Industrial Blvd. If that isn't a sign of a higher being than I have to ask, what exactly is?

And call it a lame excuse because when it comes right down to it, I don't eat the right beef to come down with Mad Cow disease but it certainly could have been the Cranky Kitty disease that caused me to bet on my own softball games. So I think you can lower the alert from yellow to taupe.

I got to work and I got a whiff of the cologne worn by the tax manager who wears too much cologne and just about the time I was going to curse my nose (certainly not Obsession) I was startled that it took me back over thirty years to my days in kindergarten. Not that my teacher, Ms. Park wore man's cologne but the thing I remember most about arriving to my classroom was that it had a unique kindergarten like smell. To me it smelled of something official, of starting down a road that had an unwritten ending. That's quite a powerful scent, I now see (or sniff).

I used to get so nervous each and every day before kindergarten that my stomach would ache and I wondered why, just why, I had to leave the only home I had known for five years (going on to six). Not that I disliked kindergarten, on the contrary it was kind of cool this learning stuff, but it was a jarring change of place.

And then all these years later I'm at my most recent place of work, taking a deep whiff and some similar thoughts are bouncing around the inches behind and below my eyes. Things aren't quite as new as they were back then, though I certainly know a thing or two more (but not all that much if the final tally is to be taken). I've learned it's best to schedule a thing or two in the near and far future to be able to look forward to even though I thought Ben Kingsley's New Year's resolution was rather keen of trying to do better at living in the moment. It's the whole routine vs. dream thing that I've bored the next generation with.

Speaking of which, the blue eyed St. Paul resident and I have signed up for a writing class in February and it makes that stomach thing come to mind at the same time as it seems like something that might be more medicinal than metaphysical. Because more than ever it all boils down to wondering has anyone seen my inspiration? Cuz I'm really not sure if I have recently.

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