Ordinary Extraordinary
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I always wanted the world to be more fantastic than I thought it was. I remember wishing that some glowing portal would open up in front of me and take me to a magical world.
I had no idea then that I was already there.
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This weekend we went down to visit the wild woman in rehab and what did we see? Wild peacocks walking down the well-groomed city streets. Crazy old women pushing shopping carts. A spy shop. A dog with the sweetest face in the world, getting a piece of fresh-baked bread crust on a street where I used to buy candy as a boy.
The world is a never-ending shop of wonders.
And horrors.
You don't know what you're going to get.
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but something's coming down the chute!
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I know that I go on about the woman on the verge, but I swear to God, I have hit it out of the park with her. She is the best travel companion you could hope for. The best person to go to sleep with. The best to have coffee with. The best to get lost and found with.
And the best to find wild peacocks with, for sure.
Go ahead and kill me.
I got what I came here for.
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I am no match for this life.
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Namaste.
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posted by tearful dishwasher at 6:42 PM
6 Comments:
As a child I believed that saltwater beaches in other countries would yield fantastic marvels -- jeweled seashells, exotic gems for the taking. And then, on a beach in Normandy (noted WWII site), instead of sand there were millions upon millions of tiny periwinkle shells, each one with that marvelous spectrum of colors at each sand-worn edge. I scooped handfuls into my pockets, brought them home to Seattle and kept them for years in a pink translucent Depression-glass box. I awoke this morning (after reading your blog last night) with the image of these foremost in my dream-state vision. And I wondered: where is that pink box now? I've no idea, my life having undergone several virtual reincarnations since that beach-walk nearly 30 years ago. But instead of grieving the loss of that box and that once-upon-a-time life, I smiled to think that foreign beaches did indeed yield treasures beyond comparison.
I think that perhaps I searched for that box all throughout last night's dreams -- your blog post embedded itself in my subconscious.
Wild peacocks, periwinkle shells -- every last thing an astonishment.
(wv: azing. [Amazing.])
cripples at baseball
oh my bog this got me rolling i mean really really rolling. me and my sister right there CRIPPLES hahahaha. then i read to get my fill of what i know is true.
please send my yr home addy as i seem to have misplace it.
xo
Hi Scott,
You know what i was just thinking after reading about your woman and your wild child and your travels and all? That if you ever feel like adopting an older "child", I'm all in.
ha.
love, D
Cripples at baseball made me think of two things: my ex, and the san francisco twins, vivian and marian brown. I've seen them a few times . . . definitely cripples at baseball. . .
I love you guys.
Thank you for sticking around here.
I'm glad for the company.
you're a lucky guy
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