Semi-Daily Scribbles

Lila, picking out the broccoli in her takeaway yakisoba, thought about how lucky she was. She had supportive friends, indulgent parents (Lila was a surprise, a miracle, a late-in-life baby), debts paid, and big dreams of opening a tattoo parlor. She didn't care much for tattoos, hadn't a drop of ink on her own skin, but she knew people liked them. Lila was keenly aware people paid a lot of money for tattoos and, once the work started, it was but a brief passage of time between the tiny heart on the ankle and the creative interpretation of "Alice in Wonderland" all up and down the arms. She stabbed at a chicken chunk with her chopstick and calculated the number of days remaining before John got out. The shop had to be ready by then,

before then, really. Lila nibbled at the pierced piece of meat, and felt a shiver as she pictured a long line of ready flesh waiting outside the shop on Opening Day.

I see it too.

Lila had remained connected to John all this time, so it never felt like they were truly apart. All the bars and concrete did make getting messages through difficult, but a bit of exertion never hurt anyone. Lila was banking on her stick-to-itiveness, and John's skills picked up while away, to change their fortunes for good.

Kenneth kept a record of items he believed would make him a more interesting person. There was much he did not know; even more he wished he could forget, but writing helped to smooth the creases in Kenneth's brain. On average, he filled up two composition books per month. Kenneth made a point of including words he'd never used before (Mindfulness, Onomatopoeia), places he'd never been (Little Elm, Waverley), and troubling times (07:00, 19:00.) He also wrote detailed descriptions of things like the appearance of rust under different lighting conditions, and the many shades he could spot on a turning leaf. Kenneth worried his worldview was too narrow, and worked hard to retain the information logged into his notebooks. There was also another reason for his dedication to self-improvement. Kenneth was fearful of repeating himself. It was bad luck to use Tuesday's words on Wednesday. Even more unfortunate was being caught in the same spot when 7:00 came around. Kenneth recorded his life in the event seven ended up being his unlucky number. He wanted it known he lived, he cared, and he curried no favors with the big and little hands.

Iced beverages and yellow awnings are found on only the best of October days. Friends move about the space we see, as well as the space hidden from view until all the lights go out. In either case, keeping a seat available, and leaving room at the table, will ensure the safe conduction of energy. Allowing the flow to remain unobstructed is vital. One is never certain, from moment to moment, if the next stop is tea or eternity, but it all ties-in with being grounded to the Earth.

Shirley's eyes filled with tears when I told her I couldn't stay. The home she built for us was cozy. It had all the necessary comforts for two. It just wasn't where I was supposed to be. I wouldn't trade the days spent listening to Shirley's stories for all the riches in the world. The way I saw it, I had become wealthy beyond my wildest dreams. Shirley showed me who I really was, and shared with me her secrets for never ending up a stranger, no matter where I landed. That's why I wasn't prepared for the raw emotion Shirley displayed when I said I needed to put her tricks to the test. I needed to find out where my feet would take me now that I'd been stripped of all expectation. Relief seeped deep into my bones when I finally understood my quest was second rate, at best. I didn't have to save anyone, not even myself. All I had to do was be me, and the universe would find its balance once more. Shirley took that to mean we would ride things out until the end of time, drinking our coffee and deciding what to watch on TV. My take was I could survive without walls and cable and percolators. Home could be at 14,000 feet, snow-covered and brutal. Home could easily be erupting on the ocean floor. Shirley wiped her glasses and, without a word, got up to clear the kitchen table.

Where I stand offers a view of home which existed 30 years ago. If I look down, I see summer light streaming through cedars and the sound of motorbikes off to the right. Gazing up into the gray haze, I see days that resemble treasured recollections, but the images don't fit. What were once interlocking pieces now leave gaps, fissures, and holes. Holes I should plug with reliable sources, even if not my own. Points of view contribute to awareness and identity. From where I stand, any notion of home must be fact-checked and greeted with a red ballpoint pen. What I think, what I see, what I know, what I remember. There is just enough fuel in the tank to reach the place where all the states converge.