Friday, November 2, 2012

... from the garden of your neighbor

Day 5. I've completed my first full work week in quite a while, months.  When I came home the other night I stopped at Lisa and Matt's house to celebrate her birthday dinner. Lisa's birthday is on Halloween. The dinner was pleasant and deliciously made but I was very tired. I excused myself immediately afterward and went home. 

The glass bowl that Rachel had left out filled with candy for the children was empty. One rogue child must have found it. Or a small group discovered its vulnerabilities and they split the booty amongst themselves. I walked into the kitchen and there was a knock at the door before I could even put my bag down. I realized right away that it must be a trick-or-treater. I opened the door with the remaining bag of assorted candy in my hand and there was a lone little guy standing with his bag extended, an orange circle around his head. I gave him some candy asked him what he was.

A Google Map, he said.

Sure enough the orange circle actually had a pointer which was pointing to his chest where there was a map that he had made. I chuckled a little bit and then I saw his father standing on the sidewalk. He gave me a quick wave and I said, "Happy Halloween. I like your costume."  And I did.

It's that life that we will live now. The old life is gone, or is going. The things that I craved in my youth will evaporate, are evaporating. I will have no way to stop, or find, or catch them now.  My youth is being dispersed. There is much catching up to do with the next life, the one that is now in front of me. It's as if a tank has turned slowly and is facing a different direction, one not entirely of its own choosing. The orders have come in and the Google Maps, children of a different generation, have pointed us in a new direction. There will be children and Halloweens and barbecues on the weekends now. 

If I do a search for our address I can almost see it all; if I squint, or click, or zoom.


"If you think I've gone crazy, try picking a flower from the garden of your neighbor." - Charles Bukowski

"It never got weird enough for me."  - Hunter S. Thompson