I can feel them as clearly as if I'm looking at this picture of a wheat field. The lines of memory and experience stretching back through time to my own earliest beginnings. Growing, all the time.
Each year, there are added to their number, experiences, places, events, thoughts and people. It grows larger and larger as I age. Have you seen it? Do you notice your own? I often get the overwhelming sense that there's more in my past than there is in my future. I've never felt that way before. I can't imagine what it's like for the elderly. So much life in the past, and so few years left. Like rushing toward an unseen waterfall. It can be heard, the speed of the water can be felt, but it's distance is still indiscernible.
When I go over the falls, will the river of my life disappear?
Saturday, February 25, 2006
out-reasoned by Garfield...
My oldest son and I were leaving our local Papa Murphy's take-n-bake pizza place the other night, bearing foodstuffs for the rest of our ailing family, when he and I stumbled into the following conversation:
Hey dad! Garfield would really like that place, it says they have lasagna!
Yeah. Garfield really digs lasagna doesn't he?
Thinking this is the right time to introduce the concept of trying new foods, I decide to brooch the subject...
Say. Since Garfield likes lasagna so much, maybe you should check it out too! I mean, it's kinda like pizza with noodles instead of bread!
But I don't like noodles dad.
Noodles are alot like bread son. They're really just filler with very little taste.
This is a lie, but only a small one. What I'm really saying is that their taste is mild...ok?
Besides, I continued, how do you know whether you like lasagna or not if you've never tried it?
And, in his best "duh" sounding voice, my son quite comfortably replied:
Because Garfield brought me some once.
Huh? Garfield brought you some?
Yeah. He brought me some and I tried it, and I decided that I didn't like it.
Oh. How often does Garfield visit you bearing food items?
Oh, every now and then.
Foiled again! This time, by an imaginary friend. Blast!
Zipping through traffic, guitar rhythm grinding, bass line pounding, through speeds faster than possible to accurately manage, through tunnels and valleys of rock, toward darkened hills covered in cloud.
Those are not clouds. Those are the tell-tale signs of dragons. There, dragons roam through open valleys and broad meadows, they hide under tall pines and shimmering aspens. This is not a freeway, but a river of ice, over which my metallic steed carries me, long hair and coat whipping in the unending current of air, to certain doom.
Why long hair and a long coat? Because why not? That's why.
Sword in hand, I arrive to a scene of desolation, darkness, mist and shadow. Living dead walk to and fro around the castle gates, trying, trying to escape, trying to find life again. But the dragon is powerful. My body aches. My body rebels against the acid rain, the vile air, and the gloaming. I am nearly beaten.
I will not win this fight, I know it now. But I will leave a mark. A long deep scar will be my epitaph on the dragon. It will know I was here. It will know I was alive.