Dots of the gods!

I will start with a paragraph:

My friends, there is a secret world of codes that rests beneath our soles. Look upon the sidewalk! My quiet neighborhood has been visited by an arcane hieroglyphic artist. Look MR & MRS T! Look MR & MRS VERNAL! & Look ALL who care to visit the sidewalks of our neighborhood to see the WHITE DOTS! These white dots - all the size of a Ritz cracker - adorn our grandfatherly sidewalks for miles! I know, for I have run these many walkways! What ARE they? I will let you in on a secret observation: They have been here for two YEARS!!! What do these painted daubs mean? If you think I'm being flip - go out in front of your quiet houses and look for yourself!

I will end with a paragraph.

Ismael Merchant Tribute

One night at the turn of the century, Roamer and I were in South Africa. We were locked in a fenced perimeter many kilometers from Skukuza Camp on the outskirts of a big-game reserve for the evening. Hyenas scavenged on the other side of the fence, and you could hear elephants crunching around in the distant bush. There was a thunderstorm threatening the sky as we sat down to dinner. We sat under a large metal awning supported by a few wooden poles. A white tablecloth was between us. Most other tables were empty. The African waiters were dressed in white jackets. We were served tea and then the storm broke and rain drove a hard beat on the metal roof. Lightning struck and the power went out for the little outpost. The waiters rushed tiny kerosene lamps to each table. The rain continued at a less threatening pace, drumming steadily above us, and the sky flashed in dark colors. We ate modest fare that was served in courses, including eggs and fish. The power stayed off through desert. It was my last night in the country, and I had to leave Roamer to her work for two more weeks without me. The hyenas still laughed outside the fence.

a literary warning...

Roamer just finished reading "It's Not About the Tapas" which is travel narrative about Spain. Polly Evans, the British author, recounts her experiences traveling by bicycle through the small mountain villages and hot, dusty plains. Polly meets all sorts of shady characters and throws some lurid history of each town into the mix. The book is due back at the central library soon. I'm about midway through the book myself. It's an engaging read. However, if you feel inclined to check this book out and read it yourself, don't lick the tip of your finger to turn the pages. I knocked the book into the toilet (quite by accident) and, if you find the little book a bit fluffy around the pages, that's because I used Roamer's hair dryer to dry them out.

Camping Secrets

I may have recovered from the camping trip with the men. I did get in trouble for falling asleep at 9:15pm on the evening of our 17th anniversary, but Roamer kept me full of caffeine the next day. The weekend camping trip was like an extended Mega-Thursday night at Homer’s coffee – with sausages and marshmallows! As the fire burned brightly, topics covered included: secrets about our wives – star trek – local church politics – star wars – what a volvo is – Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy – all you never wanted to know about vasectomies – last star wars guys night out - what girl’s names are cool for BBs new daughter… then I performed a magic trick of sprinkling instant coffee from my fingers into the fire. The flames were supposed to shoot up and make everyone go “wow” but the powdered coffee was sticky and everyone was starin’ at me when the magic failed to materialize. I was thereafter known as Gandalf. Later, as the fire died down, we clambered into the tent and made jokes about spooning and sang love songs we remembered from the 80s. I missed Roamer, but I missed the carefree time with the boys the next couple of days (although I still have disturbing flashes of Forrest checking himself for ticks wearing nothing but a sock.) The next day, all the other guys got to pick what LOTR character they wanted to be on the hike, but I had to walk in back like Gandalf while Dust got to be Legolas. But he was very sprightly across the creeks.

Running my butt off...

I run to stay sane. Actually, I run to get ahead of many thoughts. Today I ran around a little track for awhile. I listen to inspiring (not really "inspirational") music on my little headphones, or even military cadences. I stopped listening to military cadences recently because they kept going through my head over and over and over: here's a little sample...

"My daddy was a terrorist my momma was a witch"...(you repeat the call here)
"conceived in a backseat and born in a ditch"...(repeat again here and so on)
"raised from a gutter by a wino named Bill"...(yes repeat here)
"he taught me how to cheat and he taught me how to kill"...(and here again)
"ran with a streetgang wore a leather coat"...(and repeat here)
"late at night we prayed to the goat"...(here again)
"snuck into the army when I was just ten"...(come one you can do it)
"made my fist jump in a howlin' wind"...(repeat louder)
"now I gotta' a dog his name is Jack"...(repeat)
"ya throw him a stick he won't bring it back"...(repeat)
"Jack has better things to do"...(repeat)
"ya see old Jack is Airborne too"...(repeat)
"Jack be nimble & Jack be hard"...(repeat)
"not a soul for miles comes near my yard"...(repeat)
"when old Jack was just a pup"...(repeat)
"we made him a 'chute and we took him up"...(repeat)
"in the door there was no doubt"...(repeat)
"he was waggin' his tail when he went out"...(repeat)
"the wind was howlin' and the sky was black"...(repeat)
"but I was not concerned for Jack"...(repeat)
"cause we jumped into a fire-fight"...(repeat)
"he got confirmed five kills that night"...(repeat)
"cause he's Airborne (airborne!)
"All the Way (all the Way!)
"Airborne! (Airborne!)
"Everyday! (Everyday!)
"Roll on Roll on Yeah! (roll on roll on yeah)
"Rollin' Rollin' Rollin' shake your booty (rollin rollin rollin shake your bootay!)
"Roll on Roll on Yeah! (roll on roll on yeah)
"Rollin' Rollin' Rollin' shake your booty (rollin rollin rollin shake your bootay!)
"Captain said we're goin' to Iraq"...(repeat)
"I jumped up and grabbed my rucksack"...(repeat)
"donned my 'chute and I boarded the plane"...(repeat)
"82nd Airborne playin' the game"...(repeat)
"low over Baghdad green light on"...(repeat)
"combat jump at the break of dawn"...(repeat)
"Republican Guard dug in the sand"...(repeat)
"and we gonna' send 'em to the promised land"...(repeat)
"Airborne Rangers in their masses"...(repeat)
"just like witches at their blackmasses"...(repeat)
"minds that plot raining destruction"...(repeat)
"sorcerer's of death our construction"...(repeat)
"come on shake your yo yo"... (come on shake your yo yo)
"yo yo like me"...(yo yo like me)
"come on shake your yo yo"... (and it goes ON & ON & ON & ON & ON.............)

Sometimes when my batteries run low I pray. (When I'm running I can tell God anything.)

Cadmium Yellow

This morning Ms.Roamer put on a "Cadmium Yellow" knit blouse and jeans and went to pick up her grandmother. They then came back to pick me up and go to see my father-in-law for lunch at the work/campus. I had put on a T-shirt from a friend's mother in China that was - yes - Cadmium Yellow. I learned the proper name for this color while in the car with my mom-in-law the painter. Cadmium is a heavy metal and is toxic. Many painters inhaled too much of it back in the day. Now it is safe, or so I thought. Ms.Roamer and I looked like "Cadmium Home Depot Employees" as we wandered the campus in our matching tops. I loved it... I have always tried to be a part of Roamer's team, and love being identified as a part of her by our linked arms and matching knitwear. My devotion to her choice of daily fashion has run afoul on occasion, when for instance, she runs back into our house before we pull out of the driveway like she left the stove on and stealthily changes her outfit so we won't look like "twinkies." I love twinkies. I'm a team player. I love the marriage uniform. It can be done many cool ways - ask Mr/Mrs Forrest. However, Roamer will dress for church on Sundays and I must SNEAK a peek at what she has hanging up in order to dress in a complimentary fashion.Today, Roamer chose to step to the other side of the elevator on the work/campus so my Cadmium Yellow shirt would not mark her as my twinkie. I must compose a poem:

Your heart cannot be won by me
Nor can my wardrobe bear this rejection
Need is a burden which cannot be revealed
Therefore I will remain silent in my yellow shirt
whenever you are before me in yours
My eyes fill with tears that are unable to flow
like a Cadmium ocean that stands still
at the sight of my lost twinkie passing by