When Suddenly Nothing Happened..

I was in the drama club in high school.  We performed a Monty Python skit one year.  I don't remember the whole skit.  I just remember this one line that ends in "when suddenly, nothing happened!".  This could be my tag line.

It's not really the fact that nothing happens as much as it is my expectation, each and every time I step out the door, that something will happen, and then nothing does.

See that guy over there?  No, not that one, the other one.  See him?  Don't you think he's acting a little odd?  No?  Well, I do, so I will memorize his clothing in case I'm asked later.  And what about that car there, the gray one.  Didn't that car just go by in the opposite direction 5 minutes ago?  Yes, I remember the license plate.  Maybe the driver lives in this neighborhood or just maybe the driver is casing the neighborhood.  Hmmm.  The lawn hasn't been cut here in awhile.  Usually the elderly gentleman who lives here is meticulous about lawn care.  Do you suppose he's alright?  Come to think of it, I haven't seen him in a couple of weeks....do you smell something?

Oh. My. God.  Up in the sky!  What is that?  Is that...is that a space ship?  It doesn't seem to be moving.  It's  like it's just hovering there,  and plumes of smoke are coming out of the bottom.  They seem to be shimmering, as though the spaceship is emitting some odd gas. I've never seen anything like it in my life.

Oh....I guess it is just a plane....

Everywhere I go, everything I do, I'm seeking out the nearest exit and watching for anything suspicious.  You're welcome.

Apparently, I'm not the only caretaker of the world out there. Take a look at this photo of God peering  from the clouds, snapped by an amateur photographer walking the beach.

I'm Watching You!

Chicken out

An Owl on Morning

I like being up and about early in the  morning.  There aren't many people around as I walk the neighborhood.  I see a guy weeding his garden and a woman walking her dog.  That guy over there is playing musical cars.  If you've ever had a long, narrow driveway, you've probably played this game.  One or two cars must go out on the street so that the innermost car, which inevitably must leave first, can get out of the driveway.  Then, depending on the valet's level of conscientiousness or the local parking ordinances, the other cars may or may not go back in.  It's a lot of fun, particularly in snow storms.

I'm happy to have this time alone with my thoughts.  They roll around like a tumble weed in that vast empty space up there, occasionally catching themselves on something pertinent, like meal plans, before rolling away again as I imagine myself on a stage with a guitar performing the Charlotte Kendrick song playing on my Pandora station.  I'm so good, y'all, you should come hear me play sometime.  I'm here every day at the open mic  night in my head, singing all the old songs and a few new ones.

The thought tumbleweed catches on my to-do list and I make a mental note to wash towels later, and buy rice for dinner, just before it occurs to me that this is the perfect time to practice walking confidently, and so I do stride along for awhile,  arms  swinging lightly, and think about getting a "Sons of Anarchy" tattoo somewhere hidden, just a very small skull, perhaps.   I  pass a yellow lab sitting complacently in a driveway, watching me watch  him, as I pass by.  Is it a little creepy that he doesn't bark  or even cock his head?  Is he a mute dog?  Can dogs be mute?  Can you really train a dog not to bark at strangers walking by on the street?  Wait...did that really even happen, did I really see a dog?  Maybe it was a statue of a dog.  I add "have eyes examined" to my mental to do list.

I'm walking past the twins' house now.  Two sets of twins live in that house.  And the mother of the twins has a sister who also birthed two sets of twins.  It's a pretty big house.  I wanted to have twins-two babies for the price of one labor-but I missed out on that sale.  I paid full labor for each of my four.

I watch as a smallish bird swoops down on an even smaller bird, its little wings spread to ride the wind.  From behind, in its purposeful, silent glide, it embodies the persona of an owl.  I wonder if, like me, a rock star in my own mind, the bird imagines itself as an owl, deadly, talons spread wide, ready to grasp the unsuspecting prey below.  Ka-Boom, gotcha, hahahaha.  The smaller bird, the prey, throws his wings over his head, God blast it, you psycho, why you gotta sneak up on me all the time like that.  I hate that!

Ah morning, with all its promise and delusions of grandeur; there's nothing like it, is there?

Chicken out



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