Ordinary

Another journal-type entry. Not sure what will come off the keyboard at this wee morning hour.

Today as I was driving between appointments for work, I spied an elderly man standing on the side of the road observing a puddle of water. He was standing in the shade under some tall trees. I didn't notice what kind of trees they were. I did notice tiny splashes bouncing from the big puddle.

Are those splashes coming from the tree leaves, from the leftover water from last night's rain? Or are their tiny tadpoles and water spiders and such in the puddle somehow making ripples and splashes? 

As I was wondering in my quick 20-second drive-by, the man picked up a long stick positioning it like he was going to poke the water - research a bit.

It reminded me of the saying about stopping to smell the roses. To not allow life to get so busy that we miss it altogether. Things like noticing the magnitude of teeming life in a puddle. The scene reminded me of a Norman Rockwell painting....and of a poem written by an online friend, Preston.


The Dallas Public Library 
by Preston

“poetry is for sissies” 
or so says the chubby little boy with the red face 
his sister sticks her tongue out at him 
and looks at me inquiringly 
inquiring children make me nervous 
“your brother is a jerk” i whisper 
as i place my copy of “a collection of american erotic verse” 
on the very top shelf 
sliding it back out of sight 
she asks me if i like emily dickinson 
i tell her i prefer robert frost 

the not quite homeless man 
stares intently at his magazine 
the smell of stale cigarette smoke permeates the air around him 
he sees me looking at him, and nervously drops his gaze 
i’m curious about his taste in periodicals 
amatuer sleuth that i am 
casually making my way down the aisle of newspapers on sticks 
and coming up silenty behind him 
he’s staring at a lingerie ad in a cosmopolitan 
a young girl in a high cut purple thong 
barechested, with her arm across her breasts 
when i was a boy, i had to sneak a look at my father's playboys 
to see pictues like that 

the little girl in the rangers cap 
wants to know why they’re lying about hitler 
her mother is ignoring her 
i wonder what her interest is in world war two history 
for some reason, it makes me uncomfortable 
she seems out of place here 
she’d look much better in the romance novels section 

two college girls have made themselves at home 
sitting on the floor in the middle of the natural history section 
one of them has a book on whales open on her lap 
they’re discussing the japanese’s bad habit of killing minke whales 
in the name of scientific research 
i think about flashing them my greenpeace member card 
but i don’t want to intrude 

the elderly man in the brown fedora and blue windbreaker 
is trying to decide if he’s really interested in quantum physics 
he looks like someone i’d enjoy talking with 
we could sit and ponder the mysteries of the universe over coffee 

the lady in front of me at the checkout is being a real pain in the ass 
she’s arguing with the oriental girl behind the desk over her late charges 
“you have a balance of $1.25 on your account” 
they don’t call them fines anymore 
i’m tempted to offer to pay her charges myself just to shut her up 
she wants to recheck 5 books 
what the hell, if you can’t finish them in 3 weeks ... 

the girls name is asuka 
she has an east coast accent 
i’m careful not to comment on the japanese whaling industry’s bad habits 
she scans my card and smiles at me 
“no fines ?” i ask 
we both crack up 
“reading material for the holiday ?” she asks 
we exchage pleasantries 
discussing the change in the weather and our respective holiday plans 
she puts the books in a nice neat little pile and slides them across the counter 
i wish her a happy thanksgiving 
and she tells me i should have a nice day 

on the way out to the car i pass by the newspaper stands 
a headline catches my eye 
“is hip hop dead ?” 
who cares 
i’ve got plenty of reading material 
and a whole lot of free time


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