dayle
Conneaut Lake Park, NW PA. The Amusement Park to beat all others, at least in the mind of this 8 year old in 1969. They had a pony ride. I remember that I was allowed to ride, but that my sister could ride twice, because she was interested in horses and I just liked the ride. I remember thinking that it wasn't fair, but also realizing that I would rather have been on the roller coaster than a brown pony anyway. Never thought about it before, but this is pretty much how our lives have turned out.
I have often wondered what it would have been like to be adopted, or to adopt a child of my own. I can't see that it would make any difference. As I've gotten older, the link between people is not always due to bloodlines. I'm very glad things turned out as they have, but I do wonder.
I'm constantly amazed at the power of music to take us back to an emotional place. I remember in the mid-70's, I heard Elton John sing the lyric "Butterflies are free to fly" and for some reason, that freed me in some emotional way, like a layer of ice broken through. I needed to hear that line at that exact moment. I don't even remember what the issue was (probably typical angst) but it left an emotional image. When I hear that song, and that lyric in particular, I can still feel the release of understanding and emotion that I felt then.
I find Walls to be very useful. They keep the heat out in summer and the cold out in winter. They keep nasty people out of your personal space. Of course, there are always times you want more interaction with the outside. That's why Jim Morrison made Doors and Bill Gates made Windows.
Wannabees. They copy, they follow, they orbit around their pedestilians like dead moons around a planet. Open your eyes. You are your own planet just waiting to shine with YOUR life, not some one else's.
I have a friend who spends his time slaying sacred cows. He'll listen to the daily chatter, see what people whisper about, then shouts it from the rooftops, or at least the comedy club stage. I wish you the best in the future as you air the things others dare not. Thank you, my fearless court Jester.
As we entered the restaurant, the sign said to rub the life-sized Indian Chief's headdress. It explained that he would help you know exactly what you wanted to eat. The 4 of us looked at each other, shrugged, and decided "why not." After rubbing the feathers we were shown to our table and handed our menus. Opening the menus, indeed, a different item stood out, nearly glowing, to each of us. Skeptical, we exchanged menus. Indeed, we each saw our item glowing, but no one else's. We all decided to order "our" dish. Yes, each was exactly what we wanted to eat. As we walked out, I said "Thank You" to the Chief. I swear I heard him say "You're welcome". As I turned back to look him in the eye, he just stood there with that same wooden expression. We go back every chance we get ... and we always get the "suggestion". Thanks Chief.
I was going to win. She wouldn't get me. It was 84 degrees at 2:23 on the afternoon of Friday, June 3rd. We all sat in 11th grade English with Sister Mary Margaret. She started reading the Iliad at 1:00, right after lunch. The combination of the heat, the monotone voice, and the carb crash had just been too much. Tommy Zellner fell asleep first. It was then that we all noticed the ruler in her hand. At 1:07, she whacked Tommy on the back of the head and yelled "Epic". He sat up, looking for a fight, then remembered where he was. Ruth was next: "Epic", then Billy: "Epic", Suzette: "Epic". "Epic", "Epic", "Epic" she'd barked. I was determined to somehow stay awake for the entire 90 minutes. The whole class had fallen asleep at least once ... but not me. My eyes were heavy, but I was going to beat her. I felt bad for Tim, who had fallen asleep 4 times and now had a trickle of blood running down the back of his neck. S&M (as she was known) woke each kid the same way. She seemed to enjoy it. She kept scanning the room as she read. Finally, as she read, her eyes became transfixed on me, and only me. Did she sense my weariness, like a wild animal can sense fear? I was no longer following Homer's words. I was tracking S&M's movements about the class. To stay awake, I was thinking of the baseball game tonight, of the swimming hole we were going to visit tomorrow and of last winter's sledding adventures. Ding, Ding, Ding. The bell finally sounded for the end of class. As she closed the book she glared at me with that practiced Nun-schoolteacher stare that teach on Day one at the nunnery. I knew better than to say or do anything untoward. I calmly got up, picked up my books and went out to the hall. The minute my feet left the room, I smiled brightly. All my fellow classmates were standing in the hall applauding. I bowed, glanced over my shoulder and smiled.
When I was little, I heard people talking about the "Festival of Lights." I told my parents I wanted to go. They took me to the County Fair at night. I thought that was really cool. Now, I realize that they were just circumventing some religious stuff that they didn't understand or want to explain to me. Same thing with Catechism.
f(x) used to mean nothing to me, no matter how hard I tried to understand it. Now, I use it in everyday life, not just in math, to think about processes that I deal with all the time. Happy Function Day. (Yea, I just made that up.)
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