Day of conundrums

First conundrum: To wake or not to wake?

Out in the world of the awake is a haggard life full of dreary colors and drawn faces. No warmth resides in earth*s first morning breath. The happiness of the sun*s rising has not yet come to pass. The remaining winter bird*s twittering and lilting songs are absent. No sane creature stirs from its place of slumber. A sombre existence in a cognizant world.

Second conundrum: To class or not to class?

A professor*s lecture; full of pomp and vague humor; falls upon many closed ears. Numerous thoughts revolve around a world of dreams and happy hauntings sporadically tapping into instruction. A scarce few nod to the beat of exhaustion and button their eyes secure to the drone of the professor*s lulling oration; which arrests sycophantic attention alone. The chosen subject parades no excitement or fascination to claim justification for the sinful earliness of the rendition. The sandbag man is a far more virtuous and heeded competitor in this dark hour. 

 

Third conundrum: to eat or not to eat?

Being that the first and second conundra coupled; cause for quarterhour shuteyes and hurried traveling; eliminating tardiness served as a consequence for cuffing the snooze button. Time warrants especial division. Gluttony doesn*t comprehend the college cuisine and time deficiency increases eradication. Barren cupboards and wasted spaces common corridors in scholarly quonsets.

Fourth conundrum: to cut or not to cut?

Safe paths on busy highways in blocks and rows. Cut pathways snake through glades and manmade forests frothed with cultivated ices. Danger*s path the quicker road whilst safety*s course runs straight and eternal. Time saved prospects point out slippery ways.

Fifth conundrum: to work or not to work?

Well earned bills and hard spent hours; counterparts work well with instruction. Double-crossing juvenile*s wander lazy patterns within dusted academies while worn out managers sings praising. Beastly creatures run rampant through lowered appendages chasing star sounds. Late leaving monsters grate on hearing aids and mentors. Shaved trees whir round signatures and metal spikes in endless rhythms. Creeping bothersomes watch through clear membranes. Racing to time*s clock to beat the lagging constitution. 

Sixth conundrum: to study or not to study?

Missed concepts from early mornings literally book-ridden. Reconciling weary eyelids and drooping posture steps to ambrosia. Waltzing figures catching butterflies and bowling bubbles in neighboring ballrooms cast shadows on rainbow walls. Rambling attention befits festivities and laughter. Social calls inhibits motivation*s flow. 

Seventh conundrum: to sleep or not to sleep?

Days lain awake; end results to rest. Began with sleep*s deprivement now swift to late activities at it*s expense. Life*s spent worries laid to rest at bed*s edge.

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Long-legged derby

On a regular day; just like any other; I find myself at the gym running to my heart*s content. Being very competitive by nature; I feel quite proud of my speed for running and my aloofness to the physical exertion. I glance to the man beside me. His is a higher speed. No need to hide my running prowess. I amp it up and drive my little legs to match his speed with ease.

My peripherals watch his easy strides and compare to my own quick short steps to conform to the speed that we both have set. I must lengthen my steps. My legs welcome the stretched out pace and slip into the new stride length.

Not more than a few seconds later the young man increases his pace. The nerve. His posture still suggests that the pace is easy and slow for him. Blast. The height to leg length ratio is vastly different between us two individuals. What to do? I gauge my energy reserves and decide that I can handle it...for a little while. I stack my courage and punch the button. The going gets a little tough. My legs are getting tired and wobbly like jello. Sheesh. He makes it look easy. His legs are as long as Ponderosa Pines!

My breath comes out in short little puffs and my energy quickly runs out. Now I consider myself to be quite in shape. But honestly those of us with shorter legs must produce more reps per minute in order to cover the same amount of distance. This long-legged young man continues to take a stroll while I struggle on. Of course the time comes that he leaves for another part of the gym walking nonchalantly and my allotted running time comes to an end, I fall off the edge of the treadmill barely maintaining equilibrium. 

Oh the woes of a short-legged life.  

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misericordia Domini inter pontem et fontent

The ground is hard. It hurt a lot when I fell on it. My mother had to let me go. I want to cry but I don't know how. I can't see her. I don't have eyes yet so life is dark around me. All I can do now is feel and listen.

My entire being shakes with the rumblings of the earth. Noises penetrate my protective shell. She gave me that protection when I was still with her. Days go by I think. I feel the warmth of the Big Light each passing day. He is essential to my growth. But I can't grow much right now. It isn't the right time.

It gets really cold for a long time. It's so hard to survive on my own. Luckily the Light still comes around. It's nice to have someone to rely on. Whenever He shines through the snow I know I can make it at least one more day through the bitterness. Sometimes I just wish that I could grow all the way and be done with this stagnation. But the whisperings of my genetic coding cautions me to continue my dormancy. I do not understand the world around me yet so in order to survive this frail existence I must abide.

I don't know how long that part of my life lasts but I feel the snow melt around me. The warming soil lets me sink down into its protective depths. The voice of my instinct nudges me and whispers encouragement for my future.

It's time to grow.

Time has no measurement in my life. But it is of the essence that I am timely. My size seems to expand and I press against the walls surrounding me.  The protection of my shell has always been such a comfort to me, but I must not be restrained. With all of my might I burst through and see warm darkness. The warmth is a promise of seeing my old friend the Light.  

My roots sink deep into the Light-warmed earth and I anchor myself here. I soak up the living water and essential nutrients that saturates the warmth. I can almost feel my body filling with light. I have so much growing to do.

The surface is near. I can feel the air touching part of my searching fingers.

I break the surface. I have eyes. So many eyes. To see the world and the Light and His brightness all around me. I can't take it all in fast enough. There is so much wonder. I stretch out my first arms and devour the brightness from the outstretched rays of the Light. My entire body leaps into growth almost like a fire burning! I grow as many arms and hands as I can. I want to be closer to Him. It seems like such a hard thing to do. But every little piece of my body yearns to get closer to the Light.

Sometimes huge creatures move past. I see them ingesting the bodies of some of my family. This scares me but I push past my seedling fears to keep growing. I can see that I am still smaller than my mother. Her familiar love provides a canopy overhead. I see in her my own potential. Can I really get that enormous?

The voice that is always with me, my guide and my protector, fills my tiny mortal with hope.  It tells me of my future. I look within and see...the possibility of Me.

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I dono

Where is it? Is it happy?

I wouldn*t know. I can*t seem to find it.

But surely it*s there. Everyone else has theirs.

I can*t feel it. I can*t see it. I can*t hear it anymore. I can*t remember what it felt like.

Where could it have gone? It*s impossible for it to just disappear.

Is it? Can you find it? It has to be gone. Otherwise I would be able to find it.

I*m not sure where to look. I got so used to it being there that I forgot to remember.

I feel like giving up now. How can we find it if we don*t know where to look?

But surely we can*t give up. That would be depressing if we lost it permanently.

I don*t think it would. It might make things a LOT less complicated. We wouldn*t have to worry.

If we found it though; we could lock it away where no one else could find it. It is so precious. We can*t leave it out there alone.

That*s what anyone else would do. Why can*t we just do what*s easy?

Because it means so much to us. I know that it can be full of sorrow; but there is so much joy found in it too.


That*s just it. How will we know if it still has any joy left in it? We might have used it all up.

I don*t know. But remember how much joy there was before we lost it? Perhaps we can replenish it.

Yes. Yes I do remember that. But where could we go? Who would know so much about something like this to be able to help with that?

I just...I just don*t know. There must be something we can do. I don*t like being without it. It*s uncomfortable.

I know. Me too. We can acclimate. It*s part of our survival instinct right? I know we can do this. 

It will be hard though. Maybe we should find it and let someone else take care of it. That way we wouldn*t have to worry.

Sigh. I don*t think you are understanding. It was our burden to bear. We are the caretakers and we lost it. IF we are able to find it then we would have to guard it lock and key. We can*t lose it so easily again. It belongs to a very important person. No one else can have it. It*s just not meant to be stretched out between more than one person. We*ve failed.

It*s just not there anymore. How could this have happened?

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A spoonful of bubbly

The feeling in the room is calm and reverent. Everyone in the spacious room is sitting quietly on the green padded benches paying especial attention to the speaker.

The young man at the podium finishes his elocution and the intermediate hymn begins. The entire congregation sings the psalm with fire and gusto. As is customary; my sister and I alternate between the different parts and our voices dance an ever-changing duet. In the third verse; which carries a sacred message to its singers; a sudden high vibrato Snow White voice resonates in the bench directly in front of us. The composure that most suits the occupants of a church meeting begins to crumble. The tickling in our throats bubbles over. Laughter emits.

As the organ*s reverberating sounds and the chants of the singing congregation drown out the spurts of laughter squeezing past our lips; we struggle to regain at the least a reverent appearance. Giggles erupt nonetheless and the merriment continues. Without the use of our own voices to cover it; the operatic sounds of Snow White*s voice serves as a constant renewal to our amusement.

The hymn comes to an end as hymns are wont to do. The time for self-control is here. The moment is at hand.

INTERJECTION HERE

The thing about giggles in sacrament is that they can*t really truly be controlled. Containing something that requires a moment of vocal expulsion in a place where silence is key for the sake of the meeting; is a mission impossible.

Observe.

Covering the mouth doesn't cut it. Sound leaks right between the spaces in the fingers. In fact; it increases the startlingly loud factor by producing a kazoo effect. Taking deep breaths is a joke. That only increases the air capacity for the bubbling of giggles. Holding breath produces the same results as deep breaths. Looking to the Bishop only adds to the silliness as the need for control increases. Giggles are as wild animals; the more you try for control; the less control you have. Giggles as we all know; are supercalifragilistically contagious. The contagiousness increases with containment. If I gain control; my sister loses it. If she gains composure, I bail. It doesn*t help that my roommate Pan joins our nonsensical ways. No matter how hard we fight for control; we lose it. The chuckles and guffaws slip through.

To end the story; the closing hymn was sung as loudly as possible until the giggles inevitably begun anew. We will never inform Snow White of our amusement. It's better this way.

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Disgusting distasteful deceivers

The bag sits innocently on a shelf. Other bags surround it but this bag is different. It is new and exciting. The packaging is bright yellow with rainbow of colors flying about with an alluring pattern.

Skittles.

My taste buds are always pleased with the taste of the rainbow. Never has disappointment been the emotion I*ve experienced when devouring their deliciousness. I am definitely a fan of their delicious flavors.

Thus I am viciously betrayed.

The view before me suggests another package of fantastic flavor. The smell of sweetness somehow wafts from the unopened package. I take the bag of Skittles Blenders in my hand; checkout; and arrive home in a matter of a moments. I pull the colorful bag out of the grocery sack and open it to the yummy looking contents.

I grab a few of each color; intent on deciphering which flavors are the most delicious. I pop a few of the light green in my mouth. Meh. The flavor is definitely NOT a party in my mouth as I was expecting; a little bitter for my taste buds but overall a mundane flavor.

The next color; creamy orange; zooms into my oral cavity. Chewing. Chewing. Nope. Not a fan.

Pink. This is always a great choice. I can*t go wrong with this color. Surprise fills my soul. It isn*t tasty in any way; shape; or form. What had possessed the flavor creators?! My mouth is feeling completely unsatisfied.

Red; surely this color will give me some sort of delightful surprise. I shove the crimson candies in my mouth; determinedly. The flavor hits my tongue and...my tongue rejects it wholeheartedly. My mouth begins to complain and my stomach churns at the noisy orifice. There is no way I*m sending the abhorrent mass down.

Blue. The last color of the new Blenders* flavors. Perhaps I had gone through the worst colors first. This very well could be a flavor fest waiting to burst in my mouth with a magical sensation of ambrosial delight. Hesitantly; I put the indigo pieces past my lips. My entire body revolts! I have a mouthful of inversion inside of me! Luckily I*m able to remove this disgusting inedible stuff into the nearby trash can.

My mouth is extremely disappointed right now.

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Fire + Men = ?!!!

Midnight approaches and everyone is getting antsy. Food adorns the kitchen counter and none of it has been left untouched. Standing in the kitchen are a few of the men; exchanging funny stories of things that had happened to each of them over the past year. On the kitchen table a riveting game of Picture Dice is commencing and the occupants are raising their voices according to their luck or lack thereof. In the living room in front of the couch four or more dancers jam out to the songs on Just Dance 2; the newest addition to the Wii repertoire; while an unlicensed cameraman takes an unauthorized recording of one particular dancer...! A few people are gathered around the computer playing some extraordinary game I*m sure. My Dad however after waking from a short evening nap; has gone outside to rig up the launching pad.

The clock strikes 12 and everyone scrambles to throw their coats; gloves; scarves; hats; and boots on. The babies and small children are asleep inside and a few stay in to keep warm. But testosterone is pumping and all the men must launch something big and spectacular.

A few bottle rockets fly into the sky and explode with a pop! Drifting down the porch stairs my puppy*s whines reach my ears. I walk out past the halo of light surrounding the house to cover her ears and hold her trembling body close as firework after firework explodes in the air. Reds; golds; and a few blues shower the sky with their brilliant light. My horse paces a frantic burrow in the snow along the far fence; making worried noises with each burst of light.

Silence once again reigns. The show must have ended. I watch as the bystanders march inside.

The proud launchers still buzz a pattern around the remaining fireworks. Some are saved for the next years show; but there are a few of the men that can't leave a firework unfired! One last big firework is sent screaming into the frozen New Year air.

Something just feels off. The men stash the rest of the fireworks in a bag for next year and pick up the burnt out remains of those that were fired. But something was missing. I ponder the events that had just transpired.

No near death experiences this year. All of the illegal Wyoming fireworks had actually ended up in the air as was their purpose. That was it!!! Almost every year of the Crook get together for New Years at least ONE of the airborne fireworks hadn't made it up where it belonged. One year a bottle rocket fell over and shot at almost every group of family members huddled together around the yard. Another year a huge blue firework hadn*t shot out of its canister and had exploded on the ground where everyone was still gathered.

The excitement of those years outweighed the excitement experienced this year. Safety was always a good thing...but you never have stories to tell from those years. Just a thought.

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