The Sun Rose This Morning

Posted in Mixed Nuts on July 7th, 2010 by MadDog
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When I roused from my nightly coma this morning, I was strangely refreshed and ready to get on with it. “No more whining!” I sternly admonished myself. “Whinging is for the losers!” Yeah, that’s what I was saying to me. And then, I went into the bathroom to brush my still gorgeous teeth – tobacco stained to a rich, mellow yellow. And, to my sudden disgust, my brand-new tooth brush, for the second day in a row, deposited a dislodged bristle way back between the exact two molars where it had shed a similarly wayward shred on the previous day. Did I mention that it happened two days in a row?

So, out come the tweezers to poke around and try to grab the end of the offending nylon torture device and extract it with much contorting of face and popping of elbow joints. Finally dislodged and held glistening with drool in from of my stern glare, the blue strand mocked me.

Well, when something like that happens what can one do but scream into the mirror? It does absolutely no good, but it makes one feel much better.

And then, my mind went blank. Not the Fiji blank – the other kind. The kind of blank that comes to a writer who is mentally unprepared to write. I’m sick of fish for a day or so. I don’t have a single idea in my head, at least nothing that I can release upon unsuspecting readers as If I had crowbarred open Pandora’s Big Box and strewn the contents all over your screen.

So, I got my trusty G11 and went outside into the near dark to wait to see if the Muse would show up.

She did, after a while:

She gave me a somewhat anemic sunrise with some strangely fringed crepuscular rays.

I looked up toward the heavens, imploring for more. What do you know? (That’s a rhetorical question. You don’t have to answer it.) I was given a tiny, fingernail moon to play with:

“Well, that’s better.”, said I.

And then, along came a canoe. I could write a song about this image. It screams for a voice such as Don Ho’s backed by Hawaiian guitars and the soft swish of hula skirts:Okay, I’m on a roll now. Work with me here.

I feel a crescendo coming on.

Not to be teased by a fickle moment, I bravely captured a quasi-glorious Panorama of Sunrise With Canoe:

You may have to click to enlarge the canoe. It’s over on the left. I yelled at the guy to come closer, but when he saw it was just the crazy old white man who lives over on the poor side of the harbour, he just laughed at me. The fact that I was in my underwear probably didn’t help much.

But, then . . . BUT, THEN . . . (come on, feel  it!)  The early Air Niugini flight brought meaning and spirit to the morning shoot. With landing lights glaring as brightly as Satan’s eyes, she banked in over Dallman Passage  and courageously plunged toward the general vicinity of the runway:

I was breathless to see if the bird, which you can see over on the left side of the image, if you click to enlarge, would be ingested into an engine. Not that I wanted  it to happen, of course. Of course not.

I am but an observer. It’s my job. Let others achieve. I have never wanted to achieve anything except to stay married to the same woman for as long as she can tolerate me. I shall observe and comment. That’s what little people do. An old friend of mine cracked me up yesterday when he said he was going to write his autobiography. He said the title was going to be, Life at the Top of the Bell Curve.  I laughed hysterically. Maybe a little too  hysterically. Then I got him him back.

I said that my autobiography was going to be titled, Modest Expectations.

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