12 October 2005

No thank you.


There are some people who consider a job related to matters of the heart and the of the psyche something they'd never in a million years want to try.

I happen not to be one of those people. I like the brain. I like the unpredictable nature of human beings. I favor matters of the heart.

But I'll tell you one thing ... the job you never need concern yourself with seeing me try to get? Dome walker.

Those little bug looking fellas up there in that picture were just hanging this side of living and breathing by one teeny rope yesterday morning. I was dropping KD off at her job after a reconnaissance mission to get her car dropped off/repaired/picked up and, because she works right up there near the capitol building, I noticed them dangling between life and death before kissing her off and wishing her a good day.

It made me wonder what those men (and, perhaps, women?) who tether themselves to little D-rings say to their loved ones in the morning before they head out to work to do who knows what. And what exactly DO they do up there? Dangle participles? Wave to passers-by? Wish they hadn't had so much orange juice with their breakfasts?

Watching them up there brought to mind one of a series of life-long nighmares that have followed me: The Falling. In this particular nighmare I fall. Fall and fall and tumble and roll and bounce off unseen hard things, spinning faster and harder and more out of control. I imagine that if a rope broke - okay, if the rope and the back up rope and the backup rope's backup rope broke -- well, the resulting fall from the top of the state capitol dome would effectively be my Falling Nightmare brought to life. And then fairly quickly, to death.

I would have like to have had the entire morning to snap shots of those guys up there with their fantastic view. I would have liked to have found a way to ask them questions, maybe by passenger pigeon or two-way radios or something. I'd ask them if they could tell how many fingers I was holding up, I would have asked if they could see that dorky guy in the suit and the too-tight tie coming up the block and if please please pleeeeeeeze they could shine a pocket mirror from up there into his eyes, just to confuse him and maybe make him think it was the beginning of the end of the world.

Yeah. Probably best nobody lets me up there where the view is spectacular. I'd never want to come down.

10 October 2005

Mama and Scarlett


McBeth.

She's real.

She's real snuggly.

She's real pretty.

She's learning a variety of eating methods.

She smells good.

She cries very clearly.

Her parents swear the atoms they consist of will burst from amazement and from love.

I swear they are correct, and that they'll reassemble themselves, over and over and over.

Blog Archive

statistics are fascinating