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Long dry spell, broken.
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Real life is wheeling and wheezing around me like a nightmare merry go round, caliope music grinding away, scary clowns leering from all of the painted ponys.
One of them took my popcorn.
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Thing about this job is that every time I think I’m pretty good at it, think I been around a while and can draw a pretty good bead on most folks, well, I tell you what. I get knocked right down on my butt.
It’s good for me.
Humble pie.
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I am in trial right now, been going on three weeks and we are maybe half way through. I can’t go into detail, but it is a circus and not the main event but that sideshow tent where the two headed calf and the half-snake, half-woman and the rubber man hang out.
Remember in those old westerns, the shoot-out on horses? One old boy will get shot and fall off, but hang up a boot in the stirrup and get dragged off down the street behind the spooked horse, big cloud of dust behind him?
How I feel.
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But in the midst of it all is a calm center, filled with love and light. I got wife and home and kid and dogs and money in the bank and food in the pantry and my arms and legs and sight and touch and what’s left of my sense.
This too, this too.
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You should see the damn backyard right now.
It done bust out in flowers everywhere.
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Namaste, y’all.
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The Dishwasher's Tears 