Even criminals need partners. We all need someone to hang on onto – to trust – to prepare ourselves for each day. Children prepare themselves for their mirror in the morning before breakfast. Teenagers, if they can find the mirror, prepare themselves for their girlfriends, their pals, themselves. Adults, well we prepare ourselves; as best we can, for the elements waiting just outside the door.
The world we live in can truly be a frightening place. Turn the news on and a reminder as to what we have become, what we have done to ourselves and what we are doing to the planet is aligned in television advertising, news stories, business protocol and even how we recycle, better yet – why we recycle. I read this morning a man where a “would be” copper thief was shot dead in a man’s home for attempting to steal the man’s copper. That’s recycling to whole different extreme.
The intent of this and the blogs that came before are not in doomsday fashion – hell we can get that anywhere – what I’m trying to do this morning, as I report to you from the cafeteria of Marin General, is to let you know this should be the very last surgery focused on our special lady’s breast cancer. Her implant surgery in mid-September caused her surgeon to take a look at a ‘wrinkle or two’ in one breast. Nothing to be alarmed about, though this is the reason we’re here this morning.
When you surround yourself with good people the chances of being infected by the nonsensical things of the universe are dramatically decreased, so I’m fortunate to let you all know I was with (let me get out the calculator) six beautiful girls of all ages this weekend. I stood (or sat minding my own business with yet another pint) as the sole male of the group this past Saturday afternoon as the forces from Menlo Park traveled north as Bonnie, I and Logan headed south for Bonnie’s twenty-ninth birthday celebration in the city.
As the car was lumbering up Lombard a wonderful song came on the radio which was not recognized by either Bonnie or Logan as their views were being taken from left to right. While my eyes were “on the boat” as they say, I listened to a song from 1973 from Mr. Springsteen regarding the very matter of who we are, what our chances are, and where we’re heading. This song is certainly not one that any regular enthusiast of the E-Street domain would consider an all-time favorite, unless it was one of those tracks they enjoyed as a youngster, learned to appreciate later in life and just when you need it … it’s being beamed off a satellite and into your vehicle as you begin to look for your destination along Cyril Magnin in San Francisco’s beautiful Union Square.
For someone who has listened to Springsteen as long as I have, it’s usually a game of “I can name that song in three notes” which is a game I challenge myself with while in the car alone, and due to its unusual nature, this song was put on the radio at the most opportune time for me to enjoy. So with that introduction I will provide you all with the first verse to “Wild Billy’s Circus Story”, written in 1973 for the Wild, the Innocent and the E-Street Shuffle album. Here goes: “The machinist climbs his ferris wheel like a brave, and the fire eater’s lyin in a pool of sweat, victim of the heat wave … Behind the tent, the hired hand tightens his legs on the sword swallower’s blade … the circus town’s on the shortwave …” I was playing little league baseball for Coach Vinnie Healey when this song was released and on the weekend of my wife’s birthday party approximately 3500 miles from where I first heard it and was truly delighted to hear it again, become familiarized with the characters in this song just before we attempted to drink the town dry. Yes, there’s always a motive.
Bonnie’s been in surgery for 90 minutes now. I suspect a phone call in the next thirty minutes, and we should be home by 2:PM where she’ll spend the next two weeks at home resting with the LuDog and prepping for Thanksgiving.
My bride has celebrated another birthday, I’ve introduced many of you (not all) to a classic Springsteen piece of poetry, and once again I find myself at Marin General. May this be our last visit?
Peace,
Papa
