There was talk of poopies and pee-pee and farts.
We ate seaweed and it made me think about how I grew up not eating seaweed. Grew up with Oscar Meyer’s Bologna and Spaghetti-Os.
The first time I ever ate seaweed — was made aware of seaweed as a thing edible and delicious — was not until I was 19 or 20. Well beyond five. Even then, I wasn’t in love with seaweed. Didn’t fall in love with seaweed until years later. Now, I could eat seaweed — sometimes do — endlessly. Packet after packet, wondering all the while what kind of chemicals go into the seaweed production process. Yet not stopping until it’s all gone. Seaweed and a good beer.
But here was a five year-old from whom I asked, politely, to share in her dried seaweed snack. She was exceedingly gracious, handing over sheet upon sheet, me a seaweed eating machine, her eventually tiring of methods civilized, the arrangement devolving into a circus of throwing and shoving seaweed crumbs into my mouth as I tried to escape.
Running after me: Would you eat an eyeball and chocolate poopie? she asked.
Of course, I responded, but only if they were wrapped in seaweed.
She giggled and took off into her room. I went back onto the balcony to watch the sun set and check on the salmon thinking, yes, seaweed wrapping … I’ll have to try that next time.
A few more days
A final Hi meeting
The local neighborhood bar has a quiet time between six and nine. It is a place that specializes in coffee, beer and seasonal menus. There is just enough of each for a satisfying snack and effective buzz. After the time when the laptop lids close and before the social gatherings start -- there is a sort of twilight*. Often this time is a fugitive ground rife with creative inspiration and meditative work -- of the kind that results in personal reward.*twilight may refer to civil, nautical or astronomical variety depending on your social or terrestrial condition
A man positions his mouse on the edge of his browser window. He clicks, holds and drags the viewport first left then right. The content of a video game promo micro site responds and adapts to the available space. To the man, this is more delightful than the game itself.
A man laboriously moves his piano down three levels onto the subway platform. Classic vocals and strided chords -- he played so well I swore he was blind. Oblivious to the heat on that August stage, he was most in touch with his audience -- whom he elevated with his music.
A woman should do exactly as she pleases no matter what a man may think.
As the Dalai Lama once said, "It is a time when there is much in the window, but nothing in the room."
"No one understands me," she said. Her grandmother was silent for a minute. It seemed she was searching for an answer in the star speckled sky. "But no one understands anyone in this world, darling. We are all unique. It is what gives us a sense of wonder."