Very Random

1)  Is it weird I still get excited by the dentist saying "no cavities"?

·  2) The cup being half empty is the optimistic viewpoint. If your goal is to consume the entire glass of water, you are halfway to completing your goal. That's a good thing.

·   3) On my way home from the dentist, I passed Kurtz Drive. This made me think about my sixth-grade Language Arts teacher, Mrs. Kurtz. I loved Mrs. Kurtz. If for no other reason, I enjoyed her class because she gave me time to write. In fact, she wrote my first rejection letter for my (cough) amazing story called "Fight for Your Right." Here's an original snippet:

 It all started in about the winter of 1981 when I was going in to town to buy a few things to snack on. On the way to the store I heard a loud bang. I walked over and looked to see what it was. It was a young boy who knoked down a trash barrel. He was about a year or two younger than me. I walked over and said "looking for anything." The boy turned around and said Uh. I saw then that the boy probably was lost for a long period of time because his clothes were all ripped and it was in the middle of the winter. I asked the boy if he was lost and he just ran away. I followed him and I ended up at a big box where lay a couple of smelly blankets. Then the boy said no but my parents left me here and forgot all about me like two years ago.

I was so proud of my story, which went on, unluckily for her, for several more pages. I asked her if it was good enough to get published. Her response was kind, but I'm sure she got a good laugh (or eye roll) out of my delusions of grandeur.

·    4) I find it ironic that Nicholas Cage is starring in a movie called, The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent.

·    5) Growing up, our trashcans did not have wheels. Did anyone's? My older brother had the brilliant idea of putting them on skateboards and rolling them out to the end of the drive. Is it too late to get a patent for wheeled trashcans? I could use the money.

·    6) I once tried pushing down on one end of the skateboard to make it pop up as Marty McFly did in Back to the Future. It popped alright. Right into my chin.

·    7) I was pulling a lot of weeds on Saturday. I met a snake. Then the snake met my spade. I don't like snakes. I slept well that night.

·    8) My dad has been in a lot of my dreams lately. He and I are always in a car, and I'm always sitting behind him, so I can't see his face. In one, we were chasing or outrunning a tornado. After that, I handed him my plate while he was switching lanes – I know, weird. The most recent one had him teaching me to use the emergency brake to turn around really fast. I don't know what to make of those dreams, but it's good to hang out with my dad again.

Character Sketch: A Transparent Perspective

*I did not edit or revise this because it would defeat the purpose of the exercise. Hope you enjoy it anyway. Hopefully, you understand it by the end. 

I get one view. Just one. I suppose if I wanted to look at it another way, I have two. Straight ahead and straight back. So, two views, but one position. There are perks to being what I am. The human touch, for example. I crave it. It is few and far between and usually met with disapproving shouts, but it's my connection to my world. Both of them. The one straight ahead and one straight back.

The imprints don't ever last long. It's usually chaotic and the world behind me seems routine. So does the world in front, but not in the same way. Confinement versus the wide-open. At least I think it's wide open out there. My view is obstructed. Limited. Straight and narrow. Much like some people's views based on the many conversations I've overheard. This, you may think, is another perk. I disagree. Imagine ridiculous statements one after the other as if they are part of the routine -the same ones that wipe away my connection - and you can't rebuke or even reply. Just reminded that your position...my position or purpose isn't to partake in such events. 

The same goes for joyous occasions. If I'm being honest, there's plenty of those too. Difficult sometimes to realize they outnumber and outweigh the bad ones, but it's easy to clip our emotions manifested from the bad ones on a wash line with a wavering wind. Joy, from my perch in the room, seems to change the mood and activities of those around me, but at the same time seems more difficult to sustain and even longer to achieve than it does its nemesis. 

Rainy days make me feel homesick. It makes me feel something I cannot really explain. It's a connection, but unlike the ones that touch me. When I'm touched, it's the smears that I hope are not seen and kept with me for a little while longer. The feeling I get when it rains makes me miss something that I don't remember being part of. I can't distinguish between what I was before and what I am now. I just know what I am now. Even if I struggle with my purpose sometimes, it doesn't take long before I'm reminded. Because it's the sunny days that bring joy. Not mine per se. Not directly, anyway. I provide a view that seems to change the mood of those around me. With that view, options.

I remember one sunny day in particular. A neighbor had cut down a tree, leaving me with a whole new view of the world in front of me. With approaching laughter, I was touched. It lingered just for a moment only because the other one - the one that does the yelling sometimes - wasn't nearby at the moment. A gasp of joy followed as the hands left a long grayish streak. Then just as quickly as they came, the hands - my connection - left. But for good reason. Through my pane, the child saw one of the larger people approach in his wheeled contraption. Exiting, I noticed he was carrying a colorful bouquet which he handed to her, but not before she leaped into his arms. And there it was. Joy.

The joy lasted longer than it ever had before that moment. From understanding as much as I can, I sensed priorities were shifted. Tones altered. Acceptance more available. In one conversation before my blinds were closed and all went to bed, I learned why. When the person asked the other what had changed, the other simply replied, "I chose joy."

-Written by Aleva Ing Rumwindow

What does your window see?

Originally published on 10/4/16