Picking back up....
The Swiss man lived, swam, learned, and paid. Speedily, intentionally, I left the beach. My youngest sister and I have recently embarked on a mission to find deeper spirituality - it's more of a quest than anything. WIthout any specific knowledge on where one finds said spirituality, we thought the most logical place to start would be a yoga studio. Yoga began at 9:30. We breathed deeply. We did. We closed our eyes. We did everything they asked of us. The results are inconclusive - we'll have to go back to truly know if the answers we seek are in that small, steamy yoga studio. Parts of me hope the answers are there, but other parts know they're not. And there are even other parts that doubt whether it (Spirituality) exists, at all. Spirituality cannot be taught in a room - albeit, I will eat my kale and swim in the ocean and dream while standing up and sleep while sitting down and drink tall, organic glasses of sunshine....I'll do it all! But I'm certain my spirituality, the thrilling, sword-fighting, whiskey guzzling, knife throwing kind of spirituality I'm after is not found in a sweaty yoga room.
Feeling fresh, exhilarated, pseudo-infused with life, I climbed onto the bicycle that is responsible for it all. The two-wheeled roller belongs to my father. It's a townie, a cross between a mountain bike and a cruiser. With seven gears, three of which are obsolete, I road it to a gas station. Around back, I dropped the kickstand with my closed-toe right shoe and filled the tires with its pressure air. The tires now filled and strong, almost bouncing off the asphalt with each spin of the wheel, each crank of my leg - and four wonderful gears, do not forget the four wonderful gears! - i continued to a local sushi house to meet my mother for lunch. Yellow Tail and Miso Soup. That's the order. It doesn't change. Maybe a fancy roll every once in a while or a quail egg, maybe some salmon, or some eel...I like the Dragon Roll, too, and the salad with that good dressing, I like that, as well. Albacore, sometimes. I've even let Jack, the Chef, just throw together whatever he wants - chef's choice! But, other than that, my order is always the same. We conversed over our meal and a beer, the topics were varied and volatile, but enjoyable. My mother drove away. I left on bicycle in search of a boom box because, as I mentioned before, I have a Walter Mitty cassette tape I've been wanting to listen to for some time, now.
The cassette tape sitting snugly in my pocket, I cranked the wheels of my father's bicycle (Costco Special) to several stores. I thought one of the stores might carry the devices I needed, still need, am needing, but I found no such machines, no such sound boxes, no such boom. This is where my story cheats on normality, and begins to french kiss, arguably getting to second with Abnormality. However, and it pains me to do this....my hunger has returned, and this time with the unease & restless fervor of several thousand Syrian Rebel Soldiers. My stomach is behaving much like the regime of Bashar-al Assad, collectively unwilling, selfishly unable to relinquish any sort of power or control....now, I, the brains of this operation, the speaking portion of my mind. Although, my parts, together, make me who I am, it is my mind that burns the words onto this digital page and so, as the mastermind, the puppeteer, I must act as such and supply the Rebel Soldiers in my belly with ammunitions. The Ammunitions on tonight's Late Menu: Turkey Sandwich, Leftover Fettucini Alfredo, a handful of blueberries, several strawberries, a few blackberries and a chocolate chip cookie. !Viva La Revolucion! Tomorrow we tackle A PHONE CALL & (finally) THE