Mud Puddle Kiss, Slogging Through The Rain With Her...

by Linford Detweiler of Over the Rhine

Here's an idea
Let's grab this life and wring its neck with joy
So that when it comes time to die
When we find we have no breath left
It is because we willingly strangled ourselves
With love
Fell down dead
And mostly happy

Searching...

Stopping to pick up every shiny thing she sees, hoping to find herself along the way.

Thunderstorm warning...

As she sat on the hood of her car, watching the storms build on the horizon, she listened to the thunder grumble like an old man who was just woken up from his afternoon nap. She wondered about the growing pinpoints of light behind the clouds—striking there and there, but not there—as if they were bolts of electricity wherever God's fingers touched across Earth's surface.

Things I learned this week...

1. Apostrophes are weird.
ex. T'morrow (What is the point?!)

2. It is possible for a man to tie his mustache in a knot.
ex."I can tie my mustache in a knot. Watch!"

3. Some people are way too into typography.
ex. "So, like...I am reaaaaalllly into typography. No, really. I will let you borrow a book on it. What's your favorite font? I have many favorites, but all of mine are sans-serif."

The games we play...

Playing an elaborate game of cat and mouse—all the while knowing that you are exhausted and she is pretending like she isn't even playing.

Gypsy dreams and Wall Street goals...

She tried to remember the days when she thought she could live on the open road—Led Zeppelin blaring out the windows, sunflower seeds and a pack of cloves on the seat next to her. That was before her suit-wearing 9 to 5 where, over her third cup of coffee, she read the paper in horror as the economy plummeted to the ground.

Daydream believer...

Elliot was 7 years old. And we all know it's hard enough being a little kid, but it's even harder being an intelligent little kid. He could easily answer any question in class and was often bored, which led him to daydreaming. All day long, from the back of the class, he looked out the window and watched the trees sway in the wind. He stared at the blackbird that perched on the sill and longed to be outside. He lived for recess, a time where he could sit in the grass or run and play. But even then he found himself alone.

Being on his own didn't really bother him; he lived in his mind most of the time anyway and he quite enjoyed it there. But, as time went by and the other children were playing with their friends, he grew lonely. Before he put himself to bed, Elliot would read stories of wizards and warlocks and dragons, and he dreamed of living in those times and having his very own dragon. He knew that if he had a dragon he would quickly have friends because everyone would like a boy that had a pet dragon.

So, every night in bed he shut his eyes tight and wished for a dragon. And day by day, nothing happened. Elliot knew he needed a potion.

Elliot was not doted upon like many children of his age. His parents worked and were always extremely busy with this dinner meeting or that business trip, so he knew how to take care of himself. Arriving home after school one day, and with his parents still at work, Elliot decided it was time to make his magical potion. He grabbed his wizard hat, a vital part of his halloween costume, and broke a stick off a tree outside. Waving the stick around, he began casting spells.

"Hazzeldy pazzeldy! Sis koom bah!"

He added all sorts of ingredients: carrot juice so the dragon would have really good vision; several flowers so he would always smell good; a bright green crayon so he knew what color to be; water so he knew how to swim; a book of matches so he could breathe fire; a sock to keep his tail warm; and wings off a toy airplane so he could fly. He said a few more words.

"Poof! Pow! Rickety rack!"

Elliot wiggled his nose and squinted his eyes, but nothing happened. Just then, there was a noise in the hallway and he knew his mother was home. Elliot ran as fast as he could to hide the potion in his closet. When he got back to the kitchen he tried to clean up, but his mother still saw the dirty counters and scolded him.

He excitedly tried to explain his project, but his mother told him he was a dreamer and it was just a silly idea. "Oh, Elliot. You cannot make a dragon. They simply don't exist." She was mad at him for making a mess after a long day at work and sent him to his room for the evening. It's harder for adults to believe. They rarely see the possibilities—only what is in front of them.

That night he lay in bed and with stifled tears he told himself that a wizard wouldn't cry. He shut his eyes tight and imagined a dragon—a big, green dragon who would be his best friend. And with visions of a dragon friend, like any little wizard should have, he fell asleep and traveled in his dreams to the land of wizards and warlocks.

In the middle of the night, an awful ruckus woke Elliot from his dreams—it was coming from his closet. A bit frightened and still half-asleep he stumbled to the closet door and paused. He could hear scuttling across the wooden floors. Scared, he cracked the door to see if he could catch a glimpse of the noisemaker. Behind the closet door stood a small dragon. Upon seeing Elliot, barefoot and sleepy, the dragon smiled and asked, "friend?"

From that day on, Elliot knew that when you wanted something badly enough, and if you believed with your whole heart, shutting your eyes tight with wishes, it could happen. So he knew a big secret adults had long forgotten—you must believe.

The end.