GERONIMO!!

Late one night I had a soda explode in my face.

Ungainly is a polite expression, but an honest description of me would include that in addition to gawky, clumsy... well, I tend to drop things.

Easily.

And frequently.

So it wasn't entirely unexpected that the can slipped easily from my grip.

But, like the true solider I am, I immediately threw myself on top of the grenade (sidebar: did you know the word 'grenade' is derived from the French word for 'pomegranate'? Does that make about as much sense as anything French does? Pomegranate?!) to absorb the detonation.

Well, actually, I picked up the foaming, spitting and hissing can, resulting in sticky, sweet fizzy soda flowing all over my hands, my arms, my legs AND getting into my hair.

I threw it into the kitchen sink, and then (and only then) thought (finally) of the concept of COVERING it with a towel to lessen the damage.

And then spent probably twenty wiping down the fridge, the counters, the cabinets, the dishwasher, the dog, the floor, the ceiling, the oranges in a nice decorative bowl, the nice decorative bowl, and my face. Everything I was wearing was consigned to the washing machine - a hot shower was essential to get my hair separated again...


But my skin was glowing for the next two days.

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MY LOVE IS AN ANCHOR

There are some evenings that are just perfect.

A hot day, followed by the rapid cooling of twilight. The sweat's still trickling down you back, but the breeze coming in through the windows suddenly causes chicken skin (that expression is so much better than 'goose bumps') all over your body.

And you're driving, and the local radio station which normally carries music you can just barely tolerate is blasting out the absolute best songs ever.

Songs that you know every single lyric to - songs which have that perfect harmony part (essential to someone like me who can never stay with the melody alone).

Songs from when you were in college - or when you had that incredible job or when you lived in that fabulous place.

Some times they are the ones that make you cry.

The first song you danced to with him.

And sometimes lyrics don't even tug, they simply wrench your heart.

Do these lyrics mean anything to any of you? Because these were the ones I was hearing:

It's kind of a special feeling
When you're out on the sea alone
Staring at the full moon, like a lover


So I'm sailing for tomorrow, my dreams are a dyin'.
And my love is an anchor tied to you
Tied with a silver chain.
I have my ship and all her flags are a flyin'
She is all that I have left
And music is her name.


He runs, wishing he could fly
Only to trip at the sound of good-bye
Wordlessly watching
He waits by the window
And wonders
At the empty place inside
Heartlessly helping himself to her bad dreams
He worries
Did he hear a good-bye?
Or even hello?


You need to find a brand new start
But you're almost afraid to be true to yourself
Oh, but it's all right
Once you get past the pain


I've come far
From the life I've strayed in
I've got scars
From those dives I've played in
Now I'm home
And I'm weary in my bones
Every dreary one night stand



Someday your child may cry
And if you sing this lullaby
Then in your heart
There will always be a part of me

There's just an empty space
And you coming back to me
Is against all the odds
And that's what I got to take


Get up in the morning, look in the mirror
A moment there's a toothbrush hanging in the stand
My face ain't looking any younger




Oh.


And you need to be eating an ice cream, especially one that is rapidly melting, during all this.

Trust me on this last one.

A to B to C becomes Z

It's funny how images change. To me, for years and years and years, Germany was a scary nation of Nazis, beer and sausages - then it was home & two of my kids' birthplace (Joy, I do apologize for the fact that you are forced to put "Monchengladbach" on any sort of form asking for your place of birth).

Jim Wilson was a nice quiet guy I graduated with - then he was a movie producer with Kevin Costner (and suddenly was also much taller and better looking than I remembered).

And growing up in Los Angeles, Mexico was a quiet, picturesque and colorful land of serapes, tacos, and extremely poor people.

Now. living on the Arizona border for the past ten years, Mexico is the view from my windows. The landscape has changed little, but the actual border has progressed from a simple barbed wire fence to the "wall", as we refer to it down here.

But suddenly, via national news, Mexico is

an eruption of drug-related violence, weapons trade, mass murders and kidnappings.

Military support, international government officials meeting and people suddenly finding other vacation spots.

Okay.

Now, somebody please explain to me how Jesus got translated into the Easter Bunny.