Sitting alone in the dark I think, “Maybe I should get a hobby…” I saw an article about how LEGO is coming out with a S.H.I.E.L.D. Helicarrier set. It’ll have close to 3,000 pieces and probably cost a fortune.
I’ve never had much luck with LEGOs. I never had much creativity on putting together my own things. As a child I would sit on the floor and struggle to make a house. I’d have a hard time getting pieces together. If I built a house it would be pretty basic. That is, four walls, no windows, no door, and a flat roof. Meanwhile, my sister would be putting something together that would make Frank Lloyd Wright cry with joy.
As an early adult I bought a LEGO Mindstorm set. I figured it had a computer and crap and I was, after all, an adult; surely I would be able to do something with it.
I was horribly wrong. I would piece something together only to watch it fall apart the first time it tried to move on its own. Small wonder I’m afraid of having children. I wouldn’t be able to watch the little tyke try and take his tentative first steps and watch his arms fall off.
But, you know, I’m older now. Possibly more patient. Maybe I could buy one of those Star Wars sets and put it together. I would probably start small, with the $9.99 sets that are meant for pre-schoolers. If I could deal with those then I could move on up to the more intricate ones.
If I got ten or fifteen under my belt I’d probably be more successful with the ladies because I would keep them all together and on display in my apartment that doesn’t have room to keep them on display. The women would come over and see them and be all impressed and say things like, “Wow. How old were you when you put that together? How long did it take?” And I’d be all like, “Um, 46. Took me about three years for just that one. Don’t touch it! Don’t touch it!”
I’m sure I mentioned it before, but I have hard water. Again, I don’t have water as much as I have very tiny and damp pebbles. So I have one of those Brita water pitchers that filters water. I went to get a glass of water and I saw that there was very little water left in the pitcher. I got annoyed! I wanted to find my roommate and give him what for for not re-filling the pitcher! I was so incensed I wanted to go and find him and give him a piece of my mind!
That’s when I remembered that I didn’t have a roommate. Obviously, the only one I could blame was the government. So I did. We’ll see how that works out.
I don’t know if I’m normal. I don’t know if I’ve ever been normal. The good thing is that, after having lived for a while and meeting many people, I’m not sure there is such a thing as normal. I’m not even sure how normal I was as a child.
After all, I thought there was a desert under the house and a city, far away, underground. I think pretend there was — I believed there was. I would also look out the window on Christmas Eve (when I was supposed to be asleep) and look for Santa Claus. If I saw a red light blinking in the distance I would jump back in bed because I believed that it might possibly be Rudolph. While sitting in the back seat of the car on a drive I would look at the hills and wonder what lay beyond. I would wonder if anyone had ever been there (the idea that I had probably already been beyond those hills never occured to me). I thought it was possible that there were places where people hadn’t been, that magical fat men could leave presents, and that a magical city could lie beneath the surface of the world.
Now, of course, I know that Rudolph was an airplane. Many people lived beyond those hills. The desert and city was the floor of a crawlspace and an airvent that led out to the backyard. Sometime, somewhere, magic and wonder left me. Worse, I have no one to pass that magic and wonder to.
Augustine sat on the boulder that poked out over the creek. It was a large boulder but a very small creek. There were no other rocks of its size nearby although the creek was full of small, smooth, rocks. He wondered how the boulder had gotten here and decided a giant had placed it here years ago. Long before the village had started. The giant, he thought, probably placed it here so he could sit next to the creek and listen to the water flow over and around the rocks.
He knew that the creek became smaller further down. Gradually it changed from flowing water to pond that wasn’t much bigger than a rain puddle. Sometimes it wasn’t there as the leaves from the autumn trees covered it until there was no place for a pond (or a puddle) to be.
What he didnt know was where the creek came from. That direction was out of the realm of his village and Augustine wasn’t allowed to travel far that way. He thought of it, though; wondered what lay off in the distance, past the curve where he couldn’t see the creek’s flowing water.
He slid down off the boulder and put his hand in the water, watching it flow around his fingers. Looking around he found a sturdy looking branch and picked it up. It was only slightly shorter than he was.
How is a creek born? Where does it come from? What does it see as it travels along the landscape? He wished he knew and there was only one way to find out. He began walking upstream.