When less is more

My naps: more than mildly invaded upon. Recollections and visitations from my past piled themselves into a dense line-up. Ma and her cooking, old friends with their oddities unveiled, careers that ended persist in the dreamworld. My history challenges me to yet another dual of priorities: now or then? There are things I'm good at: I care for people with precision if not obsession; my apple pie is legendary and like my mother before me I can make a dollar out of fifteen cents. Well, that's no exactly it; money hasn't been my magic. But what I can do is turn any place I'm at, into a place of comfort and home. That's my special brand of magic though some would just say I'm good at decorating. To get good at anything including magic, you have to practice. I have been in many places and practiced my brand of magic everywhere I've been: remodeled the nest of origin until we couldn't take it anymore; then there was the shared condo in town where we rented the Master Bedroom, turned it into an amazing studio looking out over Paradise while the young stoner, over-medicated nurse, and working girl shared a refrigerator with me. Border magic ...my unique version of it includes seeing the weed as vital. I can make something from nothing;use weeds or discards to fashion beauty. Planted into my name was the essential capacity to remain childlike in my vision. Innocent by choice. Thing is, what I have trouble with is how to weed a garden of history when it's more space that's necessary, not more weeds.

Is there room for old attitudes and wet blankets of regret masquerading as nostalgia when there are eggs to hatch, and a present to nurture? Max had come with his long view of life showing how his third set of teeth were erupting in his pink-brown gums. If a leopard does not change his spots Max's third set of teeth? Perhaps this: even Kahuna grow.


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