it was not, in reality, so very much at all like finding oneself strolling jauntily down a lovely path, arm in arm with one’s best sweetheart, the sun shining brightly up above, reminding one that it was, indeed, summer at last; the fragrant smell of lilacs wafting along the gentle wind (the same wind that, just this spring, showed its less benevolent side in the form of a tornado that killed 4 people in this county alone, taking along with it a dozen houses and one’s prized milch cow, besides); carrying with it as well the faint sound of the calliope, reminding one that--gracious, how could one possibly have forgotten?--the county fair has begun, causing one’s heart to race as one (albeit only briefly, remembering one’s position as junior deacon in the local baptist church) imagines the soft feel of crinoline as one takes dear Genevieve by her wispy midsection and helps her gently mount the painted wooden horse (of which, one is not too proud to admit, one does feel a certain degree of irrational jealousy toward a lifeless, shellacked representation of a noble quadruped); no, when one strips oneself of the illusions one has created, when all has been considered and one decides to be utterly and completely honest with oneself, it was not very much like that at all….
it was, in all candor, no walk in the park.
it puts one in the now, though, to see one's finger lodged snuggly between the door edge and the frame of one's 2-ton van....in a zen-like calm, one may be forgiven for uttering to oneself: "all may not be well in this scenario...".
