no edit 2018, Mirror Image Edutainment, Alan John Mayer
WRITER’S CAVEAT: This has not been edited since it was written. I offer no apology for missing or misplaced commas, or excessive use of the words have, had, that, or excessive use of exclamation marks.
Every Wednesday for the past eight months, I have been attending Bea Mitz’ writing group in the beautiful city of West Hollywood. I love driving there for so many reasons, number one there is no trash on the streets (it’s all in the bars) as opposed to where I live where the dead bed and sofa have been sitting on the neighbor’s front lawn so long that passerbys set up a table and sit down to conference. How my life has changed from that wholesome little house on Randall Way in Laguna Beach where I decorated the dining room walls with rubber stamps my fried Pam taught us how to make out of Pink Pearl erasers. It was fun to be young and I was stil too ignorant to know it then. I can write this to you today and know it’s better than family, well unless I include Meck, Miao and Pokey. To see how they rule my life check out Pokey and his two toilet-trained pet cats on YouTube: Meck&Miao and Pokey.
Back to my point, the drive through Laurel Canyon is beautiful especially when I time the drive right. The other night I was able to swerve around the corners as if I were competing for the Grand Prix. I love speed, always have. Haven’t had a speeding ticket in ten years. Got one recently though for turning left where a sign told me to go straight. Cop came out of nowhere, a real Schweinehund (unlike my friends Reed and Malloy, Friday and Gannon). Cost me $350.00, plus $50 for class (online I passed without reading any of the material other than their intro), and mucho, mucho, mucho stress to get the whole fecking mess out to the court and out of my life, and this over some stupid point system represented by a mean nasty cop who couldn’t even smile. If you’re still with me, I remember I had a point and I’m working toward it.
The West Hollywood library is opposite the Pacific Design Center with it’s rows of fountains and palm trees. Across from that is the new greatly extended park with pool and the new library with four hours of free parking beneath it. It’s floor to ceiling glass with soft brown leather upholstery and rows of comfortable soft leather chairs placed ten feet apart with outlets (everybody needs an outlet) overlooking the fountains, palms and the big blue whale as the locals call it. Downstairs in the middle of the building, the children’s section has a two story tall castle into which children can crawl and sit around the volunteers tell stories.
Upstairs where we meet (there are elevators for the disabled and lazy which I sometimes use) the conference room in which we meet is paneled in rich mahogany with ten tan colored leather chairs and a full glass wall extending outward six feet on both sides to overlook the park. It’s been ages since I have had the privilege of placing my body in such beauty and splendor (not counting the half-hour I spent last Thanksgiving in beautiful Aurora, Colorado at Mummy’s before the police arrived to carry me off to jail) and the staff in West Hollywood is a staff of very friendly cute to good-looking to interesting people. Unlike the L.A. libraries, this is not a day care home for the homeless with the smells, stains, and dirty lavatories that seem to plague many of the L.A. libraries. Thank you, Mr. Reagan. Thank you, Mr. Bush but that’s the wrong point. Now I’ll get back to it, my point that is (in case I’ve lost you).
Now, if I can still remember my point, last week one of the eight participants in our group (ages 39, 50 on up to 87) read her story about how she and a lover used to send letters through the mail to one another. It made letter writing sound so antiquated. That brought up a conversation. At the speed my post office is operating it should become an e-mail café by ’14.
Here comes my point, I remembered it: imagine, the youth of today don’t know the feeling of going to their mailbox to find a surprise. Like a stuffed up snake popping out. Is the surprise factor the same online? We will be looking at official post office general approved rural American mailboxes in the museum — online. Is the effect the same getting a pop-up birthday card online as it is in a physical metal mailbox? I can’t touch it but can it still touch me? Is touch important? It is in teaching. Ask a baby. But isn’t it the thought that counts? I imagine it is if you’re married.
Well, I think that was my point. I hope it was well taken. Feel free to shout AmericanValuesRestored from your Facebook page. If you made it this far thanks for reading. If you didn’t, thank you just the same. Now back to my writing.
There is one life. This life is God. This life is perfect. This life is my life now. It is my job to realize this perfection, to seek to connect to it in all of my affairs. I speak my word for all who listen. I know my higher power wants me to succeed in all I say and do. I know this stands true for every spirit who believes this, every being who choses to align him or herself with God, as he or she sees God to be. I speak my word knowing my word is divine cause. My cat sits at the door and has been meowing for an hour. I must let her out to live her life outside of home mit papa. I accept that my service animals have outgrown me and have lives of their own outside. I accept all that is, whether I label it good, bad, or indifferent.
I let it go.
And so it is.