Monday, November 1, 2010

Do you teleport?

(image from http://www.etsy.com/shop/recycledwares)

this morning as i was making my trek down proletarian lane from car to cubie, i was distracted by the squeaking of my right shoe. I was instantly transported through the wormhole to my childhood, to a typical day in my grandmother's house.

The transport vessel arrived in the form of a movie line. Squeaky shoe = "it's squeaky shoes approachin'...hole in the left sole, it sounds like" = instantaneous teleportation to age 8, in the bedroom, portable record player playing my 78 LP of (who can name that movie? - name it and, if you are the first person with the right answer, I will mail you a skein of yarn!)

At that moment, I was calculating what I would give to ACTUALLY be transported there for a day instead of to the place where I trade my time for wages. And what would be even better? If Amilia could be transported there with me to play imaginary horses and doll clothes and sewing and listening to records for the whole day. And if there were fried apple pies when I got there, and my old faithful Huffy bike.

It was short-lived.
The wormhole sucked
me back just as quickly
and I trudged in to the place
of laborious tedium, away
from the place of
wistful wonder.

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