I’m no doctor, but diagnosed that if I don’t even have a second to spare I’m hardly alive, and if I really truly am starving I’m about to be not alive.

PHOTO by Moonwater 

And then sometimes in-between it(s) you get this.

• Good Morning Vietnam
• Dead Poets Society
• Good Will Hunting
• Mrs. Doubtfire (reluctantly added though I wish I’d had the guts to go with Cadillac Man)
• The Fisher King

PHOTO by Richard Rockwell

Yes.

Was sent a picture of the amber-yellow tents from SDA Camp Meeting & the image/senders made my brain smell way back  & then think about Pronto-Pups and Ball-Tag which sparked a memory of the gymnasium and the huge blue tarp for protecting the basketball court during the meetings which made me think of informal soccer games & this kid Taco who came every year & I wonder if that was really his name or if he’s alive now or if Water-Weenies are still a thing.   Then I hear the songs & prayers flood back & always near seems to be this youth leader with an acoustic guitar. At some point there is going to be a fire.

And I already know it’s not the same thing, but since I’m at Stommish Water Festival hosted by Lummi Nation, I get the picture on my phone & make all sorts of connections.  Because the paddle races/cultural celebration are annual & I witness shaved ice & tents & families who’ve been coming for years I see all these similarities & feel momentarily we are all related because who doesn’t like a corn-feed or revival. There is a sense at both Camp Meeting and Stommish that at any moment a teenager could get their heart broken or a man might find power beyond himself for the first time.  And it’s hard not to relate em’ when you imagine tribal members heart beating their drums & dancing under the same big tent as the youth leader who strums guitar in a ceremony where the Chief and Pastor trade vegetarian hot dogs and fry bread.

I can relate to or at least see a piece of myself in that storm-filled-guy glimpsed walking down Samish. Couldn’t make out words, was driving too fast, but he was pointing and yelling directly at me/everything. Chemically imbalanced or soul out of balance I wasn’t sure, but he was spitting.

I can also imagine the potential of me in the Mayor or Chris Cornell.

Without looking too hard I can see myself wearing ten year old taped-up sneakers or brand new leather Danners.

I am not above/below it. A choice or turn or two here or there –> a support or influence absent along the way and –> my landing spot’s not clear.

Am here right now about to press send and I’m either underachieving or doing a great job keeping it together.