Back in the saddle

Yawn. Sniffle. Sneeze. Howdy. I’m in Austin and I am doing very well…considering my past year.

I arrived last night after a whole bunch of hurrying up, then waiting in airports, Admirals Club lounges and on the Tarmac. Fortunately, I got that global entry thingie from the TSA. I got the “green light” to fly through customs with ease and grace…that is if you consider lugging your “hand luggage” down miles of hallway at Dallas airport “easy”…especially after waiting/flying for far too many hours to calculate…the schlepping is also not particularly graceful. I

I began my journey from Frankfurt’s NHHotel at 10am (3am Austin) to the airport, via shuttle by Amir, the Afghani driver who speaks 8 languages. Talk about starting the day, sniffling in the presence of a language master. He dropped me at the terminal, I got ticketed, bags checked, walked and rode my way through security (you know the drill) showed my boarding pass/ID to the lady at the desk, grabbed my snacks and got into a comfy chair at the JAL/AA admirals club lounge (I posted about this yesterday.. Or was it the day before.) 20130913-070116.jpgMy 2pm flight was pushed to 3:30pm, yawn…we finally departed, off toward the USA.

Did I mention I caught a slight cold in Germany? I sneezed, coughed, watched movies, drank gallons of water and peed my way across the North Sea, Bering sea and North Atlantic, and still I could not sleep. Why not? I was wired. The cold i had? Time change? It wasn’t my sleeping hour? Don’t ask me why, I really don’t know, except in a way it was good. My rationale? “I’d sleep when I got to Austin.”

The best laid plans?..when I arrived in Dallas at 630pm (130am Frankfurt, yawn) after clearing customs, rechecking bag, another security check…(oh frisk me one more time, please) miles of zombie-like walking, (some of which were those moving sidewalks, I’ll admit, yes, I could’ve taken the monorail, but I feared I’d never get off) up and down escalators, dodging other weary travelers, only to discover the flight I was to have caught had left…the new flight 9:30pm! Whoopee, I trudged my way another mile to the nearest admirals club, sneeze, cough, plotzing into yet another seat.

Decisions, coffee, hot chocolate, tea, juice, water, or an apple? I found myself before the freebie counter, pondering what I might ingest to keep myself awake, while I waited for my Austin bound jet. I sneezed, avoiding the spread before me. Look! Over-salted pretzel mix too. I grabbed a handful, made myself a mocha…(I’m so inventive I could’ve screamed, except my voice was hoarse), and hopped the handicap golf cart outside the club to my gate. Thankfully, the plane departed at 930 and before I knew it I was in the car with Julia, heading to my second home, in Austin, once again.

Anyway, I’m now in recovery from the miniBug. My head is beginning to clear, and guess what? I find myself arguing with a dead guy. What? Yes, exactly what I said. What do you mean I’m arguing with a dead guy? Here I am awake at 330 in the morning. (Thank you very much Mr. Jet-lag), with my right eye dripping tears. But wait a minute? I’m not crying. At least I don’t think I’m crying. Look, I’m not, get over it. So anyway, where was I? Sleeping. Waking. I reach for my iPad, check my email, Facebook, and then my usual (while my head is clearing) solitaire, when out of the blue comes this voice. “You’ve got fifteen minutes then either go back to sleep or write. You choose.”

And now I’m sayin’ “What the fuck? Okay, who are you and what at you doing spoiling my game, huh?” Silence. Utter, dead (yeah, well, it is now) silence. So I stop the game and here I am writing what happened. Uh oh, now Christian (son in law) is walking baby Levi, who awoke with a wet diaper. I’m off of baby duty (or doody as in this case) since I’m temporarily snotty, so I can keep writing. Besides, this is one of the perks of being grandparent. I can be selective as to when it is my duty to come a running. Good. They went back to sleep, lucky them.

So back to the dead guy I mentioned. It’s this voice I hear. I used to think it was my imagination or he was in my head but either way, he’s extremely audible these days, then again it could be I’m just listening to him now. No, don’t worry, he doesn’t tell me to pick up axes or jump off buildings, besides, axes are way too heavy for me and I’m afraid of heights. The way I figure? Its an angel, or its Max (here to help me out) or maybe its a combination of both (often I hear several voices in conversation) or in the simplest case scenario it is merely me having a conversation with myself. (All you unbelievers out there will really like the latter, so I was told to put that it in.) And no, I don’t do drugs, at least not since the early seventies-then I only smoked (and of course I inhaled, silly- Anyone who said they didn’t is lying, plain and simple) pot.

Whoever it is, the speaker (yes, I’m back to that) is really very creativity oriented. Is is really a dude (hold onto your thongs, girlfriends)? Mostly. Gender is not the issue here anyway, but since you mentioned it. Currently the voice is, I think, male. “Is there a body from which this voice is emanating?” Wait a minute let me check. Hmmm, Its kinda difficult to tell because said voice suggested I keep my eyes on the scree, and too busy listening,plus I’m doing what I’ve just been advised to do. Yes, I realize, I rarely do as I’m told, but when a dead guy speaks to me, especially in the middle of the night, I listen.

For those of you who know me, my hearing or speaking with disembodied voices may not be too much of a stretch from my “normality”. What is normal anyway? And better still why be someone else’s normal, if you know what I mean. I am reminded that every artist, inventor, scientist (yeah even those guys) has his or her muse, so why not me?!?

Is my public announcement (if anyone is reading this) of my new communication skills my way of dealing with my beloved Max’s ascent via the stairway to heaven/the great beyond? Perhaps I do have him to thank for this. Thanks Maxie.

Whatever it is, I now understand, wherever I am, whether I am in my studio, making art, working with a client, writing, cooking, traveling, sneezing, working in my garden, driving, eating a meal, standing in line at the gate to board a plane, having a conversation, having a good cry, changing a diaper, anything at all….I am present. I can observe and listen to my world and those living (and apparently those who are not). Just because I disagree with or don’t like what is being said, by whomever, I stay, with me.

Considering all of this, I am doing well. I know I am not alone. And it is good. So long for now. I’ve got to blow my nose.

One thought on “Back in the saddle

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