Random and Strange

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Sometimes I like to pretend I can hear my eyeballs. I'll blink slowly, and imagine the squishing sound as my eyelids wrap around the darting, damp spheres.

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I divide days by sleep. I took a nap after my parade on Sunday, so it felt like two days. My cat woke me up at 3 AM early Monday morning, walking around squeaking a mouse toy. I woke up again at 6:30, drove to the next town to get a trumpet player from a train station, and returned home to play two parades. Afterwards, my dad and I returned the musician to another train station, then stopped at Target so I could shop for my friend's daughter's upcoming birthday party. When we got home, I dozed off again. So, by my count, a three day weekend was actually a six day weekend, albeit short days. I can't wait to get back to the office and relax.

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I was very happy to locate my favorite sunglasses Monday morning, especially prior to major, local parades. One reason a shy individual such as myself has no trouble performing in public is because I've done it so many times, for so long, that I don't have to think about it. The music just flows. But the glasses also act as a sort of psychological forcefield. I have this ostrich mentality. Just as an ostrich thinks no one can see it when it sticks its head in the ground, I figure if people can't see my eyes, they can't see me. It's strange and ridiculous, but it helps me get the job done.

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On Sunday, it took an 84-year-old trumpet player to inform me that Memorial Day was once known as Decoration Day, because people would leave medals and ribbons on the tombstones of veterans, and that the holiday's origins go back to the Civil War. Sure, this information was readily available online, but I often waste my surfing time on pop culture, researching movies, television shows, comics, and music. I've been appearing in Memorial Day parades for 23 years, but it's always been for a school requirement or some extra spending money. Too often time erases the meaning of holidays. We know we have a day off; we forget why we have a day off.

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Sometimes I like to pretend I can hear my eyeballs. I'll blink slowly, and imagine the squishing sound as my eyelids wrap around the darting, damp spheres. I also think my memory is starting to go, but other than misplacing a pair of sunglasses, I haven't seen much evidence of that.

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