Shine on Harvest Moon

In an attempt to shake off my deep funk, I spent the afternoon yesterday copying my buttocks and waving at passersby. Unlikely as it may seem, not even the warm green glow and cool hard glass could remove the sting of life’s vagaries. Yet the repetitive hum of the copier and the alternatingly shocked and aroused looks of the people gathered at the window on the street, reminded me of a simpler time – when life was less complex and when a young boy could safely dream of one day becoming a part-time underwear model.

Damn our modern life!

And then it came to me in flash. And I knew what I must do. So I gathered my wits and my pants and marched erect to my boss’s office. I needed a clever ploy, but there would time enough for that later.

What!?!, I exclaimed, You’re still here?!?
She looked startled, a look I’m not used to seeing in women’s faces.
Yes, I continued, I would have thought, what with the emergency and all.
Emergency? She had taken the bait. Now to reel her in, the question was to where. Where?
Yes…the copy…emergency…at the main office…
Downtown?
Yes?… They… got all jammed…and…now they’re stuck…and…they... just called…for you…
Well, she unexpectedly exclaimed, I’ve been expecting this. I bet they ran low on toner supplies again. I’ve been warning them about this. You remember. Just last week I was saying that I thought …
Yes...last week…
Well, what exactly did they say? Exactly.
Exactly? That…that…that you were to go, now, right now, right there and fix it. That you were the only one who could. That they should have listened to you from the start. And that they were reeeally sorry that they didn’t.
Well, I have half a mind to just stay here. That’d show ‘em.
No! I mean, this is it, this is your chance, to shine.
To shine?
Yes, so go, go and be shiny!

And she went. Go figure.

No sooner had she left but I beat my own retreat, hastily. And then I made a bee-line to my friend Marcel’s place. Knowing that Marcel was always ready for anything involving food or sweating I made my proposal. Rejected once again, I presented my idea. We would join a farm co-op. I expected some resistance. Yet curiously Marcel had anticipated this move.
Remember when George Michael got that court order? He asked.
Yes…
Remember how you joined that Kibbutz? in Jersey?
Yes…I see your point.

So quickly Marcel and I started to throw some clothes together. And after we were done playing Toss The Sock, we started packing. And we were off! (But not in the good way.)

What an adventure. We drove all night, taking turns, driving, sleeping, making fun on Celine Dion. (What is up with her?) Luckily Marcel had the route all mapped out. And we arrived at the wee hours of the morning at the Happy Sunshine Joyous Harmony Farm Co-op and Used Organ Emporium. Naturally we were eager to see the farmers’ display of organs, even used.

Except for the man everyone called Father Farmer, everyone there was unexpectedly quite young. They seemed delighted, if a little surprised, at our request to join them. Being early to start the day, Father Farmer assigned us to bunk for the night with a strapping young man named Johann.

We tossed and turned all night. And the following morning Johann seemed changed. He announced to the group that he was leaving to join the military. I didn’t quite understand it all. But it was something about barracks and missed opportunities. I didn’t ask.

Apparently, a number of our new friends had been quite accustomed to benefiting from Johann’s able hands, and they were not happy, or joyous, or particularly sunny, or even harmonious. So we were put right to work. Ah! To get our hands dirty! To work the Terra Firma! But just not on an empty stomach. We were surprised to learn that what they called First Meal was in fact the Only Meal and was to come much, much later.

Luckily Marcel is always prepared and had a nice assortment of bratwursts and attractively displayed melons in a cooler in the trunk of the car. And I never go anywhere, as you well know, without my baby cheeses. So we went to our car, opened up the rear and let everyone dig in. And as the young women and men gorged themselves on our sausages and melon balls, we saw a change come over them, they way they looked at us and the way they looked at Father Farmer.

Their formerly glassy eyed gazes turned and focused on Father Farmer and his daughter Frances, who, without a word, hastily got their fannies out of there.

It is in the nature of broken hearts and broken spells that at first one is left at first adrift. And so with infinite patience and care, Marcel and I reached into our car and pulled out a roadmap. You see, all that talk of hoes and sowing seed had made us nostalgic for home. These kids would be fine. Yeah. They’re young. They’ll bounce back. And with that we were off, again. (Though still not in the good way.)

For you see, if I ever need to go looking for my heart's desire again, I won't go any further than copying my own backside, because if it isn't there, I never really lost it to begin with.

Les pois sont avec vous.