Where We Are Going To Be

Despite my common sense, I opened the windows this morning in my office. Outside on this nearly noon time morning the sun is out, and I can hear the sound of birds nearby. If I’m not mistaken it’s the sound baby chicks calling for lunch. In-between the cries for, “Mommy”. I can hear the call of other birds picking through the freshly mowed grass. I woke up late after an unusual night of vivid dreams involving a farm, a prison, and a pirate ship. (No need to ask). So it was late in the morning before my shit, shower, and shave were done.  

Sitting in my office, not much different than the one my Granddaddy Geiger kept. Minus the so-called occult literature and the image of a person’s chakra hanging on the wall. I wonder what it was he was doing other than making mini coffins with dolls in them back in his wood shop. He did have a desk and a sitting chair in the corner with a standing reading lamp overhead. I was very young at the time, so I can’t even tell you of anything unusual I ever saw, other them him smoking a pipe and sitting at his desk.  

I do remember a little trinket I made him during Vacation Bible School one summer. It was a paperclip holder, for lack of a better word. Made of a small tin can and a plastic lid to resemble a straw hat. I remember it was covered in yellow plaid contact paper with a yellow band. It wasn’t much but I can tell you it sat on his desk till his passing and beyond. So as I sit in my own office, with my ceramic turtles, pill bottles, and painted seashells. I’m often reminded of the similarities between us. The need for personal space, our interest in things beyond ourselves; and the silly odd little mementos we keep to remind us of who we are, and where we are going to be.