"Honey, do you remember that sticky hand that you bought me outside the K-Mart?"

"You mean the one that you throw on paper and stuff and it picks it up?"

"Yeah," he sighs as he turns his head away in deep thought about how to just say it.

"Well for the longest time I thought that this hand," pulling out a clear vending machine toy egg, "was the symbol for our love and our relationship. You gave it to me as a gift. Unexpectingly, and graciously. I accepted it and loved it. Just as I told everyone how happy you made me, I spread that sticky hand about everywhere. I shouted my love for you from the mountains and stuck the sticky hand to the kitchen ceiling." He pauses once more and collects his thought, if this is going to be done smoothly he can't loose it now.

"That hand slapped a lot of things and it pulled a lot of paper off of various surfaces, but over time it got weaker and weaker. The dirt began to stick to it. The dust drained it's power away. It wouldn't stick to anything after awhile."

The look in her eye and the direction of her gaze began to reflect just what it was that he was getting at.

"Just like our love," he continued. "It started out strong but over time the stress wore down the love and the small fights began to stick to our minds an took over the power that we once held between us."

One tear and then two, three...they all began to fall down her cheek. She knew he was right.

"Honey, this hand will always represent who I am and the many things that you gave me throughout our relationship. But to be honest, I have found someone new. Someone who showed me how to clean the sticky hand so that it's power is even stronger than before. When she first showed me how easy it was to take the hand in my hand and with just a little mild detergent and warm water clean it and make it new all over again...it was...just beautiful. I've learned how to love again and she has shown me."

Silence.

"Honey, please talk to me. Please."

She takes a quiet sniff and simply says.

"She can have you and your dirty little hand. The soap wears down the rubber. I knew that it would clean it, but I didn't think that it would be right to take anything away from who you are. You can clean the hand all you want, but soon enough there won't be anything left to throw around. Good bye."

Today I was teaching a class about Bob Dylan. I have a whole class devoted to the man. Don't really know why. Love his music, not a fan of the person though. However I thought that after I had gotten the nice scrapbook, DVD, and the CD from the recent "No Direction Home" marketting blitz I would have enough material to run a simple class for a few months.
Well it has worked pretty well for the past few weeks and it shows few signs of slowing...however my point was to tell you all what this mornings revelation was.
Here it is: some of you know the story of Bob Dylan as well as I do, but the thing that hit me this morning was the actual desire (emotion not album) that the man had at the age of 19.
Bob Dylan was from a small town outside of Duluth, Minnesota. After graduating from High School he went to North Dakota for a bit and then off to Minneapolis for college. There he found Woody Gutherie and eventually got the notion to take off to New York city. Not even 20 he left during a blizzard and hitchhicked to New York. Thus launching his musical career.
After teaching this little bit for about twenty minutes I began to ask the students what their passions were...one had another student translate "he wants to be a translator." Another wants to open a traditional Bed and Breakfast.
As we went around the room I kept thinking, "what's my passion?" I've picked up everything, sacrificed a great deal, and still I haven't gained a whole lot. Bob Dylan went to New York in December of 1960 and was playing Carnegie by November of 1961.
Sacrificing personal things and relationships isn't that trying to me. It's just the reason for the sacrifice that I don't understand. Theoretical benefits is all I know and even now, as my time over here comes to an end, I'm starting to tally them all up in an effort to rationalize my time...and lack of growth.

"To not live an ordinary life" is the only passion I can remember having. This is all I desire and all that I crave. However I have been left with the feeling that just about everything and everywhere is ordinary once you get there.

I talk to Larry everyday...

Recently I have had to face some tough choices, many of which I still have not answered. It was about two months when I woke up and had this extreme feeling of loneliness and despair. I had been reading a book by the French author Celine the night before and I have to admit that I think that effected me as I slept. The book is about a young man who keeps finding himself in horrible situations to which his only solution is to run away...and not in the noble "I'll take the higher road" kind of way but more in the "ignore it and it isn't there" sense of reality.
So anyway I woke with the sense that my problems were too great and that it was most likely time to run out on 'em. Which I would have loved to do, but as it is I had a class to teach. Plus my bags were not packed and I had laundry yet to do and, as much as my hygiene is not the best, I do hate the smell of dirty clothes packed into a suitcase.
Off to class I went with a paper cup of coffee and a horrible attitude to boot. This was most likely going to be one of those "talk amongst yourselves" kinda days; which, by the way, usually end up in awkward silence with a twist of food talk when the buzzing in my ears sets in from the dull quiet.
First period went off without a hitch or a buzz. As I sat in my paneled box truck like classroom I again got that feeling of abysmal pressure and lowness pushing down on my shoulders whilst my feet tapped and my legs said "lets go!" While dreaming of backpacking some great foreign country I swivelled around in my chair and turned on the t.v.
CNN, escape indeed. I proceeded to zone off into the infomercials and slowly nodded away...while my neck swiveled back and forth like a piano pendulum my attention was suddenly gripped and I sat forward to the sound of a thousand trumpets, or perhaps a synthesizer or two.
His eyes caught me while I wasn't looking, but when I noticed they pierced into my soul with their square and outdated frames. His jowls began to shake and from between them came the words I will never forget, "It's been a while dAnny."
I closed and quickly jerked open my eyes, "is Larry King talking to me?"
Gentle yet stern his glare was unjaded by my question. He did begin to settle into a smile and for a moment froze on the screen, maybe my satellite connection, not too sure it just happens from time to time. But this time it seemed to last at least...a little less than eternity, but not quite as long as forever, maybe a bit shy of a lifetime, however definitely more than a "sec"...I'd say about two minutes tops.
When the picture did finally catch up to the broadcast I saw that he was indeed not talking directly to me, but actually to the once great actor ANDY Griffith. The names do sound alike though. Beyond that though I fell into my little state again and could barely even summon the muster to care about the death of Barney (Don Knotts: RIP).
I sat inattentive not seeing, not caring, not nothing but something far deeper and less of it. I heard some talk about moving on to Anderson Cooper 360 and it dawned on me that it was almost time for second period. No rest for the wicked and dumb 'eh. I sat up in my chair and gathered my papers about on the desk and, with remote in hand, was just about to turn off the t.v. when again the square framed eyes of eyes were focused on only me and he simply said "good night and thanks for watching. Oh and if you get a chance try and talk to me sometime soon. I know you need the help. Now onto Anderson in New York". And with that he faded away.
As the day wore on I couldn't forget his last words, "talk to me tonight". Maybe it wasn't really Larry King, perhaps it was the almighty working through Mr. King. He is an open kinda guy, always having representatives of the many different world religions on his program. I always thought that he was Jewish...is it okay to ponder his being a Jew?...either way, he was speaking to me, and it worked.
All day I saw his face everywhere I turned. My lunchtime sushi showed the reflection of his liver spotted skin. The wisps in the cloud contained elements of his grey hair. I saw a picture of a beautiful suspension bridge set against a blue sky and immediately thought of Larry's classy red suspenders and finely ironed blue shirt...white collar, white clouds. The whole day was one continuous revelation of his beauty and majesty. I saw Larry everywhere.
With my head spinning I went to bed a little earlier than usual. I couldn't get the days thoughts out of my head. I just lay there tossing and turning, half scared and half excited. Two parts colliding and unbelieving. Not knowing what to do I was drawn to my knees. Honestly it had been a long time.
As I kneeled on the floor I thought to myself what it was all about and why I had been chosen. Or perhaps why it was that I had chosen to pay attention this day. Why? The fundamental word we all use, young and old alike. Always wondering and looking for the answers to all of the things we don't know, we don't understand.
I poured my heart out to him, or to whoever was listening. I laid it all out on the line. Everything that had been bothering me I gave up in a prayer to God, Via Larry King. It was truly a lively experience.
After I had poured my heart, my problems, and my greatest desires out I was left in a ball on the floor. I tried to stand but instead decided to crawl back into bed. My head hit the pillow like one of the many clumps of dirt that had graced Barney's resting place earlier that day 6,000 miles away. A pile of ashes and dust settled for the night.
The next morning I awoke feeling a little lighter. Not completely healed, but a bit better. Miracles are a slow process.
First period went as usual, perhaps with a little more excitement on my part, because the end signified my time to turn back to Larry. The television turned on in mid comment and I found myself even more excited when I found out that the guest was Liza Mannelli, at least one person I know of who needs more help than me. Larry was just about to take a caller when something happened to phone line. It was at this point that I was given my second message from Larry. Turning slightly to the camera he gave that playboy smile and simply said, "Sorry about that caller. Sometimes these things can be difficult. I appreciate your call, but you will have to wait to get the answer to that question".
I grinned in appreciation. I had been acknowledged, perhaps I didn't get what I was looking for immediately, but I know that it's to come. Along with many other great things. I'll just have to keep on being a faithful watcher and eventually all things will be reveled.
Still though, I talk to Larry everyday.

Do you?