Dear Friends,
I wrote a poem entitled "Sunday" that I'd like to share with all of you.
Sunday
Seven o'clock
No car, no cash, no friends
I grab my wallet,
my cell, my sandals.
I walk out the door.
I walk back in.
I grab my keys.
I walk out again.
I lock the door.
On the road at last.
-----------------
Just kidding. I actually just wrote a bunch of short sentences and pretended it was a poem. Anyways, to continue the story, I then walked to Ybor, the Cuban city to the North. Here's a map of my journey. I went to the "Centro Ybor," a fantastic collection of... strip bars. I kid you not: there is a coffee shop, a clothing store, an ice cream shop, and about twelve strip bars, none of which admit patrons under twenty-one. Wait... are my parents on this list? I should probably check...
I stepped into the ice cream and bought a cone. It was wretched. I threw it away and spit on its remains. But you know, that's the wonderful thing about junk food: when you buy it, you either feel great because it tastes good, or because you didn't eat it and you're more healthy for abstaining. It's a win-win situation!
I spotted a hotel and hoped for a piano in the lobby. I checked, but, alas, there was no instruments to be found. By this time I was desperate for some form of entertainment, so I went to the third floor balcony and climbed off the edge, scaling my way down the wall. I had gone about ten feet when I realized that I had amassed a small audience at the entrance of the parking garage. Just for giggles, I pretended to lose my balance and wobbled a bit. There was an audible gasp, and I began laughing so hard that I almost fell for real. When I reached the ground, I turned, bowed, and sprinted off into the night.
The "scene closes" feature on my life is out of repair, so I found that "the night" involved a pair of railroad tracks and the no-man's-land between Ybor and downtown Tampa. I decided that I would walk to the Marriott, which I know has a piano, and I began walking straight to it, which of course involved climbing the occasional fence and/or onramp. It made the journey more interesting.
On the way, there was a toad. This toad was sitting in the road. (This is me, resisting the urge to continue rhyming a la Dr. Seuss.) So: I saw a toad in the road. It was a big toad, probably five or six inches long, and for whatever I reason I took an interest in preserving its life. I walked toward it, but it hopped away. That was logical; of course a toad will hop away from some random human. I jogged around it and stood about six feet in front. It kept hopping. Four feet; two feet; one foot. I swear, if I hadn't moved, it would have run right into me. I could almost here it saying, "out of the way, loser, mind your own business." Suddenly it came to me: this toad wanted to die. It has probably lost its... umm... woman toad... and had come to its wit's end. I saw a car coming my way and moved on. In life, meetings do not always end in resolution.
*Soft piano music; credits roll*
I played at the Marriott for a half hour or so. I walked over to Channelside and checked out all the movies that I had already decided not to see. I walked to the long line of taxi cabs where a group of cab drivers almost hang out and chat about... well, whatever it is that taxi cab drivers talk about. Homeward bound. I walked until I got bored, then ran until I got tired, and generally continued whatever I was doing until boredom or tiredness forced me to alternate action. It was a painful parody of vicious cycles, bouncing between negative extremes to maintain a tolerable equilibrium. I got home, watched the first half of "Superman Returns," and went to bed.
Boring story, I know. I told it because I'd like to offer a snapshot of my life right now. I got hired last Friday. I'm going to be a dealer; I was so relieved I didn't even have room to be excited. And now I have another few weeks of waiting. A few hours of class every day, a few hours of sleep every night, and more time in between than I could possibly fill. This is not a problem I'm accustomed to having. This is not a problem I ever anticipate having again.
I want to take a snapshot because my life is about to change. A told me today about a house that's a steal for $1700 per month. It will be available in August. And I considered it, because by August I could handle it. By August, I'll have hobbies again. I'll have a car, and a life. I'll have less time to pray, though. Less time to read. Less time to think. I'll be too tired to sing at the top of my lungs when Leslie works late; too tired to dance and nervously check the windows to make sure nobody's watching. I don't know if my life is changing too quickly or not quickly enough.
But enough of that: for now, I am determined to survive (monetarily speaking) until I start working on July 1st. That is the problem I currently face, and it is sufficient for today. Maybe it's irreverent, but sometimes I think of God like an old-school milkman, bringing that day's quart of milk. God offers grace in day-sized quantities. Sometimes I wish He gave advances, but who am I to question a system that works?
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See pictures of Leslie, Roxie, and my new house. (Look for the album labeled "Florida.")
View the FUN Archives .
You can contact me by replying to this e-mail. To send letters or packages, use the following address:
Dan Kaschel
2011 Oakwood Ave
Tampa, FL 33605
My phone number is 231-631-3016.
That's it! Shalom,
Dan
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