Grounded

Never mind that we are sailing on dry land. Never mind that I am obscuring my face with a cheese sandwich. We are a formidable crew of three waiting to take on the world (if not the open ocean). I wonder where we all went.
If you haven’t guessed I have been spending my time tripping down memory lane, trying to flickr the pictures of my life. I’ve been inundated with wedding pictures and was more than happy to stumble on something that didn’t involved pretty bouquets, groups of pretty smiling faces and a veil of lace (also pretty). Even I can get tired of one of the happiest days of my life.
I don’t know what happened to the chick in the back of the boat. Maybe she’s fronting a rock band that got its start at New York’s infamous CBGBs. Maybe she’s a soft spoken poet in San Francisco, eating raw algae and wearing hemp shirts. I don’t know. Her presence didn’t rub off on me. I didn’t get a single particle from her…for I don’t even remember her name.
The blondie next to me went on to be a rock star of a different kind. She’s married with kids, a happy house, and a killer pot roast recipe. All that’s missing is the dog, but maybe that will come later… when the kids are in school. I don’t see her as often as I would like, but maybe that’s the way life is supposed to work.
The me in the picture? I hide my face because I’m embarrassed to be in a boat, pitifully shipwrecked on the lawn in the backyard. I remember now I’m too young to be embarrassed by the Ho..or the Dorothy Hamill haircut. I remember the person behind the camera cajoling for a glimpse of my eyes but I wouldn’t give up a glance. For even then I knew. I was no more rock star than poet, but something in between.