It’s been a minute, I know, since I last wrote about anything serious. I know, I get it.
But my wife’s left me for a baby – a grandkid on the other side of the country. She’ll be back next week, after leaving me to my own devices for a week and a few days. Me, three dogs, and a cat.
The dogs are all upset – I know this because they leave “little bombs” in the most curious places. Oh, yeah! I have to clean that one up, too!
I got in a major car crash last week – rear-ended on the freeway that totaled my wife’s little car. I’d taken it to save on gas – her suggestion, you know. Blammo! They, they came from behind! I’m okay, car not so much.
Somebody, and I don’t know whom, left a plate of yellow citrus fruits on one of my front columns – we have these sort of three-foot-tall columns around the edge of our corner lot – with a sign that said “Limes – free!” and a smiley face.
First, they were lemons, not limes. Second, my house is not a place for you to give away your stuff. There were easily a dozen lemons on the plate – not your friendly “I thought you might like these” kind of plate that normal people put on the porch. Not. Going. To. Happen.
I distributed the “limes” into the compost bin and put the plate back out on top of the column. But I set up a camera, see, so I could see who came back for the plate. They were too sneaky: the plate’s gone and the camera missed them.
It’s because I’ve been binging “Monk” on Netflix in my wife’s absence. If you don’t know, he’s a germophobic Rain Man sort of character who is also a brilliant Holmesian detective who lives in modern day San Francisco. I had no idea there were so many murders there!
It’s a cute show- the acting is good and they’re good at finding awkward places to put a guy who’s terrified to shake hands. Although he’s brilliant, he can’t make simple yes-no choices. So, who do they volunteer to be the Little League umpire? Strike! or ball. No, no, strike. or ball. Do over, please!
So, I’ve been thinking about that movie Soul. It’s a Pixar piece about a musician’s lost soul trying find his way to the promised land.
All he ever wanted to do was play “the big time” – to be a real musician.
Someone tells him this story – I know I’ve told it to you before: a young little fish swims up to the old fish and says “I’m looking for the ocean.”
“Son, this IS the ocean.”
“Nah, this just water!”
I’ve been thinking about writing, and realizing that I’m still looking for the ocean. I’ve written about this before, too, I know.
Hey, it’s been a tough week, okay?
I am so lucky to do what I do for a living. I’m a technical writer for the marketing department of a major manufacturer. I’ve been tasked with producing videos – marketing videos, social media, promotion pieces, training videos, safety videos. I love writing them, and doing the voiceover, and then shooting the footage and building the animations and editing it all together.
There’s this movie-industry-standard 3D rendering software called Cinema 4D that I use to create animations for these things. Because of that, now I get to produce the website renders of the company’s products as well.
It’s a terrific job, and I absolutely love what I do.
For all that, I’m still looking for the Big Time. I was thinking about it today, thinking all of the “yeah, but” things you say when you’re trying to make yourself feel small.
And then came that voice. It sounded like the late James Earl Jones:
“Son, this IS the ocean.”
I don’t know if I should be elated or disappointed.
My wife just needs to come home!
John D Reinhart 