On top of a bookcase, next to one of the Bose speakers, a moose sits under a fedora. I bought the fedora years ago at a boutique in Egg Harbor, Wisconsin, because I had a thought that I might be Indiana Jones someday, only without the whip or the flair or the derring-do.
“You look good in that,” she said, but I didn’t dare agree, so I gave it to the moose. And the moose looks more adorable than I could ever have hoped.
This is how it’s going to be, then? I will type some stream of consciousness silliness and pass it off as … and here again my brain short-circuits as seventy-something brains tend to do. Profundity! That’s not quite the right word, either, but it’s true that I will try to pass this off as profundity, when it really is simply me writing whatever floats down the stream into my fingers.
Someday I may write something truly profound this way, but I think that day is not today. Could be wrong: Someone down the road may look at these words and find the secret s/he had been searching for. I don’t see it, but the genius writer never sees it coming, does she? The DJ looks at the flip side of the mediocre song and finds the real hit. Where is my DJ?
Humphrey Bogart can rock the fedora. Harrison Ford can rock the fedora. I just look like an old guy who wishes he was Bogie or Ford. What can I say?
I can say thank you for dropping by to see what I’ve written today. I hope you can find some meaning here. Or does everything have to mean something? Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar, although sometimes a cigar is a symbol to drive home a special meaning with sensual gusto, if you’re willing to penetrate the surface.
And sometimes, of all things, a moose wearing a fedora is just a moose wearing a fedora. There’s another clue for you all.
