Sitting here tonight drinking cold coffee from this morning with honey & lime in a tall glass with ice, just realized that like Jupiter’s two heads, I have two phone numbers, the old and the new.
I am inclined to keep it, the new, decided actually. For the three people in the world that call/text me on any regular basis, it is worth it to avoid a drunk, or otherwise the unworthy ones, I have vanished. Poof, if they woof.
It is certainly not often one gets the chance to disappear. For good, elsewhere. Besides, what is for you will never pass you by, it will find you, believe me.
A conundrum only, and in with the new and old with old, like that SIM, away with you, I say.
My videoscope for my sign this month said as much, and it spoke of making room for new things. We do sometimes walk a fated path, or else, such as myself, go forging off on our own, led by our fanciful whims, or intuition, depending on your perspective. Or, maybe thinking we are making choices when in fact the path was already set and all just a matter of how and when you got to your destination.
Ok, yes, perhaps making molehills into mountains, but you get the drift.
It has changed so quickly, hasn’t it? Now your phone number is almost irrelevant, as changeable as the wind. If anyone would need to get a hold of me, they would like message me on Facebook hey, when you change your phone number? Bibbity-boppity-boo and I am saved, under my new easy to remember number, that sticks with you, even D3 said so.
It was the numbers of my childhood home phone, it was in the street numbers of that house, 3’s followed me everywhere, and thus 3 over time became lucky. Or fated. Or a sign, or something.
I still know my Grandmothers phone number, my parent’s old number, I even know my sister phone number by heart. But couldn’t tell you most folks now, never look at the number, really, just hit the icon and bob’s your uncle.
Changing a number? Mmpf. A nothingville.
And the more I thought about it today, the more nothingville it became, as I became more enamoured with my new one, the way it slips off my tongue like the old one never did. In just that one call tonight D3 remembered the numbers, if not quite the order, which bodes well for a new number I think.
The possibilities that change brings are limitless, which is why I have never shied from change. Sometimes I seek it, like a homing device, a knowing of it in the air, or of the need of it. Even whatever it may be, take me somewhere, and there I may land. Always a tea towel in the wind. It is mighty scary though sometimes and yet never done me wrong, so I embrace it for what it is, and the cleaning of the decks that it brings.
So this morning I again bused it, and got off at the park, the dawn was not far off, it was still within that in-between between the dark and the light. The sky had just a slight golden glow beginning, with that purple haze just over the subdivision that encompasses the park.
New things, new moon. These things, the infinite trials and infinitely small, bring us out of our inner darkness, sometimes, give us a good shake and rattle our soul, sometimes. Just like the last decade, and all the great and many changes it brought (wrought?) with it, and off on my own hero’s journey.
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Jesse Davidson was the son of a local TV Anchorman. He was diagnosed with Duchenne’s Muscular Dystrophy, and he and his Dad went off on this long epic journey across Canada, raising millions of dollars for research to help others. Jesse died when he only was 29.
From the November 9th, 2009 London Free Press:
“His was a remarkable life and he lived it in service to others,” said Garland, president of the research foundation that bears Jesse’s name.
“The journey will continue, absolutely; he would want that,” Garland said.
Diagnosed at age six, one of three boys of John and Sherene Davidson, Jesse’s story triggered two long-distance journeys that touched Londoners and many Canadians.
By drawing attention to Duchenne, the father-and-son team opened hearts and wallets that produced millions of dollars for Jesse’s Journey.“