October 16, 1999: The little train that could
I sit down in a quiet place every morning and long hand my way into a better day. It
gives me the opportunity to mentally clean up, its like a daily shower. I’ve traveled so
many roads, many that don’t exist. I’ve seen the most incredible mountains, swam in
lakes, forded streams and had dinner with the famous—once eating ice cream with
Picasso. I stared at his fingertips, tried to pull toward me a need to paint—only to notice
how much Picasso looked like Richard Nixon. Wow! Eating chocolate chip ice cream
with a leader—a true rebel whose vow was lost. “Pardon me,” I carefully whispered.
“Has anyone ever said, you sing like Elvis Presley?” There’s nothing like a dream—
anyone can visit and you don’t have to pay. Movies are free and there’s popcorn galore.
You could be ice skating in Italy while running beside Faye Dunaway. At times, I’m
invisible—watching as everyone races by. Sometimes the music is quite brilliant only to
see I forgot my pants. Dreams are mini movies that are always free. Who knows, maybe
one day I’ll have a star on Hollywood boulevard.