Stainless Steel

"All men are clowns... this one just wore a red nose to prove it."

Not exactly true. I don't believe that. But it makes a GREAT stand-up line. And leads to another great line: "Man, that clown sure can juggle..." One at home. One (me) in Thunder Bay. One in Winnipeg. One in Jasper (me again). One in Edmonton. Who knows what the Next Wonderful Thing will be? His stomach is an iron kettle; his spleen sharpened like spotless, stainless, steel; his heart molded from soft but impermeable lead. Strangely admirable mettle.

I have to face the facts that I am not Titanium, or even Space Age Teflon-coated nylon, no matter how much I wish I was. No, I have a sensitive stomach. My spleen is plasticene. And my heart - soft, flexible, gummy organ that it is - is yet incapable of multi-tasking. I am basically a Good Girl. Which is kind of a relief. A compassionate girl. Which gets me in trouble, all the time. Compassion, that is.

They always tell you, in the little airplane safety talk at the beginning of a flight, to put your own mask on first before attempting to help someone else. Sage advice. Maybe I should carry one of those little cards around with me, in my wallet, so I can look at it every time I go out.

N.