One day last week, I was at work doing audits and such as I do everyday when a box of screws fell and splattered into a marvellous figure of a dolphin.  Seeing the dolphin in the jumble of screws, I studied it lying lying there on the frigid concrete floor.  A moment later my boss came over, and asked, “What are you doing?”

“Ah…well, I saw a figure of a dolphin in these screws….I’ll get them cleaned up, boss.”  I said whilst rearranging them again in my mind.

“Boy, you ain’t right”, he laughingly muttered, as he walked off.

Friday, we were getting off of work late.  I was in an atrocious mood that had been spiralling out of control all week.  We had been working from before dawn ‘til after dusk every night.  I’m not one to be around, if I don’t get my creative time in.  I must write, take photos and transform them, draw, or do something creative everyday.  It is imperative that I do these things to keep my sanity, just as some people must pop pills to make themselves feel happy.

An older gentleman that was working in the business where we were working asked me why I was in such a brooding mood.  I had not said a word to the man whilst entering data, but I guess he could tell.  My boss stepped in, and said, “Ah, he gets this way every time it rains.  The weather reminds him of Ireland.”

I spun around and yelled, “Don’t be telling people my worries, sir”.

“You from Ireland, lad?”  The old man asked, intrigued by the statement.

“No, I am from here, the states, but my ancestors, the majority, were from Ireland.”

“I grew up in Philadelphia, but my father was from Cork.”  The old man said with extreme excitement.

“Ask him about the woman he lost over there", my boss stated whilst snickering.

“Yes…yes…yes…Tell the whole world about my life.  Stick to your own, how about it.” 

“So, you’ve been to the Republic?”  The man asked, as he leaned over the desk.

We talked for a full hour about our families histories, Ireland, youth, art, books, writers, and the like.  I didn’t realise it at the time because I was so intertwined in the conversation, but we had an audience of workers listening to our stories about our adventures and our families adventures to the states.  One girl chimed in and said that she was Irish.  I asked her if she was born in Ireland clearly for my own amusement.  She dropped her head and said no.  I asked her what her maiden name was, and she said, “Yeats”.  I said, “Well, you could be related to W. B. Yeats”.

“Who is that?”  She earnestly asked.

The old man and myself busted into laughter. 

“He was a brilliant poet and writer that should not be overlooked.  Instead of reading one of those little pretentious novels with no substance, grab one of the classics once and a while.”  I said while trying not to humiliate her. 

I said my goodbyes and traded contacts with the auld fella.  I offered to try and help him find some missing people in his tree.  The boss came up to me as I was leaving, and said, “I’m sorry, JD”.

“For what?”

“It is obvious that you hold art, literature, history, and your family very close.  These things are a part of you, and I am sorry for trying to suppress them.  My God man, you lit up like a beacon, when you started talking about Ireland, art, and stuff.”

“Don’t worry about it, boss.  My dreams and ambitions may be suppressed at times but never are they gone, for if they die, I die along with them.”

“Like I said before, boy, you ain’t right”

We both laughed while exiting and ran through the torrent sheets of rain towards our cars. 

Reason for posting this nonsense?  My luck has been turning around lately.  There’s a brilliant dawning around the corner.  Wait and see.