When I plant my cane down in sync with my right leg it sounds a little like the Phantom of the Opera threatening to do some dirty work just before the show is over.
There you have the total picture of me looking ever forward. There’s no solace of total hip replacement left, only a promise, a little vague, of the possibility of enjoying the rest of my life with, as Harry might have put it, with a gimp. Now I want to tell the world that I do not care about the gimp, as I have other possibly more important stuff to think about.
The 2011 stats for this blog have just turned up and have revealed an interesting turn of the wheel, namely the reappearance of Unamille in my life. I don’t think it’s a secret or anything that Unamille has captured the imagination of a number of people you might know who don’t seem to be susceptible to any kind of spiritual invasion, but I do see that further exploration of the phenomenon is probably important and even necessary, particularly because my space has been invaded by this weevil like character only recently, in a way even clamoring (an exaggerated word) for my attention.
Only last night, as the New Year made its entry in Oneonta, I was accompanied in my dreams by the curious figure of Unamille, perhaps never seen before. It floated through the shadows of my dreams–the familiar shield figure of the weevil, very large, maybe seven feet tall and six feet across the back (or was it the front,) graceful as a dancer though strangely enough with a hard surface and the color of very old wood. You may have guessed this was shaped like the letter U turned upside down. It floated several inches over the floor, the bottom edge of the carapace was cut in large scallops giving the impression of great flexibility of construction and yet when I knocked it sounded just like a door. On the top of this monstrously sized individual a small head perched and wobbled. It was about the size of a grapefruit and as nearly as I could see (though it was pretty dark all the time) it didn’t have any facial characteristics that might define a human person.
At some point I lost patience and had Fiona shoot it with Jack’s air rifle, but nothing happened at all, so, exasperated, I turned on the light at which point there was the sound of expiring air that spoke, as clearly as a bell, UNAMILLE. Reality took over the dream state. We entered under the protective cover and inside we found the record of every single event that had happened in the world on the last day of 2011. And then it was gone, but I don’t believe it is forever. Had its battery run down? It must have been restored by an internal mechanism. Will it appear again?