Man in the Mirror

When I was a boy I used to stand behind our family bathroom door and stare into the mirror. I would ask it questions like 'Why am I here on Earth'? or would get myself all in a tizzie thinking about how my life would end one day. What would happen next, where would I go afterward, was that going to be it, kapput?!? Maybe a wee bit eccentric and philisophical for a boy of maybe 10 or 11, but that's what I thought about sometimes. It's likely not that unusual. As I've grown older and learned that life gets in the way of these measly thought processees (yes, that was to have the eeeee sound at the end) I thank whoever it is that controls the chemicals in the brain as I'm lucky enough to have them somewhat balanced and drone little on this type of subject matter. I sometimes envy people that proudly announce they have been singing or acting since they were 3, trying desperately to get to where they want to be with success or fame. The animal lover who raised ducklings in a cardboard box or caught grasshoppers because they were fascinated with their beauty rather than tried to rip off their wings for a thrill, and eventually became veterinarians. I have a horrid memory and couldn't tell you how Snow White eventually faired with the chick in the mirrors mirrors on the wall, but sometimes I wish my full length one at the top of the landing here at 48 Staley Terrace could have provided some insight rather than throw the confused little boy of 10 into a fit thinking about life and the thereafter. Sometimes I suppose the boy creeps through when I think too much, however we are lucky enough at a certain age to have been influenced by what might be religious followings, other beliefs or facts that direct us to a conclusion that I suppose we hold steadfast rather than the aimless and ironically silent answer given back by the looking glass. That's it,

Toodles