It was the last time at the rodeo.
It is a fait accompli.
Ring the bell. Close the book. Extinguish the candle.
It's a wrap. Strike the set.
Oh, the many ways can one describe the ending of an era, and re-entry into a life interrupted.
How about likening the re-entry to the story of the Apollo 13 mission?
You remember the Tom Hanks version. There they were, three astronauts in space, just minding their own business, which was a trip to the moon, in a vehicle that looked like an inverted pyramid with a riding mower thing trailing along behind.
And....and....BANG! "Houston, we have a problem."
And then the hearts pounding part, and the breathless part, and the scrambling part and the throwing all the things on the table and Gene, the mission control guy says, "This is what we got to get these guys back."
And the things they had were the entire contents of everybody's lunch bags.
Or something like that.
Anyway, there they were, the three astronauts just minding their own business, and the guys at mission control cleaning their finger nails. All of a sudden things changed and everybody on the Earth knew their business, and the guys at mission control were biting their fingernails, and knowing there was no way back.
And the guys on the spacecraft which somebody had thoughtfully named Apollo 13 for heaven's sake were all alone up there and they were running out of oxygen, and then they went to the dark side of the moon.
And for a while, nobody knew if they were still in the inverted pyramid thing, or stuck sitting on the riding mower, thing or splat, somewhere on that big ole' orb which looks an awful lot like a big moldy cheeseball.
Then, they emerged from the dark side of the moon, and then they flew back with the help of all those fingernail-less guys at mission control who had figured out, with the help of the contents of their lunch bags, how to get them to within a mile of New York City in time for that big confetti parade.
Exciting stuff if you were watching the movie.
Pure hell if you were living it.
And this, this Homeless Nation thing hasn't been any picnic either.
But , like Apollo 13, and that Lost in Space story, it has been an adventure, lived either minute by minute, or week by week, with that heart pounding, that fingernail biting, that sitting on the edge kind of adrenaline pump wondering if the things you have in your lunch bag will be enough to bring you back home
Or will that trip around the dark side of the moon -or into Homeless Nation - be the sling shot force that will send you spinning out of control into space for all eternity....or until the oxygen runs out.
Kind of a Zen thing. To be on the street, but not of the street.
Chop wood. Carry water as the Buddah said.
There are so many memories it is impossible to remember them. (My turn to emulate Yogi Berra)
There are so many people it is hard to remember them. Except for the great ones. And I do.
There are so many secrets that will never be told about the dark side of the moon.
So many lessons, and revelations and and heart aches and laughs and wonderment and angst and grief and puzzlement all wrapped up in one orb like big old moldy cheeseball thing.
So, let's keep this brief. Before I get all teary eyed and my makeup drips down my nose.
Always remember, the past is not always prolog.
And the number one lesson Streetpuppy will take away from Homeless Nation:
There's no such thing as a free haircut.
-30-
