Zen master among the marigolds......

Or do you think he's a Chinese fisherman? I'm not sure, but his original home was more fitting than the marigolds he finds himself sitting in now. He came with a bonsai tree I bought J for Father's Day when he was working in MO. We were staying (in the 5th wheel) in St. Paul -- the old part. Part of the Lewis Clark trail was steps away from the RV park we were staying in and evey day after J left for work I'd walk the trail to downtown St. Paul. And most every day I'd come back with packages containing things I'd picked up on my wanderings through town. One of my best finds was the St. Louis Bread Co. I'd wait until the tourist lunch crowd had left and then I'd stop in to refresh before hiking back to the 5th wheel. I had never seen so many bagel and cream cheese choices. Not to mention the soup and sandwiches.

Anywho....Father's Day found us stranded in St. Paul with only son #1 close by -- which was most unusal (to be away from the kids on F's Day and to be close to son #1 who was well into his wandering around the country by that time.) I had no idea what to get J for F's Day until I spotted the little Oriental figure sitting under a bonsai tree in a flower shop owned by the nicest gay guys. They had gotten in a few bonsai plants especially for Father's Day and they helped me pick out the perfect figure along with the perfect miniature tree.

I was impressed with their honesty. I asked them if the tree would last long, given my living conditions, and they said probably not. Actually, the tree lasted much longer than I counted on but not as long as the little Oriental fellow. He now sits just outside my back door and brings back many memories. Memories of St. Paul. Memories of being close to son #1 for a while and going to Blueberry Hill to listen to some excellent music and then spending his birthday watching Chicken Run in a lovely little theater in a lovely building -- whose name I can't remember. Memories of sitting outside a little cafe next door to the flower shop sipping coffee with the flower shop owners because they insisted on updates on how the plant and the little Oriental dude were doing. I'm pretty sure their main purpose was talking to me about New Orleans -- a place they were fascinated with. Fine with me. I enjoyed the company and the coffee.

Thinking back, I cried a lot in Missoui. I cried listening to the Flying Neutrinos sing I'd Rather be in Louisiana. I cried driving down the interstate when we passed highway signs with New Orleans written on them, marking the lane that would take me home. I cried when son #1 told me he wasn't ready to settle down and buy the house his St. Louis fiancee was ready for. I cried saying goodbye to her. I cried when his (then)fiancee told me the story of how her single working mother would drop this precious child off at the St. Louis Zoo on summer days when babysittes couldn't be afforded telling her child how to stay unnoticed and how if she felt threatened to join up with one of the ever-present summer school groups of children touring the zoo.

Yes. Thinking back, St. Louis was a topsey turvey ride for me.