Spilled Milk, Mashed Mushies
 

It is often said that when Life closes a door, it opens a window. But valence nuances of promising metaphors leave their hopeful orbits when we bombard them with contemplation, and so the reader wonders how high and how small that glassless aperture might be. Ideas preen and prance upon the stage, their birth and death an unrewarded understudy for plays performed in sanguine reverie. And whether they breach the Olympian lintel of fame’s tangibility, is all a random turn of Fate’s fickle gambler’s wrist.

There are places in this great land of ours of stunning beauty. And Zion National Park in Utah is one. Earth the color of vibrant rust, pincushioned with grass of bioluminescent green. And walls of stone striped hues of the rainbow, like Nature’s own spangled banner. A youth group of my teenage years spent nigh on a week of hiking there. And the weight of planning menus for us all fell to someone we soon found knew too little to precontrive our fare. A lunch of metered salami chubs and rationed crackers scarcely quelled our aching bellies, and dinner proved the worst of all. Some thirty years ago the bane of every camper was dehydrated beef stroganoff, a bitter tasteless brew we loathed to eat. And “New, Improved!” graced its serpent label, which actually meant a tin of odorless garlic was now inside.

We made camp atop a lovely mountain, 7 miles of sandstone cliff behind us. And set up a makeshift stove of stones atop a fire where balanced a shaky metal grill. The much feared stroganoff boiled away, the scent and thought like salt water to a derelict ocean crew. When suddenly our cook’s too avid stirring sent the stew into the steamy earth, to shock and surprise and inner contemplation of our lost meal. To you it may seem odd that 13 starving teens gave out a whoop of delight; but the lesser of two ills is sometimes gladness in disguise. We laughed and danced and patted each other’s backs, and misfortune’s telegram became a welcome prize.

So will this uninvited show prove to be good fortune’s flag? Will all the brouhaha bring the original BSG into the light, and mini fans that like both versions support us TOS types for a movie continuation too? Perhaps although we watched our hopes spill like my teenage stew, something wonderful will come to be; and we like varied friends will dance and pat each other like kindred souls, to see not one but two dreams come true.

This waiting room we call a board is filled with expectation, like a new father’s heart. May each of us soon hear the cry of newborn life, a celluloid big screen child named BSG.

Affectionately and respectfully,
Muffit

:muffit:

very interesting point, i'll throw my hat into this area and keep my fingers crossed

Thanks Braxiss! :)

:muffit:

I always look forward to your musings, Muffit. You never disappoint.

:rose::rose::rose::rose::rose::rose:
:rose::rose::rose::rose::rose::rose:

(You realize I've given you more roses than I've given Mrs. Dawg? Don't tell anybody.)

I am
Dawg
:warrior:

Here's to spilled stew! And newly reborn celluliod dreams. Good words, Muffit.

Thanks Dawg! Thanks Jewels! :)
:muffit:

Beautiful Muffit, and so true!
Here is to our dreams coming true:)

Keeping the Faith
Amber

another great post muffit!

:cry:

Thanks Amberstar! Thanks Bsg!

Don, did I say something to make you sad? Sorry! ;)

:muffit:

No no, my we widdle daggit.

Just i get all misty when you speak, sniff.

:)

Ooh, wow! Then I take that as quite a compliment! Thanks Don!!! :)

:muffit:

Glad to read your post. Tom was a little slow on the uptake. But it finally dawned.

Lights on here. hardly ever home.

:D

On a tangent I remember having some of that overly salted stuff. Tom was stuck on a mountain, on foot, no food within a days trek. And I still couldn't eat that stuff!!!
:D

Hi Tom! Thanks for replying! That's neat you remember that awful dehydrated stuff too. In second place was the infamous dehydrated eggs. Looked (and tasted) like someone lost their lunch :).

:muffit: