There's a garden spot, I'm told, where it's never too hot and it's never too
cold;
Where you're never too young and you're never too old,
Where you're never too thin or tall.
And you're never, never, never too, too, too anything at all, Oh!
You're not too mad and you're not too sane
And you don't compare and you don't complain,
All you do is just sit tight, 'cause it's all so, so, so, so down-right, right.
Ha-ha-ha! Ho-ho-ho and a couple of tra-la-las,
That's how we laugh the day away,
In The Merry Old Land Of Oz. (Harold Arlen)
And so our journey, Joe’s and mine, is soon to become the remember when! It will be stored in some small speck of a charged proton or neutron or cell, flashing, fast finding sanctuary in a synapse full of information, but as the days become months and the months quickly blossom into years, it will be recalled, recanted and recited but this time, perhaps, a bit reshaped. We both were able to flee into fantasy, sure-footed but shoeless feeling the grains of sands tumble under our toes, the grandeur of good grace our lungs, and the insanity or saneness smother us in a place where unique is not ugly and inclusion delicious icing on the cake. Too dramatic a description, nope, just an average day in OZ, known in this universe as Provincetown!
We will line up at the airport, pass through the inspection, follow presumed safety detectors, gripe about the lines of fellow passengers and the administrative procedures to keep us safe from the boogeyman, whomever he or she has been deemed this day. We will be inspected, and wonder how introspective are the interrogators. As the old Abbott and Costello routine begins, “who’s on first…” the chaos of truth and finding a real answer without doublespeak, shall once again become the norm and the unimagined world created by a delusional man, enabled by insecure and inept politicians and paid for by self serving, short sighted wealthier and holier than thou humans will, like carbon dioxide, begin to smother, what might otherwise be just another day!
