Saturday, May 7, 2011

Disneyland - Lost Safari

As I sit in my father-in-law's hospital room in the Medical Telemetry Unit, I can gaze out the window toward Anaheim Stadium. 
Beyond it, I can see the outline of the Matterhorn. 
The Park is so near, yet seems far away.
Funny how a loved one spending two months (and counting) in a hospital can keep your heart's attention.
I'll never lose the spot in my heart for the Park, of course. 
Looking at my blog's Sitemeter numbers drop from a cliff, and finally having the forethought to bring my laptop with me, I make a small vow to try clicking out an entry today.
I feel I've been gone so long. 
Returning to the blog for a few moments after almost a month away is at once alien and familiar.
I'm a member of the Lost Safari, finally stumbling back into camp years after having left it.  Groggy eyes find my Jeep overturned, my provisions ravaged and my tent mildewed and discolored from years of exposure to the Jungle.  No sign of the others.
My arms and legs ache from endlessly clinging to the pole above that damned rhino.  The pith helmet smells of sweat.  The monocle has rusted in its metal frame.  The khakis are threadbare in places.  I have lost so much weight, my knees are knobbed and skin hangs from sallow cheeks.
It is a burden to breathe in this oppressive humidity. 
What happened here? 
Ammo boxes are torn open.  Rounds are scattered everywhere.
Rusted pots.  A cracked bottle of ether.
Specimen boxes and brittle butterflies.
The green and muddy river gurgles past the bank below.
The sounds of jungle fauna and distant drums form a white noise about me.  It echoes in my ears.
I know those sounds so well.
Yet they are dreamlike in this moment.  Different.
Eyes struggle to focus as my head throbs.
Sleep comes - fitful and then deep.
I know that I shall wake and then I shall continue my journey back.
Back to the dock.
To the Bazaar.
To the Treehouse.
To Adventureland and beyond.
Until then, my loyal four (4) friends and readers, hang in there with me. 
Know that I am making my way home.
Soon enough, I'm sure, I'll be rounding the bend toward Trader Sam, casting him a happy smile as he raises a handful of heads toward my boat.