And Gutenberg Lived Here: The Day Of The Flying Banana

Today started out so totally normal.

The usual clean, shop, wash, sleep-in

Saturday routine known to generations of American pioneers

crossing the desert on the wagon train version of Route 66,

stopping at the general store,

feeding the horses.

Well, maybe more like the local version of Walmart,

but still.

Around three we were done,

and ready for a walk.

And since I started striking,

many years ago,

at two to three hours in a pine forest,

followed by pigs ears in aspik,

or schmalzbrot (goose grease bread)

followed by a long walk back through the woods,

we decided on a couple of hours in the beautiful city park.

Followed by strawberry cake

(picture sweetened pizza dough with strawberries)

and coffee at the little outdoor cafe there.

The walk was gorgeous.

Hundreds wanting to ride the small train that circles the park,

ten to twelve year olds playing soccer,

families grilling,

kids playing on the giant stone snake with water bubbler.

And a view from the vista point of the entire Rhine today-

upriver in the direction of Cologne,

across the Rhine knee toward Frankfurt,

the view of the anchored Russian super-glassed love boat,

pleasure yachts,

canoes and dragon boats

was magnificent.

And with a beautiful sky,

and just the right amount of wind,

the day was perfect.

Even all the continuous road building at the moment in the city,

with lanes suddenly crossed

and magically appearing potholes,

and bulldozers,

and rock trucks going the wrong way couldn’t get me.

Not today.

And as we came down the winding hill by the hopital,

I was thinking maybe we would even get lucky and find a parking space,

despite the outdoor open showings of the soccer championships,

when….

suddenly we were hit by a flying banana.

Now, in a situation like this, several things go through other peoples minds, I’m sure.

What…

who…

expletive deleted…

Although, I don’t think, now that I think about it,

that I have ever heard a friend say,

in polite dinnner table conversation,

“you know, that day I was hit by the flying banana,

I thought ‘who…’ ‘why…’  ‘expletive deleted…'”

And, to tell you the truth,

neither did I.

What I really was thinking was,

‘hey, did some Minky drop his provisions on his way to Oz?’

‘Did someone graft bananas into those London plane trees along the boulevard as an experiment?’

And then, finally,

‘I bet there are kids up there in those trees.

Testing their pitching arm.’

By which point,

some form of reasonableness finally kicked in,

and I realized the second bang we heard was the banana,

sliding down the back of the car,

and impaling itself on the back window wiper.

I spent the rest of the afternoon getting a bucket, rags, and a window washer from the house,

and trying to stand on the car sill

thank heavens I’m tall,

to remove Minky-food,

well-ripened in the sun,

probably already many weeks before,

from the crevices of our wonderful newly-designed car.

The one with all the aerodynamically,

but not car shampooer approved

creases.

But hey, despite everything,

not everyone can say they were hit by a flying banana.

And live to tell about it.

And in a blog no less.

Happy Sunday.

copyright Dunnasead.co 2016

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