Once upon a time, in a galaxy far, far, away

I was doing a few things in my garage yesterday when I saw something that brought back a memory of long ago. There are things that trigger some memory like it was yesterday and can bring a smile to your face. This was one of those times.

Once upon a time, in a galaxy far, far, away.
Ok, maybe not so long ago,
but definitely far, far away, from where I am now.
It was 1995 or so,
It was when I was living down south,
Georgia, or perhaps even Utah,
Somewhere back east (of Alaska) and west of I-85.
A trip to one of my favorite restaurants,
I know it sounds dorky,
But yes . . . it was a bit of a scene still in my mind,
these many years later.

You know Cracker Barrel? Ah yes!
Fried Chicken, Cornbread, Fried Okra,
Dumplings, Pork Chops, and Pancakes,
Yummy things I love best.
Not to mention all the
homey things you might,
take home to your wife or friends.

You know come to think of it . . .
It might even be a Santa’s Wonderland
of sorts, the Granny Rockers;
checkerboard games made of wood,
the hats, splashy doodads,
Toys galore on the shelves, and
let’s not forget the receipt books.

There I was sitting, conversing with my kin
on a Sunday afternoon, sitting in the corner.
In the middle of dinner, chomping on dumplings,
I looked around, taking it all in, I love this place!

I couldn’t believe my eyes there ‘it’ was . . .
Just out of the dining area, in the corner,
close by the maple syrup and other goodies.

Some people might have been a bit freaked out,
but I was totally amazed how well he fit in,
for me made the picture perfect dream . . .

Through this tiny little hole in a wall,
there was a black nose, beady eyes
then his tiny ears peaked out,
wiggling around, then the little bitsy
mouse made a turn about looking intently at me.

At first I thought my eyes had betrayed me,
but I continued to stare, just waiting to see.
Sure enough; there before my eyes,
there very plain to see in the light now,
he came again peaking through the peep hole in the corner.
With such bravery, I started to laugh at the irony,
some people would have called management,
Complained, or just left the premises.

But no not I, again I thought,
he just seemed to belong.
With all the horse collars, trains,
bridle bits, wooden beams,
and rugged western pictures.
In this hodge podge of relics
A southern eastern/western world motif.

When I was sure no one was watching,
I pinched him the edge of a cracker or two.
He instantly became my friend.

His little hand grasping together,
Prayer like in a kind of thank you.
Probably feeding his little family,
so off he ran.

Now this may seem gross to some,
but it brought back many memories for me,
When I was a small child one of my favorite
Golden Little Books that I would sit and read for hours.

“Sylvester”, the country mouse with the musical ear,
loving the silver creek, midnight crickets.
All around him every night he could hear their song.
Shortly country home was replaced, demolished,
and his meadow swiped away by modern men
Replaced by houses, concrete beams.

As repeatedly they took his shelter,
Soon Sylvester was carried away,
I remember being sad that he did not have a home,
I was so sad . . .
But read again as the story would go on.

Somehow he found his way,
into where he finally belonged.
Nestled deep inside a little guitar,
every night he would pick, puck and
ping as he would play his own song.
The shop keep thought that he had a “magical guitar”.

Until one day a player came to buy that guitar,
and without knowing, Sylvester with it.
Though the strummer did not see,
Sylvester was amazed at the world.
That he then truly traveled around
quietly strumming to himself at night
when no one was around.

So when I saw my ‘little Sylvester friend’ again
just sitting there in that Cracker Barrel,
I thought to myself, again.
Pondered where he kept his guitar . . .
I was glad to help the little soul out.
For some reason in that moment,
as today there was magic in it for me.

Now several years have gone along the way
I have traveled many roads since in that store.
Which have led me here today,
but the treasure of this memory I will carry,

always . . .

remembering little Sylvester,
my magically musical, fur lined friend.

The moral to this story ~

Play guitar, for your heart always,
reaching for your magical dreams.
There is where you can build your home.

Eat good ole home cookin’ and remember,
even the meadow mice have little souls,
and friends can be found,
in the strangest of places.

Ice