Edmund Callipeaux – artist, college instructor, lives in St. Louis Park.
Kidpowertool – unemployed dairy professional, lives in Key West, FL.
Guy Cheblo – chef, corn expert, adventurer, lives in New York, NY.
Leadership 5 – woodworker, camping enthusiast, day trader, lives in Missoula, MT.
______________________________
Edmund Callipeaux – 17 September 2009, 6:00pm
My dreams came true today.
Last night, I dreamt that I had lunch at a McDonald’s restaurant, after which I went to my studio and painted a masterpiece!
And, believe it or not, today I went to McDonald’s, had a disgusting lunch, AND then, I actually went to my studio and painted a masterpiece! Can you imagine that?!
I guess sometimes dreams really do come true! – EC
The Painting!
Editor’s note: I feel that it is my duty to inform you that the above story is not completely factual. Yes, Edmund had a dream where he dined on crappy fast food hamburgers, after which he spent the day painting in his art studio - - this much is true. However, the painting in his dream, and the one he actually painted are two birds of a different feather!
Sadly, Edmund’s dream did not become reality.
Upon close inspection, the two artworks are indeed very similar, but the term "masterpiece" can only apply to one!
THIS is the masterpiece that appeared to Edmund in his dream:
This salty rogue commands the walls of my living room, in Key West. For me, the painting is a constant reminder that I should never turn my back to the sea. (It is also a reminder that I need to buy a nice hat like that someday.) – KPT
_______________________________
Guy Cheblo – 18 September 2009, 4:45am
Some say that Edmund Callipeaux is a lair.
Others say that while he may tend toward exaggeration from time to time, he is most assuredly a great lover of the truth, and thus never deviates too far from pure facts while embarking on his long-winded, and often rambling tales.
I say that the truth of the matter lies in a grey area, somewhere between fact and fiction.
For many, the perception of reality can be likened to peering through a glass of Minneapolis tap water. The view is somewhat bent by the liquid, but the image is basically clear. For others, the identification of what is real is skewed by their viewing-glass having been filled with murky dishwater. I myself have always imagined that my glass is filled with Hawaiian Punch fruit juice, thus giving me a rosy outlook on life. In Edmund’s case however, it is as if his glass is filled with thick, impenetrable chocolate pudding - - thereby leaving his wild imagination in charge of filling in the massive voids between actual events and other fictional narratives born solely from his world of dreams.
Given his pretension toward fantasy, and the fact that the poor guy scares easily (real easy), I often receive panicked phone calls from Edmund at all hours.
Tonight, I received one of those calls:
“Guy, I’ve done something…. Something that I’m not sure of…I don’t know! I think it might be bad!”
“Calm down, Edmund,” I said as I switched on my bedside table lamp. His voice was clearly distraught, and I could tell that his merger little brain was stuck in first gear as it whirled around at 60 miles per hour.
“Tell me what happened,” I spoke calmly into the telephone.
“You’re not going to be happy about this…. I feel like Sister Doris from our old grade school is going to come and find me and make me say a ton of Rosaries and stuff like that.”
“Edmund, first off, just tell me: what kinds of prescription drugs are you taking right now?” I said.
“Just my asthma meds.”
“Okay, good. Now calm down and tell me just exactly what happened,” I replied.
“I’m trying to tell you that I’ve made a big mistake…I really messed up…and I’m worried! I’m worried that there may be consequences!”
“Well?” I replied.
“Well, what?”
“Well, what did you do that was so bad?” I said as I began to regret answering the phone.
“Well, Guy, you know how I love to vacuum, right? Well, I sort of did a thing with the vacuum…something with the hose…something that I don’t think that I should have done. Something Sister Doris probably wouldn’t approve of.”
“Calm down, Edmund. What did you do with the vacuum hose?” I said as I tried to imagine what the fool had gotten himself into.
“I just couldn’t stop myself, Guy.”
“My God, Edmund! Are you saying what I think you might be saying? You can’t…that is wrong! Maybe we should send Sister Doris over with her prayer books and that yardstick she carried with her,” I said as I sat up in my bed.
“Oh no! So you think it’s bad too! That’s why I’m so worried! It started out innocently enough…you know how I love to vacuum. But the deed is done, and I can’t take it back. And now God is going to punish me!”
“He probably will, Edmund. What on Earth were you thinking? I know you love vacuuming…but this is really taking things far afield. And actually, why are you telling me this? Why involve me? Can’t you ever keep this crazy stuff to yourself?” I said as I began to raise my voice over the phone.
“I didn’t know who else to call!”
“Alright, alright,” I said as I brought a measure of calmness back into my speech, “Let’s just back up a bit and go over this. You say that you were vacuuming.”
“Yes.”
I continued to speak calmly, and at an even pace, “You were vacuuming and you did something with the vacuum. Something bad. You did something (or preformed some act) that caused you to relive one of your greatest fears in life. Fears that center on punishments administered by Sister Doris.”
“Yes.”
Those of you not familiar with Sister Doris will be folks who did not attend the same Catholic grade school that Edmund and myself graduated from in 1984. However, if you were a schoolboy, or schoolgirl, at any other Catholic grade school within the Untied States, then you will have memories of you own personal version of “Sister Doris.”
Sister Doris was a Nun who was our third-grade teacher, back in 1978. She was a larger-than-life figure, who was tuff as nails, and mighty handy with a yardstick. She struck the fear of God into us kids as she also tried to imbue our young minds with the knowledge of artistic techniques, like gluing pebbles to milk cartons, and finger-painting, and stuff like that. She was also our science teacher…so, it could be said, that at an early age, Edmund equated the fields of fine arts and the sciences with terror - - terror of Sister Doris and her yardstick.
(Sister Doris also taught us how to play 5-Card Draw Poker one afternoon, in art class. A rare happy day for Edmund and myself in Sister Doris’s classroom - - she actually had us third-graders playing with real money, and Edmund and I cleaned out the whole class.)
Thinking back to it now, that yardstick that Sister Doris had wasn’t just one of those thin, floppy ones - - it was extra-heavy-duty. It was broad and straight and maybe 3/8 of an inch thick…and it was shiny with lacquer. In Sister Doris’s hands, it barely made a sound as it was wielded through the air like Excalibur. But when it met its target, the impacting sound was that of 10,000 screaming children who were caught passing notes, giggling, or dilly-dallying.
That yardstick was a force unto itself. It was if a Saint had cut it from an ancient tree, in an ancient land. He or she benevolently worked it to be flat and sturdy - - after which, it was blessed by a Pope with the power to keep eight-year-olds walking the straight and narrow. And as it was passed down through the ages, and finally into the hands of Sister Doris, it was disguised from its true function by painted on numbers and dashes that marked off inches and feet. To the outside world, it appeared as a useful tool for classroom instruction. However, to every third-grader, it was the reason why we fully understood the tale of the Sword of Damocles long before we ever heard of Greek Mythology.
“Yes, I’m guilty.”
“Now, I know that I’m going to instantly regret asking you this, but what exactly did you do?” I said while wincing and gritting my teeth in preparation for Edmund’s inevitably disturbing answer.
“You’re going to be mad at me, Guy. I don’t know if I can tell you now. It’s too embarrassing.”
“Edmund, you’ve woken me up and you’re going to tell me what happened…whether you (or I) like it or not! Just get it over with and then we’ll discuss just exactly how many years of weekly psycho-therapy it’ll take to put this episode behind us,” I sternly said into the phone.
“Well, I was vacuuming the floor…. I got the whole place looking real nice; and once I had finished, I took the vacuum hose in my hand…and…and I vacuumed the vacuum.”
“You did what?” I responded.
“The vacuum was all dusty, and so I vacuumed the vacuum with its own hose. Doesn’t that seem wrong?”
“Edmund, you are right…I am going to be mad at you. In fact, I am mad at you. I hope a thousand Sister Doris’s show up at your doorstep tomorrow morning, each armed with a Rosary and a yardstick. It’s 4 in the morning and you call me with this? Vacuuming a vacuum? Are you insane? I’m going back to sleep!”
“But,”
“But nothing. I’m hanging up now, goodbye.”
And with that I slammed down the phone. I pulled out my daily planner from where it was resting on my bedside table. Jotting down these words: have telephone number changed tomorrow; I soon thought again and crossed the entry out with a solid line. If that deluded sod doesn’t have me to call, then what will he do? I can’t have him out there in the wilderness all alone. He’d be fishing around in that murky pudding-water, bumping into things, walking off cliffs, and God only knows what else.
I’ll just mark it down in the book to pack a yardstick in my bags when next visiting Minnesota. – GC
_____________________________
Leadership 5 – 19 September 2009, 6:53pm
Today, I tagged along with Edmund Callipeaux while he was out and about, running around town, doing this and that.
The morning agenda was filled with stops at Menards, an antique shop, and the city dump. Eventually, we swung into a gas station to fill up his truck and pick up a few supplies before heading over to Edmund’s painting studio.
“I’m running a little hot today, L5…I’d better make sure that I have enough refreshing soft drinks to keep my motor running,” Edmund said as we stood before the massive array of beverages at the back of the store.
Opening up one of the glass cooler doors, Edmund said, “This should do it.” After which he selected three 20-ounce bottles of Hawaiian Punch fruit juice that were nicely chilled.
Walking back to the front of the store, we took our place in line at the checkout counter. Edmund proceeded to peruse the store’s offering of Beef Jerky and Celebrity magazines that resided on the shelves at our waists, and I watched as the elderly gentleman in front of us placed his purchases on the counter. “1, 2, and 3,” I overheard him say as he lined up three 20oz bottles of Grape Crush next to the cash register.
“That’s a bit odd,” I thought to myself.
I looked from the 3 bottles of Grape Crush, to Edmund’s complementary set of red-colored bottles, which he had cradled in his arm while he mumbled to himself, “Hickory-smoked, extra hot, Louisiana Voodoo Fire Turkey-Jerky. Hmmm, interesting.”
Then, I looked over my shoulder, and to the woman who had taken her place in line directly behind us. I watched as she reached over to a display of Hostess fruit pies and selected an apple pie.
I continued to watch as she studied the package briefly, and then, after a moment of hesitation, she reached out her arm and placed her fingers on a second apple pie. My eyes widened as she deposited the package into the hand that still held the first pie. She then proceeded to eye over the entire rack and its variety of fruit filled pies in colorful wax paper wrappings. (Flavors such as, lemon, cherry, blueberry, and strawberry, as well as the apple.) And as the gentleman with the Grape Crush was fishing around in his pockets for the exact change to complete his purchase, the pie-woman sheepishly reached out once again and removed a third apple fruit pie from the display.
“How interesting,” I thought to myself as excitement began to brew in my blood vessels. There were three parties in line, each of whom were making their purchases in triplicate: 3 bottles of Grape Crush, 3 Hostess apple fruit pies, and Edmund’s 3 bottles of Hawaiian Punch!
Leaning forward slightly, so as not to call attention to myself, I nudged Edmund and whispered, “There’s something going on here. When you get to the counter, buy 3 lottery tickets…3 Powerballs. I think that this may be our big chance!”
Emerging from his daydream of the promise of spicy Turkey Jerky, Edmund looked past my shoulder and saw the woman with her apple pies. His expression went cold as he then turned to see the old man licking his lips as the clerk placed his purple soda pops into a plastic bag. Edmund then proceeded to absentmindedly set down his Turkey Jerky in with the magazines as he whispered under his breath, “Leadership 5, you are a genius!”
Walking up to the counter, and barely able to conceal the excitement in his voice, Edmund asked the clerk for 3 Powerball tickets in addition to ringing up his bottles of Hawaiian Punch. Completing the transaction and handing Edmund the lottery tickets, the clerk said, “Good luck.” To which Edmund replied, “I’ll send you a postcard from my own private Caribbean Island after the drawing tonight.”
Back in Edmund’s truck, the two of us celebrated our good fortune with a series of high-fives, as well as repeated exclamations of the word Huzzah! - - Followed by a few boisterous toasts with Edmund’s Hawaiian Punch.
“You know L5," Edmund said, “I think that I may have dreamt about this last night. Yes.... Yes, I think that I did dream about this same exact thing happening…only you were a smiling alligator who was wearing aviator sunglasses and an Adidas tracksuit. I can’t believe this is happening...we're going to be RICH!!!”
“Well, Edmund, it’s hard to imagine that anyone could have predicted the perfect storm of events that led to this fateful moment. Let’s just keep our fingers crossed that your dreams really will come true. That will be a story to tell!” – L5
No comments:
Post a Comment