Big words, like fat revisited

Grease floats. So what do we prefer? Thoughts that sink and can be swallowed?

First I thought about the amorphous blobs of molten lead that sank to the bottom of my glass one New Year’s Eve. You know, the lead that people heat above the flame of a candle, until a mercurial drop plummets into the cold champagne where it is fished up with a story. They're popular PC party gimmicks here for people who want to get their guests to utter something at all, preferably something profound.

Then I thought about the shipwreck on Wake Island and the one that was recently still emitting weak signals from the nave of Maria Magdalena.

I also recalled the gardener who came to my rescue one day at the Golden Gate National Cemetery. As I wandered about in tears among the endless rows of white stones on Bikini Island, perfectly convinced that a bomb had wiped out all of mankind and that I was the only living being left on Earth, he called out: “Are you looking for someone?” What a good question I thought to myself and answered immediately: “Yes", I said, "I’m looking for our father.” As he approached to help, I cried back: “Eureka!” He said no more, but came forth, read the inscription on the grave, bowed reverently before it and disappeared.
Dumbfounded, I laid down the bouquet of "prästkragar", his favorite flower, and began to write. Then I lit a fire in the middle of the Golden Gate National Cemetery, fueled by my letter to Him. Once again a green plastic watering can (supplied by the merciful gardener at the faucet) came in handy and, like any good Girl Scout, I used it to douse the smoldering ashes, secretly hoping that the carbon of my words would sink in. I am convinvced that the ashen water quenched the thirst of some of my invisible roots and maybe even helped some seed to swell.

More molten lead to come...