... ..funder woman ....April 25, 2004   It is 9:00 a.m. on a Saturday and the Alhambra is assaulted by scrunchy notes sailing through the park under graying skies.  The notes are aligned to produce what sounds like "Margaritaville," a tune I despise with surprising intensity.  I peel away from the Tempur-pedic mattress, my slumber temporarily captured as a body-shaped impression.  The Space Age Polymer of Turin.  I walk to the kitchen and hit the on-switch of the electric coffeemaker. From my large kitchen window I can see clumps of walkers circling the jogging path.  Many wear identical shirts.  While the coffee brews, I step outside to feed the birds and assess the commotion.  It is a charity walk for Cystic Fibrosis.  Volunteers have acquired donation pledges calculated according to laps completed.  I turn and scratch my nuts, morning-style.  Were I not so sleepy I would attack the band with a blown out flip-flop. I pour myself coffee and return to the window.   The band plays "La Bamba" to which the volunteers spontaneously juke.  I close my eyes and grimace as I recall my own pledge to this cystic circle-jerk.  I donate to one cause or another almost weekly because I work with Funder Woman. This year alone I have paid Funder Woman to Circle for Cystic Fibrosis, Jump Rope for Jaundice, and Bowl for Brucellosis.  Last year, she Dunked for Depression, Marched for Dimes, and Vaulted for Vaginitis.  In the weeks ahead, I'll pay her to Shimmy for Shingles, Hop for Hemorrhoids and Fence for Flatulence. I pour another cup of coffee and listen as the band plays "How Can you Mend This Broken Heart?"  I grin and think: You can Tapdance for Time.  previous..|..current..|..archives..|..2d quarter index..|..next

©  2004 by the beastmaster