Yesterday and Today in Wisconsin

Yesterday morning I went to the continental breakfast at the De Forest Holiday Inn Express, even though I hadn't stayed there the previous night. The cleaning lady kicked me out shortly after I posted my previous post. I looked around in the dining area. There was the boy and girl again. Eating cereal. I couldn't tell which kind.

I sat down across from them. "Hi," I said.

"Oh, hi," they both said. They had been talking about something but then they stopped.

"You were talking about something, but then you stopped," I said.

"You're really creepy," said the girl.

"Yeah," said the boy. "You are."

"Is that what you were talking about?" I asked.

"Why are you still wearing that jumpsuit?" asked the boy.

"I came here to find something out about you," I said.

"I want to leave," said the boy.

"Learn to resist sudden impulses," I said.

"Um..." said the girl.

"I think I'm going to get the manager," said the boy.

"Wait, wait," I said. "There's something I need to know."

The boy ignored me and said to the girl, "Hey, let's go find the manager."

"Cereal," I said. I looked at their faces. "I need to know what kind of cereal you're eating."

"Bye," said the girl. The two of them got up and started walking to reception area. But then the boy turned as they were leaving the room and said, "It's new. It's Hakuna Matata cereal. From the Lion King. You should leave before the police come." Then he walked out of sight.

I stood up and looked around the room. Everyone must have stopped their conversations a few minutes earlier, I realized. I looked at them. I studied their faces. Good people. Balding middle-aged ladies with lumpy perms. They looked so kind. I stood on the little table I'd been at.

"My fellow citizens of the universe," I began. "We are trained to believe that the choices we make matter. For instance: cereal. The cereal you choose matters. Advertisers suggest this. Cereal companies suggest this, and the fortunes of many great men are based upon this idea. And I say to you all: It's true. What cereal you choose does matter. But not in the way the great barons of cereal-making want you to think. Most people choose a breakfast cereal based upon their deepest anxieties. You are afraid you do not exist, and so you buy Honey Nut Cheerios. But look." I walked over to the container full of Honey Nut Cheerios. I carefully opened the top of it, then dumped the contents into the sink. I picked up a Cheerio.

"Behold this Cheerio. It's made of oats. Every Cheerio is. There's probably two oats in this Cheerio. That's just a guess. I don't know for sure. Two oats--probably from two different plants. Perhaps from two different farms. Worked by different people, who live and breathe and yet you do not know them."

"My sisters and brothers," I said. "The work a person does has spiritual significance. Every little effort of those farmers, every bead of sweat, every blink of their eyes, every cough--it all echoes through eternity. You eat this Cheerio and you are in communion with the essence of your sister and brother the farmers. And your choice, to eat Honey Nut Cheerios, you choose because it tastes good, because it's high in fiber, because the brown box wards off the widening terror of existing. Whatever. Your choice is an expression of your being, even if you do not know it. And your every little choice and thought echoes through the cosmos, and the Creator of us all is with you, even in something so mundane. He made it too. You are participating in the work of creation, even in your mundane choices. You are creating the universe with God."

The manager walked in. He was holding a pool cue.

"Now listen mister," he said. "I don't want any funny stuff."

"Ok," I said. "I'm leaving."

"You're going to pay for those Cheerios," he said.

"Of course," I said. I took out my wallet. "Is five dollars good?"

"Let's see you get off the table first."

"Has my brother come by?" I asked.

"What?"

"I have a brother named Leo. He was going to try to get here from Madison. He was asking college students to drive him."

"Um," said the manager. "What does he look like?"

"We're identical triplets," I said. "He looks like me. Except no beard. Or hat, or sunglasses, or jumpsuit. He usually wears a nice jacket. He stares meaningfully at people and smokes."

"Get off the table," said the manager.

"Ok," I said. I got off the table.

"Now beat it," he said. He waved the pool cue at me.

"I'm beating it," I said. And I walked out.

"I may or may not call the police on you," said the manager.

"That's an unusual threat," I said.

I got in my car and started driving. It was about 11 am. I drove to Sparta. Short trip. They have a lot of information about bicycles there. I slept in my car in the parking lot of a Denny's. I spent most of today in Denny's eating eggs, thinking about God, and wondering about Leo. Leo, I'm in Sparta now if you want to come hang out. I'm using the internet at a new motel.

In His Most Holy Name.

Horace.