Yesterday I saw a man in a Prius. He was chewing on a long cigar.

I believe he was a bank manager. I was standing near a parking lot.

As he drove slowly by me, preparing to turn into a nearby parking lot, I mentally yanked him from his hybrid seat and stuffed him into a long, sparkling Cadillac. Still driving slow, still chewing on the cigar, perhaps with a bit more hair on his head or a ill-matching toupee.

I went back to my business of staring off down the street, waiting for my carpool ride to show.

I didn’t hear his car as it powered down in a parking space 20 feet behind me.

However, I heard this exchange between the bank manager and a contractor who was leaning on his oversized truck.

“What kind of stogie is that?”

“mumble mumble.”

“Oh yeah. I’ve never tried it. Good?”

“mumble mumble mumble.”

“I get mine through my boss. He gets ‘em in Sacramento. Some smoke and wine shop.”

“mumble mumble har mumble.”

“How’s it smoke?”

I turn my head so I can actually hear the bank manager.

“Oh, I don’t light them anymore.”

“You don’t light them?”

“No.”

“Well, shoot. Really? Don’t light them?”

“All right, then.”

“All right.”

My vision of the bank manager in his Cadillac returned to me with a new detail. Rich, puffy clouds of gray stale smoke filled the inside of the car, the window cracked but an inch, either to let the smoke out, or let the air in.

Hey, you read The Pile? No? That’s okay. I’ll read it for you.

Today, the Woodland Community College launched a nationwide hunt for a new Vice President of Academic and Student Services by posting an ad on Craigslist.

Sure, they ‘probably’ posted elsewhere, or set up a Facebook page, but the fact that you can hook up with a completely boring/bored person, find a girl to play Halo 3 with (and be bi with), and score some sah-weet 80’s Camaro parts all in the same swath is truly impressive.

Be sure you meet the following physical requirements of the VP job before applying:

• Hearing and speaking to exchange information and make presentations
• See to read a variety of materials
• Dexterity of hands and fingers to operate a computer keyboard
• Sitting for extended periods of time
• Lifting light objects

Personally, I can only see to read a limited assortment of materials, like soup labels and fortune cookies.

Last weekend I helped carry a casket. Inside was my wife’s grandpa.

I didn’t cry about his passing until the funeral service when my father-in-law recited a half-written poem about the loss of his father. Like everyone else in the room, my eyes filled as his voice quavered and fell to an almost inaudible whisper. His brother stood at his side as he choked out the words.

One line stuck out to me. It came shortly after he stated that this was the first time in 65 years of life that he didn’t have any parents. I don’t know if this is the exact sentence, but it went something like “I’m a little boy lost in the world.”

He said many other thoughtful, inspiring, funny and tearful things, but this line stayed behind as the others marched by.

Why?

Although my parents are alive (and probably reading this entry, appreciating my validation), I also feel like a little boy lost in the world. It’s not a sissy thing to say, just an honest reaction to the lack of guidance, significance and purpose I tolerate day to day.

I’m not a depressed person. On the contrary, I feel I’m generally content and can find meaning in minute tasks. But there is a deep bit of light in the dark center of my soul that always shines.

My father-in-law’s words reflected that little light.

It is light because light holds truth, and even in the darkest places the truth still exists. Perhaps the darkness is the distance between my consciousness and my subconsciousness, or simply an evolution of denial. I don’t know the answer, and my uncertainly is just another metaphor for its existence.

I could attempt to boil it down for you, tell you that it is probably just the knowledge that I hold no significance, that I don’t believe in god, that I have no understanding of our purpose and that, at my core, I will never recover, never find my way.

Of course, being a good agnostic, I also appreciate the uncertainty that exists. With concrete and indisputable evidence, the will to live, love and explore might be greatly diminished.

Going on this way about my father-in-law’s words makes me feel selfish, but death is a selfish subject. I’m already an internally-focussed person, and confronting loss only holds another mirror up for me to view.

Grandpa was a favorite person of mine. His kindness towards others, his funny eccentricities, his playful conversation, his fragile finish–they all will leave an indelible mark on my personality.

A few years ago, I communicated to him that I considered him to be one of my grandparents, and he rejoined by calling me one of his grandsons. I hadn’t the opportunity to know either of my grandfathers very well, so my connection to him was deeply satisfying.

I helped carry him to his grave, just as I helped carry his wife ten years ago. Where they are now I will not guess. That they are missed is certain.