Do you remember as a kid your mother or father telling you to clean your room? Sometimes repeating the order three or four times in the same minute as if the survival of the universe was contingent on the completion of the Herculean feat. In an attempt to preserve my sanctuary's natural order, I often began to playfully debate with my parents, hoping to delay the inevitable. After a few minutes of witty discussion, my father would declare in a spine chilling tone, "ENOUGH! You have to the count of three, or it's time out."
For myself, the unnatural request to dismember my refuge's perfected system of organization was heart-wrenching; however, the booming countdown to my doom triggered a primeval instinct within my mind. It transformed me into a swirling vortex like the Looney Toon Taz, hell bent on disposing of the cluttered evidence of my rebellion so that I might avoid fifteen agonizing minutes in the fiery pits of the laundry room corner.
Frantically running around my room, I began tossing the mess into the corner of the closet or even sometimes into the dark abyss under my bed, hoping that the stench of your week old socks might suffocate my arch-nemesis, the bogeyman. With the aid of my quick thinking, I evaded custody this time and received my daily ration of one cookie.
During this weekly to monthly ritual, I recalled losing numerous things here and there, believing that my other foes, the Elves of Keebler, were the potential culprits, stealing all they could carry. After a few years passed, I noticed that my stockpiles of debris grew so large that the time had come to review their contents and dispose of any garbage. As I wallowed in the huge collection of disarray, a wormhole of pandemonium opened, sucking me into another dimension.
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| Flower Man's House |
When I awoke, I found myself transported to a small, dully colored community of a metropolis. I began to explore the area, heading toward the skyscrapers of the city. Along my trek, I encountered a magical park that resembled a colorful junkyard. Beside this valley of jazzily colored structures, there stood a fortress of the likes I had never seen.
The vivid colors of crimson, blues, greens, and innumerable others of the light's spectrum canvased the building's enclosure, capturing my gaze. While examining the partitions, which were decorated in treasures and monuments of society, I uncovered on a small plaque the name of the structure, "Flower Man's House." I wished to meet this Flower Man, but he was nowhere to be found . When I peeked through the crevices of the fence to see inside the property, I discovered something incredible. The various items that had disappeared from the mounds of debris within my dwelling, had found their way to the Flower Man.
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| Toy Art |
He had decorated the walls, walkways, furniture, and any other open space with knick kancks, dolls, figureines, and even spare parts of vehicles and machinery. The immacualte base certainly deserved recognition as a recyling masterpiece, demonstrating Flower Man's ability to spot the diamond in the rough. His ingenuity and care elightnened me.
I had carelessly tossed these toys into a pile, forgetting the joy they had brought me as a young boy. The Flower Man, on the other hand, transformed these underrated toys into fabulous works of art, displaying the true majesty of the items in his yard. Before I had a chance to thank the Flower Man for preserving the heroes of my childhood on an artistic pedestal, the portal appeared, returning me back to my room. The journey left me with a new appreciation for the treasures of my past; but even more, with a yearning to one day meet the Flower Man.
