this morning. a vivid memory: when i was six, my parents took me to paris for the first time. we checked into a very chic hotel on the very chic ave. victor hugo, and the first thing i wanted to do was explore. my first stop in exploring a hotel room or suite is always the bathroom… because i've always loved baths.

i walked into a nice and inviting setting… large white towels… small bottles of colorful liquids on the sink and by the tub… and two large terry robes. i decided that i wanted to enjoy a bubble bath using some of the enticing-looking gel sitting in a basket on the edge of the tub. i plugged up the tub… turned on the hot and cold water taps… opened the bubble bath gel bottle… and poured the contents into the tub. and i sat there and watched as the mirror began to steam up… and the bubbles to rise… and then… dip!... i was inside. yum!

afterwards, i wrapped myself up in one of the too-many-sizes-too-big-for-me robes and went back into the room.

i sat on the edge of the bed. i remember feeling antsy… like any child of six would feel… antsy and wanting to do something with my idle hands. i noticed a wall-mounted radio… basically a speaker with buttons programmed to play different stations… nailed to the wall. i turned on the radio. i don’t remember what was playing… the singer… the song… i don’t remember. but i do remember this: bending down to look through the slotted front of the speaker… and seeing… in a childhood fugue of imagination… the singer… the band… the stage… the glimmer… the glamour.

i realize, now, that it was the dazzling effect of the expensive wallpaper… seen through the gaps on the speaker. but when you’re six… it’s all about the dream that’s sitting behind your eyes… waiting to be released. and you can’t deny that dream… because… when you’re six… it's all about the fantasy.