Act II

          It isn’t a pantry, but it is lined with containers boasting of flavors and delights almost beyond description.   Topor’s Dill Pickles, perhaps the best deli pickle in the galaxy.  Esparrago -Asparagus Guacamole, Folgers - Hazelnut Decaf, Mezzetta - Imported Spanish Olives, and of course, Dei Fratelli - Spaghetti Sauce (Italian Style). 

          All of these containers now hold a variety of flavorless, non-editable items, such as nails, screws, assorted glues, and odd, leftover plumbing parts.  

These are the cans and jars that line my workbench shelves.  They have found a second calling, a life after life.  In a way, they seem just as useful now as they were before. 

          As I edge closer to retirement years I wonder what my second function may be.  Surely not to toil in some job until my own parts wear beyond repair.  

Maybe all along it’s been the second purpose that's the important one, that which we choose to do with our lives after we’ve filed all the papers, charted the oceans and tended to the animals.

          There in the calm of life, when we realize we no longer need to accumulate things, we are no longer nudged to action by the second hand, or fall victim to the lures produced by Park Avenue, perhaps then our true purpose rises to the surface.

          Of course the whole idea of Life not actually starting until ACT II may seem absurd.   Why such a long warm-up?

  And if this were so, is page two the same for everyone? 

Observations tell us no.  Everything seems to be very individual and personal, while simultaneously advancing the universal conscientious. 

It would be prudent to remember at this juncture, that all of this speculation stems from a vantage point neither greater nor lessor than that of Moe Howard’s.

          It's not a pantry, but it is filled with humans of all sorts, each one unique within the galaxy, and each boasting of attributes almost beyond description.   

Moving in all directions, they come in different sizes, different shapes, all operating at different speeds, each one carrying memories, visions, frustrations, hope, and a plethora of curiosities. 

          Some are filled with heart-wrenching secrets, while others hold only rumors, spilling them here and there as they move about.   All of them have knowledge and a smattering of wisdom.   Many of them are proud of their contents and frequently list them, as if they hold some higher importance.

          There are a few who have dents and torn labels, yet their contents remain in tact, while others have spoiled, causing them to become bitter. 

          Of course there is always the odd one.  You know, sits around writing about everyone else, making lame observations and analogies, simply passing time at the back of the shelf; Contents unknown.

This is Z. Corwin saying, 

"Don't let your Life become ajar."