As I gazed upon the picture not knowing what was left to thought, I thought of the past. As a boy, I had wondered through many a cavern wondering what would be the liking of chewing the fat with the chappers of the day. As they chewed, I dreamed…dreamed of the wooden spoon. The Wooden Spoon was a magical place I “wood” own some fine day abreast the horizon. Until then, I would listen and listen, hoping to apply what I learned to my fortune of thought I would have some day. One peculiar evening of nomading, I came upon …