Binge Residue

 

Having watched approximately 260 episodes of Leave it to Beaver, during the Covid shutdown, I’m discovering mental side effects.  First off, let me just say that I find it hard to believe that anyone with such a diminished capacity as Beaver, could actually function within society without entering politics.

Episode after episode, season after season the Beaver fell for the same moronic gibberish, doled out by Larry, Gilbert, Richard, Whitey, Lumpy, and Eddie Haskell.

And I can’t really cut June and Ward any slack either.  Get a clue people.   Your kid was born without a brain.  You should have called the Guinness Book.

Okay, getting back to my side effects.   The Beaver has ruined television for me.  I’ve gotten so I can't believe anything I see.

On one channel I see Raymond Burr in a wheelchair, while two channels over he’s walking around a courtroom.  And Lassie, with no normal speech or opposable thumbs, convinces June Lockhart that Timmy has fallen into a well.

Am I the schmuck?  Is it me?

 

The Pirate Joke

 

Hellen Snoop worked for WKLD in San Diego.  Her latest assignment was to locate and interview the last remaining pirate.  Word was that he hung out along the boardwalk, somewhere in the bars, between the tee shirt, and surfboard shops.

Hellen took her film crew down to the waterfront late Saturday night.  It was in a dimply lit bar where, sitting there in the back corner, was in fact, the very last living pirate.

          She stopped at the bar and asked the bartender what the old man was drinking.  Rum and Coke, the bartender replied.  Let me have two of them, she said.

As she approached the old pirate, she smiled and set the drinks down in front of him.

Hello, she said.  My name is Hellen, and I would like to interview you, if you don’t mind.

ARGGGG! Was the response of the pirate.  What be yer pleasure?

          How about if we just start off with a few questions, and if there is anything you don’t want to answer, just say, PASS.  OK?

          Ask away, the pirate said.

          Well, I can see you have but one leg.  Can you tell me what happened?

          Ah!  You see, we was doing battle on the high seas.  They were lobbing cannon balls at us, and we were lobbing cannon balls at them.  Well, I was just getting ready to fire at their ship when one of their cannon balls flew over the rail and took me leg off right at the knee.  I’ve had this peg ever since.

          Hellen looked down at her little tape recorder to make sure it was working.  It was.

          What about that hook where your hand should be? She asked.

          Once again lassie, we were swash-buckling out at sea.  They were jumping on our ship, and we were jumping on theirs.  I spun around to run this scallywag through with my sword, when as luck would have it, he was just wee bit faster than I, and he lopped me hand off at the wrist, but there isn’t anything you can do with you hand that I can’t do with this hook.

          And if you don’t mind – what about the patch over your eye?  Did that happen in battle as well?

 

          No Lassie, the seas were calm, the temperature was mild and only a hint of a breeze.  All of a sudden there was this big ruckus up in the crow’s nest.

          I looked up to see what was going on, when the biggest seagull I’d ever seen in me life, pooped right in me eye.

      Well… I’d only had the hook a couple days.

 

 

 

 

Save the Date

 

The Rabbit

 I had initially thought there was ample room.  In the store they seemed to fit just fine.  I walked on the tile floor as well as on the carpet and they felt great.

Here, walking along the sidewalk, my toes feel cramped, like there isn’t enough room in these shoes.  What could possibly be different between the floor of the shoe store and this sidewalk? And now that I have worn them outside, they won’t take them back.  I’m stuck.  They have my money and I have shoes that don’t fit.

Not only don’t they fit, but my feet hurt more and more with each step I take.  As I tried to figure out why all of a sudden they seem smaller than they did in the store, a rabbit, who had been munching something in the tall grass, sat up and spoke to me.

Hello, he said, I see you’re having a problem.

It’s my shoes, I replied, before realizing I was conferring with a rabbit.

I can tell, the rabbit said.  Could I offer you a suggestion?

You don’t wear shoes, I said.  What could you possibly know about footwear?

Okay then, the rabbit replied, be that way.  See if I care.

I could tell right away I had hurt his feelings.  I was rude, I told the rabbit, I’m sorry.

You are right about me not wearing shoes, but I have learned many things about sidewalks, he said.  For example, this one runs downhill.  As you are walking, you are sliding forward in your shoes, without even noticing it.  That causes your toes to crunch up against the inside toe of your shoes.

You are very wise, rabbit.  I had not thought of that.  I am, indeed, going downhill.  So what can I do to fix this?

First, said the rabbit, turn around and walk up-hill.  This will test my theory.  If your feet stop hurting when you go up hill, then your feet will slide to the back of your shoes and you’ll know I was right.

Truly these were complex thoughts for a rabbit.  I had to ask, just what kind of rabbit are you?

Snowshoe, he said smiling.

 

 

Space Available

 

Perhaps it is the vastness of the universe that draws Mankind into fantasies of exploration.  The caution, however, is the same reason magicians do not give away their secrets.  Once you know – the fun is gone.

The majority of my writing violates Benjamin Franklin’s philosophy.  He said, “Write something worth reading, or do something worth writing.”

It is the space within my gray matter that I explore.  For me, that exploration is fun.  You are the passengers along for the ride.  Together we discover that on occasion some of my neuro synapses misfire.  Looking out of our window into the vast darkness we may see a lonely noun standing next to a flat tire, or some misguided adjective trying hard to escape the denseness of a black paragraph.

Lightyears away there is a rule book suggesting I go to jail for some of the metaphors I’ve mixed, but I scoff.  I have a small placard hanging from my rearview mirror which allows me to park on the tracks if I so desire.

As long as there remains space available, I’ll be there.  Whenever punctuation falls short of hitting its mark – I’ll be there.  At any accident scene during a run-on sentence, I’ll be there.

Good-bye 2021.  I’m headed to infinity – and beyond.

 

Milo Finch

 

Milo Finch

1950 - 2056

Author, Photographer, District Attorney,

Part-time plumber, Gardner &

Hedge fund trimmer.

Inventor of the Hands-free Oven Mitts

Moo Lake

 

and then the lake 

flooded over the pasture.

Some cows were perplexed.

Others enjoyed the refreshing temperature.

We only saw one put her face in the water

and blow bubbles.

The Cats Name is Fluffy

 

The movie opens as they are sailing through a mysterious fog. She is below deck for whatever reason, so he is the only one who gets exposed to the strange mist.

Throughout the rest of the movie, we see him shrinking smaller and smaller.  Really, its incredible.

Soon, too small to just roam about the house, his wife has him living in a child’s doll house.  He quickly discovers that their pet cat is neither fun nor cuddly.

With string and a straight pin our hero fends off a spider, scales a massive basement step and just before the credits roll, he steps out through the window screen, disappearing into the tall blades of grass in the backyard.

Perhaps a better adventure would have him exploring the inside of a pocket, getting a close-up view of the double stitching so popular with Levi-Strauss, dodging pocket change as it falls to the depths; maybe being violently shaken as a cell phone set to vibrate plunges him into convulsions.

OK, maybe not.

Scan Me

 

Still hanging on...

 

Look no further

 Your Christmas

shopping ideas are here.

Give the gift of Books

1.  Easy to wrap

2.  Reusable

3.  Classy 

4.  Inexpensive to mail

For the readers on your list..

Under the Frosting

A wonderful adventure story

The Pantry

A great collection of short stories

Wise & Otherwise

Amazing photography & Poetry

All available on Amazon

by: Harvey Sarkisian

Children's books also available by this author.

The Adventures of Wendy Crow

&

Winter Corn

Enjoy

& Merry Christmas 

 

Overlooked by Ansel Adams

 

The last to leave the party

 

Moderate to Severe

 

My Latest Adventure

 

I set out to follow the shadow around the room.  It moves slowly, with the changing location of the Sun.

I could have chosen to follow the sunny area, but that always seems to disappear at night, and I want this journey to take me to the places where only shadows go, for even at night the shadows remain.  They’re just harder to see.

I expect them to be full of bumps and scary things, maybe even gossip and backroom shenanigans, everything we never get to see in the light of day.

I have just passed the coffee table and expect soon I’ll reach the far end of the couch.  The breeze flaps the curtains, making feeble attempts to send me along a false trail of flickering shadows.

I should have brought a snack with me as the shadow doesn’t appear to be heading towards the kitchen.

 

I didn’t plan this adventure very well.  And by the way, I should note here that the shadow moves much faster than you’d think.  It has already disappeared around the edge of the hallway and at the moment I can’t see where it has gone.

Maybe this would be a good time to slip into the kitchen, you know – just to see if it went in there.

I'll be back...

I told you...

 

I'd be here to catch you if you fell.

Finally...

 

Sometimes

 

even if the food isn't perfect,

the photograph is.

That's the last time

 

I take directions from a computer.

Dear Santa

 

I would not want your job for anything. In fact, I’m surprised you still do it. Before we get to my wish list, let me first thank you for Spell-check. That has been a lifesaver. Windows 10, on the other hand, you can grind it up and use it to fill potholes in Michigan. Trust me when I say, you’ll run out of Window 10 programs before you ever run out of potholes in Michigan. But I’ve gotten off the subject.

This year I would like teachers to be paid the same as movie stars and sports figures. I would like to see mandatory jail time for judges who take bribes. I would like to abolish all political parties and go to a flat 5% tax rate for everyone, no exceptions, no loopholes.

I would like free medical, dental and eye care for every human in the country.  I would like to see a 50-year, bumper to bumper warranty on all new cars, including free oil changes, tire rotations and road service.  Each government agency, from the top down, should be 100% transparent, with life in prison for any shenanigans.

I understand you may not be able to get me everything on my list, so if there is to be only one thing out of all I have asked for, please make it filling the potholes in Michigan.

Thanks

Larry

The Bird in the Lake

 

The bird in the lake likes to stand on his head

Every book that I read, he’s already read

The higher I fly, the deeper he dives

And just when I get there, he’s already arrived

The bird in the lake – I don’t know his name

Pleasant enough, I’m thinking he’s tame

When I get to Heaven, I’ll play the harp

But the bird down below will swim with the carp

 

Observations

 

and no matter how big or small you are

its a jungle out there.

A Stupid Idea

 

 

I’m adrift on a raft

That someone else made

A little bit scorched

Because of no shade

Schools full of fish

That don’t seem to think

And plenty of water

That I dare not drink

So just where I am

I can’t seem to tell

But getting more queasy

With each little swell

Adrift on a raft

With no land in sight

No stars to guide me

It’s been cloudy all night

With no GPS or radio wave

No one out searching

I doubt I’ll be saved

Nobody looking

For little ole’ me

What a stupid idea

To head out to sea.

Password

 

I remember seeing an old Marx Brothers movie once and their password was swordfish.  Here’s the thing, I don’t remember what the movie was about or why they needed a password.  That all took place years and years ago, and in the grand scheme of what has been my life, seeing that movie was nothing more than an insignificant speck of time.  So why, over all these years and events do I remember swordfish but couldn’t tell you what I had for dinner yesterday?

I liked the Marx Brothers much more than the Three Stooges.  If I remember right, I believe by age 5 I had outgrown the antics of the Stooges, but the Marx Brothers played more with words than props.  It was the word play that kept my attention and made me laugh.

On the opposite end of the spectrum is Neil deGrasse Tyson.  I really enjoy listening to him talk about anti-matter and dark matter, and even through he doesn’t much get into gray matter, I still enjoy…well, it doesn’t matter.  You get the idea.

Anyway, as we make our way through this Sunday, take a moment to email an old friend or lost acquaintance, if only to say – “Swordfish”.

 

They’ll wonder what’s the matter with you.

 

Hey, there’s yet another kind of matter.

Refund Request

 

Nature Toys Incorporated

4517 E. Broadway

New York, NY 30775

 

Dear Nature Toy Company,

Back in the late 50’s I bought your ant farm for my child.  It proved to be very educational and provided hours of entertainment.  It was great.

More recently, however, we purchased the Raccoon Ranch, suitable for ages 5 and up.  Although constructed of sturdy plexi-glass, the raccoons did not take long at all to figure out how to work the little door latches.

To this day, none of them remain contained within the ranch.  Really, it's like they don't want to be in there at all.  They have taken over the kitchen, the refrigerator and pantry.  They have eaten all of Sparky’s dog food and have made our cat a nervous wreck.

Your little instruction booklet mentions nothing about how to get them to go back into the ranch.  We believe there should have been some kind of warning letting us know there was a possibility they could escape.   

We have even tried wearing the raccoon masks you provided, attempting to trick them into going back into the structure.  They didn’t fall for it, in fact two of them seemed to be laughing at us.

We would like a full refund, along with the cost of replacing Sparky’s food.  Additionally, please send your employees to collect the raccoons and the remainder of the ranch pieces.

Also, while they're here, if they could help us find our car keys and TV remote it would be appreciated.

 

Respectfully

 

Wanda Maynard

 

Time to Think

 

          The trees look different when you’ve got your feet out in front of you and your wings spread wide in an effort to slow down.  I knew I was coming in too fast, but there was no time for adjustment. 

 

          Those were my thoughts just a few minutes ago.  I lay here now on a mixture of pine needles and dried leaves.  Not much of a cushion when you think about it.  And trust me, now that I’m laying here, I’ve got plenty of time to think about it.

 

          I guess I should start at the beginning.   That, according to my calculations, would be last Thursday.  I was looking forward to Friday and the start of a brand-new weekend.  What?  You thought only humans looked forward to weekends?  Not so, my good friend, not so.

 

                                   ~~~~~~~~~~

 

          I started this story just a day ago.  I didn’t know why I was writing it or where I was heading, but just after putting pen to paper, as they say, I received a phone call telling me that my nephew had fallen from some scaffolding and landed on his garage floor.  He suffered a great deal of damage and is now in intensive care.

 

          There was no soft bed of old leaves and pine needles.  There are damaged wings, broken bones and the intense vulnerability of crashing into a world you weren’t expecting to be in.  I don’t believe myself to be psychic.  The only things I have ever been able to predict with any degree of accuracy have been those things that were blatantly obvious to everyone.

 

          I don’t think I could handle knowing things ahead of time.  I believe there’d be an undirected sense of urgency that I wouldn’t know what to with.  That’s a poor sentence but you get the drift.  The responsibility would be intense. Do I say anything?  What do I say and to who?  There are way too many voids in that entire psychic world.  The biggest being, what if I’m wrong?

 

          I have abandoned the falling bird story and am focusing on Pythagoras Theorem, A2 + B2 = C2, believing that the nurses and doctors are working with all the tools in their bag that have proven results, leaving logic, reason and skill to repair the effects of gravity.

 

 

         nuff said

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Flea for the Asking

 

Our days spent as pet sitters sent us to far-off places, caring for wagging tails and purring cuddles of fur, giving us adventures in foreign neighborhoods armed only with a strange pet at the end of a leash.

The variety of pet owners accepting us into their homes proved to be a trusting and friendly lot, leaving their home and beloved pets to the care of us.  What were they thinking?

In all the years of our service, never once did we encounter a situation we couldn’t handle, or a pet so unruly they couldn't be bribed with a treat.  Everyone seemed to always be on their best behavior.

By the end of our adventures, we came to the conclusion that we no longer felt comfortable being responsible for everything left in our charge.  So many things could have gone south that just thinking about them caused us to call it quits while still on top.

I can honestly say that through these experiences we have made lifelong acquaintances.  The bond between pet owner and pet sitter is unique to say the least.  At the onset, the pet owner is filled with concerns, distrust and yet hopeful that all turns out well.  By the end of the experience, they are relieved and feeling proud for having selected the right people for the job.  The pet sitters, on the other hand, are hoping their first night in a strange house they are not dismembered and fed to the drooling chow at the bottom of the stairs.

It was our experience that the first evening was spent at the dinner table, enjoying a meal with the homeowners, while fielding questions as to who we are, why we do this, and will everything still be here when they return?  The peas and carrots are not the only things strained.

As they head down the driveway, leaving us and little Fifi behind, we just know they are now questioning their own judgement.  

 

                                           to be continued...

 

Skin Condition

 

This seems more severe than moderate.

The Voyage

At first, I was not even aware of the boat.  It was just there, like the air, my breathing and other faces.  It just was.  As I got a little older, of course, I became more aware of my surroundings.  I was learning, growing and interacting with others.

At some point I was shown where the life preservers were.  We had drills and had to try them on.  You know, just in case…

The older I became, the more I was exposed to the elements and the hazards of the journey and the more important the life rings seemed to be.

In my teenage years you couldn’t tell me anything.  I ran up and down the deck, I played with things that were foreign to me, I had no care in the world, I was just going to sail on forever.

As I grew older, I ran less, I played less and enjoyed different things than when in my youth. I was becoming more and more aware of the ship.  It was creaking more now than it did.  The rails were showing wear and it’s sails no longer had that crisp snap whenever the wind changed direction.

The other faces I knew seemed to take on a seriousness I had not noticed before.  Sailing into the wind became a chore.  Skipping off to distant islands no longer had the appeal it once had.  I was content to sit on deck in the warm sun.

Suddenly, new faces were coming into the picture.  Faces with titles, like doctor, and surgeon.  Faces even more serious than before.

The ship is taking on water, they said.  I was not familiar with many of the words they were using.  “You shouldn’t sit out in the sun anymore, and those life rings won’t work for someone your age.  They are for children.”

I was suddenly aware that I was not going to just sail on forever.  I would be going off to join those faces I no longer saw around the ship.  I found myself paying closer attention to things I could grab onto, things that would float.

Even the conversations I was having with the other faces on deck had taken on an eerie feeling.  I was heading into a fog bank, no idea what lay ahead. What used to be the gentle rocking motion of the boat, now had me reaching for the rails, just to study myself.

I wasn't sure I liked where this was headed.

 

For Whatever Reason

 

over the years we've lost contact.

I have mailed you letters and even tried to

locate your phone number, but wasn't able to find it.

Scooter says he heard you moved to Europe.

I did get this postcard last year but I could not read it and don't really even know if it is from you.

I got this email address from a friend of Scooter.

Let me know if this is you.

Thanks

A Sister Remembers...

 

It is not by accident the hawk's  morning screech awakens me,

his belly full of roadkill.  He is content to boast.

Indecision was my brother’s downfall.  This way – no that…

then splat.

Larry was a good brother, but he could never decide.

At climbing trees, he was tops.  Leaping from

branch to branch – he was fearless.

Roadkill was not a dignified end,

but at least it was a Buick.

R.I.P.

Larry Squirrel 

Born: 2019

Died: Over there.

A Bad Poem with an Expired Meter

 

A flat rock at the edge of the lake

Seemed perfect for a chair,

So with the lunch that I did make,

I climbed out and sat there.

Today, I thought I’d watch the fish,

Dangle my feet and make a wish,

As the day’s Sun rose, fish nibbled my toes,

When the morning breeze swept

A turtle up crept –

With a snap and a yell,

I quickly could tell –

I had grabbed the wrong lunch

What the Hell!

There was mustard on my lettuce

Peach instead of pears –

There was fuzz around the peaches,

That looked like little hairs,

A tomato ripe and juicy, was a flat and squishy mess,

My jeans – turns out, weren’t jeans at all –

But someone else’s dress,

Hey! This isn’t me I yelled –

I’m the sister, Susie-Q

Be sure to check when heading out -

The persons really you.

Now this is a good one.

 

Waiting

 

A cyber-field of spaghettified cables stretch between my thoughts and the potential of acceptance. Waiting is nothing more than a consumption of coffee and wracked nerves. I walk barefoot amidst a vast array of adjectives, straining to express my frustration, all the while listening to a scratchy rendition of Moon River. A seemingly deep and endless river.

 Hold music has become the gristle of progress. It is an ignored byproduct of technology. In the haste of expediency, we have trimmed away all pleasantries, and exchanged human interaction for obscure, pre-recorded mall music, continually interrupted by, “Your call is important to us. Please stay on the line and your call will be answered in the order it was received.” 

 I can’t really say that I am a fan of hold music or of the companies suggesting their calls may be recorded for training and quality purposes.  Here’s a thought you can record for training: strap your CEO into his or her chair and force them to listen to their own hold music.  Go in and check on them at least twice a week.  Feed them only at lunch and designated break times.

 I’m guessing changes will be made.  Customers will once again have their calls answered by a person, and on the first or second ring.  Profits will increase, business will grow and World Peace will magically happen overnight.

 

 

 

The Game

 

That’s when the only pirate at the table leaned forward and said, “I have a pair of hens, so I’ll take three.”

 

Well, of course nobody knew what hens were. Did he mean queens? The dealer dealt him three more cards and the pirate sat back in his chair, slowly peaking at his new cards.

 

Todd Wilson, who sold lamps, sofas and occasional tables over at the Sears outlet during the week, had been holding Jacks and sevens.  He knew full well that two pair of anything beat one pair of hens, whatever those were, but it was the way the pirate had leaned forward, looking everyone in the eye, almost daring them to challenge him, that had set Todd on edge.  Was the pirate bluffing?

 

Lois, who had been paying more attention to the refreshments she had set out, glanced at her cards and then tossed them onto the discard pile.  “Is anyone ready for a snack?” she asked.

 

Bill Reynolds, who had laid his hand face down in front of him said, “I’ll play these.”  He then looked over at Todd and asked, “So just what is an occasional table, Todd?”

 

Meanwhile, Mr. Rogers, of TV fame, seemed to have a tell.  Whenever he had a good hand, he would hum.  It’s a wonderful day in the neighborhood…  a wonderful day for a neighbor.  Then he looked over at Lois and thanked her for making such good-looking refreshments.  “It is so wonderful of you to make those delightful looking sandwiches and cookies.”

 

The pirate grunted and tossed six dollars into the pot.  That was a tad steep for Todd, but he again looked at his two pair and called, lying a five and a one on the pile.

For some unknown reason Mr. Rogers began taking his shoes off, first the one and then the other.  

Jasen Bateman said nothing, but just watched as Mr. Rogers then put on his slippers.