There has been...

 a great disturbance in the force.

In this case, the force comes by way of battery.  And just so you'll know, changing out your cell phone battery requires three hands, a very dim flashlight and a kitchen spoon.

You should also have soft music playing in the background.

Please set aside at least 3 full days for this transition.

On hand, you'll want to have two replacement screens, a phone number to a local battery shop, and an insane amount of vodka.

Scrub up completely before you start.  Do NOT dry your hands with terrycloth.  It may leave behind tiny threads.  If your ceiling fan is on - shut it off.

Step 1.

Call and make an appointment with the battery store to have them change out your battery.

That's it.

You're done.

You never know

  what you're going to catch.

One day in the Antique Shop

 

I discovered an antique
looking back at me.

Left in a Huff

 

I thought we were having a nice

conversation, then apparently I said

something that didn't translate well

into turtle, because all of a sudden

he turned around and walked away.

He seemed a little shy, closed-off.

I may have suggested he come out of his shell.

 

Bess Miller

 

She kept a small wooden box on her dresser.  It had a simple latch and tiny gold lock hanging on it.  No one assumed it had anything valuable because anyone could have just picked up the whole thing and slipped it into their pocket.  Therefore, it had always been ignored.

Then came the reading of her will.  Everyone assembled was there simply out of respect and sadness at her passing filled the room.  No one ever thought she left anything behind, as her life had been a simple one and never had there been anything flashy or showy about her.

It was, however, the way the will had been written that caught everyone’s attention.  The small wooden box seemed to be the focus of her entire estate.  Each word of the will had been specifically chosen.  Sentences were constructed in such a way that there could be no mistake as to her intent.

The bulk of her holdings would be going to Lacy McConnel, her granddaughter.  This included the house, any and all remaining investments and her automobile.  She was also to be the recipient of the tiny gold key, but not the box.  The wooden box had been willed to Ryan Newcastle, with instructions that it was never to be opened.

Ryan, the grandson of Hamilton Newcastle, the retired custodian of the local middle school, had always been a favorite of Bess.  In her will she spelled out that if the box was ever opened, all remaining proceeds of her estate would be sold at auction, with the money donated to the humane society. The key and the wooden box was to never be in the possession of the same person.  This was to help insure it was never opened.

For several months after the funeral of Bess Miller, townspeople were still talking about the small wooden box, speculating as to its contents.  People wanted to hold it to feel how much it weighed.  They wanted to shake it, to see if it rattled, but Ryan never let that happen.  He had placed the wooden box in his safety deposit box at his bank.  He didn’t want anyone to be tempted to steal it or to break it open, so there it stayed.

As far as I know, it still remains locked away inside that bank security box, and Lacy, some years ago, lost the little gold key.  It has never been found.  For those of you who had hoped the contents of the wooden box would be revealed by the end of this story, I’m sorry.  Even I do not know what was so darn important that caused Bess to go to such great lengths to insure it remained a secret.  I do know, however, that Ryan has made that safety deposit box a part of his trust with money set aside to pay the bank fees for years to come.

Solid White Zebra

 

To be sure, there was much discussion as to whether it was in fact a solid white zebra.  Some speculated that it was simply a horse, a few claimed it to be a rare donkey from Brazil, while Norton, in the back row, suggested it might just be an unfortunate victim of Unicorn poachers.  Annoyed grumbling spread throughout the assembled when suddenly Norton held up a piece of paper and said, “I have proof.”

Of course, Norton did not have proof, but was waving about his cable TV bill.  The cable company had once again raised their rates, sending Norton over the edge and into the wrong meeting.

Mary, a social worker, who was only attending the meeting because she had read about the solid white zebra in the local paper and wanted to see it for herself, took note of Norton’s crazed condition and worked her way over to him to see if she could somehow help.

She introduced herself to Norton and the two of them headed over to the diner for coffee.  Mary was not yet old enough to qualify for the free senior coffee and turns out and Norton does not drink coffee, but Mary had a kind face and so Norton put a couple bucks on the counter to pay for her beverage.  The waitress brought one coffee and then asked Norton if he wanted anything.  “I’ll have an orange juice.”  The waitress poured his juice and then informed them that it would be $2.20. 

Norton was 20 cents short and did not have anything beyond his two dollars.  Mary dug through her purse and was able to come up with three postage stamps and a twenty-dollar bill.  The waitress did not want to go through the math required to break down such a large bill for just 20 cents, so she went along the counter removing pennies from the little dishes that said Take-A-Penny Leave-A-Penny.  She soon had the 20 cents and happily scooted back to Mary, sliding her twenty-dollar bill back towards her.

“I’ve got this.” she said.

That afternoon Mary spent listening to Norton explain how his cable bill had gone up every month for the last three years.  He had always hoped the government would step in and put a halt to the insanity, but as Mary explained it to him, the government was getting way too many kickbacks and payoffs to interfere with such an enterprise.

After that, Norton’s rant seemed to gather more momentum as he launched into the drawbacks and failures of government.  Mary had heard this all before and wasn’t about to sit and listen to it all again.  She convinced Norton to follow her out to her car.  She then opened up the trunk and told Norton to climb in, explaining that the government may be watching and they shouldn’t really be seen leaving together.  Norton climbed in and Mary closed the lid.

It was an exciting time for Norton.  To him, this seemed like an adventure.  He was enjoying the sound of the tires on the pavement and the low rumble of the muffler.  Meanwhile, Mary clicked on the radio and began to sing along with Hooked on a Feeling.  She delighted in her thoughts of never again returning to social work, and never again listening to whiney people complaining about everything.  Back at the diner Mary had snapped.

After what seemed like two hours or so had passed, Norton noticed a change in the tire noise.  They were now driving on a dirt road, and some of the dirt and dust was making its way into the trunk.  Thinking he’d like more air in the trunk than dirt and dust, he unscrewed the valve on the spare tire and poked the valve stem with his fingernail, sending a constant hiss of air into the trunk compartment.

Unbeknownst to Mary or Norton, the government had been listening to their conversation back at the diner.  Government agents sent to investigate the claim of a solid white zebra had gone to the diner for a break.  That is when they overheard Norton and Mary talking about graft and corruption in government.  Being experienced agents, they knew that one person complaining was normal, but that two or more was considered a conspiracy, so they chose to follow them.

What they couldn’t understand was why one of the conspirators was riding in the trunk, but being professionals, they followed from a safe distance in an attempt to avoid detection.   It wasn’t but a few miles later when Mary’s left front tire blew out.  The car swerved and skidded to a stop.   As Mary got out and started towards the trunk, the plain-wrap government vehicle pulled up behind her.

Mary knew she had so far done nothing wrong, as there wasn’t any law against having a passenger ride in the trunk.  The government agents appeared as just businessmen, out for a ride along an old country road.  The first agent asked her if she needed any assistance.

“I believe my tire went flat, but my friend here in the trunk can help me change it.”  And with that she popped open the trunk.

Norton sat up and at seeing the three people standing there looking back at him, smiled and gave a friendly little wave.

“We have a flat Norton; we’re going to need the spare.”

Norton climbed out of the trunk and handing his cable bill to one of the men, proceeded to lift the spare tire from the trunk.

“It’s flat,” the second man said.

As luck would have it, a service truck from the cable company was slowly driving past them.  He stopped when he noticed one of the men holding a cable bill in his hand.

“Anything I can help with?” he said through his open window.

It was at that point when Norton noticed the cable logo on the door of the truck. 

“Yes, you can help us change this tire.” Norton replied.

 

 

To be continued…

Report 11C21

 

 

Having traveled the galaxy to its depths, in a conveyance that allowed for only minimal carry-ons, I believe I’ve become very adept at packing.  That being said, flip-flops, a toothbrush and sidewalk chalk are my primary must haves.  Everything else can be purchased once you arrive.  

Please note, there are still restrictions on the amount of liquids you can have and any wavers to those restrictions require proper documentation.

Proof of life on planet Earth came by way of a partial document discovered on what was then considered paper, made from trees.  It was written in the English language and appeared to be a part of something much larger, but all it said was,

to the place where Louie dwells

Scholars have yet to decipher its meaning.  I have never been a big fan of science fiction, but how realistic is that?  Are we supposed to believe humans of the time cut down trees just to be used for paper?  What were they thinking?

 

The remainder of this report has been transferred to light-screen technology.  Please use your oven mitts when handling the reader.

 

 

Thank you

 

My next house

 

Black Box Construction Company

Hurricanes, tornados, earthquakes, no problem.  Flood, wildfires, alien invasion, not an issue.  I would like my house built out of the same material as the black boxes on airplanes.  Drop them from 30,000 feet, set them in the middle of a violent explosion, who cares?  They survive.  Plunge them into the depths of the ocean – no issues.

 

Just don’t forget to punch some air holes, so I can breathe.

It just doesn't happen.

 

They simply have a gift for finding it.
I’m talking about the sand.
No matter what the terrain, no matter how far removed from anything,
they suddenly come up with sand.
Enough to build their houses, their tunnels, and caverns.
Ants just know where to look.
I don’t see it.  I’d have to drive 50 miles to the beach to find sand.
They come up with it right next to my sidewalk.
I see their houses out in a field of dirt and weeds and trees.
They manage to locate sand.  Tiny grains – all they need.
I wish I could find anything that easy.
Oh, here’s something I need, right here.
And there, over by that thing, I could use that.
This is a fine place, maybe I’ll build here.
I seriously doubt there are any homeless ants.
Even in the city, downtown by the subway stairs -
there’s a small anthill. Someone lives there.
Out along the edge of the road – an anthill.
Never have I seen some lonely, unwashed ant
sleeping in a heap against a building, other ants just
walking past, ignoring them.
How sad would that be?

Please do not talk to the bird.

 

For years, Jenny Morton ran an antique store.  Now she was calling it quits.  She wanted to retire, sell the store and its contents to whoever wanted it.  She had dreams of moving to Florida and living a quiet but enjoyable life in a condo.  It would have a swimming pool and fun neighbors her own age.  Never again would she be clearing sidewalks of snow and ice.  No more would she listen to her frozen car attempt to start in the early mornings, hoping it would get her to work. 

          Twice she checked her inventory list and then went through her bank statement.  Her finances were in order, the place was clean and the only thing remaining was the one thing she had been putting off.  Mr. Henderson was her pet crow.  During business hours he sat on a perch by the cash register.  The customers knew him and most everyone would talk to him.  Only on rare occasions did he answer.  Jenny was hoping whoever bought the store would also accept Mr. Henderson.  There was no way she would take him along to Florida.  She spent hours writing the ad for the classifieds.

Antique Shop for Sale.  Good location includes
           inventory.  Sales history available to serious buyers.
       The building is included and has been maintained.
Survivor contract a must.
Phone for details.  (646) 588-3287

 

It was, of course, the survivor contract that nobody seemed to know about or understand.  Jenny would explain it in person to the right buyer.  She knew exactly the type of person she was looking for.  They didn’t need an extensive knowledge of antiques, or need to know anything about the area.  What Jenny was looking for was someone who would, for the remainder of his life, take care of Mr. Henderson.  He was to go with the store.

          Jenny Morton sat with her attorney throughout most of the morning, spelling out exactly what the new owner of the store would be required to do.  The crow, Mr. Henderson, must be allowed to remain in the store as long as he wanted.  He must be fed his favorite sunflower seeds, along with the Purina mixture from the pet shop on Lexington Avenue and 18^th Street and be given fresh water every day.

          Mr. Henderson must be taken to the local veterinarian should anything happen, or in case he became ill.  All money that has been set aside for his care must be used only for the crow and nothing else.  An exact accounting report is to be sent to the lawyer’s office every 90 days.  Upon the death of Mr. Henderson, the local veterinarian has been issued instructions and will turnover the remains to the taxidermy on 7^th Ave.  Once that process has been completed, he is to be returned to his perch in the antique store, taking his place by the register.  $40,000.00 has been placed into an account for Mr. Henderson, to be used only as specified. Once stuffed, a small sign is to be placed close to the perch.

                             

  Please do not talk to the bird  

he will no longer answer you.

 

 

         

 

No - it's not always a horse.

 

The smell of thunder has placed my nerves on high alert.  I doubt this tree can save me, but by being out of sight I feel safe.  It is this feeling of being safe that has calmed my nerves a little.  It is the very bright flash that tells me more thunder is on the way and the burning limb at my feet suggests I’m not that well-hidden.  Obviously, the storm can see me.  It is most likely laughing at the prospect of this tree saving me.  Never seek shelter under a tree, isn’t that what they say? 

Apparently, I should have listened to them.  There are so many other things in my life I never paid much attention to, like do well in school.  They said that but they never said why.   Now, much later in life, I can see that school, like any other institution is simply a business.  They are selling the idea that there exists a connection between higher learning and a good paying job.  Truth be told, the manager assigned to very technical job of assembling a portion of the space shuttle, had his degree in Art History.  Trust me when I tell you, no aspect of the shuttle concerns itself with Picasso or Monet.  In fact, the only correlation between this person’s education and his working life was that it all took place here on this planet.  The moment the shuttle left Earth, there was no connection whatsoever.

Don’t get me wrong, I believe some education is needed if a person is going to function within today’s society.  Stupid people tend to stand out with very little effort.  Just watch some of the game shows on television.  Simple questions get amazingly stupid answers, which is why the shows run them.  Even though it is wrong to call people stupid and laugh at them, it is TV’s cheapest form of entertainment.

None of that, however, is what I came to talk about.  What some people refer to as a premonition, I say is the ability to smell thunder.  I tend to know when something significant is going to happen.  I need not see the flash of lightening, I just suddenly become aware.  I’ve not tried to put it all into words before, so suffice it to say, if I tell you to not stand so close to that horse, move away.

 

 

Knowing when to quit

 

Asparagus

 

    People just assumed they knew each other, they were both old, each sat on the same park bench every afternoon.  The thing of it was, never had they spoken.  It was almost as if they were oblivious to each other.  The old man sitting on the left end of the bench was dapper.  He was clean-shaven, and his attire was always impeccable.  If ever you were close enough to gather his scent, you think of spring cherry blossoms.  No one, however, had gotten that close in some time.

    The gentleman occupying the right portion of the bench held a much more casual appearance.  He came across as more approachable.  His clothing consisted of polished dress shoes, pressed slacks, a crisp shirt beneath a high quality sweater.  It was easy to see that great attention had been paid to his unique mustache. He occupied his time feeding the birds and squirrels, while an assortment of serious books held the other's attention.  He was forever engrossed in books, which may account for him never paying any attention to anyone else who may be sharing the same bench.

     Wandering far from her assisted living building one day, Nora Livingston came upon the bench.  All Nora saw was the unoccupied middle section, and not having walked such a distance in some time, took the opportunity to rest, and try to remember from which direction she had just come.

     Nora did notice she had disturbed the birds, who flew off in all directions, as well as the squirrels, who simply moved over to let her pass but didn't stray too far from the small bits of food that had been tossed to them.  The second thing she noticed was the wonderful fragrance of cherry blossoms.  She closed her eyes trying to remember the last time she had enjoyed such a scent.

     Davis Parker reached up and twirled the tips of his mustache.  He had taken notice of Nora and momentarily considered offering her some of the peanuts to toss, but then considered how unfortunate and awkward it would be if, not understanding his gesture, Nora consumed them herself.

    Casually glancing over he noticed she had her eyes closed and wouldn't have even seen him holding the bag of nuts out for her.  He quickly abandoned his thoughts and simply resumed tossing the small treats out to his anxious audience.

     As Clive Richardson turned to the next page in his book his peripheral vision caught glimpse of someone sitting next to him. He did not wish to be rude and completely turn to look, but then again, how rude had he already been in not acknowledging them whenever they first sat down. Instead, he turned as little as possible, just enough to nod a greeting if it were appropriate.  He instantly noticed it was a woman and she was sitting quietly, with her eyes closed.

     Little had either man known, Nora had fallen asleep.  Clive, not wishing to lose the moment in his story, continued on with his book.  Davis, on the other hand, began having mental conversations with himself.  He pictured himself saying something clever to his new bench companion, she of course would smile and laugh.  The delightful little play going on in his head for some time eventually generated in him a feeling of familiarity with the woman he had never uttered an actual word to.

     Clive was having some difficulty concentrating on his book, not really being that comfortable sitting so close to anyone. He tucked his bookmark along the spine and closed the cover.  He as well, closed his eyes, envisioning the three of them upon the park bench. He had always known there was another gentleman occupying the far end of the bench but never felt the need to engage him in conversation.  He had always seen him as foolish, spending his money feeding peanuts to the birds and squirrels. To what end, he'd ask himself.  

     But now it was a completely different dynamic.  Three complete strangers sat along the same bench, each having a different past, different experiences, and yet gathered together here at this time in their lives. Clive tried to come up with anything that might be similar.  The closest thing he came up with was asparagus.  Individual stalks held together with a simple rubber band.  They grew independently from each other and now a park bench secured them as a bunch.

    Yikes, that's the dumbest thing I've ever come up with, he thought, as he quietly stood up and walked away.

 

 

The End

 

On Final Approach

 

 

I didn’t shave my face today and I may not shave tomorrow.   Not being in the military or working for some corporate stooge, there isn’t anyone insisting my appearance will affect the outcome of anything.

It is not my intent, however, to grow a beard.  Maybe if I someday purchase a tugboat, but not now.

I have been writing on this blog since 2012.  You have sat there, crunching on your breakfast cereal without so much has a How are you Mr. Wilson.   Why is that?    

Once we land people, it's everybody off.

zc

 

LOST

 

My Youth.  Often wasted, seldom appreciated.  If found, please reply to this blog. 

Considered by some to be well-adjusted, often needing a haircut, always ignoring authority.  

Kind to animals and house plants.  Never abused drugs or library books.

The feeling of a good deed accomplished will be your reward.

 

Thank you

Crockett

 

Born on a mountain top in Tennessee… (according to hospital records)
Greenest state in the land of the free…(Up for debate)
Raised in the woods so he knew every tree..(He claimed they all looked alike)
Kilt him a b'ar when he was only three…(Official cause was a chocking hazard from a child’s toy)
Davy, Davy Crockett, king of the wild frontier…(False, this country does not have a king or queen)

Fought single-handed through the Indian war..(is said to have started it)
'Til the creeks was whipped an' peace was in store…(Lacks documentation)

And I could go on, but what’s the point?

 

 

A Splash of Color

 

without the splash.

I won't tell if you won't

 

 

It may have been bad luck to name his racehorse, Stuck on You, although all indicators were pointing to the glue factory for the horse.  He never gave up hope and put him in as many races as he could afford.  His jockey, for years, struggled with a weight problem, and then had a growth spurt in the late 70’s.

Needless to say, he was never the track favorite, in fact most of the regulars considered him a joke, as racehorses went, even though they did like Scott, his owner.  Scott had purchased Stuck on You with his winnings from the lotto ticket he had found in the parking lot at the local supermarket.

“I can’t miss", he would say.  "With found money, what could I possibly lose?”

There was one secret Scott knew about his horse and so far he had kept it to himself, but the big race was coming up.  If Stuck on You could win this one, Scott would be set for life.  He would put his horse out to pasture, send his big-n-tall jockey packing and live quite comfortably forever in his double-wide on the outskirts of Palm Springs.

The big secret, known only to himself and of course the horse was that he loved chocolate bars.  Whenever he caught glimpse of a Hershey bar he would break into a run and they’re be no catching him.

Just moments before the big race, Scott sent his jockey back to the scales for a second weigh-in.   While he was gone, Scott taped Hershey bar wrappers on the inside of the horses’ blinders.  Not only could Stuck on You see the candy wrappers, but he could smell the chocolate residue.  Stuck on You was bucking and kicking all the way into the starting gate.  He was ready.

Its been said that when the stars align and luck lands in your corner, everything happens in slow motion.  This race was such an event.  From the moment the field announcer said, they’re at the gate, a calm seemed to come over Stuck on You and a focus never before seen by the jockey.  It was almost instantaneous when the metal gates flung open, and Stuck on You flew out and past everyone and never for a second looked back.

He was so fast, in fact, that even the crowd fell silent in shock.  Rumors spread concerning drug use, but of course no drugs had been used.  The announcer calling the race over the loudspeaker seemed to fall into a verbal rut.  Over and over again he kept saying, “I can’t believe this.  I can’t believe this. Look at that horse run.”  Of course, there was a media frenzy in the winner’s circle.  

The poor jockey looked like he had seen a ghost and immediately jumped from the horse as soon as it was safe to do so.  Scott stood next to Stuck on You for the photographs and to field questions from the press.  Other horse owners were clamoring around the judges, calling for additional drug testing to be done, but Scott only smiled and patted his horse.  His secret would be safe and much to his enjoyment, his racing days would be over.

 

 

zc

 

 

Elbow Grease

 

Completely out of elbow grease

I’ve not the strength to carry on

potatoes seem to fill my socks

not so great is my beyond,

Had I the brains or half a clue

from here I’d know just what to do

but as you see – I ain't no wit,

I’ll put it here…

you finish it.

It was just donut shop coffee

 

          They both heard the thunder, but the dog didn’t understand why the old man wasn’t taking him out on his morning walk.  Seeing the sad eyes of the dog looking up at him, the old man tried to explain that rain would soon follow, and he didn’t really care to get wet.  Still, the dog didn’t understand and kept looking at the old man, waiting for him to take the leash from the wall hook.

          The old man filled his coffee cup and sat at the kitchen table, the dog came over and sat next to him.  As the old mad rubbed the dog’s head and itched behind his ears, the dog closed his eyes and wondered what that nasty smelling coffee tasted like.

          There was a certain frustration level in the old man at not being able to fully communicate with his dog, so when it began to rain the man opened up the side door so the dog could sit there, see and hear the rain, and then maybe he would understand what was going on.  It was a hopeful wish, however, that the dog makes the connection between the sound of thunder and the eventual rain.  That was asking a lot from a dog that has never attended weather school or gotten a job as a forecaster.

         (This post should be considered as a bookmark, a place holder until this storm lets up, when I can once again turn my system on and not worry about this lightening.)

I hope you can understand that.

Quotes from Zobostic Corwin

 

Going around with a story in me that I haven’t written down is like a pelican never swallowing a caught fish.

 

I don’t like editors.  If I wanted to say it differently, I would have.

 

Knowing what questions to ask is better than sitting next to someone who has all the answers.

 

Writing is my way of not getting interrupted.

zc

The Foxhole

 

 

    Not until you are in one can you understand the closeness of dirt and the taste of fear.  Imaginary toe-tags flying overhead, their dangling strings trying to snag you as they pass. Distant conversations of muted importance find their way into your nervous system, when suddenly all is quiet.  You are hoping it is over, everyone can go home, but your heartbeat is noticeably loud and is about to give away your position.

An Ugly Turn

 

Should something streak across the night sky

odds are it will be in a straight line.

A straight line from our vantage point, that is.

When cleaning your windows

streaks can be long or short, straight or curved.

A lucky streak, on the other hand

can be very short and the odds are

it will take an ugly turn at the worst moment.

Oh Lovely Butterfly

 

A ruckus flight, the butterfly

A most jerky path, both up and down

How does it focus straight ahead

That is no way to get around,

Had I a seat on such a flight

I’d buckle up, both criss and cross

I’d never sleep throughout the night

My cookies, I would surely toss.

Thank you, no.  I think I’ll walk

I cannot choose that way to die,

Hanging on while throwing up

Upon a lovely butterfly.

 

 

Things they don't put in the pamphlet

 

There comes a certain insignificance with old age,

No longer the target of Madison Avenue,

Driving a car only accentuates how much we are in the way

Tropical destinations evolved into the closest hostess stand to your house,

Hobbies give way to the search for a decent doctor,

Priorities are adjusted according to restroom locations,

Menus are studied, instead of racing forms,

Memories of childhood become enhanced,

Fighting for what is right becomes someone else’s job,

We forget why we started this list…

 

zc

Weeds in the Garden

 

Let the record show that I am the first one to suggest that space is not the final frontier.

 

Be advised, the simple fact that this is not addressed to anyone in particular, in no way suggests it was meant for you.

 

It isn’t that four-leaf clovers are rare, its that the others are very plentiful.

 

Knowing what questions to ask is far better than sitting next to someone that has all the answers.

 

 

It makes perfect sense

 

The vastness of space far beyond our universe, also exists within our minds.  We have the ability to travel endlessly, to explore forever and all it takes is for us to look beyond our own selves.  Looking at creation is much different than seeing what has been created.  It’s like seeing the good in Man, instead of seeing a good man.

How tall we are is not an inherent attribute of our footwear, but rather a seemingly feeble comparison of ourselves to our surroundings.  Once you remove yourself from the picture you begin to see things from an amazing elevation.  Shoes should never enter into it.  Once you can see that, you’ll understand why 10 minutes is always the reply to when you ask when your Chinese food will be ready.

 

Yaqui

 

I’ve heard it said that the Yaqui people consider the moth a symbol of knowledge.

For whatever reason, I have had that bit of trivia in my head for over 40 years, and I have never understood why they considered it to be associated with knowledge, and I really haven’t sought out anyone who might have the answer.

What I have done, however, is transfer that tidbit of useless information to you.

Do with it what you will.  I’m done.

This little guy sat on a busy sidewalk

and sort of blended in.

Not all that smart, if you ask me.

Sir Isaac

 

I’ve heard it said that if a common house fly lands on a giant cruise ship out in the ocean, the weight of the fly actually affects the ship.  It sits lower in the water and goes slower.

I put a letter in the mailbox just moments ago, and when walking back up to the house I noticed a small lizard hanging onto the stucco.  I immediately began to wonder if when I got back into the house, I would see the beer in my glass tilted just a little, you know, due to the weight of the lizard hanging on one side of the house.

Some say, the weight of the fly is so insignificant, that it cannot be calculated into the equation.  Others suggest, I have had too many beers and that I should use my powers of thought for good, instead of trying to develop a new Newtonian philosophy.

(See Newton – not Fig)

You have to wonder...

 

I often marvel at the type of brain that can figure out how to design a machine that can fold a stack of Kleenex in such a way that the very moment you pull one from the box, another pops up to take its place.  That kind of timing is incredible.  There are skilled, synchronized swimmers that don’t have that kind of timing.

It makes me wonder if there isn’t some mystical force at work in the universe that messes with us like that? 

The Fourth Wall

 

Once upon a time there was a bear.  The bear lived in the forest, ate berries, and occasionally climbed trees, just to look around.  As there were no people around to give the bear a name, he was just bear.

          Meanwhile, not too far from where the bear lived was a lost hiker.  His name was Larry.  Larry had a backpack, hiking boots and a hat.  He looked a lot like a hiker who was lost in the woods.  Larry ate bologna sandwiches, Saltine crackers with cheese and drank soda pop.  Larry had never before climbed a tree.  That’s not important to the story, I’m just letting you know.

          Our story narrator, initials: ZC, seldom went hiking in the woods, didn’t care for bologna and avoided bears at all costs.

          As today’s story begins, bear is high atop a tree looking around, when he spots, what appears to be, a lost hiker, while our narrator sits comfortably at home typing this story.

          Unaware of the bear, Larry clomps through the woods and instead of looking where he is going, he’s looking down at his compass, trying to figure out how it works.

          Meanwhile, slowly and quietly the bear climbs down the tree and is now standing directly in the path that Larry is on.

          It is the sound of heavy snorting that first gets Larry’s attention, so he looks up.

He stops in his tracks and very slowly he slips his compass back into his pocket.  Larry isn’t sure what he should do, so he just stands there.

          The bear, of course, immediately begins to question Larry’s judgement.  When faced with a life-or-death situation, Larry’s first thought was to save and protect his compass.   First off, he doesn’t even know how it works.  Second, it caused him to look down instead of where he was walking, and lastly – should Larry get eaten by the bear, the safety of Larry’s pocket isn’t going to keep his little compass from getting crunched between bear teeth, or least of all, get a little bear saliva on it.

          Okay, so while the bear was thinking all this, and our lost hiker Larry, stood frozen in panic, our story narrator left his keyboard long enough to get a second cup of coffee.  Hopefully you didn’t even notice he was gone.  I know, I didn’t.

          I should interrupt here to tell you about a few things on our narrator’s desk, for when he came back with his second cup of coffee, he used one of them.  Now I’m sure you’ve all seen the various canisters in the kitchen.  Some hold flour, some have sugar, some tea, and so on. 

Well in the case of our writer’s office, he has various canisters filled with things like courage, compassion, strength and well, a whole host of attributes he could use whenever someone in his story needed a little something extra.

In the case of this story, our narrator felt the bear could use a little dash of compassion.  So with his non-coffee drinking hand, he sprinkled a little compassion on the bear.  Now, when the bear looked at the scared, lost hiker standing before him, he no longer felt the urge to attack, but rather he slowly walked up to Larry and said  he would be glad to show him how his compass worked.

Not only was Larry surprised but our narrator was as well.  He picked the canister back up and saw that it wasn’t compassion at all but was filled with silly.  Now he was not only wondering who switched his containers around, but he was very much annoyed that he had ruined the tension in the story.  Now it looked like some goofy, talking bear story.  Not at all what he had in mind when he sat down to write.

ZC was so annoyed at first that he shut his computer down and went out and sat on a lawn chair in his backyard.   He wondered if he should just abandon the whole story or just try to fix what had been ruined.  He didn’t really want to write about a silly, talking bear, but he also knew that once an attribute had been sprinkled, it couldn’t be un-sprinkled.  For the remainder of that particular story, that bear would have the ability to speak and could possibly do very un-bear-like things.

It wasn’t until ZC noticed a butterfly land on top of his dog’s squeaky toy hamburger that he began to wonder what would happen if he added several attributes together.  What caused him to think of this was the fact that just as the butterfly landed, the squeaky toy hamburger squeaked.  Never did he think a butterfly would be heavy enough to cause the toy to squeak, but it did.  He heard it.

He got up from his chair and went back into his office to see what attributes he could mix together.  He was excited now to see just what he could create.  He pulled a pencil from the little cup on his desk and grabbed a sheet of paper from the printer.  As he lifted up the first canister, he wrote down what it said on the label.  Just as he had seen before, the label said, Silly.  The canister next to that said, Strength, so he wrote that just below silly.  By the time he had gone through all of the canisters, he had an entire list of attributes written on the page.  

Now he could start to mix them to see what was going to happen.  First, he thought, I will try to stop the bear from being silly, even though he had his doubts.

In a separate container he mixed all the things he imagined a bear should be.  He sprinkled in Loud, Serious, Determined and Active.  He wasn’t sure any of this would overcome Silly, but as he opened the story back up right to the spot where the bear is standing in front of Larry, he sprinkled his new mixture.

Unfortunately, not all of it landed on the bear.  Larry must have inhaled a dose of Active as it was sifting down onto the page.  He immediately jumped up, spun around in mid-air, and ran faster than his hiking boots were ever designed for.

  What ZC discovered was that his new mixture of Loud, Serious, Determined and Active, when sprinkled onto a Silly bear, created a republican.  He recognized it right away.

This was about to be a completely different story.