I am the trinket

 

I am floating alone in this tiny raft in this massive ocean.  The night sky appears to stretch beyond its borders, with more stars than one could ever count.  It is only the daylight hours that push down upon me.  The bright sunlight bakes me dry, and hurts my skin.  The absence of sound is deafening.  It is only my heart beat keeping the conversation going. 

The ocean treats my raft as a toy, to be bounced about, playing it's game of keep-away with death.  I am the prize at the bottom of the cereal box.   Various creatures swim just below the surface, like awaiting fingers trying to reach the prize, bouncing and shaking the box, in hopes I pop out, but I tightly hang on. 

Even though nighttime hours are cooler to my skin, the blackness of the water has with it a current of fear that I hate.  I should try to sleep now.  The water gently lapping against the raft is soothing, but it is my fear keeping me awake.  Maybe I'll count more stars, while hoping an errant wave doesn't flip me over.  Leave it to the devil to open the box from the bottom.

Stormy

 

She was the terror of the playground.  Without warning she would sweep across, knocking over bullies, scaring adults, and never giving in to barometric pressure of any kind.

 

Stormy was an Ill wind that blew no good.  She was often cold, never bothering to look back at the damage she had caused.  Her thunder was mighty, with a temper that was lightning quick.  Sometimes dark and brooding, she'd just hang around, waiting and watching.  Often striking without provocation. 

 

She was an only child, spoiled at an early age, and as most predicted, turned into a little whirlwind, throwing tantrums and trailer parks around like they were nothing.   And never be fooled by her tears.  Whenever she turned on the waterworks, havoc ran through the streets.  No one was safe.

 

Everyone knew her, some feared her, but all were glad when she left.  Her name would linger in conversations, and the memory of her seemed to last forever.  Like I said, she was a spoiled little brat that no one ever liked, but once she was gone, it was as if the sun came out of hiding and wanted us to think it had been there all along.

Three Things

 

    There are three things I wish I were smart enough to figure out.  The first is time travel.  How amazing would that be?   Completely understanding all aspects of physics, earth's and all other gravitational forces, and all physical and mental limitations with respect to the effects on humans.

     The second would be smart enough to know which direction to travel,  forward or back, and, third, having the knowledge and wisdom to know if I even should.

      Failing all that, I'll simply stay here and putz around with this blog.

    That's it for now.
    This is ZC, from inside the box.

Run and Hide

 

    It appeared as a husk, a thick covering from some type of fruit.  I obviously was not at all familiar with it.  The thing that caught my attention was its underside appeared to be moving, as if alive. 

    Certainly, no fruit I ever heard of.  If it were an animal hide, what possibly could it have been?  I wanted to pick it up for a closer look, but I dared not touch it.  Whatever it was moving around just under the skin I didn’t want moving around on me.  I wanted to snap a picture, a close-up, if possible, but my phone was out of juice.

          If I had something to put it in, I’d carry it back with me.  It is possible someone else might recognize it right off and tell me what it was I had discovered.  At least I should mark this location.  If I can’t take it with me, at least I should be able to find this spot again.  I bent down once more to have a final look and that’s when I noticed the smell.  Now, I really wasn’t sure if it was part of an animal or rotting fruit.  Yikes!  I’d have that smell to remember for some time.

          Why, I thought, hadn’t I smelled it the first time I leaned over to look at it?  Was it decomposing right before my eyes?  Then again, if it were rotting, why weren’t there flies or ants crawling about?  Nature cleans up her own messes.  What was different about this?  If this were a hide, then what happened to the animal it's from?  Something larger must have torn the thing apart, and if that’s the case, maybe I shouldn’t be hanging around here at all.

    What was that?...

 

A True Indication

 

I believe the common thread that runs through all of us is the music with which we grew up.   Even a portion of a lyric can spark a memory or feeling.  A simple tune can make a connection to something long ago.  She came in through the bathroom window, doesn’t to us, suggest a felony, but perhaps a calming remembrance of a time past, just as a bridge over troubled water wasn’t something we saw on the weather channel.

Couples tend to have a favorite song.  For them, it locks in a promise, a commitment of harmony.   These tend to be universal threads, no matter the country, language or culture.  It signifies our time, this took place when we were here, and I remember it.

A true indicator of your age is how rarely your favorite song gets played on the oldies station. 

 

Lost and Found

 

    There was a substantial wad of bills laying just outside of the restaurant last night.  It was only natural to bend down and pick it up as I walked past.  My friend gave me a slight punch on the arm to get my attention, and then said I should have never picked it up.  He said it could have been some sting operation with cops hiding in the bushes watching it.  Maybe it was some ransom drop or something.

        I told him he was being silly.  More likely, someone heading in to have dinner simply dropped it.  I was going to ask, once inside, if anyone had lost some money.

        At that, he hit me a little harder and said that was a stupid plan.  Of course, everyone’s going to put their hand up and say it was them.  He said I needed to think this through before I do anything.

        As we walked into the place, we could see it was very crowded, and loud.  Everyone was talking at once, with waitresses hustling between tables trying to keep up.  We were seated in a corner booth, and each given menus and a glass of water by some kid wearing a not quite clean apron.

        I just kept the money in my pocket until I could figure out what to do with it.  We looked over the choices, even though we both always ordered the same thing whenever we came here.

        My buddy put his menu down and whispered across the table that I should count it.

        Not here, I whispered back, and not now.  It isn’t mine, and if it is too much, I’ll be tempted to keep it.

        The moment those words left my mouth I knew what I had just declared, and he instantly knew it too.  At some point, I had a price.  I would be a crook for the right amount of money.  Now I didn’t even want it in my pocket.  I wanted nothing to do with it.

        Apparently, he was reading my expression, and didn’t want me to feel any worse than I already did.  “Just drop it on the floor, under the table.  Let someone cleaning up tonight find it.”

        I don’t know why, but that sounded like a good idea.  I’d let someone else have a lucky day, and surely, someone cleaning up on the late shift could use the money.

        “What’s it going to be, Honey?”

        I jumped, the waitress was standing right next to me, and I hadn’t even noticed her walk up.

        About twenty minutes into the meal, we noticed the waitress and the restaurant manager over at a table where an old couple had been sitting.  I could see there was an issue of paying the bill.  The old man kept standing up and checking his pockets, while his wife franticly dug through her purse.

        I looked at my friend and said they can’t find their money.  My friend got a big grin on his face and said, “Do you want to be a hero?”

        Sure, I replied, and stood up and walked over to their table.  “Excuse me Sir, but I believe this is yours”, and I handed him the wad of cash.

        He looked stunned, then smiled, and looked like he wanted to hug me.  He peeled off a fifty and handed it to the waitress.  “You can give the change to him.” He said, looking at me.

        After I sat back down at my table, I told my friend what had transpired.  I thought the waitress was going to bring me a buck or two from the old man’s change.  Turns out, all they had was two coffees.   The waitress explained, that was all they ever have, every night.  Obviously, it was still my lucky day.

 

 

Morning Light

 

Unaware of the activity within the room, I begin to construct my web.  The sunlight striking this window will surely attract those who may have overslept.  I am hungry, but I shouldn’t let that distract me from my duties.  This corner of the window is perfect, I can affix three sides securely, and fill this net with straight lines as well as angles.  I mustn’t slow down.  The warmth of the sun is growing.

I notice now that all the while there has been some human muttering, walking back and forth, seemingly annoyed at something.  Whatever, I cannot be bothered, my web is elaborate and sturdy.  There is no wind on this side of the window, which is good, but also no breeze to nudge any passers-by into my trap.  The food supply is great just outside, but so is the cold.  I chose to stay here.

The human has stopped and now peers down upon my handiwork.  He admires my web, as he should.  I must admit it is quite impressive.  I will back up into this corner and wait.  I could use the rest.  He now will be my entertainment, him, and his crowbar.

Perhaps something with hot wings

 

My thoughts are way too confined within this room.  It seems everything high school failed to teach me is outside.  It is my own stupidity keeping me from finding the key to this door.  

Had I the schematic for this crowbar I might learn its function and with that, escape.  But alas, what good is a crowbar against a locked door or window?  It is a mighty window allowing a view of all knowledge, including my garden and the solar system.  Surely, a view way too powerful for my insignificance, yet I'd still like to be alive within it. 

Besides my quest for knowledge this confinement sits on my thoughts, while a clock announces my inevitable demise.   Ticks slowly turn into calendar pages rapidly falling to the floor.  But no, I should concentrate - rather than dwell upon my fate.  I should loiter at the window, hoping for inspiration.

The sunlight catches a glimpse of a spider’s web.  She has been busy, for it appears complex, and was not here just yesterday.  Captive, like myself, she remains within this space, on this side of the window.  Her thoughts, however, are not of escape, but of lunch.

Group W Bench

 

    Anyone familiar with this bench shares the same time slot in life as me.  We are the birds of a feather, we have the same point of reference, and understand that the section eight Klinger wanted is just to the left of the group W bench.

    Each of us, at some time in our life has sat on the bench.   Even though the events leading up to it may be quite different, the end result was the same.  There was some disconnect between us and society.  Some event or occurrence so incredibly stupid that we took a step back and said, "I'm not playing.  This is just wrong."

    Maybe it was something within your immediate family, or possibly your church, or local government.  Whatever it was, no matter how trivial, it was enough to motivate you to civil disobedience. 

"Yes Sir, Officer Opie, I put that envelope under that garbage."

    I understand that your situation may be a tad more severe than littering, but the disconnect is the same.  You against them.

    Now, paint that same scenario onto the same canvas, but alter the background.  Instead of your school, church, or government, make it the entire solar system.  Suddenly there are no paint brushes so fine as to draw us into the picture.

    Nothing around us has any significance whatsoever.  We do not even show up as an errant splatter of paint.  So, what's the point to all this, you ask...

    It all boils down to this.  Yes, this blog.  You there reading what I just moments ago wrote.  This blog has become our Group W Bench.  We sit here on the sidelines watching the game, knowing no one is ever going to win.  Still we watch, we comment, huddled under our blankets, sipping our hot chocolate, unafraid to occasionally stand up and yell. 

"Leave my elevator alone!"

 

She works for Santa

 

For those of you

so paranoid-

Alexa's who

you should avoid,

She knows

when you are sleeping

She wakes you up

on time,

She doesn't charge

for shipping -

If you belong

to Prime.

She'll do your shopping

for you,

Announce when it

arrives,

Trust me

she is watching you

Alexa

is alive.

OK, so it's not a petting Zoo

 

The Locks at Lake Mead

 

Camera Shy

 

Class Reunion

 

Coming to this site.  Submit photographs of your face to this blog and they will be posted here.  The school attended or the year graduated does not matter, everyone attending this blog is officially a ZC graduate and will be represented.  Photographs may be either color or black & white.  It must be your own picture and you must be of legal age to participate.

 

Send your pictures to the email address shown on this blog.  There isn’t any submit-by date, as various people will see this post at different times.

 

No Name Tags Required

 

Free Shipping

 

    That is the latest buzz, must have free shipping, it's the carrot for the sale.  Sea Salt is another one.  Look on almost any package in the supermarket and you'll see the words, Contains Sea Salt.

    We tend to move as fish with our likes and dislikes.  Individually we announce our freedom of choice, but collectively we turn like synchronized fish.  We all swoop onto the latest craze, believing it was our choice, then quickly change direction, all the while sticking close to the others, as if there is safety in numbers.  (We can't possibly be wrong if everyone is doing it).

    Then, the moment your guard is down someone announces that Gummy Worms may contain actual worms.  There is a scare, a panic races through the community.  Everyone stops buying Gummy worms.  The medical world claims that gummy worms have been known to cause tooth decay in laboratory animals.   Lawyers come up with warning labels.

    Before you know it, there are schools of fish that no longer eat worms.  The fishing industry collapses, unemployment numbers rise, people lose their homes, babies cry, and chaos runs rampant.

    If you ask me, the world would be a better place if everyone just paid for their own shipping.

 

ZC, with my 2 cents

 

Reading of the Will

 

I took a seat in the back row.  Various relatives and friends were dotted about the room on uncomfortable folding chairs.  I thought the entire place was rather cheesy for a lawyer’s office.   The clock up on the left side of the room said 10:07.  The lawyer sitting in the front of the room looked up at it again, and announced that we would start, and that anyone who was late – was just late.  We wouldn’t wait anymore.

It was my uncle who was late.  Isn’t that what they call dead people, the late?  I wondered how that came about.  Why late?  I couldn’t stop thinking about that.  I could see the lawyer talking, but my mind kept playing with words and semantics.  We have an odd language I thought, and even though I was missing everything being said, I couldn’t shut off my internal chatter.  It was annoying even to myself. 

At twenty past eleven I heard my name.  I looked up and noticed several empty chairs.   Apparently, some folks had left, and I hadn’t even noticed.  I didn’t really expect to inherit anything, but you never know.  Anyway, the lawyer was going on and on about the relationship between myself and my late uncle, and how much he had enjoyed my writing over the years, then he finally came to the good part. 

“His entire set of World Book Encyclopedias.”

 

I couldn’t believe it.  Had my uncle never heard of Google?  I guess he was late to the party, as they say.

 

Myrmecophobia

My friend has an irrational fear of ants.

It took all of us to talk him down.

 

You need to change jobs if...

 

   Your boss has no sense of humor.

    They don’t recognize casual Friday.

   They don’t compensate you for overtime.

 You’re the only one that brings in doughnuts.

 You have to park more than two blocks away.

 The night cleaning crew makes more than you.

 They keep cancelling your vacation.

 You’re the only one required to work weekends.

  They charge for Band-Aids.

       Drinking on the job is frowned upon.

 

Leftovers

     Alexa knows the minute Amazon has delivered a package to my mailbox. She announces its arrival and then asks me if I want to thank the driver.

    I don't know who the driver is. Is it a man or woman? Is this the only job they could get, or are they doing this to make extra money while they complete their Master's degree in forensic  photography? Do they have any pictures already, perhaps nice grewsome crime scenes. Did this start off as a hobby?

    Do they already have those little number markers, the ones they set around the body parts when taking the pictures? Did they set a number next to my mailbox when they left my package, then snap a picture?

    No, Alexa. I don't feel comfortable adding this driver to my circle of friends. That whole photo thing just creeps me out. In fact, I'm going to stop leaving a Christmas card in the mailbox. I don't want to be sending the wrong message.

    How do I know that's my real Amazon package and not some grewsome leftover?

I Knew it. I could just feel it.

     The things I see are not always the things I see. An example of that would be the time I was zipping down the highway and spotted a coyote that had been unsuccessful in trying to cross the road.

    I immediately felt bad for the poor critter who was probably just trying to get home.  I didn't want to see it anymore than I already had, but as I passed along side of it I could see it was simply a large piece of tire.

    Another time I was sure there was a deer laying dead along the edge of the road.  As I got closer, instead of being Bambi, that one turned out to be some sandbags left behind by a road crew.

    OK, here's the thing; I'm not always wrong. Just today, we're heading home from shopping, when Sally spots a yard sale sign.  I hang on for dear life as we make a two-wheeled U-turn.

    We found the house having the sale.  Across the street are woods, with a sign that says, please park here.  We do.  I wait in the car while she trots over to look for bargains.  Now keep in mind, I'm facing nothing but trees, leaves, bushes and carnivorous mosquitoes.

    I strongly sense that something is watching me.  I don't see anything but the feeling is almost overwhelming.  I can hear yard sale voices behind me, but I can't really turnaround that much to see anyone.  Then I remembered my cell phone.  I may not be able to see too far into the woods, but I can snap a picture and then zoom it.  That should give me a better look at whatever it is watching me.

Current View

Got Ya!

 

 

Sheep Dogs

 I remember being quite little; I was in with a small herd of children. We were making our way from class to class in some childhood school setting, and there were hall monitors. I don't recall if the monitors were other teachers, or just selected students who had somehow demonstrated leadership abilities. Then again, maybe they were just little snitches, and the adults had picked up on that.

As I grew, I could see the various aspects of society utilizing the same system. The military had their own way of ferreting out the snitches. If there were some infraction discovered, they would simply punish everyone, until the culprit showed themselves.

Within the civilian workforce they were easy to spot. They always dressed to fit in, they were aggressive, but lacked the ability to make it on their own. They had to make someone else look bad in order to make themselves appear to be the better choice.

Now that I have joined the walker brigade, the monitors keeping us in line are heart monitors. They are strapped right to us, barking whenever we get out of line. There is an invisible tether going to a bank of monitors where snitches sit for hours watching our bleeps and blips.

I'm not sure I understand the importance of keeping the herd together. Albert Einstein was a stray, as was Ben Franklin.
Bob Dylan certainly strayed from the pack. I think it's our strays that help to form our culture. They lend a persona to an otherwise directionless, wandering mass of sheep.

Sorry.  Was that out of line?

DNA verses Gillette

 

     Just recently they have discovered a schematic made by bioengineering pioneer, Frank Meckel, of Yale University.   He identified a DNA link between the Sphynx cat and the basic male Hallmark actor.  It is this gene which allows the male to maintain a 5 o-clock shadow throughout his acting career.   It has become virtually impossible for them to grow a full beard, or ever appear clean shaven. 

    Some have suggested that those carrying this gene display a reduced ability to act or ever be taken seriously.

 

Note: Based on this discovery, opposing views will be ignored. 

 

 

 

       

Morning Coffee

     My coffee tastes like a combination of all the roadside diners I have ever stopped at, of all the brief moments spent passing through a vacation, where strangers randomly gather to refuel, take bathroom breaks, and recheck their maps.

    It is nowhere in particular, yet it is everywhere.  The flavor stirs memories like cream blending into an endless shift of waitresses and gas station bells. 

    There is a time when we simply need to get out of the car and stretch, to move around and breath different air.  Each sip of my morning coffee is like turning a page in life's diary.  It is a flavorful journey strewn with moments and flashes of images, faces, and maybe a little sweetness.

My New Best Friend

 

For some reason, the Neptune Society has taken a liking to me.  Everyday they are sending me mail, invitations, and welcome packets.  It's like they can't wait to see me.

 

I'm really kind of burnt out on joining clubs and groups.  I'm not even sure I know any members.  I don't know who would have recommended me.  Maybe being burnt out is the only criteria for joining.  Who knows?

A Paperback

 

 

Forward

 

        ...the direction of travel, if not going in reverse or sideways.  Some people can be forward.  Alice was being forward when she asked Chuck out on a date.  A few suggest that Alice was being forward when, on their fourth date, she suggested they get married.  On their first-year anniversary Chuck discovered the appropriate gift for year one is paper.

        Chuck knew that Alice liked coffee, and coffee filters were made of paper.  What a perfect gift, he thought.  That morning, however, before Chuck could get to the store, Alice suggested they go to the mall, and together they would pick out an anniversary gift for each other.  That way there would be no surprises, no disappointing presents.

  (Did Alice know Chuck, or what?)

        It was at a bookstore where Chuck spotted a book that had a picture of coffee beans on the cover.  What a perfect present, he thought, paper and coffee, but before he could even reach for it, Alice picked it up and said, “How about The Pantry.?”  Chuck started to smile, but then thought, alright – 

who spilled the beans?

Note:  Alice & Chuck do not appear in the book.

Missing Boat

 

 

 

 

 

Apparently, there is more to knot tying 

 

than I thought.

 

 

 

Sorry.

 

 

Page 5 Notes

 

                                                                                                 5

 

Replacing the Automobile

Notes recovered from page 3.  Control of natural resources.

 

18.  It was both a simple, yet complex formula used when manipulating the barometric pressure against a non-reflective surface.  Inverted pyramid configuration is required.

23.  The desired motion is directly proportional to the manipulated gravity levels.  Refer to Newton’s diagram on page 14.  Also, see friction displacement notes, page 9.

S/B 40/1 ratio

Salt & Pepper

 

He had a cane

She had a walker

She drove him insane

She was a talker,

He loved the classics

Mozart and Brahms

She - a pipe organ

hymnals and psalms,

Together forever

as older they grew

If he were downwind

she’d say, “Ah chew.”

She liked the movies

with popcorn and Hanks

He enjoyed pirates

walking the plank.

Like birds of a feather

robin or swallow

wherever one went

the other would follow.

zc

A Cat Named Gherkins

 

When Gherkins was a kitten, she appeared to be like every other kitten in the cardboard box the little girl was holding out in front of the supermarket.  Free Kittens, her sign spelled out in magic marker on the side of the box.  I don’t recall how many kittens there were, but Gherkins somehow got my attention.

        Even though I knew there was no such thing as a free kitten, I carried her to my car and drove home.  The following few weeks were spent getting to know each other.  She was playful and curious.  So curious, in fact, that it caught my attention just how much she was paying attention to how things worked.  She seemed to study the relationship between the knob and the faucet.  She caught on quickly that it was the knob that caused water to come out of the faucet.

        There wasn’t any part of the house she hadn’t explored.  In no time at all she was running full speed from the front entryway to the back, bedroom closet, then up the attic steps.  I’d hear her racing across the upstairs bedroom, and over time, as she gained weight, she was heavy enough to make the floorboards squeak.  I could always tell where she was.

        I never really noticed how quiet she was until the first time she meowed at me.  I had just walked away from the kitchen sink.  She had been sitting up by the kitchen window, watching the water run out of the faucet.  As I turned and headed for the other room, she squawked.  I turned around and saw that she was looking at the sink. I hadn’t shut the water off all the way, and it was still dripping.  I went back and pushed harder on the handle and said thank you.

        I really didn’t think anymore about it until I came home one day from work.  From the driveway I could see her sitting in the front window waiting for me.  As I started walking up to the house, Gherkin stood up on her back legs, her front paws against the window.  At first I thought she was just stretching, but then I could hear her through the window meowing quite loudly.

        Thinking she was excited to see me, I ignored her cries.  Then I heard a crash behind me.  My car had rolled backwards down the drive, and smashed into my neighbor’s car, which was parked in the street.  That evening, as I was watching the television and she was curled up next to me, I realized she had been trying to alert me that the car was rolling.  It never occurred to me to turn around and look behind me.

        That was the first time I knew Gherkins was a very special cat.  As time went on, I paid closer attention to her attempts to communicate with me.  I seemed to be the dumb one in the relationship.  Between the two of us we developed a system that included sounds, gestures and a combination of the two.  She also wasn’t shy about letting me know which cat food she liked and didn’t like.  All the typical cat toys were apparently beneath her.  She couldn’t be bothered.

I further discovered that she could read people, sort of like I had been reading her signals.  I noticed this during one of my poker groups.  I knew she had no clue which playing cards were which, or what went together to make a good hand, but like I said, she could read people.

During the game I noticed her studying the other players.  Whenever someone was bluffing, her tail would flick like crazy.  The last thing I wanted to do was cheat, but how could I ignore sweet, innocent Gherkin?  She’d always let me know when someone was lying about what cards they were holding, and silly me, I always called their bluff.  Fortunately, nobody ever caught on.   Not that I did it that often.  I mean, I’m not a crook.

Last Thursday evening the power went out.  There was quite a storm going on and lightning or wind had knocked out the electricity.   I lit a few candles and set them around the house. Without the television blasting away, or any light to read by, there wasn’t much to do except sit and wait.  I was in my recliner and Gherkins was curled up at one end of the couch.  Suddenly, as if startled by something, she sprang up and let out an awful cry.  I asked her what was wrong, but she only looked at the bookcase which was against the far wall.  Then she looked at me, made another cat-like sound and headed down the hall.  Knowing by this time that she knew better than I did, I followed her.

In the back bedroom she scooted under the bed.  I can’t follow you down there I said, just as a tornado crashed through the living room, where we had been sitting.  The sound was deafening.  The front half of my house was gone.  Most everything inside had been scattered to who knows where.  

The moment it passed I began surveying the damage.  What an incredible mess everything was.   It was difficult just walking through stuff and stepping over things.  I couldn’t even tell what some things used to be.   My heart was pounding, and I felt sick.  I wanted to just sit down someplace and cry, but various neighbors began showing up.   It was only then I looked down the street to see how widespread the damage had been.

As soon as my thoughts settled down, I remembered Gherkins under the bed.  I made my way to the back bedroom and called her name.  She wasn’t under the bed, or anywhere else.   The tornado had not hit the back of the house, so I knew she was safe, but where she had gotten off to, I hadn’t a clue.  I searched for a long time and ended up putting lost cat signs around town.  There were no calls about any cats fitting her description.

The insurance company eventually rebuilt my house, and the neighborhood, except for a few permanent scars, once again looked normal.  I think I’ll always miss Gherkins, the cat who saved my life.  And when I think back on my poker winnings, I’d have to admit that maybe she was a free kitten.

 

 

The End