“That’s not how I
remember it. I was going to catch the
fish, and you were going to pick a stick of butter from the garden and forge a
frying pan down at the foundry.”
ZC
Saturday, October 17, 2026
Wally & Inga Pine
The Old Men
The old men met at breakfast
veterans, one and all –
sharing tales of mighty wars
the ones, they could recall,
They were different way back then
strange times and foreign places
now, it’s only egg whites
parked in handicap spaces
Battles raged and grew more fierce
each time the story’s told
fought and won by younger men
who now seem very old,
The waitress fills their cups again
She knows them all by name
“Don’t forget my discount.”
every week’s the same,
She loves to see them file in
her tip was more than fair
The only time I've seen her cry
when she saw the empty chair.
Friday, October 16, 2026
I took a picture of it so you could see
They don’t make a GPS for those of us who get lost in thought. We are on our own. Without the aid of technology, we often stumble upon an idea that’s better left alone and yet we still bend and pick it up. We hold it up to the light, turn it that way and that to see if it is anything at all worth keeping.
I’m sure you’ve seen some on this blog that I should have just kicked off to the side and not bothered with. But there’s a part of me that thinks everything has value. Most things, if examined in the right light, can inspire or ignite some other completely different thoughts.
I remember once I picked up a chrome egg. It had no seams, like it was solid, and yet when I handed it, I noticed it made a sound. I shook it and it rang, like a bell. I wondered how this could look like a solid and yet be hollow. It did not have the weight of anything solid, but who would go to such great lengths, and polish this to the point of making any seam invisible? This couldn’t be a toy.
I know, it must be a dumafligey. I’m almost sure of it. I have heard of these but, until now, have never
come across one. Had I not gotten lost,
I would have never found it. I’m kind of
glad I didn’t have a GPS taking me along some predetermined and well traveled path. I may
have walked right past this.
but he'll never admit it.
There are no flaws or
cracks in the art. It is always a perfect
reflection of how it lives in our mind. The artist's intent is never distorted or muffled.
It is heard clearly from across the room, and in any light. At night, behind the velvet rope, it takes a
breath and relaxes until morning.
Once in a while, the security guard talks to it.
The Distance Between Us
The adventure is in the potential. Imagining the possibilities is the exciting part. Trying to pick the impacted snow from your shoelaces is the unfortunate reality.
Some enjoy planning the trip, others like the thrill of being on the actual adventure. I am quite satisfied staying back here and playing with the words that put the images into your head.
I have tried, with frozen fingers, to untie snow-filled laces. I have had a foot break through the crusted snow, only to discover the icy water beneath it, then still had to hike back to the cabin.
In here it is always warm and dry. The harsh winter wind cannot reach in here to snuff my candle. And if I stop using punctuation, I believe my typewriter ribbon can make it until spring.
From where you are, I
believe you can see the smoke from my chimney.
The thought of it should warm you and give your journey a slight
boost. You’ll make it. Just keep going.
THE GREAT FIZZINNI
Carbonation bubbles
seem to come from nowhere. There’s
nothing there and then there is, rising to the surface, only to disappear
again. I’m here, then I’m gone. I’m here, then I’m gone. And it isn’t just one, it’s hundreds – nonstop.
How great to be a
magician and buy some carbonation bubbles for your act. No magic wand or cape needed.
“Hey folks, watch
this. Now you don’t see them and now you
do. Isn't that amazing?"
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