Zobostic - Left 2 Write

Monday, June 22, 2026

A North Woods Snack

I expected the water to be cold, but not that cold. A cabin in the North woods comes with a few expectations. There are going to be bugs, there will be footprints of wild animals around and the water out of the faucet will be cold.

By nightfall the quiet had become noticeable. The fact that I was there alone was now underlined. I felt secure in that the door was closed and locked, and yet I couldn’t help but feel somehow vulnerable. It may have been the size of the footprint just outside the cabin that had my focus. I assumed it was from a large cat, maybe a mountain lion. I wasn’t sure, but I didn’t think it was a bear.

For just a brief moment I imagined the cabin as packaging and I was the gooey treat inside, soon to be torn opened by some large-toothed animal who happened along with the right amount of pocket change to buy me.

I needed to stop thinking like that, or I’d be too focused on the sounds outside to ever fall asleep. Who was I kidding? There was no way I was going to sleep. Every nighttime sound seemed magnified. The owls appeared to be yammering about something, the crickets were at full volume and whatever it was moving through the trees didn’t make any effort to do it quietly.

At 20 minutes past 2, I stopped rocking back and forth in the chair. Suddenly something was scratching on the front door, as if it wanted to be let in. I felt a cold shiver and could feel my hands gripping too tightly on the arms of the chair. Relax, I told myself, there’s no key under the mat. Whatever it is can just stay out there. Then I tried to remember if I had locked my car. I have seen YouTube videos of bears opening car doors. They have no problem.

I began to wonder what I was going to do in the morning. Even though the sun would be out and the birds chirping, whatever is at the door could still be laying there, waiting to come in. Was fear going to hold me captive?

Whitespace Grammar

Important messages live within the spaces of a paragraph. Wherever a letter isn’t, communication is trying to get through. The shape of each letter determines the shape of the space. Nothing is haphazard or random.

The key, of course, is to read the paragraph from a distance. It takes practice to focus on the spaces. Some say it is the same as trying to learn a foreign language.

Benjamin Franklin first perfected the system, and it is said the constitution says much more than what is on the surface. A Wisconsin school teacher reported seeing a hidden message on a piece of sheet music, however, they were eventually terminated for continually showing up to class intoxicated.

Whitespace Grammar is real. Its foundation is historical and the messages are packed with meaning. Future scholars most likely will suggest that many of the posts within this Blog share a border with cognitive anti-matter. What hasn’t been proven is that when printed and folded in just the right way, an image of Ralph Nader will appear.

Sunday, June 21, 2026

Make-a-wish

I stood at the side of the wishing well and looked down into the darkness. I wondered how many wishes had been answered and which ones. Was there a secret to which received answers. Who had gotten their wishes answered, and what was involved in making them come true?

Maybe if I better understood the process, I’d have a better chance of knowing what to wish for. And just how long did all this take? Did a wish have to be down there in the water for any certain amount of time. Which begs the question, are all wishes waterproof?

And which is the best denomination of coin to use? Is there any correlation between the value of the coin tossed and the importance or speediness of the wish? It would seem that a penny would be the most frequently tossed coin, while the fifty-cent piece would be like the express check-out line at the supermarket. A top priority indeed.

I’d like to have the answers to all of these questions, but I’m not going to wish for them.

Dream Cruise

Life at 3 miles per hour

A True Adventure

One of Life’s most difficult things to find is a San Diego sweatshirt.

Here is a place where 80° temps are the norm. Where square footage, when it comes to selling trinkets and things, comes at a premium.

So, who in their right mind, would use up floor space to sell sweatshirts in a place where it is always summer?

I couldn’t help myself. I, Zobostic Corwin, set out on an adventure to find such an animal. I had heard through a few underground sources that such things did exist, but I had to see it for myself.

Even if it took all of my vacation time, I would spend every day walking the boardwalks, going in and out of the shops and questioning every bartender along the way. I was determined. For those of you who aren’t aware, bartenders usually have their finger on the pulse of the city. They are in the know. They have the scoop, and the longer you sit there and talk with them, the more you can learn.

By the evening of the fourth day, once the sun had slipped over the horizon and the temp began to drop, I found it was getting a little chilly on the stool I was on by the door. Goose, the bartender noticed I looked a little uncomfortable and tossed me the shirt he had stashed behind the bar. I couldn’t believe my eyes. It was a San Diego sweatshirt.