Monday, April 20, 2026

Inside the Toy Box

 

There is a modern Trojan Horse.  Today’s government has seen fit to provide us with toys that are quite sophisticated.  They provide answers to most questions, while at the same time listening and gathering information about its citizens.  

Paranoia and technology is not a good combination.  A government designed to feed itself can only continue to grow, and with greed being its primary personality trait, the end result isn’t pretty. 

It is not my place to predict a trainwreck, but just to point out the missing section of track. 

 

 zc


Truth in Advertising

 


The real breakfast of champions 




A Closed Book

 

Nothing escapes from a closed book.  Stories never get told, and adventures lay dormant.  Ships never get lost, encounter storms or sink, because they never set sail.  Boots remain clean and polished, ladies’ fashions never change and banks never get robbed.  There are no newspaper headlines, because there isn’t a next chapter. 

A closed book is like the wind section of an orchestra without the breath.  It is more than quiet; it is stillness without the pillow, death without the grief.  Until the book is opened there can be no Hogwarts, no Jack Sparrow and no Captain Hook.  It is unrealized potential, a final frontier never explored.

 



 

 

 

 

Sunday, April 19, 2026

Guilty

 

I accept full responsibility

 

I did not witness it myself, but I was the only one to pass that way during the time in question.  I don’t see how it could have been anyone else. 

I should start at the beginning.  Two days ago, as we were entering Publix Supermarket, Claudia pointed out the giant scale against the wall.  I had never noticed it before.  Of course, I felt compelled to walk over and step up onto it.  The dial pointed to 175.  You’ll understand the importance of that in a minute. 

Fast forward to this morning.  As I made my way to the bathroom, I noticed something on the carpet.  I didn’t have my glasses on, and the hall light was not on, so I didn’t know if it was a bug or a sock fuzz or what.  I kept watching it and I didn’t see it move at all, so my hopes were leaning towards a piece of fuzz.

I flipped on the hall light.  It was a bug, and I can say without any hesitation, it was a very dead bug.  In fact, it was squished beyond recognition.  At sometime during the night our paths must have crossed, and 175 pounds must have proven to be too much for the little guy.

 

I felt bad, but at that point there was nothing to be done.

 

 

zc

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

at the end of the leash

 

For those of you old enough to have used a record player, you’ll most likely remember that once the needle followed the curve in the record to the end, the record player kept rotating, while the needle kept bouncing against the edge of the label.  There was no more music, just the sound of the needle scraping against the paper. 

Over time I’ve come to recognize a similarity between that event and when I sit here and feel like writing but I’m no longer in the grove.   I search for a worthy topic, or failing that, I attempt to create a photograph that might potentially be blog worthy.  

Having just written that, I feel I should write about the two lives that just passed by my window.  Both were at the end of a stretched-out leash.  One dog walker and two dogs.  The dog walker does not hold my interest, but when I consider the view of the daily walk, as seen by the dogs, I have to consider that they have been cooped up indoors for hours and have looked forward to this event with excitement and great anticipation.

With a sense of smell far greater than ours, I would guess the neighborhood offers much more for them to appreciate than it does for us.  The sights and sounds at their height reveal to them all the things that go unnoticed by those of us usually in a hurry, and as they are barefoot, the road and ground give their walk an entirely different feel, far more real than the dog walker gets in her sneakers.

They are now out of my view.  The music has stopped and my creative needle wobbles freely, awaiting the next inspiration to start.  Will it be a classic, maybe something from long ago, a story perhaps?  I guess I’ll just have to wait along with you.  Hopefully it is something good.

 

 

 

zc

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hope the light comes back on

 

Tis a very fragile balance

where we live and what we do

We cannot fix the things that break

so we must buy them new

 

Everything’s electronic

simply plug them in

Planes are supersonic

the ice is oh so thin

 

Employees in the workforce

haven’t got a voice

Livelihood’s dependent on

who was nobody’s first choice

 

Prices just get higher

wages – not so much

Politicians get elected

even though they’re out of touch.

 

Tis a very fragile balance

and should the problem linger

Pull the plug – then plug it in

and then just cross your fingers.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Treasure

 


What value are coins

too heavy to carry

I’d need pockets so big

they’d look a bit scary

 

To take them to market

would be too unkind

A spot for the coins

they never would find

 

No vending machine

so mighty and grand

Accepts such a coin

they’re not in demand

 

What value are coins

all silver and gold

But to bury them deep

draw an X, so I’m told

 

Sprinkle clues here and there

till the kids find the map

Let them dig and rejoice

at finding this  treasure

 

 

    zc