The Rising Cost of Staples

 

Taking Steps to Remove a Footprint

 

Without a portable time machine it is a difficult process.  Even with one it can become frustrating.  To unstep has never been successfully accomplished.  The weight exerted into the ground compresses surface dirt, gravel and possibly ooky things, such as worms and bugs, many of which do not survive. 

Ideal conditions would be along the shoreline, utilizing the wave action of the ocean to assist in footprint removal.  Less than ideal conditions would be fresh potting soil, just beneath an open window of a burglary victim. 

Early versions of a time machine can be seen in old western movies, where branches were dragged behind a team of horses, wiping away all traces of boot marks, tennis shoe imprints and high-heal puncture marks.

 

 

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A field guide for the chronically present

        The trouble with footprints is that they are too honest. They tell the ground everything: your weight, your direction, your hesitation, your hopes, your shoe size. Even the most polite walker leaves behind a small autobiography pressed into the soil.

        Attempts to reverse this autobiography have always been clumsy. Early inventors of the time machine—the broom‑dragging cowboys you mentioned—believed that erasure was simply a matter of sweeping. But sweeping only convinces the earth to forget; it does not undo the moment when the heel met the world.

        More modern theorists insist that the only reliable method is cooperation with nature. The ocean, for example, is a master editor. It reads every footprint, nods, and then calmly revises the sentence. The tide is the closest thing we have to a benevolent proofreader.

        Less ideal conditions, of course, include fresh potting soil beneath the window of someone who has recently discovered their valuables missing. In such cases, the footprint becomes a witness—one that refuses to be bribed. Dirt has a strong moral compass.

        Some researchers have proposed reverse walking as a solution: stepping backward into your own steps with perfect alignment, heel‑to‑heel, toe‑to‑toe, like rewinding a film. But this only creates new footprints shaped like apologies.

        Others suggest that the only true way to remove a footprint is to replace it with a better one—something lighter, kinder, more deliberate. A footprint that says: I was here, but I tried to be gentle about it.

        In this sense, unstepping becomes less about erasure and more about amendment. The ground remembers everything, but it also forgives easily.

 

 

 

 ZC

 

 

 

 

 

A Hill of Beans

 

Once life has left the body it is very cold to the touch.  All of the heat is gone.  I’ve noticed that the same is true once life has left my coffee, the handle of the mug is cold.  Once the coffee was gone, so was the heat.  

The heat, therefore, is associated with, or connected to the liquid.  Remove the liquid and you remove the heat.  If this process is a constant, then it may be possible to apply it to other situations involving coffee mug handles. 

Not unlike a divining rod searching out water,  holding a mug handle just right could possibly locate coffee.   Although not always ideal conditions, I have tried this several times, and each time I have carried my mug to certain locations I have ended up with hot coffee.

 

Call me crazy – but it seems to work.

 

 

 

Something is Different

 

There is a short path I take when coming from the coffee pot and heading back to my office.  It isn’t overgrown with leaves and branches and there are no tree roots to step over.  So far there haven’t been any wildlife concerns or hostile natives.  In fact, there are only socks on my feet, no shoes or boots.  The terrain is completely level and is indoors.  There is a slight transition between the kitchen and living room, but so far it has posed no problems.  

Mostly it is a transition of decorations.  There is a smattering of artwork, a couple mirrors and a sharp turn that needs to be negotiated, but it is completely visible and it is easy to tell when it is coming up.  

I can’t tell you the number of times I have made this journey and have even made it in the throws of just waking up.  Yes, still groggy I have followed this path without incident.  So, what was different about today?  Why now?  What was different?  I did notice that my coffee cup was fuller than normal.  Which means it was closer to sloshing over the edge as I walked.   Was my coffee pot no longer concise?  Was it feeling generous and thought I should have a little more than usual?

Has there been a mechanical glitch or electrical snafu?  Is Mr. Coffee out on strike and now some management type is sitting in, trying to do his job?  As you can see, I had many questions.  Hopefully all of these thoughts will go away once I’ve had my coffee.

 

 

 

ZC

That's the part that makes it fun.

 

This is my 4,128^th Monday
        (Counting this one)

 

The things I have to show for it are many and quite diverse.  There is a long line of grumpy bosses strewn across my working life, that for whatever reason found me annoying.  A good number of pocket watches that failed to work shortly after I bought them.  An assortment of automobiles that broke, stalled or fell apart for no other reason than that’s what they were designed to do.  There are several albums of photographs that have lasted longer than those in the pictures.  There are small bits and fragments of knowledge that educators at the time through were important.  They were not.  There are degrees on the wall that reflect money not so well spent, and there are scars that show where repairs were made by doctors who spent more for their degrees.

 

 This has been a simple reflection, as I look down into the puddle that's been my life.  Perhaps a little murky at times, but keep in mind, I had a tendency to splash around a bit.  You know, stir things up.

ZC

In the Upstairs Room

 

None of the toys had batteries in them and none of those requiring winding were wound.  So, there shouldn’t have been any noise or movement and yet… 

Whatever was making its way across the floor was casting a rather large shadow on the wall.  The important thing is this: the shadow moved first. The object followed second, which is never the correct order of things.

 

 

 

 

The Family was unavailable for comment

 

A freak accident has taken the life of Marjorie Biggens, of 1871 Christphor Circle, in Lake Jenkins, Michigan.  During the final stages of applying her makeup, in preparation of attending her 20-year class reunion, Marge accidentally fell into her own reflection.

Having placed back-up mirrors just behind her, little did she know this placement would result in multiple reflections, the depth of which is still unknown.   

The above photo was the only shot the police investigator was able to get and attempts at calling out to her were met with silence.

 

 "She's in there somewhere." 

 

 

 

 

ZC