Our cow, Lucy, will only go into the barn if we play Cat Stevens music. When ever the music stops, she comes out and will not go in again until we start the music back up. Strange but true.
Friday, October 2, 2026
Moon Shadow?
What Happened to Forever?
I was very young at the time. Most of my thoughts were of myself and of what I wanted. I was selfish and cared very little about what was going on in the world. My car was my entire world. I had found it, fell in love with it and paid for it myself. It wasn’t much but to me it was everything.
Henry, at the gas station, was wise in the ways of cars. He is the one I bought all of my gas from and he would always make suggestions on how I should take care of it and what to watch for. I remember he was always saying to keep an eye on the tires. According to him, those were the most important parts. “You don’t want a blowout at high speed.”
I recall the first time it was put up on the rack. Henry wasn’t saying much and I had very limited resources for repairs. I was a nervous wreck. That was, of course, only the first in a long line of visits to Henry’s garage. It seemed there was a relationship between the mileage going up and the number of needed repairs going in the same direction.
It was on a Saturday morning when I got the call from Henry, he said we needed to talk. I thought he was going to tell me the gas prices were going up again. He always felt bad whenever he had to raise his prices. He knew how hard I was working and that I didn’t have much money to begin with. The only other thing would be to tell me that my car was ready. He had it in his garage for the last two days, fixing something in the transmission.
As I walked up to Henry’s, I could hear the country music coming from the garage. He loved his country music. When he noticed me walking up the drive, he wiped his hands on a red shop towel, reached over and clicked the music off. Yikes, I thought. This must be serious. I followed him into the office. I sat on the plastic chair across from his desk. So far, he hasn’t said anything. That was making me feel a little queasy.
“How bad is it?” I asked. This was the first time my baby had stayed by herself overnight. I was already scared. I looked over at my car. She was still up on the rack, Henry’s rolling toolbox sat open and there were tools and parts everywhere.
As Henry went into his speech about his limited resources, and not having the latest technology, my thoughts were wandering to me sitting on the front seat, my Magic eightball gearshift knob, my fuzzy dice hanging from the mirror and how much I wanted him to stop jabbering and just tell me how much I owe.
He must have noticed I was sitting there daydreaming, for then he just came out with it. “I can’t fix it.” That did it. That snapped me back into the moment. “You can’t fix it, or it can’t be fixed?”
I could tell this was bothering Henry as much as me. I thought for a minute his eyes were tearing up. “It is going to cost more to get that car running again than the thing is worth.”
My heart sank. “I think I’m going to be sick.” I said.
Henry didn’t respond. He just sat looking at me, like he was a doctor and had just told a family member that he couldn’t save the patient.
Suddenly, I wanted to hear his country music again. I wanted to hear someone else singing about loss and heartbreak. About pickup trucks and loyal dogs.
I glanced out into Henry’s work area. The image that jumped into my head was Henry’s diagnostic machine showing a flatline. I had lost my best friend. I stood up and just sort of started walking back home. It was like I was in shock. I had not even thought about what to do with the body. I had no idea how to make the necessary arrangements.
About halfway down
the driveway I heard the music come back on behind me. I didn’t recognize the song, I was just glad it
wasn’t Willie singing. On the Road Again.
ZC
Thursday, October 1, 2026
It's All Make-believe
The facts we know and rely on are rooted solely in our perceptions. We establish mental justifications and then act accordingly. Until we can step out beyond our reality, and look back, we’ll never really know what is true.
Those we engage as fact checkers operate between the same pages of the same books we’ve established. Their statements are nothing more than a regurgitation of our beliefs. How then are we to find our way home?
Then there was the
time I tried to get my dog to help me with this blog. He was a beautiful Irish Setter, although I
referred to him as my type setter. He
was a fine dog but our ideas on how the blog should look and what topics were
appropriate never matched up. He
eventually quit. Now he spends much of
his time curled up by the fireplace, occasionally huffing at my lame humor.
It’s hard to tell,
but he has that, “I told you so” look on his face most of the time.
The Red Hat Ladies
I noticed how various groups create peculiarities that identify them as members of that group. What got me thinking about that is the fact that I don’t eat fish. Never have. Right away that would prevent me from becoming Jewish or Catholic. Lox and bagels sound fishy to me, and of course I’d never partake of Fish on Friday. So, neither of those groups would want me as a member.
The Shriners are out just because I’d never fit into one of those tiny cars they drive around in parades. Not to mention how I’d look wearing one of those hats.
For lack of antlers, I’d have a hard time gaining access into the Moose, or Elks lodges and without any armor I’m guessing the Knights of Columbus would never invite me to their round table. (Possibly the kids table, but I doubt it)
Because I always carry one or two pens with me, I tried joining a writer’s group. They didn’t have any exams for me to take and never asked for an example of anything I had written. They simply said, “OK, you’re in.” I found that to be just a little depressing. I never went back.
I remember when I was young, I signed up to join the Boy Scouts. I had no idea what they did or anything about them. I do remember when they questioned me about knots, I naturally assumed they were referring to the knots in my stomach. Obviously, I was wrong, as they gave me a strange look and all backed away from me.
Over time I accepted
the fact that I just shouldn’t belong to a group or organization. So, without hat or antlers I stand here as
Zobostic Corwin, but as you can see, I still carry my pens. I am a group of one.
ZC
More Stray Thoughts
I noticed that as I
grew, I got further and further away from my feet. Initially, that didn’t seem to be an issue,
but now that I’m 79 years away, reaching them is rather difficult. So, I’m wondering if that was a very smart
plan and what else might be worth examining?
Wednesday, September 30, 2026
Samuel (Sam) Parker
I can’t remember ever seeing him without a hat. He wore it while driving, and even in the supermarket he had it on, and when coming over for our weekly poker games he wore it. I know he wasn’t bald, so that wasn’t it. If he had a really strong poker hand, he’d turn his hat backwards and say, “Save your money, boys, I’ve got this one.” The thing of it was, sometimes he’d be bluffing, and scoop up a healthy pot, just because we all had dropped out.
He
didn’t look like himself without his hat.
I don’t know what it was, but they just went together. I recall being at his funeral and seeing his
coffin at the front of the church. The
lid was closed and his hat sat on top of the lid. It made everyone in the church smile just
seeing it. That was just the kind of
thing he’d do.
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