Carved in Stone

 

 



 

Somewhere between the tic and the tock we live our lives. 

 

The muted sounds of time are always present in the background, like that of a little hammer and chisel chipping away at our sculpted existence;

Tic – tock, tic – tock, little crumbs falling away with each strike. 

 

There are small bits of good health, tiny fragments of memory being chipped and broken into something less. 

We go to great lengths to keep track.  We hang clocks on our walls; we build watches and strap them to our wrists.  We design the tracking of time into our cell phones so in the shadow of every conversation our subconscious can maintain the cadence of our passing.

 

  Tic – tock, tic – tock.

 

The distance between the watchmaker and the undertaker is always measured in time.  A quite precise movement keeping us on track, right up until we become

the late...

 

 

 



Pet Peeves

 

They do it at the supermarket, they do it at the library and it isn’t all of them, it’s just a rare few but it drives me bonkers. 

 

I hand them my little grocery discount card so they can scan it, or I hand them my library card to check out a book and rather than hand it back to me when they are done, they go out of their way to set it down on the counter. 

 

Okay, so it may not seem like much to you, but think about it; There I am – Mr. Customer, standing no more than a counter’s width away with my hand outstretched waiting, and they do the annoying little sidestep and lay it on the counter. 

 

If they were germ-a-phobes then they’re in the wrong business and should not be waiting on the general public.  If they are simply rude - then again they shouldn’t be in that position.

 

 

 

 That’s it for now.  I have other peeves but I can see you're already rolling your eyes.

 

Within ear shot

 

 

 



Just Desserts

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



It is where they found happiness

 

 

There wasn’t much space between his world and hers

 

He made breads and pastries

and spread frosting with a gentle touch

 

She curled hair - added highlights

applying tints with precision  

 

The space between their dreams

was just enough for a table and chairs

 

They danced in conversation

and tip-toed through their past

 

Both lives were balanced at the edge

without tablecloths or candles

 

and no cushion to speak of

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  



Fish Food for Thought

 

Were I to wade out into the surf I expect my feet and toes would appear quite strange to local fish, and perhaps wearing shoes might be misconstrued as shells covering and or protecting such tasty morsels.  Shoelace ends waving freely within the current could be mistaken for whiskers, like those of a catfish, or some salt-water creature having shoelace-like whiskers.

Considering this with some deliberateness I do not expect to subject my tootsies to questionable surroundings like ocean floors or city subways.

For the life of me I don’t know why someone hasn’t yet tiled ocean floors, allowing swimmers the freedom and comfort to wade out several yards without having to deal with the highly questionable and mostly unseen ocean bottom. 

I envision a delightful transition from clean, white sand to a smooth, non-slip terracotta, or perhaps a ceramic mural depicting realistic images of smiling cartoon fish, reassuring the younger and more timid swimmers that their wingtips are safe from harm.

Maybe even an interlocking mat of Legos stretching along coastlines, just below the breaking tide, impervious to corrosion, echo friendly, colorful and fun for the whole family. 

Okay, I will have to consider this idea; less expensive than tile, indestructible and certainly a job creator.  Such a massive undertaking could employ millions of people around the world.

 

I like it. 

   

 

Just do it

So I’m at the podiatrist and I’m not really complaining as much as I am explaining what a difficult time I always have finding a pair of comfortable shoes.  No matter what brand, no matter the type or style, I just can’t find a pair that fits right.  Then, as if some switch got flicked  the Doctor gets all serious, looks at me and says he needs to trim a little off my feet and my problem will go away. 

I thought he was kidding, so I chuckle and say, “Ya – right”, but he’s still looking as serious as can be.  He digs through what looks to be a junk drawer and pulls out this laminated chart.  There are images of feet, left ones and right ones with dimension lines and arrows, and there are hand written calculations along the margins in what appears to be grease pencil.  He pulls a sheet of paper towel from the wall dispenser and quickly wipes off the hand written notes, mumbling, “That didn’t work.”

 

“What didn’t work?” I ask nervously.   He looks up and says, “Toe calculations were off.” and he quickly steps out of the office.

 

Now I really don’t want to be there.  I’ve been coming to this guy for years but all of a sudden it’s like I don’t know him at all.  I swing around in the chair and start putting my socks and shoes back on, but as I’m doing that his nurse assistant steps in and says, “The Doctor needs some x-rays.  Please follow me.”

 

“I’m sorry but I forgot - I have this thing I have to be at.  I’ll reschedule at the front desk.”  But his nurse takes a firm grip of my arm and says, “Relax, this will only take a few minutes.”  She leads me into the small X-ray room and has me pull my shoes and socks off again.  “Lie on your back on the table and put your feet against this wall with your toes up to this mark.”

 

As I lay back she reaches over and scoots my right foot a little higher.  “There, hold them there.”  Then from a cabinet she pulls out a small paper plate with a square of green Jell-O on it and she gently sets it on my chest.  “I need you to lie perfectly still.  If this Jell-O starts to wiggle that means you’re not laying still enough and we’ll have to start over.”

 

“You people are bonkers.”  I snatched the plate from my chest and swung my legs over the side of the table.  “I’m getting out of here.”  This time I didn’t wait to put my socks and shoes back on I just headed for the door.  I expected the nurse to try and stop me but all she did was reach out and take back the plate of Jell-O.

 

As I ran down the hall toward the exit sign I could feel the cold tile on the bottom of my feet and the slapping sound they made against the floor echoed as if the hallway was a mile long.  As I ran various doors would open and people would peek out to see what this slapping sound was.  As they watched me run by they seemed frightened and quickly closed their door.  I noticed one of them was holding a plate with a square of green Jell-O on it.  The look on his face was of pure panic.  Our eyes locked as I past, at the same time I noticed only my left foot was now making the slapping sound.  My right foot was still keeping up but no longer could I feel the coldness of the floor or hear the echoed slap.

 

I suddenly got a queasy feeling in my gut.  I was scared to look down.  What had happened to my right foot and why did the exit sign seemed like it was even farther away.  I didn’t appear to be getting any closer.  I was scared to look down at my foot and afraid I’d never get out of there - what was happening?

 

Toe calculations?  Was I dreaming all of this?  It was like some nightmare.  Yea, that was it.  I must have fallen asleep in the chair; so how do I wake myself up?  No – maybe I fell asleep lying on the X-ray table.  Maybe if I look down at my chest I’ll see the plate of Jell-O wiggling because of my running.  But I couldn’t force myself to look and I couldn’t explain why my right foot was no longer smacking the cold floor as I ran.  Had the doctor taken too much off?  Had he failed math in school?

I scrunched my eyes closed harder and listened to the absence of sound my right foot was making.  Swish – swish - swi

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

No Postage Necessary

I am far too old and out of breath to be chasing my youth

Therefore –

My hair shall remain gray until it completely falls out

My vision will see things as I want them to be

I will hear what I want to hear

And I will scoff at anything new

 

I rejoice in being a curmudgeon for I have worked long and hard to get here

 

Now, as when I was a child, vegetables will be pushed aside

Chocolate cake to me is the same as a beautiful sunset

 

The Fashion Police will have my picture on their wall

And my car will make the same odd noises as I do

 

I am not going to buy anything from you so please go away

 

Thank you


 

 

and just so you'll know - I don't pay attention to font that's difficult to read.

 

 

Foscoe Sage

Hello Old Friend,

I noticed in the last letter you sent, the one with the photograph, you are again letting your beard grow.  I remember the last time you had it you said it was too much to take care of.  You were always trimming and fussing with it, whatever made you want to have it back again?  And what’s with the car?  Is that yours?  When did you get that?  It looks nice; a little small perhaps, but nice.  Somehow I can’t picture Alice fitting in there with you.  Will she even ride in it? 

It’s a little quiet around here now that Larry has gone back to school.  He’s changed his major again, says he wants to get a degree in understanding.  I’ve never heard of such a thing. I always thought understanding was just something you did or didn’t do, you know, like – “I understand what you mean.”  How can someone get a degree in catching on to what someone else is talking about?  I don’t get it, but he showed it to me in the catalog.  At least his spirits picked up.  He was really down after the Wild Animal Park fired him for that snake enclosure deal.  They should have never put him in charge of that.  Last I heard there are still 40 or so missing.

Did you ever get the wind chimes I sent?  They should have been there by now.  When they do get there be sure to open the box outside.  They may need to air out a bit longer for the smell to be completely gone.  Nancy really likes the ones I made for her.  The only problem is the neighborhood dogs.  They come by and try to jump up and bite them. 

Not much has changed around the office except they tried to cancel everyone’s vacation because they are so far behind on the Wilson project.  Two people left anyway.  They said they had already paid for their airline and hotel and because it was a no refund deal they told the boss too bad they were going, and they did.  Now we’re all wondering what will happen when they get back.  Everyone thinks they’ll fire Hobbs, but let Ted get away with it.  They never have been happy with Hobbs and that’s a good excuse to let him go.  Ted is the one I told you about before.  He’s the fishing guy; you know – designed and patented his own style fishing rod.  He’s got his two sons making them in the garage and his wife and daughter have a web site set up to sell them.  He says as soon as he retires he is going to open his own store.  It’s all he ever talks about.

OK Foscoe, I better wrap this up for now. Thanks again for sending the photo.  Maybe once Larry graduates we will be able to afford to travel again.  We can head out your way or meet someplace in the middle. Take care and say Hi to Alice.

 

Your Old Pal

Zobostic

 

 

 

 

 

...and every fourth year we leap.

It took many, many people to agree upon the calendar, which I guess is where the saying came from;

 

  Great Mayans think alike.

 

 

 

We like to think...

 

·                 The next lotto ticket will be the one.

·                 Good will always win over evil.

·                 We have enough gas to make it to the next station.

·                 Our Doctor knows what he is doing.

·                 Our Government isn’t as stupid as they appear.

·                 What we think matters.

·                 If we were in charge we’d do it better.

·                 Vacation calories are different.

·                 Alien life forms would be smarter than us.

·                 We’ve done something good and worthwhile while we were here.

·                 The person in the window seat won’t have to get up again.

·                 Someone is watching out for us.

·                 We will be remembered for the right reasons.

·                

·                 We haven’t forgotten anything.

Au revoir

Forgo the embalming

Strike a match not a pose

Lay a blanket of flames

from my head to my toes

 

With industrial spray

wash the dust that remains

and say, Au revoir

as I head down the drain

 

No call for a digger

no stone there to be

just a tumbling spirit

heading far out to sea


In years yet to follow
when sunlight breaks through
A faint memory
could land upon you


May it spark up a smile
of one quite insane
whose last dying wish
was to ride through the drain.


 

 

Zobostic Corwin

 

 

NCC - 1701

For years we had an old canister vacuum cleaner.  It was well made but various parts would break now and then and I would doctor the thing up with home-made items and stuff I had laying around my workbench.  Eventually I began to add my own design improvements like little side shields that would deflect table legs and corners of walls, keeping dents and furniture scratches to a minimum.  The main drive mechanism over heated one day, so much so that the thing warped, I managed however to keep it very functional for a long time, maybe 5 years, which was great because we didn’t have to shell out money for a new one.  It had to be our favorite vacuum of all time.  It had a wand that would extend out and it was slightly angled so it would go where no other vacuum had gone before, like the deep space beneath the couch and up to the cold air returns along the ceiling where cobwebs always seem to thrive, and the bristled attachment easily got the cat hair – you know, from along the bottom of the curtains where it seemed to always cling on.

I didn’t intend to tell you all of this except I just ran across the history of it in my log and it somehow sounded so familiar, I’m not sure why…

 

Mushrooms

 

 

Tightly sealed in plastic.

 

 

 



Not to be opened until 3032

 



The bakery item in this box was very fresh when I purchased it and the lady had done an excellent job when tying the box closed. 

Driving home I couldn’t even smell it.  The tight string must have sealed in the wonderful fresh baked aroma. 

  Sometimes the anticipation of enjoying a great bakery item becomes too great and when the time finally arrives to bite into the amazing delight - disappointment oozes out, followed quickly by concern over the truthfulness of the baker who had assured you it was – “Fresh today.”
 

I cannot afford to risk all of that happening to this perfect pastry so I am refusing to ever open it. 

I kept it buckled in on the passenger seat during the ride home and now I will give it a place of honor in the fridge and there it will stay. 

Forever in my mind I will remember how it was when I first saw it sitting there in the display cabinet.  I don’t know how but I truly believe it was calling my name.
 

This will be my very own bakery time capsule. 

 

 

 

      



Life Should Make us Sneeze

          I have never been good at small talk.  I am, however, excellent at small listening.  It is as if the entire world is a sweater and I am a hangnail.  I catch key words, the odd phrase or facial expression and snag them into my mental web of comprehension.

          Conversations, for me anyway, lay captured as a fly tangled up in the spider’s web waiting for me to return - to dissect sentences, drain verbs of their action and leave passing clichés as empty, broken fragments, drying in the sun, eventually blowing away with the slightest punctuation.  

          I surround myself with words.  I’m soaking in them right now.  They are my fishing trip minus the flies and mosquitoes.  They are my golf game that I hope nobody ever captures on film.  My adventures span the distance from exclamation point to page down, and they are all adventures that remain relegated to this keyboard. 

          For the past several years I have checked books out of the library only to read two or three sentences and return them.  Captured by a clever title, like a raven to a shinny object, I pluck them from the shelf and cart them home.  Almost instantly upon reading I’m bored.  I’ve neither been hooked nor drawn into the story or character and so I close it and pick up the next in the pile.    This is not something I would recommend.  I am sure that I have missed some good stories by not hanging in long enough and I could not really tell you what I am hoping to one day discover by engaging in this behavior.

          My latest discovery is a small book entitled, Plato and a Platypus walk into a bar, written by Thomas Cathcart and Daniel Klein.  

This book immediately captured my attention when I read the dedication page.  It contains a quote from Groucho Marx.  “These are my principles; if you don’t like them I have others.”  Any book that can make me laugh aloud in the library gets checked out and carried home.

          The problem with armchair adventure is its limitations with respect to life.  Life should be experienced outside, with wind, noise, and blinding Sunlight.  It needs to be breathed in and it should make us sweat, and shiver.  Even if we have to grab the big hand and let it drag us around the face of the clock, scraping our knees across the five and snagging our shoelaces on the eight we should never let go.  It is a journey taking us nowhere while simultaneously pulling us through time.

          It is the small listening that causes me to pay close attention to the dedication page of a book.  It is there that the author steps out of their author persona and stands facing the reading public.  He speaks from the heart, not just from the dust jacket and attempts to look regal.  The dedication page is the tree we ran to as children.  As long as you are touching the tree you can’t be tagged. 
 

 

      Someone else forever remains it.

 

         

         

           

 

            

Perchance to sleep...

A chloroformed intellect must rule my dreams.  Upon waking I can neither explain nor justify nocturnal occurrences.  It seems that an exaggerated form of word association threads unrelated events like a raft and allows them to drift out beyond safety markers. Although morning’s reflection shows no abnormalities suffered, a lingering irrationality permeates like stale gin.   

Void of contracts or rebuttals, today shall be spent in analytical review of things and events leading up to the evening’s slumber.  What could have possibly spurred such realistic and volatile dreams as to plunge me deep into the depths of my own familiarity?  Seeing myself as I truly am, stripped of the varnish of civilization, all the while presenting false arguments in a setting designed for nothing short of failure.

 Stifled and found in contempt I am tethered to a harsh reality and consigned to life.  There is nothing but life in all directions.  Each and every avenue filled with the diversities that life offers; while just there, in the shadows - the unknown consequence of choice.    

 

 

Thunder Road

I’m not sure why but at the time I was thinking about old movies and remembering some of my favorite actors; William Powell as the Thin Man, Jimmy Stewart with Harvey, and of course Ingrid Bergman, William Bendix, and Alan Ladd.   This was all back when the silver screen was magical and popcorn affordable.   A good story back then took precedence over special effects.  It seemed like all of life was in black & white.

Had I been thinking at all about color I would have noticed the reflection of the red brake lights on the tunnel wall.  I would have been paying closer attention to my speed.

 

 

 

 

Heaven

 

I'm in Heaven

 

and my heart beats so that I can hardly speak,

 

and I seem to find the happiness I seek