Simultaneous

   As luck would have it,  we've reached the end
   of the year at exactly the same time I've come to
   the end of my thoughts.











  Good-luck in 2019
  Z. Corwin

I just don't see it.

I'm sorry, but I've never understood it and I don't get it.

All the art loving world has always made such a fuss  over the Mona Lisa.

To me, it seems more a smirk than a smile.







  Z. Corwin
 My 2 cents

The Sound of Music

            I came down here in search of something but now I am preoccupied with finding adequate lighting.  I can hardly see where to step let alone grope around for whatever it was I was looking for. 

I came upon the above sentence just moments ago.  I don’t remember when I wrote it or where I was headed with it, but for whatever reason I chose to not delete it, so here I am, now facing it again.  The light is better here which is maybe why I came upon it.  Could it have been that sentence that I was looking for all along?  I can see why it was difficult to locate it the first time.  It is a relatively short sentence, written in black ink - no wonder I couldn’t find it in such dim light.

OK, so with that mystery solved, let’s get onto something a little more substantial.

Not long ago I had to reconfigure my entertainment system.  One component, a receiver, had given up the ghost, which is to say – it died.  After a few trips back and forth to several stores I finally located a receiver.  While it was still on the dining room table I connected all the speaker wires, making sure left connected to left and right went to right.  According to the owners manual I had done everything correctly.

Now, when it came to actually connecting everything to everything else I had to scrunch myself into a small corner and with a flashlight between my teeth and my knees up to my chin, I made the connections to the television, the speakers and the DVD player.

The next step, of course, was to learn how to use the remote control that came with the receiver.  (Some day when I have more time, I’ll write a piece about the companies that make remote controls out of black plastic and then use tiny black letters to identify which buttons do what).

Once we got everything working smoothly, and I could again straighten myself out from my scrunched up position, I began feeling good about myself.  I had successfully performed major surgery on vital organs and the patient was doing well.

Things not found under: Frequently Asked Questions

When we did discover an issue with the system it turned out to be so unique that nowhere could I find such an issue listed.  It seemed that we were the only ones on the planet to ever experience such a problem. 

Here’s the thing; we’re playing a movie, a dance scene comes on, we see people dancing, we hear them talking to each other but there’s no music.  At first we think – well maybe they intended the music to be implied.   We try a different movie.  Again there is no music.  We try a TV program, and again a sound track seems to be missing.

Is it me?  Did I miss a wire someplace?  Is it the receiver itself?  Did I purchase a faulty unit?  How would I know?  How do I track something like that?  I consult that manual’s trouble shooting guide.  Nothing listed under missing soundtracks.  I go on line and look up the company that made the receiver.  Again, there is nothing that mentions this issue.

The only option left to me is to once again scrunch myself up and squeeze into the small corner behind the television and retrace each wire.   OK, I came down here in search of something but now I am preoccupied with finding adequate lighting.  I can hardly see where to step let alone grope around for whatever it was I was looking for. 

I never found a wiring problem but as you

can see, I did find a place for that sentence.

Nature doesn't understand exceptions

It is with my imagination that I can recreate mental images of wild turkeys running about the snow-covered woods.  I can envision deer wandering between the trees searching for tidbits, just as I see them from my chair in the den. 

I need not imagine the cold, as I can feel it seeping in between tiny cracks and crevices, I know it penetrates the flimsy glass windows and it easily gets in around the big sliding glass door.

What I want to know is why?  Why does the cold try so hard to come inside?  What’s the point?  Warmth and cold are not like magnets, attracting each other.  One isn’t rubber and one glue…

So just what does warmth have that cold wants so badly that it keeps trying to get in?

OK, after some very technical thought, that is, the thoughts were not technical, but rather the technical aspects of warm and cold, I’ve come up with a hypothesis.

I believe shade is the link.  In other words, light and shadow affect cold and warm.  Warm seems to prosper in the bright sunlight, while I always seem to find cold huddled in dark basements, and under big oak trees, where the sun isn’t.

So, because I’m here inside, under the roof of my house where there is an abundance of shade, the cold thinks it’s supposed to be in here with me.

Little does it know, houses are the exception to the rule.

   

All Dropped Calls

get tossed into the bin.

Thank you

The Old Man's Chair

It was a rare occasion someone else sat in his chair and whenever they did it appeared as though they were wearing an oversize sports-coat.  

It wasn't too many years back when his chair would go for days without even catching a glimpse of the old man; summertime weather kept him surrounded by fresh air, adventures on the lake, bar-b-q's and neighbors.  Life was taking place all around him and within him.  There was no time for things like television or news broadcasts, not for him, not in summer.

He hadn't noticed the almost imperceptible changes in his chair over the years, but they were there.  It would creak and groan just a little more each year as the weight of the man pushed it's springs to their limit and it had a slight tendency to want to hold onto him once he was settled in, making it just a little more difficult for the man to once again get up - near impossible in winter.

Over time the warmth, comfort and familiar sounds of the chair seemed a part of the old man himself.  They became best friends, inseparable throughout the long winter months, drifting off to sleep in the flicker of the big screen  advertising that was now falling on deaf ears.

Of course, by the time I saw the chair it was spring and it was airing itself in a driveway, the sun highlighting the worn threads along it's arms, the seat cushion resembling more a tractor seat than an easy chair.  The years had taken it's youth and faded it's complexion.

The estate agent didn't even try to talk it up.  To her, there was no history, no relationship,  no bad Reader's Digest jokes or humorous antidote about the popcorn stains.  No, to her it was simply an old chair.  Value: $20.00


Z. Corwin

Dignified

OK, maybe not.

The Boat Stop

We didn't have a school bus.

All the kids who lived on this side of the lake

took the school boat back and forth.

This is where it would stop to pick up the kids in

 the morning and drop them off in the afternoon.

The kids who continually missed the boat

were the ones who either never

amounted to anything

or became politicians. 

six of one...

State Requirements

1.  One standard, metal trash can shall be placed in an easily         accessible area every 1200 feet.

2.  All trash cans shall be anchored to prevent movement,

3.  Lids shall be attached to prevent loss, and only authorized
      3.5 mm plastic can liners, #558/66 may be used.

4.  The Sanitation Department shall have posted locations
      of all trash cans, showing scheduled pick-up dates
      and times.

5.   State Health Dept. shall inspect, control and report on
       excessive flies, maggots and or any pestilence that may
       pose a health hazard, including but not limited to                       seagulls, crows, ground squirrels, raccoons, chipmunks
       and vagrants.

6.  Sanitation of each receptacle shall be completed twice
     monthly, during peak seasons and monthly during
     off season by Park Department employees. Any variation         to this schedule must be approved by the Health Dept.

7.  Permits must be obtained before relocating or removing
     any trash container.

8.  Recyclable materials are not permitted in general trash
      containers without prior approval.  These forms may be
      obtained at 7700 El Cameo Drive, Suite 3, during normal
      business hours.  A $3.00 fee will be assessed to all persons
      requesting a waiver to this form.  All waivers received                after the unposted deadline for wavers will be rejected              and  a  fine imposed. 

9.  Used forms as well as fine receipts may be placed in 
      standard trash cans.  (See Sanitation Dept for locations).

   

You can't make this stuff up kids.

This doesn't move at all

It's Stationery

The Dog Lamp

I saw this on display in a store.
The price tag read $100.00

I thought the lamp was cute -
even clever,
but not a hundred dollars worth.

Now you know how much that doggy was.

What happens after

will tell you how good

or bad your lawyer was.

Party?

or

Farewell 2 Arms

It is with great sadness that we

say good-bye to Norman.

Although he was only with us 

for a short time,

he became not only a part of

our family - but

a part of the entire neighborhood.

We know that to some

he seemed cold and a little standoffish,

maybe even flaky -

but to most of us...

well, we.ll miss him.

Rest in Pieces Little Buddy.

Only the immediate family will attend the service.

Donations, however, may be sent to;

Scott's Turf Builder.

                         Thank you.

In a grizzly turn of events a second body has been discovered at the site of the Norman disappearance.

In what police are suggesting was a possible murder-suicide pact, the remains of Rosy has been discovered very near the location where not long ago Norman's remains were uncovered.  Investigators are working to solve the case, which has shaken this quiet community.

Film at 11.

The Nose Knows

Right away Sandy could smell the 
sugar cubes in his pocket.

I'll be the one in the hat.

I should mention up front that I had a coupon.  I can’t prove that it was the coupon that influenced the end result but I’d hazard a guess that it did.  I expect a seasoned traveler would have known to not present the coupon until the very end.  That was most likely my biggest faux pas, although not my only one.

Also you should know I struggled a little over the title of this piece.  I had thought about calling it Survivor’s Remorse, but that may have lead to a more confusing path.  As it is, you may already be wondering what it was that I actually survived. 

And maybe survived is too strong a word, as I haven’t really survived it yet.  It is a haircut that I am still feeling the ill effects from.  In all my days it stands as the worst haircut I’ve ever received, but please – let me start at the beginning.

Like I say, I had this coupon; that, in conjunction with me needing a haircut set me on this unfortunate, spiraling path of doom.

It was lunch time, so it took a little doing before I found a parking spot.  One man was walking in the barber shop before me and I was just in time to hear someone say, “There are two people ahead of you.”  This was going to take a big chunk out of my afternoon so I turned around in the doorway and left.  Instead of a haircut I walked into the sandwich shop next door.  There was a long line in there as well but at least it was moving. 

As I stood reading the sandwich types, sizes and prices up on the big board I could hear someone right next to me talking.  I turned and saw one of the barbers from the barber shop.  “Excuse me sir, but did you want a haircut?  All those people in front of you are waiting for the other barbers.  I’m ready to take you now if you still want one.”

That - right there should have been my first warning sign.  None of those other customers were willing to get a haircut from this barber.  They’d rather sit and wait than risk it.  My second warning sign should have been the fact that this barber ran out of the shop and tracked me down.  Who does that?

OK, so I’m sitting in the barber chair, we’re making small talk when he takes electric clippers out and attempts to change the cutting guides.  From what I can see, the cutting guides are made up of multiple plastic pieces that snap together.  If, however, they are not in the proper sequence, they won’t fit. 

The barber struggles with these little puzzle pieces until completely frustrated.  A second barber comes over and also tries to put the thing together.  This should have been my third warning sign.  Right then I should have pulled off the little barber apron, leapt from the chair and ran screaming into the parking lot.

Apparently I am too polite.  I sat and waited.  Eventually the barber was holding up the little hand mirror so I could inspect the damage, but at this point I didn’t care.  I just wanted out.

“It looks fine, I said.  Thank you.” and as soon as the apron lifted from my lap I sprung from the chair and headed for the register so I could pay and leave.

I hope you weren’t expecting me to put a picture here.  That’s never going to happen.  And, should you see me out around town, I’ll be the one wearing the hat. 

That’s it.  Let them call me a Hippie.  I’m done with haircuts.

Z.C.

In Assorted Disarray

I see them in their terrycloth

with puzzles and their knitting

they wander halls and seem so lost

with others simply sitting –

No matter what they used to be

wealth and titles fall away

both heads of state and traffic cop

wonder what’s for lunch today –

I see them in their terrycloth

one slipper doesn’t match

one is good at Jeopardy

the bathroom door won’t latch –

Some remember grand-kids

as they live their day-to-day

A few remember yesteryear

in assorted disarray –

Tomorrow brings a vacant room

there’s Lysol in the air

One calls “Dibs” on their dessert

they’ll be an extra chair –

We see them in their terrycloth

all circling the drain,

and think if we don’t pause to look

that we’ll not see our name.

Z. Corwin

Paranormal

Normal                    Normal

How does it end

Several years ago I watched a unique movie called The Truman Show.  It was creative and very entertaining.  Not only did you wonder what was going to happen but even the actors playing in the movie wore buttons that asked the question, how does it end?

Last night I sat through a movie called Downsizing.  Again, I give it four stars for creativity, but as it progressed I found myself asking the same question; where are they going with this?  From a writing standpoint it looked as though they had written themselves right up to the edge of a cliff. Apparently I was right.  Had I not been strapped in - I would have been thrown from the couch.  Right at the edge of the metaphorical cliff they made a hard right.  The writers suddenly created another door.  I felt as if I’d been had.  Writing shenanigans is what I’d call it.  Just out of the blue they had written themselves an exit.  To me, it was neither satisfying nor an acceptable conclusion. 

At least with The Truman Show I walked away satisfied. It was a good ending and really the only acceptable path it could have taken. 

Walking away from Downsizing I found the small popcorn fragments lodged between my teeth only slightly more annoying than the movie I had just watched.

Good-morning, this is Z. Corwin reporting.

And in case I don’t see you, Good-afternoon, Good-evening and Good-night.

  

There comes a time...

when wine no longer improves

with age.

High Steaks

It's not a Jingle...

It isn't a slogan,

It could be a motto...

but is sounds more like a threat.

This is the side of their carry-out container.

Not mine, but I liked it.

But there wasn't any

I am not a magician, I cannot do tricks, nor can I levitate. I say this up front so you’ll understand when I say – I am as confounded as you’ll be when you read this.  It was three days ago when it first happened.  I was walking around my house, heading for the backyard to refill my bird feeder.  During the night the deer had emptied it.  They do that.

OK, so as I’m walking I am looking at the ground.  My yard always has some kind of tripping hazards, like fallen branches, chipmunk holes or the garden hose.  Anyway, as I’m walking I feel myself lift just a little off the ground.  It startles me so I stop walking, and yet I’m still moving forward, over the ground.  I’m actually floating but still heading in the direction I intended to go.

I’m truly enjoying the feeling but at the same time feel uneasy in not having any control over what’s happening.  I’m sure that from across the street it would appear as if the wind had lifted me and was carrying me along.  Something like that I could accept, but there wasn’t any wind, not to mention, at my weight it would have taken quite a gust.  

By the time I reached the bird feeder I was again touching the ground.  Nothing was propelling me forward.  If I was to reach the feeder I’d have to take two more steps.  I did.  Walking back to my garage went normally.  I walked the entire way.

I wanted to try duplicating that experience but have my cell phone set up as I passed by.  I couldn’t imagine telling anyone what had happened without having movie proof of the experience.  I walked back and forth several more times that day but nothing happened.  I was just walking, no lift-off, no floating or magic, nothing.

Yesterday, after being reminded that if I didn’t bring the garden hose in it would freeze and most likely crack; making it useless next spring.  I took the same route as I did for the bird feeder.  I kept hoping I’d once again get to experience my little floating adventure. 

Sure enough, as I rounded the front corner of the house I became airborne.  I was maybe 5 or 6 inches from the ground, moving towards the backyard. I wanted to yell out, get someone’s attention but I hadn’t seen any of my neighbors out in this cold.  It’s a rare occasion when I see them going out to check their mailbox.  There was no one around to see me, to verify my experience.

I put this story here on my blog, still hesitant to tell people, but in the event someone out here has had a similar experience, please let me know.  I’d be very happy to hear from you and to know I’m not simply going bonkers.

Thank you

ZC

Standard Deviations

Life as a normalcy of adverse controversies plods unsteadily along in undisciplined shoes.

I have confounded all expectations simply through avoidance.

I fight with conjunctions, argue unflinchingly with adjectives and often fall short of beating verbs to the finish line.

I successfully, however, always take a left turn just before serious.

I expect deadly serious will be my last entry.  Unless, of course, I can master that avoidance thing.

Generally Accepted Nots

Astronauts

Cosmonauts

Forget me nots

(Collectively - this is a square knot) not.

Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow...

                 ...but not the next day, and Wednesday I'm busy.


      Friday... no, not Friday.



                               Let me get back to you






                                                    tomorrow.

Two

Nope.  Still awake.

I blame the cobbler

Florida Keys

Fishing

A Grand Slam

The Visit

The old man sat hunched over the table, going over and over the tattered map that had been folded and refolded more times than there were miles left to travel.  He tried again to click the lamp up another notch when in reality it was his  dim vision that was lacking additional adjustment.

He had made the long journey here but instead of visiting with me, inquiring how I was doing or asking what was going on in my life, he  sat the whole time silently studying  how to make his way back home.  When he did speak it was to ask if the 95 would be backed up at rush hour. 

"They're all backed up." I said.

The small red lines running across his straining eyes seemed a perfect reflection of the back roads and mountain passes looking back at him. 

I wanted to snap a photograph of his weathered hand lying across the eastern seaboard, complete with the frayed cuff of his flannel sleeve.  This was the image that would stick with me; it was the same hand that provided stability to my first bicycle, though it was now ever so slightly quivering as he worried about again driving in traffic.

I wanted to ask him why he came.  What was the point if only to sit at this table planning his return trip, but I didn't.

I snapped the picture.



ZC

Remember to clean your brushes

I was passing a storefront that seemed to be in between shopkeepers.
The previous one, I assume, had either retired or given up the struggle.
The new one, I expect, is excited about the prospect of running their own shop.
How fun must that be, decorating, setting out your items for sale,
 improving upon the displays and then






waiting.

Its different than no turns left

At The Library

Occasionally I make feeble attempts at reading philosophical works; never sure what I'm hoping to find but somehow still driven to explore.  I was quick to abandon The Republic, by Plato, and now I'm finding Immanuel Kant hurts my brain.

Obviously these are not paths I'm to be taking, but why then do I find myself drawn to them?  What can I possibly be in search of?  I have long since accepted the basic realities of society, the harsh truths of politics as well as the inadequacies of time itself. 

I seem an unfinished canvas hoping I'll one day back-up far enough to see the whole picture, yet being the canvas it remains impossible to back up from myself at all.

I experience being at the library as if I'm riding in a crowded foreign elevator, surrounded by odd languages, casual as well as pressing topics being spoken, all the while watching the descending numbers of time ticking floors off of my life.

Perhaps it is my personal race against time that keeps me searching, looking - hoping to find that one perfect philosophy.  And just maybe it poses the right questions, twisting my Rubics brain into forming the right answers before I reach the bottom floor.

Here's the thing...

These are not buttons.

The numbers are just painted on.

Weeping Willow

Twas the Fall that killed the summer

when leaves fell like tears

through chilled waves of despair

Winter’s breath upon the air-

Don’t paint the child’s playground

as a still-life void of glee –

and weep not as the Willow

for again it soon will be

Young buds now ride the school bus

so fast to grow and be -

in Spring will crowd the branches
of the stately family tree.

zc