The Game

 

That’s when the only pirate at the table leaned forward and said, “I have a pair of hens, so I’ll take three.”

 

Well, of course nobody knew what hens were. Did he mean queens? The dealer dealt him three more cards and the pirate sat back in his chair, slowly peaking at his new cards.

 

Todd Wilson, who sold lamps, sofas and occasional tables over at the Sears outlet during the week, had been holding Jacks and sevens.  He knew full well that two pair of anything beat one pair of hens, whatever those were, but it was the way the pirate had leaned forward, looking everyone in the eye, almost daring them to challenge him, that had set Todd on edge.  Was the pirate bluffing?

 

Lois, who had been paying more attention to the refreshments she had set out, glanced at her cards and then tossed them onto the discard pile.  “Is anyone ready for a snack?” she asked.

 

Bill Reynolds, who had laid his hand face down in front of him said, “I’ll play these.”  He then looked over at Todd and asked, “So just what is an occasional table, Todd?”

 

Meanwhile, Mr. Rogers, of TV fame, seemed to have a tell.  Whenever he had a good hand, he would hum.  It’s a wonderful day in the neighborhood…  a wonderful day for a neighbor.  Then he looked over at Lois and thanked her for making such good-looking refreshments.  “It is so wonderful of you to make those delightful looking sandwiches and cookies.”

 

The pirate grunted and tossed six dollars into the pot.  That was a tad steep for Todd, but he again looked at his two pair and called, lying a five and a one on the pile.

For some unknown reason Mr. Rogers began taking his shoes off, first the one and then the other.  

Jasen Bateman said nothing, but just watched as Mr. Rogers then put on his slippers.

Wait a ding-dong minute...

 

Does anyone else think these gloves

are way too big?

 

The last time he was seen, he had gone 

out at break time for a smoke.

A note left behind said he was going to

follow his dream of becoming an Opera singer.

The only things left in his desk were a

Zippo lighter and a pocket-sized book,

Common Italian phrases for thin opera singers.

100's of people a day

 walk through here and snap pictures

of the flowers.

This is Daisy.

I snapped a picture of her.

with one foot in a pan of water

 

I tried to improve my Flash.

The picture still came out too dark.

His Last Performance

 

October 14, 2020

 

It began years ago, although I do not remember the movie, I do remember Charles Grodin’s performance.  It was great.  He could make me laugh with just a simple facial expression. 

Of course, later, the more he was getting discovered the more movies we would see him in.  It seemed no mater what role he did, he put himself out there and stole the show.

Eventually I started buying his books.  He is a great writer and excellent storyteller.  In my personal collection I have the following books:

It would be so nice if you weren’t here.

How I get through life

We’re ready for you Mr. Grodin

And

I like it better when you’re funny

 

So it will come as no surprise to those of you who know me, I sat down and wrote him a letter. 

Keep in mind, this was something I took very seriously.  This letter was going to be my introduction.  It had to be perfect.  If you are familiar with my blog then you’ll know, there always seems to be a type-o or miss-spelled word, or whacky indentation someplace.  Anyway, I didn’t want to rush through this letter like I tend to do.  I wanted to take my time, check and then double check.  Then, when I thought it was perfect, I set it aside for a few days so I could come back to it later, with fresh eyes.  I took no chances.

This letter had to have the perfect greeting, considering he didn’t know me from Adam.  I wanted it to sound homey, yet still professional.  I needed to re-read it just to see if I changed tenses anywhere along the way.  I sometimes do that – apparently.

I didn’t want to come off sounding crazed, or like some lunatic.  I just wanted it to be a nice letter that he would enjoy reading.

Finally the day came.  I had done my homework.  I had previous correspondence from Johnny Carson’s Tonight Show, back when I first attempted to locate his mailing address.  Turns out, I didn’t need any of that, I found it through Google with very little effort.

Then came the mailing process.  I didn’t want to just stick it out in my mailbox for the postman to eventually pick it up.  No, not this letter.  I drove it to the post office and watched as the lady behind the counter tossed it in the outgoing basket.

Okay, it was on its way.  Now all I had to do was wait.  Maybe he would write back, maybe he wouldn’t.  It was exciting just to think that Charles Grodin would someday be sitting in his favorite chair, a refreshing beverage within reach and read a letter from Harvey.  How cool was that?

 

 

He never even opened it.

All he had to do was throw it away.  I would have lived happily ever after thinking he had read my letter.

Please add my great disappointment to

The Charles Grodin estate.

 

 

The Coffee Letters

 

Sitting in my memory are the long-ago coffee drinkers, talking about their children, their jobs, or their marriage.  All of the ever so important topics that went so well with cream and sugar.

Unbeknownst to them, technology did not pause while they discussed life.  Advancements were spreading faster than spilled coffee on a new tablecloth.  One such leap of technology came in the shape of instant coffee.  Granules in a glass jar.  Simply plunge your teaspoon into the crunchy mixture and ease them down into a cup of hot water.  Suddenly your morning had begun.

Of course, not everyone warmed up to this high-tech time saver.  A large number of traditionalists held tight to their morning process, suggesting it wasn’t simply taking that first, bitter hot sip, but setting everything up in order to get there was just as important.  “It’s just the way it’s done. Don’t mess with it.”

But as schools, jobs and neighborhoods changed, so did the distance in conversations.  Important issues of the day had found their way to letters.  Old friends kept in touch through the postal system.  As coffee drinkers sat at their kitchen table glancing at the empty chair where their friend once sat, they scribbled out the week’s activities, the disappointments and the juicy gossip.  By the time their morning coffee was gone, the envelope was ready for a stamp, and they felt good getting that off their chest.

However, just as instant coffee had infiltrated their camp, so did electronic mail.  Email, requiring neither stamp nor envelope was upon them, bringing with it the harsh admonishment of spelling errors, syntax and punctuation.  A built-in English teacher came with every computer.

What had been a simple chat over coffee between friends was suddenly dressed up, hair combed, with make-up on.  Now, however, it seemed cold and impersonal, even sterile.  This was not part of the process, there was no preparation, no setting the table.  And this wasn’t the warm, friendly face of your friend looking back at you, this was a cold, impersonal monitor, causing you to squint at its harsh brightness,  suggesting that you had better have something important to say.

So it is there, in the far reaches of the pantry, sitting next to the jar of rarely used instant coffee, you’ll find the flimsy box of unused envelopes that once carried small bits of news between friends.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Message from Garcia

 Hello,

I apologize for the long absence.  As I have been unable to access this blog for some time now, I started another one.  There are just a few posts on it, and if I can keep this one up and running I will eventually completely remove the other one.

The other one is called: Zobosticlives.blogspot.com 

But like I said, now that I have found a secret passageway back here, this is the blog I will frequent.

Thank you for your support. 

zc