The Art of Soup

 

Smart Phone

 

I’d like to know what my phone is doing when I turn it on.  I’m sure one of the first things it does is to check to see what time it is, followed by the date.  And it seems it also must know where it is on the planet, so it can calculate the time zone with its GPS location.  

While it is going through all of that, it needs to find out what has transpired during the night, you know, retrieve any emails or text messages that came in while it was sleeping.  All of these things are taking place before the screen lights up. 

Somewhere, not too far below that layer of activity, it searches out the weather.  Does it need to display rain, or sun – snow or fog?  Even which direction the wind is coming from and how strong the gusts will be is a must know.  Basically, it needs to figure everything out before I ever start my day.  

I expect my brain goes through the same shenanigans when I wake up.  What time is it, where am I and what’s the weather going to be today.  Supposedly my battery is fully charged after a good night’s sleep and instead of checking out potential wind gusts, I search for breakfast.  What’s it to be and where will it come from?

My smart phone operates independently from me.  I need to eat, but other than recharging the battery, I don’t have to feed my phone.  Yes, there are bytes involved but no actual food is consumed.  How messy would that be?  Stuffing pancakes into the small slot on the phone?  Forcing a little butter and then pouring syrup into the mix.

OK, so that whole last thought process about feeding food to my smart phone, well…

Consider for a moment that my brain is down to just one bar.  Maybe if I go over and stand by the window…

 

 

Sorry for my extended absence

 

but I lost my keys and haven't been able to get back in.

I'll check under the couch cushion.

Fingers crossed.

It's Odd

 

The things that will make people smile.

Darn, I just broke a nail.

 

 

Driving along the Panhandle

 

Oops

 

It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas

 

This Blog

 

Looks completely different from the inside.

I had no idea that was in there.

 

The Home

 

Walking on a winter’s trail

A cold and starry night it was -

Snug inside my fur-lined gloves

Fingers wrapped in cozy fuzz –

Winter boots around my feet

Woolen socks seemed just the thing –

With scarf tucked in, I felt complete,

Then I heard my cell phone ring.

Who dare intrude on such a walk

and break the stillness of the night –

Who feels compelled to have me talk

I’m sorry, but this isn’t right.

Between my teeth I bite my glove

and slip my hand from where its warm 

A senior's somehow wandered off

a searching party has been formed

describing me as old and gray

said to search both far and near,

I calmly tuck my phone away - 

enjoying quiet while its here.

 

 

 

 

Says it all...

 

With one sock on and one sock off

 

 

I knew a man named Borsenhnoff

who never did complain –

I saw him waiting for a bus

just standing in the rain,

With dripping hat and soggy coat

more tolerant than us –

The sign a foot above his head

showed he’d missed the bus.

At home his children pestered him

they always wanted toys –

And never would his wife allow

A night out with the boys,

Yet always pleasant Borsenhnoff

would smile every day –

And when his soup would show up cold

he’d eat it anyway.

The last time I saw Borsenhnoff

they were laying him to rest -

A smile still upon his face

he’s given life his best.

 

 

 

 

Bar Exam

 

My Favorite Crow

 

They know

 

where I shop

and where I eat dinner,

They know what I weigh

and when I get thinner,

Then know where I end

before I do start,

They see everything

I add to the cart.

They’re aware of my movies

what I watch on TV

They know that I mute

when they’re talking to me.

They know all the things

I tend to avoid –

That could make me suspicious

or a bit paranoid.

 

Who's There?

 

OK, so not everyone likes it

 

 

It is a fragrance connected directly to childhood.  The moment you smell it there is an instant recollection that the person wearing this unique smell has just come from the barber shop.  It is undeniable.

I know this to be true for one day, while going through the check-out at the supermarket, the employee stopped what they were doing and asked me, “Did you just come from the barber shop?”  At that moment I knew my senses had not lied to me all these years, my aftershave was exactly what the barber shops of yesterday had been using.

There were, of course, many more comments over the years, but that supermarket incident was too on the nose to ignore.  There have been women who have hugged me, simply in a friendly greeting after some absence who have lingered just a tad longer than what is considered a normal duration.  Some have just come out with, “Boy, you smell good.”

The point to all this lies in the memory link back to childhood.  The sense of smell is our strongest and most accurate connection to our past.  But why?  What is the point of this human attribute?  It doesn’t aid in our survival.  It may restore a positive memory when it comes to food.  “Boy, that smells good.  My Mother used to make…”

Hypnosis tends to tap into that link, for subjects respond well when it is activated.

“Relax.  Close your eyes.  You are getting very sleepy, so sleepy.  All the pressures of the day are falling away.  You’re calm and relaxed.  You’re back in grade school.  Your little friends are around and happy to see you.

What’s wrong?  

Why are you getting so upset?  

What’s that… your mother is dragging you off to the barber shop, but you want to stay and play with your friends.

Well, I wouldn’t exactly call it a stench.  It’s just something the barber…

Okay, I can see you’re becoming too anxious.  

You are beginning to wake up.  When I snap my fingers, you will be wide awake and feel refreshed.  On the count of three,

One…

two...”

 

Old Slippers

 

Together since high school, you never saw one without the other.  They were comfortable.  Probably the best description for them, comfortable.  Today, however, they appeared worn, frayed at the edges and somewhat tattered.

With the majority of their lives behind them, he was a little bent over and prone to mutter.  She had become short of patience and her requests now sounded harsh, perhaps fueled by health issues that were never going to improve.

Everything in their home had a personal history and meant something to them.  Consequently, nothing was ever thrown away.  It was a cluttered existence, now encumbered with doctor visits, elaborate tests and disappointing outcomes.

She was slipping more and more each day and there was nothing to be done.  His voice had grown weak in his struggle to help his childhood sweetheart.  Friends and neighbors could only watch this sad progression.  Surely, they would have to sell the house, but what about their things?  Neither would be able to manage an estate sale, nor would they want to.  

No cavalry would be coming over the hill to save them, and the doctors couldn’t say what they knew to be true.  These were simply worn-out slippers sadly slipping away.

Considering...

 

The light source is

93 Million Miles Away,

and the vase is all the way

across the room,

and for taking it with a phone instead of a camera-

it's not that bad of a picture.

What ?

 

Not one of my pictures but I liked it.

The World-wide Web

 

I will admit, I wasn’t paying close attention.  I noticed the branch and knew I needed to duck, but I never saw the massive spider web until I found myself struggling to free myself from it. The more force I used to pull free from the sticky web, the tighter it seemed to hold.  I knew I shouldn’t panic but it was too late.  I was already frantic.

A portion of the web was across my face, preventing me from turning my head.  I desperately wanted to look around for, what surely must have been some gigantic spider, but the web was preventing me from moving.  My right arm was tangled in one direction while my other was still down at my side, where it had been as I ducked beneath the branch.   It was an awkward and very uncomfortable position.

If I knew anything at all about spiders, it was their web was where they lived, it was their home, their pantry and refrigerator, and now – I was their home entertainment unit, and my struggling was causing these long strands of fibers to vibrate, which was their security alarm.  

(Or was it their dinner bell?)

I know you hate when I do this, but...

To be continued.

J Peterman

 

Inside this Blog

 

11-24-2022

 

My 2 Cents

 

A painting stands on its own.  People either enjoy looking at it or they don’t.  If enough people find it pleasant, it becomes popular and is generally considered good.  If it gathers enough praise, it becomes famous and hangs in a gallery behind a velvet rope, with security guards who only speak in whispers.

Writing, as I have discovered, can really stink and yet gather the praise of the public.  I’ll never know why this is.  Several years ago I read Ernest Hemmingway, and I found it to be terrible.  Both his writing and his chosen subject matter were annoying to me.  Yesterday I reread A Clean Well-lighted Place, by Ernest.  Yuck!  I just don’t see the attraction. 

Giving him the benefit of the doubt, his notoriety probably came when he was a war correspondent.  He was how people were getting their news.  They became familiar with him and with seeing his name in print.  Transitioning into literature was simply a stroke of good luck on his part and writing of foreign places gave the folks back home an imaginary vacation without wandering too many steps from their fridge.

To me, however, the emperor has no clothes.  Hemmingway was a hack, a bully with a Bic.  Not that I am making any comparisons to my writing.  I already know I stink.  My subject matter is usually silly, my descriptions too abbreviated and given the choice of reading something of mine or having a cold beer, well – bottoms up.

 

That’s it.  That’s my two cents.

As always, opposing views are welcomed. 

Sisters

 

While driving in San Diego I stopped long enough to snap a few pictures.

If Not Art...

 

What?

This just spoke to me.

Rules to Live by...

 

There's only one.

Never feed dragons from the table.

Pen without a Pal

 

Somewhere out in the World is someone who enjoys writing.  They have fun with the written word and play with the language.  They aren’t concerned about spelling or why I capitalized the word world, they just have fun.

I had such a friend but as it turns out, once you pass away, your correspondence comes to a screeching halt.  (Who knew?)  Now, I find myself in search of a new pen pal.  This has turned out to be more of a challenge than you might think.

So here’s the deal; Wander through your history, page through an old address book and see if anyone strikes you as a potential pen pal.  If they do and if you’re brave enough, send them my snail-mail address or email address and let them know that I am searching for a new pen pal.  There are no prerequisites, and no salesman will call.

Getting a letter is fun and exciting but the post office is making it cheaper to raise a starving child overseas than to buy a stamp.  That’s why I also offer my email as an option.

  (Subject line: Pen Pal)

So there you have it, my quest to breathe life back into my hobby.

 

Punctuation sold separately.  

 

I should call someone

 

There remains a small bit of Wednesday on my shirt.  Waking up this morning I was sure I had made a clean break into Thursday and yet here it is, Wednesday residue right here upon my clothing.

This causes me to wonder, what if I should die, you know- cross over, and yet some molecule of life has tangled itself in my hair, like chewing gum?  What then?

Is not every day supposed to be a clean break from the day before?  This would be chaos.  There would be scheduling issues, misinformation bounced around. How is someone going to deal with crossing over and deal with the returning of bowling shoes at the same time.  Do you see the problem here?

This isn’t right.  Who’s in charge here?

 

This might not be so much of an issue, but Wednesday wasn't all that good.

I had to know...

 

I can’t believe this is the first time this desk drawer has been pulled out all the way. Up against the back of the drawer, stuck between the back wood panel and the bottom panel was this business card.  It’s kind of an odd card, no name or business, just a phone number.  I was very tempted to call it just to see who it belonged to, but I first wanted to try and think if there was anyone in my past I didn’t, for whatever reason, want to contact.  Nobody came to mind right away, so I set the card on the coffee table for now.  I’d think about it some more first.

The following morning, I took a second look at the number. (844) 877-3456.  I don’t know why but it looked very familiar.  It must be someone from my past, maybe from school or an old job, I just wasn’t sure.  I don’t even know what part of the country the area code 844 is from.  If it were some insurance guy, then the name of the insurance company would be on the card, but there’s nothing.

Right after lunch I’m going to just call it and see who answers.  I just hope it isn’t some turkey from my past.

The Postcard Life

 

In the postcard the river looked wonderful.  It was a great contrast to the shore and surrounding trees.

The harsh reality of the river was its massive number of tourist-eating bugs, the murky, shoe-sucking muck along the edge and the greatly depressing distance back to actual civilization.

Wish I were there.

Survivors

 

A small portion of their advertising budget

went into putting their name on the buttons.

As buttons go, they are very nice,

and as you can see from the surrounding

material, they have outlasted the jacket.

Moose Creek 

still my favorite jacket.

For now, anyway - I'm ripe.

 

Using the old technology of my camera

I have stopped the rotting process.

Forevermore this fruit will remain

as it is seen here.

I could have, I guess, just eaten the thing

with my breakfast, but then all that

rotting would be inside me.  I would soon

get dark spots on my skin, my aging

process would accelerate and

I'd lose my appeal. 

I'm just saying...

Milk Money

 

I had to get through the entire box of cereal, but I finally found it, the little toy packed deep inside the carton.  It was sealed in a small, plastic pouch but looked nothing like the way it did on the TV commercial.  

I was totally bummed, but then I remembered seeing the advertisement on the side of the school bus for The Kid’s Lawyer.  Almost instantly I began to feel better.  

Their television commercial says that for the cost of your milk money, you too can have the skilled, professional legal representation you deserve.

Just to be sure, I waited to see the TV ad again before calling their 1-800 number.  

In the TV commercial there is an animated Tonka truck, painted up to look like an ambulance, and a little man with a briefcase running after it.  Then scrolling down the screen is a list of all the reasons for hiring The Kid’s Lawyer.

Unfair detention

Wrongly accused

Sibling Favoritism

Excessive homework

Unfair Playground practices

Always Picked Last

Crossing Guard Scuffles

False Toy Advertising

That was it!  That’s what this was.  The toy inside this cereal box was a blatant misrepresentation, and I wanted satisfaction.  

I called the number.

I have added it to my shopping list

 

 

          We all like the posts that have pictures with them.  This one had a doosey, but yesterday I used the last of my monitor glue and, as you can see, without it - these pictures slide right off. 

You can't just tell them...

 

"Right side up, please."

You need to print it on the box.

My Companion

 

If I were to travel this land with but one companion, its pages should address science and the mathematics of calculations.  It must be wise in both ethics as it is well versed in schnanigians.  It must teach caution and bravery, risk and value.   Discoveries should be random but never hap-hazard.  There should live within it a purposefulness of life and a childlike inquisitiveness beyond all things reasonable.

This companion must be designed to expand with the growing knowledge it presumes.

It should require no page numbers nor index, but carry with it an underlining awareness, falling short of any arrogance.

Weathered and speckled with fingerprints, the mere sight of it must express its value to even the most skeptic of travelers.

This is the document I would treasure beyond railway tokens and brass compasses and by journey’s end I should be well aware of where and how I’ve been.

 

 

          Zobostic Corwin

Maria

 

The tall grass, reeds and palm fronds are whipping about, and the sky is darker than ever.  Seems another adventure is headed onshore. 

Inside, here on my desk, the winds are calm and nothing is causing my gin to slosh from its glass.  I much prefer the inside.

45 mile per hour acorns are pelting the siding and roof.  I dare not step out now.

I will be content to type upon this page until inspiration strikes, perhaps sounding much like the acorn.  Hopefully I will be able to distinguish the difference in sound.

We’re just waiting…

 

It could happen at any time.

The thing about sharks...

 

It isn't anything they have to think about.

They instinctively know

what belongs in the water and 

what doesn't,

and unless it's a killer whale -

it's considered food.

 

United We Stand

 Divided we fall

Is it me, or should some of these

have an explanation?  

Not on my watch

 

While wandering through technology I discovered several things about humans.  First off, the reason my coffee pot only spit out half a cup this morning isn’t due to some errant computer chip or poorly made circuit board, it is that hidden deep behind the wires and small dots of solder sits some pixelated suit who decided this coffee pot should only last two years.  Today’s failure is the residue of greed.

The closed-door meeting between the advertisers and the makers of the new 56 inch flat screen have found a way around the mute button.  So now we have a scrolling banner along the bottom of the screen, attempting to sell us mountain climbing trucks that no one needs, and should you purchase one of these new/improved vehicles that offer a freedom far beyond your cubicle, know that your every move will be tracked, logged and registered.  You’ll no longer be playing hooky my friend.  

 

Where the rain gets in

 

I'm fixing a hole where the rain gets in

and stops my mind from wandering,

where it will go...

I'm filling the cracks that ran through my door

that weren't important yesterday,

where it will go...

It's an old barn,

of course there's Beatles.

Pop Quiz

 

        The above picture is:

    A.    Six angels with a gambling problem.

    B.    A singing group from the 50's: The Dust Bunnies

    C.    Actually a statue carved from a block of soap.

    D.    The Gods of Indecision (I think) 

    E.   The design team assigned to work with Edsel Ford.

    

  

Conniving Little Toad

 

Such a conniving little toad

selling cars that barely run,

leaving lumps within the gravy

never thanking anyone.

A weasley little snit –

With socks that never match

Doors that lead to nowhere

with locks that never latch.

Your life is in a shambles

your career has lost its stride,

your hair – dearly departed

and only on one side,

Don’t think for just a moment

I wrote this poem for you,

It's just that you were on my mind

and I had nothing else to do.

 

The Indentured Biscuit

 

The Mind's Eye

 

I Have A Dream

 

That every time a politician lies

an appendage falls off –

 

Gives a whole new meaning to stump speech.

 

The Natural Progression

 

The Little Street Urchin

 

I often wondered what had become of that little street urchin

we encountered so many years ago, along the side road behind

 the market square.  So many children chasing the tour bus,

their outstretched arms, their vacant expressions and

bare feet.  That image has never left me.

But here, now - I can see her sitting in that back booth.

How, over these many years, had she found her way to 

Denny's?