I don't want adventure in my fruit

I like the chocolate Tootsie Pops.
But finding a bag with just the chocolate ones is impossible.  Why is that?

 

I like the old-style Volkswagen Beetle.
But try finding one.  Why wouldn’t they just keep making them?  They were cute, efficient and fun.

 

I really enjoy Beatles music.
But they split-up.  What’s up with that?  Weren’t they making enough money?

 

I like the white Tic Tacs.  But now they put every color under the sun in the little container.  Why is that?

 

I’m thinking things should just stay the way I like them.

How hard could that be?

  

1947 Chevrolet Fleetmaster

 

I was thinking this might be fun to have.

Unfortunately, my pesky brain kicked in.

Where do I find an auto mechanic skilled at fixing something from 1947?

How do I get parts when I need them?

If all the wires and hoses are from 1947 then they all need to be replaced.

There would be no seatbelts, no airbag, no CD player, and no GPS, power steering, or power brakes.  There wouldn't be back-up cameras, heated seats, intermittent whipers, lane changing alarms, air conditioning, or bucket seats.

The final straw was...

no cup holders.

Forget it.

How my date with Alice ended.

 

The theatre tickets cost a little beyond my comfort zone, but I bought them.  The place was crowded, every seat filled with people shuffling with their things, adjusting their coats, and I was hoping they’d settle down when the curtain went up.

It seemed the moment the lights went out and the curtain rose, a mosquito began to buzz my ear.  I swatted my hand about, but without success.  It was a persistent little critter.   The first actor entered from stage left.  She seemed to be heading towards a coffee table, center stage.

Again, the mosquito buzzed my ear.  Out of one hundred people, why me?  Do mosquitos just know to head for me?  A second actor entered, already speaking.  I didn’t catch what they had said.  I was too annoyed to pay attention.

The lady at the coffee table lit a cigarette.  Good, I thought, maybe the smoke will chase this thing away.  Sadly, for me however, the other actor was a non-smoker, and snatched the cigarette from her hand and snuffed it out into the ashtray.

“No!” I yelled, forgetting for the moment where I was.  The actors stopped and looked out at me, and the audience broke into laughter.

 

 

Except for Alice.

with a warm and pleasant breeze

 

The places I travel to in my memory are distant in both time and space.  So familiar, and yet gone forever.   They are a part of me, the bark - were I a tree.  They are the music, if I were a phonograph.   

Over time, only friends find their way there, waiting for me to once again remember them.  I smile at seeing them, and it is always summer.

 

 

Senses

 

Tomorrow I shall sit

quiet in the woods,

I will enjoy the scampering

squirrel -

I will hear the distant drill

of the woodpecker.

I will know the breeze

upon my face,

and taste the morning dew.

I will hear the quiet

over the roar of the city,

and smell the freshness

instead of exhaust.

Tomorrow my life will start

again,

for the Jay and the Cardinal

shall carry away my soul.

 

zc

It's coming from the basement

 

Because the power was off, nothing was working.  The lights, refrigerator, nothing at all was running.  The quietness made it all very eerie, and the darkness only added to things being just a little spooky.

Her little flashlight was flickering and wasn’t going to last much longer.  I was holding my Zippo, but the flame didn’t light up much beyond my own hand.  We were going to need a plan B, and soon.

Then something started tapping on the pipes in the basement.  We froze in our tracks.  We thought no one else was here.  Neither of us moved.  We just kept listening and sort of holding our breath.  Then her flashlight went out.

I whispered to her, “I’m going to conserve this flame for now,” and I closed the lid on the Zippo.  Apparently, that little flame had been giving us more comfort than light, for the moment it was out, and everything went 100% dark, our anxiety went through the roof.

She reached out and grabbed my arm the moment the tapping stopped.  “Now what?” she whispered.  A loud and startling pop and all the house lights came back on, the refrigerator began to hum, and she let go of my arm.   Laughing and voices followed as we heard people clomping up the basement steps.

I slipped the still-warm Zippo into my pocket and Meg tucked the small flashlight into her purse.  A realtor followed by a young couple came through the basement door into the kitchen.

They were as surprised to see us standing there as we had been hearing them tapping on the pipes downstairs.   The lady quickly pulled out her business card and handed it to me.

“We're just wrapping up.  I’ll be with you in a moment.  Please sign the guest book over there.”

I could see the expression on Meg’s face.  It looked like she was wondering the same thing I was.  How could a couple as young as them afford a house like this.  It was going to be a stretch even for us.

Meg signed our names in the guest book while we waited for the realtor to make her way back to the kitchen.  I could hear the other couple leaving out the front door, and realtor Nancy came scurrying back. 

“What do you think so far?” she asked.

“Was that you who turned the power to everything off?”

“Yes, I was showing off one of the technological features of the home.  It has everything imaginable.  Any time, for any reason, no matter where you are in the house, if the power goes off, all you have to do is make a noise and it will come back on.  I simply wrapped on the pipes by the furnace and everything started up.  It doesn’t matter if  the power gets knocked out by a storm, just make a noise and it will come back on.”

I didn't understand how that was possible, but I just let Nancy continue on with her talk.  As she led us around the house, she pointed out the various gadgets and gizmos that someone with way too much time on their hands thought of.   It was rather impressive.  There wasn't anything you couldn't control from wherever you were in the house. 

As we walked down the hall to the back bedroom area, the doorbell chimed.  Nancy turned and looked at us.  

"That's not the doorbell.  We just passed the body scan.  One of you is having a health issue.  That alarm suggests immediate action be taken."

I looked at Meg.  "I feel fine, are you okay?"

With a surprised look on her face, she said, 

"Actually, I am feeling a little light headed.  I'm thinking I should sit down."

 

 

 

 

to be continued...

 

 

she knew better

 

The old man was sure this computer contained some kind of witchcraft.

But when he saw his own image 

looking back at him, he mumbled

"Bad Juju" over and over,

stood up and threw his hat

in a mud puddle.

  

Stapler at High Tide

 This was my first attempt at

movable art.

Alexander Graham Bell

 

Actually I was getting close to developing this telephone, but they hired this new CEO, and the first thing he did was cut my funding.  Trust me,  I was close.

Gamma Plug 51b

 

There was no back-up or secondary

system for this plug.

Any failure and the Space Station

wipers would not operate on

intermittent. 

 

...in hindsight

 

It was a big decision, and they were struggling with it.  Picking out a name for the baby was important.  It was something the kid would be stuck with their entire life.  Of course, they had gotten a book of baby names from the check-out aisle in the supermarket, but so far there was nothing that jumped out at them.  Halfway through the book for the second time they closed it and agreed to forget about the book, they would do it on their own.

There were a few things they knew for sure.  It was a girl, and whatever name they decided on should reflect confidence, intelligence and beauty.  It should be a strong name, and yet remain feminine.  It should be easy to pronounce, with no tricky spelling.   They would sleep on it for the night and try again tomorrow.

The following morning, after breakfast, they finally agreed on a name for their baby.  It was perfect.  It was straight forward and memorable.  Her name would be Alexa.

June 27, 2024

 

You’re here because a small part of you enjoys reading.  You are curious to see what comes next.  It’s addicting, like pulling the handle on a slot machine, will it be three stars or three lemons?  Can this author come up with something worth reading, or is he just wasting your time?

Here’s the thing:  This blog is simply an overflow room.  The real good stuff has already been collected and gathered into an amazing collection of short stories.  The book is called, The Pantry and it is available on Amazon.  The author is Harvey Sarkisian.

Mention this blog and it may cost you an extra 50 cents.  My name is Zobostic Corwin, and I approve this message.

 

Beer, Not Water

 I noticed yesterday that there were 24 cans in a case of beer.

I wondered how they arrived at 24.

Was it possibly because the average beer consumer drank four 6-packs a day?

Maybe it was 2 twelve packs.

Was the average beer consumer really that thirsty?  What was causing such thirst?

Could it be due to the amount of salt the potato chip and pretzel makers were using?

Just one party-size bag of chips contains more salt than any salt-free product on the shelves today.

Not to mention the size of the salt granules on pretzels.  Some of those can be spotted from across the room.  Think about it.  If you can spot the salt from across the room, just what is that doing to your vision?   

Of course we need salt to live, and considering we're 98% water, and water dissolves salt, we constantly need to keep replenishing it, so there's no better way than chips and beer.

I guess 24 just makes sense. 

Just give me a sign

    Eventually one of them will be right.  Looking at the kind of junk mail I'm getting today, suggests that I'm on my way out.

    There is a cremation company that keeps sending me tons of brochures.  Then there are the hearing aid people who, for whatever reason, believe I'll never hear the train heading right at me.  

    Walking through the produce department yesterday, the store manager stopped and suggested I not buy the green bananas.

This is Amazing

 

Never before have I seen a Blog this good.

Trash Day

 

Long after the time for sitting is over comes the task of disposing of a well-worn bench.  Wrought iron sides and legs connected with long sections of hardwood slats.

 

The iron has survived the years, but the wood no longer supports its own weight.  We dismantle it, and set the exhausted slats into the trash, for collection.

 

The following week the iron pieces go to the curb, awaiting pickup.

 

Here's the thing.  Both sections of iron, left side and right side in the same trash can, cannot be lifted.   The weight is equivalent to two 18-wheelers, loaded down with 2 African elephants each, all having peanut breath. 

 

There is a mechanical arm on the trash truck that lifts the trash cans up and over the trash truck, then flips them upside-down, allowing the contents of the can to fall into the truck.

 

This will truly be a test of strength.  I will be up watching.  This might be quite entertaining.

6:25 am

I awake to the sound of the trash pickup.  I am too late to get out there to watch.  By the time I do, the truck is long gone.  The lift was apparently successful.  Nothing remains but a slight hint of peanuts in the air.

Apartments, Sharps & Flats

 

There are places I'd go back to if I could, although many would require a time machine.  I would return to some restaurants before they started to cheapen things up and cut corners.  Didn't they think we'd notice?

 

I'd go back to some of my teachers and ask them what the importance was of memorizing dates.

 

I would return to the street corner where I saw that face go by.  Looking out of the window from the back seat, those eyes begging to be rescued, yet I did nothing.  That inaction has haunted me for years.

 

I think if I understood music I could write songs.  That thought doesn't go with this post.  It just sort-of popped into my head. I doubt, however, I could ever comprehend notes, and cords, compositions, or

 

 

 

 

 

timing.

Into the Hopper

 

Some called him stubborn, while others said he was simply arrogant.  Maybe it was a little of both.  He ignored the warning signs and wouldn’t listen to anyone.  He knew best.  Even though he was the youngest, he acted as if he’d been around forever.

Even his dad would tell him to stay in line, to blend in with the others, but Nigel had a mind of his own.  He didn’t mind pulling his own weight, but he would wander off.  It was as if something was calling him.  Some made excuses for him but after a while everyone just seemed to give up on him.  Nigel was Nigel and nobody was going to change him

Of course, he had been warned about the hopper, and told a thousand times to stay away from the shadows, but Nigel was curious.  He wanted to know what was causing the shadow, plus it was always much cooler in the shadows.  He wasn’t much of a fan of walking on hot cement or asphalt.

It seemed as if Nigel’s fate had been plain to see all along.  No one came out and said it, of course, but everyone just knew some day he would end up in a hopper.

 

 

Note:  Grasshoppers don't usually eat ants,
but some do get munched when on a leaf
that is being eaten by a grasshopper.

Grass clippings, tails & pieces

 

    There's a song that talks about alligator lizards in the air.  As I watched Clifford riding on his large grass cutting machine, I could imagine all the hundreds of little geckos we have around here getting flung up into the sky as his machine passed over them.

 

    Cliff wears those big earmuffs for hearing protection, so I doubt he ever hears the tiny gecko screams. 

 

    Seeing him bounce along, oblivious to the consequences of his actions, got me to wonder what I was leaving in my wake.  All too often, I focus on something, only to discover later what has actually transpired.

 

    Then again, maybe Clifford knows, and that's why he wears the earmuffs. 

A Letter From a Stranger

 

    Yesterday I stood at the railing and tossed a bottle out into the open sea.  I had placed a message into the bottle, in hopes another person finds it and that in itself, sets off yet another adventure.

    When I did all this, there were no ocean breezes, no rolling ocean waves, for I was not standing on deck, but simply walking to my mailbox.  The bottle was a simple mailing envelope, and the message wasn’t handwritten and rolled up, but rather typed and folded.

    My intent was to select a random name from the phonebook, however, phonebooks no longer exist, so failing that, I simply picked an address of a long-ago friend.  I knew two things.  The first was that my friend had passed away.  The second was that the house and its house numbers still remained.  That was as close to random as I could get.

    So, I already know the tide will wash the bottle up onto the California shore.  What remains a mystery is the person discovering the message.  The options are many.  They, of course, could be any age, working or retired, fun-loving or serious. 

    My hope is that having a mystery land at their doorstep brings them a sense of adventure.  I think it is extremely unlikely I’ll get a message in return, but who knows?  Out there, anything can happen.

 

 

The little light has just come on

 

It is recommended by the manufacturer that every so many miles you think of something else.  Change your thoughts and add a new filter.

You frequently change your clothes and on occasion, buy new shoes, so why not change your mind?

Don’t travel the same roads over and over.  Take a different route, explore what’s just over there.

Unplug for an afternoon and reboot your system.  Have something else for lunch.  Go without television for a week.  Okay, too far?  Try it for a day.

Toss some whole cloves in with your laundry, then ride on an elevator.  Enjoy the facial expressions around you.

Pick one thing, out of all the things there are, then research it to death.  Learn all about it.  Become an expert on it.  Just don’t drive your friends nuts talking about it all the time.

Respond to this blog, even if it is just to explain why there is always just one shoe in the road.  You’ll feel better for it, and I’ll have something to read.

 

Thank you

Bookmark

 

It's like I'm someone else's

Bookmark.

I am where they left off.

It is with me

that all future memories

are put on hold.

Until we are again together,

nothing can happen.

I can only stand quietly

on the face of the clock,

carefully lifting my feet

allowing the hands to pass

beneath me.

Woven into the Aroma

There is nothing like it.

Starting the day with a red coffee mug

is like the first wonderful burst of music

from a symphony.

It is surround sound that permeates

your entire being.

The heat of that first sip

finds it’s way like an electric spark

awakening your motor

after a good night’s sleep.

As the sun begins to rise

you feel a gentle warmness –

not just from the coffee but emanating

from the deep red of the mug itself.

It suggests a comfort beyond your slippers,

a calmness that the symphony has

mellowed

and a familiarity tugging yesterday along

 on today’s journey.

Finally lifting the mug for that

last cool drink,

as refreshing to you as

the watering hole to

the gazelles.

Safe and refreshed

to begin the day.

  

The Swamp

 

I came upon a swamp, I did

to catch myself a bug,

My jar it had, a twist-on lid

I was feeling rather smug.

A sudden pain shot up my leg

I hadn’t gotten far,

A gator had a bite on me

he didn’t bring a jar.

A spider dangled overhead

and lowered himself down,

It seemed I’d bumped into his web

I was the lunch he’d found.

The pesky gator hung on tight

he wouldn’t let me go,

Some water snake just out of sight

grabbed himself a toe.

A fever grew inside of me

with chills and blurry vision,

I couldn’t believe the things I see

was this a bad decision?

But then a shaft of sunlight struck

upon a dragon fly,

How great to catch – but just my luck

it was too late to try.

Put me in - Coach

 

Vacations never really fun

twas glad I’m home

when they were done.

A tourist never meant to be

content at home,

that was me.

But then one day

it weren’t no drag

they added wheels

upon my bag.

No more struggle

tugs or yank –

just wish I knew

who to thank.

I’ll travel happy

till I’m dead –

then stuff me in

the overhead.

 

You never know...

 

        There are many thoughts that are best left in my head.  Writing them onto this chalkboard doesn’t advance anyone’s cause.  There just might be, however, a slim chance I come up with something brilliant.  Okay, maybe not brilliant, but something really cool.  Hey, anything can happen.

        Who would have ever thought Joe Cocker could become a singer?  Or that the NRA would be more powerful than Superman?  So it isn’t that unrealistic that yours truly couldn’t stumble upon a cure for the cold, or end stupidity in our lifetime.

 

It's not a cowlick

 

        All this time I thought I had no sense of direction.  I have never known which way is which.  Just this morning, however, I have figured it out.  It’s my hair.  There is a patch of hair on my head, no matter what, it points north.  Some may call it a cowlick.  I now refer to it as my north arrow.

        Of course, I still get lost, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know which way is up.  Just ask me.

        One issue was pointed out to me, and that is when I look up, in the direction my hair is pointing, at that moment it is no longer pointing up.

        In order to determine which way it points then, depends on which way I am facing at the time.  That, I don’t know.

        But hey, I’m getting closer.

Think inside the box

 

    They call it a smart TV.  I guess they do that in comparison to how televisions used to function.  Today’s televisions have a great deal more capability, and more technology than ever before.

    Here’s the thing.  I can push the off button on the remote, and just a few moments later, it will turn itself back on.  I doubt this is a planned feature.  I’m thinking there remains a trickle, or a spark still traveling about within the system somewhere, and when it reaches that little connection that tells it to open its eyes, it does.

    How can this not happen to us?  We run on electrical charges.  Right this minute there is a current zipping along your system, telling your brain your foot itches, or you hear a buzzing in your left ear.  Trust me, things are happening.

    So, how far fetched is it that suddenly we find ourselves thinking inside the box, long after the coroner pronounces us off?

I’m just wondering…

Career Day

 

My high school had career days, when various speakers would discuss options for working after graduation.

What I'd like to know, is who chose to make cupcake papers for a living?

How is that even a thing?

You're not a baker, making the cupcakes. You're not in charge of frosting or designing the perfect oven timer.

Nope. Just making the little cupcake papers. Peel them off and throw them away.

How satisfying is that?

“How was your day, dear?”

Fine.

“Tell me about it.”

Well, today I operated the machine that puts the ripples in the sides of the papers.

“Are they ripples or ruffles?”

Does it really matter?

“Maybe they’re pleats.”

I’ll be outside for a while.

 

 

 

 

 

The Statue of David

 

I began with a massive block of Italian marble.  It was at least 8 feet high, and 4 feet across and 4 feet deep.

My tools included a wooden ladder, a mallet, and several various types of chisels.

I knew in my mind what I needed to chip away.

I also knew there was only so long the apartment manager would put up with the pounding.

So, when he finally showed up to complain, I said,

“David, how about, when I’m done, I name the statue after you?”

He seemed to like the idea, but then asked why I had chiseled it with swim fins on.

“That’s just to make sure it will stand up on its own.  I’ll chip them away when I’m sure.”

Shown here after swim fin removal.