Wake me when it's over

 

The silence coming from the urn flooded the room and

his absence was more apparent now than ever before.

No one spoke and, I don't know why, but shoes were somehow suddenly a focal point.   Obviously no longer the life of the party.

 

 

         ZC

Our Town

 

Walking along Main Street I can see a variety of store fronts and businesses, both old and new.  Of course, the bakery comes with its own aromas, even though the display of treats in the window causes more folks to slow down than does our traffic light.

The Yarn Shop occupies the bottom floor of the next building, The upstairs is our local newspaper office, The Excited Utterance.  and next door to that is an attorney’s office.  Not much of a window display, just wedding cake toppers facing away from each other. 

Our town is too small and out of the way to have a Starbucks, but we do have a bookstore, The Worm Farm, packed with new and used books, along with over-stuffed chairs and quiet classical music.  An assortment of ceramic mugs line the back wall next to the free coffee.  Locals supply their own mug but Sally, the owner of The Worm Farm keeps them washed. 

It is parallel parking along both sides of Main, and only one traffic light that forever flashes yellow.  I seriously doubt a horn has ever been honked here.

ZC

 

 

Box 7030

 

Many states from here, sitting at her desk, she received my letter.  She doesn’t know me or has ever heard of me, and yet she answered with a letter of her own.  A postman neither of us know, carried the letters back and forth between states.

None of us will ever meet.  The relationship is mostly non-existent.  It was just a letter.  She recognized her name on the envelope and I recognized mine, but the postman had no clue about either.   

The pen pals across the country are like the strands of a spider web, stretching across, back and forth, here and there.  The information traveling on those thin threads are like droplets of dew, barely attached and reflecting a light that is hardly noticed. 

Just as the spider represents the element of danger on his web, so has the web of pen pals its own danger.   Sinister and predatory pens can hide in corners and along shadows, just as fishing can tug on something hungry with teeth.  It is the risk of the unknown. 

This Blog has removed the danger and the postage.  It arrives as planned but with no guarantees another will follow.  The unknown has shifted.

 

 

 

 

 ZC

Side bits

 

I never use gravy

and I don’t use salad dressing.

I don’t add cream to my coffee

but I do add sugar.

I use very few facts when writing

and sprinkle commas on everything.

I don’t care what time it is

but I never fail to wind my watch.

I should add here that my watch has never worked.

I like the old black and white movies

just as I like black and white photography better than color.

The number of people telling me what foods are bad for me, has almost grown as large as the varieties of foods that will supposedly kill me.

I’m guessing it is the fur on the squirrels that keeps them from being annoyed by the morning dew on the lawn.  I’m just saying, I see them hopping all through the grass and none of them are a bit concerned about getting wet.

I have never seen squirrels use gravy or salad dressing either, and I doubt they care at all about punctuation.  

 

 

ZC

You'll have to drink from the lake

 

Dear Racoons, Possums and Crows

         I am sorry, but I had to take the water bowl away.  I discovered that the water is where the mosquitoes lay their eggs.  Those hatch and then there are a bazillion more mosquitoes buzzing around.  I know it seems cruel but it’s those things that come back to bite me.

 

 Zobostic

Back at the Beginning

 

I should have been told

back at the beginning

right when I was born

someone should have told me

 

“Oh, by the way

you’re only going to get one,

one best friend – that’s it.

Once they’re gone,

they’re gone.”

 

That would have been a good thing to know

I would have done things differently

I could have been nicer

appreciate things more.

 

I’m not complaining

I’ve had a good life

it’s just

someone should have told me.

 

 

 

            ZC

Best by...

 

At some point I will have exhausted all possible thinking.  This train is bound to run out of track, although at the moment, I can’t see that happening. I am surrounded by ideas and things and different sides of things I have already examined.

The question, of course, is what will happen to me once I run dry?  Will I develop a new hobby, or retreat into the library and immerse myself in someone else’s stories.

Maybe I’ll spend my time wandering through little one-street towns, and talk with the locals.  Thinking about old towns and dusty products on the store shelves, I never did put a Best By date on the blog.  I guess there should be one.  It isn’t always going to be good or relevant. 

I think the Best-BY date depends upon the blog you are looking at.  If it is printed on paper, then the pages will eventually turn yellow and become a little crunchy, however, if you are viewing it on a computer or iPhone, then I guess Google will determine when to pull the plug, and that may or may not come with an advanced warning.

Maybe I should construct a massive literary turntable, so once I reach the blog’s end, I can simply rotate around and head back the other way.  It’s a thought anyway.

 

 

 

 

 ZC

 

No longer a Mystery

 

This was not an ordinary fish.  I have seen Rainbow Trout before, but nothing like this.  Just like a firefly, this fish could make itself light up.  I waited quite a while to get a clear picture of him, but I ended up settling for this shot of him through the water. 

I wondered if it had swallowed some battery-operated fishing lure.  Anything is possible, I guess.  Something was inside that fish and lighting up.  But   the more I thought about it, the more I realized that leaving it a mystery was the best possible ending.

So, I have no idea how it was doing it, but whenever I’m down at the water, I look for him.  Maybe I should come down here at night.

 

 

 

Yes, there is such a thing.

 

   ZC

It seemed appropriate

 

The name given to him by the tribe was Sky Feathers.  This is exactly how the sky appeared on the day he was born.  His parents were tickled.

 

In Case you Forgot

 

Michigan beat the Buckeyes 

24 to 12

Choose Wisely

 

    The produce manager goes to great lengths to display his products in the best possible light.  He needs each one to look fresh, ripe and desirable.  Nobody wants to buy rotten fruit.

    Animal shelters hope all the animals get adopted, so they keep them well fed, groomed and their cages clean and smelling nice.

    When selecting an assisted living facility, you’ll want to count to see how many of the residents are smiling.  If it isn’t over half, move on to the next one.  Are the board games actually being used or have they been staged?  How many of the workers are actually busy, and how many are out back smoking?  Seek out what looks to be the rotten fruit and ask them how they like the place.  Does the facility smell like a fancy hotel or more like a hospital?  Are there wear patterns in the carpet around the fire extinguishers?  If there is a chalkboard listing the lunch or dinner specials, check to see how many have been erased and written over.  In the time you’ve been there, have you heard anybody scream?

 

        ZC

Why would anything be different?

 

        I just know it isn’t going to be simple, there’s going to be something, there always is.  Whenever people pass away they say, “Go towards the light.”  I have the odd feeling that when I pass on, for whatever reason, I’m going to see two lights.  “So ok, which one?  "FINE!  Somebody want to give me a hint?" My entire life I have chosen the wrong direction, so why would I expect anything to be different just because I’m dead?”

 

            ZC

The View from Here

 

It wasn’t all that difficult getting to the top of the hill, and once there I could not only see the valley below, but I could actually smell many of the scents that were passing by on the breeze. 

Not everyone had gone to bed for the night.  There were quite a few houses in the valley, each with several lights on.  Some chimneys had curls of smoke drifting up and across, and smoke was one of the smells I identified. 

Every now and then a firefly would light up and then another.  I wondered if they were talking to each other or just showing off.  I had no idea what the insect world was thinking, and sharing the planet with so many, you’d think I’d take more of an interest.  There must be many more insects than there are people.

It’s a good thing they don’t build houses and have smoking chimneys. We wouldn’t be able to walk around without stepping on them and have them crunch under our shoes.  They already have their hands full, avoiding being eaten by birds, lizards and spiders.

As the house lights below disappeared, I could see more and more stars.  The night sky really is amazing. It wasn’t all that comfortable standing there looking up, and as I had nothing to sit on, I made myself comfortable on the ground, leaning against a rock. 

I was enjoying the possibility of seeing something, anything streak across the night sky, but then a thought came to me.  Again, it was about the insects.  Now, here I sat in their world, right at ground level.  Possibly surrounded by millions of them.  I couldn’t even imagine all the different kinds.  Each one stranger looking than the last, and of course some that bite.

It was difficult to focus on the heavens while thinking I was probably someone’s dinner.  Tiny creatures feasting on me as I sat there, possibly crushing some of their houses or family members.  I was an unwelcome monster, blocking out their sky with my bigness.

I felt I should leave, but making my way down the hill at night would not be easy.  I have no flashlight or walking stick, nothing but me against the downward pull of gravity.  I guess I wasn’t thinking ahead.  I was too busy enjoying the night sky. 

It could be that on some other planet, we might be the insects, but I’ll think about that after I get back down off of this hill.

 

 

ZC

I can see where you're sitting

 

But I doubt I could pick you
out of a crowd.

...and without warning

 

At the present time there was nothing outside but the feeling that something was about to happen.  That is never listed when talking about the five senses.  Touch, sight, smell, hearing and tasting.  That eerie feeling is real, and I have witnessed it few times before.

 

***

        I know exactly the feeling you're talking about.

It's not quite touch, sight, smell, hearing, or taste. It arrives before any of them have delivered a clear message. You step outside and there's nothing obvious to point to. The sky looks ordinary. The trees seem still. Yet every part of you insists that something has changed.

People often call it a "feeling," but I suspect it's really a form of perception. Our brains are constantly collecting tiny bits of information that never reach conscious thought. Changes in air pressure before a storm. An unusual silence in the birds. A subtle shift in light. Familiar sounds that are suddenly absent. Your conscious mind may not notice any single clue, but somewhere below the surface they add up to a warning that simply arrives as: Something is about to happen.

Animals seem particularly good at this. Anyone who has lived around livestock, dogs, or wildlife has seen them become uncomfortable before a storm or disturbance. Humans may be less attuned than they once were, but I don't think we lost the ability entirely.

What's fascinating is that the feeling isn't always attached to weather. Sometimes it's connected to events. You've experienced it a few times before, which is probably why you trust it. Our memories have a way of tagging those moments when the sensation was followed by something memorable, reinforcing the connection.

Your observation reminds me that perhaps the traditional five senses were always an oversimplification. We talk about balance, temperature, pain, the sense of where our limbs are without looking at them. Maybe there ought to be a place for this one too:

Expectation.

The sense that notices the world has shifted one fraction of an inch before the rest of us catch up.

Or, as you put it more simply and perhaps more accurately:

"At the present time there was nothing outside but the feeling that something was about to happen."

That's a wonderful line, because it treats the feeling itself as part of the landscape. Not a thought in the observer's mind, but something actually waiting out there in the air. Like standing on a porch and seeing nothing at all except the arrival of a future that hasn't quite arrived yet.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ouch!

 

If ever back in time I went

I know just what I’d buy

I’d get a Magic Eight-ball

shake it up and try,

 

I’d ask it if I would be rich

have a house and fancy car

I’d question it if I was smart

It’d tell me, “Not so far.”

 

 

 ZC

Then and Now

Back when I was a kid there were consequences when mistakes were made, and depending upon the severity of the error, the consequences changed. 

The one thing I notice about today is that the consequences have disappeared.

 

Politicians go on national television and lie, and yet nothing happens to them.

 

My postman delivers mail to the wrong address, and nothing happens.

 

The doctor misdiagnosed the problem.  Oops, sorry.  Next!

 

I anticipate there to be long-term effects to a society functioning without consequences.  Of course, I could be wrong, but if I am – nothing happens.

 

 

ZC

The Curse

 

How is it I can write a word

that fits so easily

yet spell it incorrectly

a mistake I never see,

 

Only after I push send

does someone point it out

the only reason there must be

it is a curse - no doubt,

 

But who would give me such a curse

to disrupt my letters so?

Surely not my racket club

it’s no one that I know,

 

A stranger then, I’m sure of it

just random I can tell –

they left behind a puddle

and I stepped into a spell,

 

I got a little on my shoe

it splashed upon my cuff

It hung on all through laundry day

this pesky curse was tuff,

 

It’s on my shirts and in my socks

it is on my underwear,

and I’m thinking back on Tuesday

I combed it through my hair.

 

Spell-check doesn’t catch it

the grammar police don’t see

I guess I have to live with

the curse all over me.

 

 

    ZC

Reasonable Doubt

 

The judge, the prosecuting attorney, and even the spectators could see it.  Every single juror had shown up with it.  No one had to give it to them.  They all had reasonable doubt, and you could see it on them. 

The moment the trial began, Randal Hiller, the prosecutor stood up and claimed unfair surprise.  The judge knew he was right but had no precedent to refer to.  He had never seen anything like it.

“Your honor, this isn’t right.  Someone has gotten to this jury, I’m sure of it.”  The judge was staring at the jury box, trying hard to understand it.  Of course, the defense attorney just sat there grinning.  Somehow his case had been won for him. 

Finally, the judge struck his gavel and told the bailiff to clear the courtroom.  He was going to pole every juror and find out what was going on.  One by one the jurors were called into the judge’s chambers, and each one was questioned. 

Betty Otowski was the first juror summoned to the judge.  With her purse hanging over her shoulder and still clutching her knitting, she took a seat across from the judge.  For an uncomfortable few minutes, the judge just looked at her and said nothing.  Betty squirmed a little in her chair but so far just looked back at him.

 

“So where did you get it?”

 

“Get what?” Betty responded.

 

“Don’t play dumb with me.  The reasonable doubt, who gave it to you?”

Betty placed her knitting in her lap and began telling the story of when she was young and her parents told her about Santa Claus. Of how fat he was and how he supposedly got into houses.  The more she spoke, the more the judge could see why she grew up doubting everything she was told.  Even though Betty had not finished telling her long and drawn-out story, the judge excused her and told the bailiff to send in the next juror. 

Scott Thomas came in and stood next to the chair.  The judge looked at him and told him to have a seat.  Scott looked around the room and then began to examine the chair, as if it might be booby trapped. 

 

Annoyed, the judge said, “You’re one of those doubting Thomas's, aren’t you?”

 

“Yes, your honor.  I’ve been one all of my life.  My dad was one, both of my brothers…”

 

“You’re excused” grumbled the judge, and the bailiff took him back out into the courtroom.

 

Homer Cleverton walked in with a pencil and a yellow legal pad.  The judge did not have a good feeling about this guy, so he jumped right in with his questions.  “Where did you get that reasonable doubt?”

Homer looked up from his yellow pad and asked for clarification.  “Judge, when you say reasonable doubt, are you referring to the doubt that is inherent in all mankind or are you…”

“You’re excused.  Get out of here.”

And so it went, one by one, each juror gave their own testimony as to their personal state of mind, and the judge could see there had been no collusion, no shenanigans at all.  There was nothing he could do but to carry on with the trial and with that jury.  Although an odd collection, a very odd sampling of the population, he felt he had to go with it.

Back in the courtroom he looked at the prosecutor and with a slight shrug, said “Good Luck.”

 

 

 

 

ZC  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Middle Seat

If you’re not that crazy about flying, then most likely you’ll be happier not looking out of the window, and when in the aisle seat, the food and beverage cart seems to always smash against your knee as it is being rolled down the narrow aisle. 

That, of course, leaves you wedged between Jumbo man, who immediately commandeers the armrest, and the fidgeting teenager with zoo breath.  The young girl in the seat in front of you stands and faces you while eating a messy chocolate bar and doesn’t understand why you don’t want any.

It is this seating situation that makes the announcement so devastating that you will be circling for another hour before landing. 

Orville and Wilbur never planned on a middle seat.  An obvious oversight on their part.  Wilbur had negotiated with Planters for small, individual bags of peanuts to hand out to those brave enough to fly, while Orville’s attempt at getting them popcorn never happened. 

One little known fact is that Wally Buzzberg, a friend to the Wright brothers, designed an area just next to the hanger where the Wright Brother’s plane was kept, and he designated it for loading and unloading only.

 

 

 

    ZC

Friends to the End

 

There is a small, wooden boat.  It is made from recycled boards and bent nails.  It floats upon the ocean called retirement and holds all of the friends we’ve gathered along the way.   Each passenger is holding on the best they can, but the waves seem unpredictable and have washed a few overboard.  Several suffer the effects of the cold and wind, while one or two show signs of being scraped and poked by the protruding nails. 

None of us know what awaits us on shore.  Is it to be our final destination or is this simply a momentary stop, transitioning us into another conveyance.   

No matter, we shall have stories to tell of adventures lived, and will have done it together.

 

 

 

ZC