Field Notes

 

It isn’t that I don’t like people because I do.  It is just most people I don’t care to know or encounter.  Like the farmer once said, “It’s hard to cultivate people without turning over a few clods.” 

I have known some who find it impossible to step out of their own shadow.  They are forever reciting their resume, as if their history and achievements are amazing. 

There are those who can only make themselves look good by making those around them appear unworthy. 

Even with two perfectly good ears, some never listen.  They fill up the space around them with their own continuous chatter. 

I find the Negative Nelly’s most annoying.  They’d complain if you hung them with a new rope. 

None of these are startling revelations, just observations of the human condition.  We are short-sighted creatures who become entangled with ourselves.  Constantly searching for answers to the wrong questions.

 

 

 zc

 

 

 

 

"Look directly at the Blue Dot."

 

It’s called a Disheveled Lens

It is used for Passport photos and Mug Shots.  It is a specialty lens used by government offices, insuring the person matches exactly their likeness, perhaps having just survived an audit and a hurricane, then being told you are once again pregnant. 

"OK, one more.  Face left."

 There are some driver’s license pictures that look like it was used, but it wasn’t.  It was just unfortunate.

 

The Last Place you Look

 

In the depths of a pocket

sometimes answers are found

directions become clear

searches end

 

 

 

You know - for kids.

 

Following the tracks backwards will not work.  They will not take me back to the beginning.  It is the heavy scent of her perfume that wafts through the air that will lead me to her.  However, to rely upon a fragrance in hopes of arriving in time can only be foolish.  Therefore, I shall spray the air with my secret color formula, turning the sweet smell to a deep lavender.  It is the color I will successfully track.

 

 

 

Mojo - New & Improved

 

This is my Poker Mojo.  All powerful – all knowing.

        Once personal plumber to the Queen herself, he knows a royal flush when he sees one. (He made me say that)

        Don’t even try to bluff.  He’ll spot it even before the thought occurs to you.

 

 

 

 

I have a storied past

 

The Burlap Moose

 

She wasn’t what anyone would call cuddly.  She was crazy tall and her antlers were so large she’d get channel 3 with no problem.  Her skin was not gentle to feel but her heart was gentle and pure.  She was everybody’s friend, even though her size scared away those who didn’t know her. 

Always careful where she stepped because she understood how small and fragile her woodland friends were.   Long ago she remembered riding in the backseat of a car.  A little girl would hold tight to her, letting her put her face out the window like a dog would.  The wind was amazing.  Her antlers almost like wings, lifting her upwards.

Then came the bump.  The car seemed to jump, and she went flying off into the trees.  She could hear the little girl scream, but it all happened so fast.  No longer would she be anyone’s best friend.  The woods were her home now, and she enjoyed the seasons and the sounds and often the quiet.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Imagine - if you will...

 

A life without fleas.

Inside the Toy Box

 

There is a modern Trojan Horse.  Today’s government has seen fit to provide us with toys that are quite sophisticated.  They provide answers to most questions, while at the same time listening and gathering information about its citizens.  

Paranoia and technology is not a good combination.  A government designed to feed itself can only continue to grow, and with greed being its primary personality trait, the end result isn’t pretty. 

It is not my place to predict a trainwreck, but I would be remiss if I didn't point out the missing section of track. 

 

 zc

Truth in Advertising

 

The real breakfast of champions 

A Closed Book

 

Nothing escapes from a closed book.  Stories never get told, and adventures lay dormant.  Ships never get lost, encounter storms or sink, because they never set sail.  Boots remain clean and polished, ladies’ fashions never change and banks never get robbed.  There are no newspaper headlines, because there isn’t a next chapter. 

A closed book is like the wind section of an orchestra without the breath.  It is more than quiet; it is stillness without the pillow, death without the grief.  Until the book is opened there can be no Hogwarts, no Jack Sparrow and no Captain Hook.  It is unrealized potential, a final frontier never explored.

 

 

 

 

 

Guilty

 

I accept full responsibility

 

I did not witness it myself, but I was the only one to pass that way during the time in question.  I don’t see how it could have been anyone else. 

I should start at the beginning.  Two days ago, as we were entering Publix Supermarket, Claudia pointed out the giant scale against the wall.  I had never noticed it before.  Of course, I felt compelled to walk over and step up onto it.  The dial pointed to 175.  You’ll understand the importance of that in a minute. 

Fast forward to this morning.  As I made my way to the bathroom, I noticed something on the carpet.  I didn’t have my glasses on, and the hall light was not on, so I didn’t know if it was a bug or a sock fuzz or what.  I kept watching it and I didn’t see it move at all, so my hopes were leaning towards a piece of fuzz.

I flipped on the hall light.  It was a bug, and I can say without any hesitation, it was a very dead bug.  In fact, it was squished beyond recognition.  At sometime during the night our paths must have crossed, and 175 pounds must have proven to be too much for the little guy.

 

I felt bad, but at that point there was nothing to be done.

 

 

zc

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

at the end of the leash

 

For those of you old enough to have used a record player, you’ll most likely remember that once the needle followed the curve in the record to the end, the record player kept rotating, while the needle kept bouncing against the edge of the label.  There was no more music, just the sound of the needle scraping against the paper. 

Over time I’ve come to recognize a similarity between that event and when I sit here and feel like writing but I’m no longer in the groove.   I search for a worthy topic, or failing that, I attempt to create a photograph that might potentially be blog worthy.  

Having just written that, I feel I should write about the two lives that just passed by my window.  Both were at the end of a stretched-out leash.  One dog walker and two dogs.  The dog walker does not hold my interest, but when I consider the view of the daily walk, as seen by the dogs, I have to consider that they have been cooped up indoors for hours and have looked forward to this event with excitement and great anticipation.

With a sense of smell far greater than ours, I would guess the neighborhood offers much more for them to appreciate than it does for us.  The sights and sounds at their height reveal to them all the things that go unnoticed by those of us usually in a hurry, and as they are barefoot, the road and ground give their walk an entirely different feel, far more real than the dog walker gets in her sneakers.

They are now out of my view.  The music has stopped and my creative needle wobbles freely, awaiting the next inspiration to start.  Will it be a classic, maybe something from long ago, a story perhaps?  I guess I’ll just have to wait along with you.  Hopefully it is something good.

 

 

 

zc

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hope the light comes back on

 

Tis a very fragile balance

where we live and what we do

We cannot fix the things that break

so we must buy them new

 

Everything’s electronic

simply plug them in

Planes are supersonic

the ice is oh so thin

 

Employees in the workforce

haven’t got a voice

Livelihood’s dependent on

who was nobody’s first choice

 

Prices just get higher

wages – not so much

Politicians get elected

even though they’re out of touch.

 

Tis a very fragile balance

and should the problem linger

Pull the plug – then plug it in

and then just cross your fingers.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Treasure

 

What value are coins

too heavy to carry

I’d need pockets so big

they’d look a bit scary

 

To take them to market

would be too unkind

A spot for the coins

they never would find

 

No vending machine

so mighty and grand

Accepts such a coin

they’re not in demand

 

What value are coins

all silver and gold

But to bury them deep

draw an X, so I’m told

 

Sprinkle clues here and there

till the kids find the map

Let them dig and rejoice

at finding this  treasure

 

 

    zc

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We're not in Kansas anymore

There is a tree in the hallway.  The color of everything feels a bit off but it is the tree that has my attention.  Am I outside looking in at it, and if so, what is a tree doing inside?  If I were someone who took drugs, I’m guessing this might be a normal vision, but I don’t, so what’s going on?  I’d like someone to explain this to me. 

Maybe this is a tinted window.  That would explain the odd color.  I can’t really tell where the light is coming from.  I don’t see a distinguishable shaft of sunlight.  Just what is this place and how did I get here?

Is that even a tree or is it a stack of pots with a plant in the top one?   Maybe I need a CAT scan. 

 

 

 

Self-inspection

 

When I reach the end will I regret having spent my life writing?  What end did I expect?  Was this a quest for something?  A search for purpose?  Will I have wasted my life playing with inactive verbs and mannequin nouns? 

I have turned thoughts into images, ideas into stories, all the time, not even once, riding a seahorse or taking an active part in anything requiring sunscreen.  I have wiggled my fingers above this keyboard as if they knew what they were doing.  Planting words and spreading commas like fertilizer.  Believing things would grow while I remained just an onlooker, sitting along the sidelines watching the sprinkler rotate back and forth. 

Always missing were the sound effects.  With any luck the last thing I ever write will be…

 

Ta Daaa…

 

 

 

It looks much more serious in Russian

 Пришло пора, — сказал Морж, — Поговорить о разном: О башмаках, О кораблях, О сургуче и печатях, О капусте И о королях.

The time has come

the walrus said

to talk of many things,

of shoes and ships

and sealing wax

of cabbages and kings

 

Bagged & Tagged

 

Locked up in the evidence room, the DNA was awaiting trial, all set to convict beyond a reasonable doubt.

 

The surprising twist in the trial came when the defense attorney showed actual footage of the defendant using this brush on Margie, the family dog, who can prove she was chasing the cat at the time in question. 

 

 

 

The other side of Art

 

Only the shadow of the pen is real.

Eternal Schwinn's

 

That we are steering the ship is mostly an illusion.  Some would have you believe our fates are already written, we are simply turning the pages as we go.  If that is the case, I have to ask, written by whom?  There seem too many variables, odd occurrences and random events for things to be following a predetermined path. 

I might consider that instead of a prewritten chart we are on, it could be an etch-a-sketch.  Each time we stumble or wander off in the wrong direction, the overall picture gets erased, lines disappear and suddenly we are on a new path.  That makes more sense. 

Because Lucy fell off her bike and hurt her knee, in high school she didn’t make the track team.  Because she was not active in sports, her interests changed and she found herself, years later, teaching French class, which caused her to be invited to a party where she met Francois. 

Eventually they were married and moved to France, where Francois opened a cute, little bakery on a narrow cobblestone road.  Lucy, when not teaching English at the local school, would help Francois by delivering loaves of bread.  One day, with a basket full of fresh bread on her handlebars, her front tire jerked sideways and she went tumbling down to the road, striking her knee.

 

Fate, or cosmic humor? 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Slight Breeze

 

I figured out how to catch the breeze and so I grabbed on and gently flew across the neighborhood.  As I traveled over the yards that had dogs, they looked up as I went over and barked at me.  Some, of course, got scared and ran and hid.  I seemed to pick up a little speed as I traveled over the various ponds and small lakes in the area.  That surprised me and I almost lost my grip. 

Other than occasionally being hit by flying insects, the adventure was fun, and I don’t know if I flew into them or they flew into me.  I guess it doesn’t matter.  I’m sure it surprised them more than me.  The other thing I had not counted on was just how much the wind swirls around.  Because it is something we can’t see, we don’t think about it dancing about as it goes along.  

I should mention also that there are all different kinds of smells in the air.  Just one more thing we can’t see, but Wow!  Some are quite strong.  Several times I had to hold my breath.  As I got carried along on the breeze, it dawned on me that I was going to have to let go and do it without hurting myself in the process.  I wish I had thought of that before grabbing on.

 

 

 

zc 

 

 

Abby Road

 

A Knock at the Door

 

Their world was someplace after the writers left for the day and before act 1 began.  It was a place of nerves, self-doubt and anticipation.  It was where tiny beads of sweat ran at almost the pace as the actors walking back and forth backstage.

There was no more to be done at this point.  Tables and chairs were on their mark, props were positioned and the house lighting began to flicker, announcing the play was about to begin. 

In a booth, at the back of the dark theatre, the sound man pushes lever 7, and the sound of someone knocking on the door is heard by the audience.  The curtain draws back revealing the Anderson’s living room and Cindy walks across the stage to open the door. 

Now is when the actors can once again breathe.  They are in their element and the show is underway.  Cindy opens the front door to reveal a cat sitting there, waiting to be let in.  As the cat trots in and jumps onto the couch, Cindy looks puzzled and asks, “And just how did you knock?”

 

The audience laughs…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dissuader

 

        I’m the opposite of an influencer.  I discourage people from doing or trying anything new.  Why bother?  What’s the point?

    

        Now leave me alone.

 

 

 

 

 

The Old West

Jake would be returning from the cattle drive
today and Ma was not looking forward to the smell.

 

A Cold Case

 

The simple fact that they were bear tracks was enough to make me nervous.  I could see by how deep the tracks were that the animal must be very large, and the claw marks along the front of each paw looked to be quite substantial.  One swipe would be enough to do me in. 

Then again, I’d never really encountered footprints going across a cheesecake before.  Was it headed back towards the salad dressing or off to the left, over by the egg cartons.  I was afraid to find out. 

I could, of course, close the door, causing the light to go out, but what would that do to my ability to track this animal?  Being outweighed is one thing, but to encounter it in the dark is out of the question.  I grabbed up a stick of butter in each hand.  Should it get too close I’ll attempt to take away its traction.  If it is slipping and sliding around, it’s focus will no longer be on just me, but on its ability to control its movements. 

I glanced down at the sticks of butter.  It said Challenge on the wrapper.  How appropriate, I thought to myself.

 

 

 

 zc

 

 

 

San Diego Harbor

There was no longer any wind filling the sails.  We were now just sitting still in the water.  Cabin cruisers and motorboats zipped by - their waves rocking us back and forth.  Neither Sally nor Randy seemed too concerned, but I knew it wouldn’t be long and the sun would start to set.  There is no way I wanted to still be out here in the dark.

Randy pulled three more beers from the cooler and came over and joined Sally and me in the deck chairs.  The three of us sat and sipped our beers, listening to the music and tourist chatter coming from the hotel patio just on shore.

I think Sally was reading my facial expression and body language and asked if I was really that nervous that the wind had not picked up.  “I’m thinking of calling in to the coast guard and requesting a tow into shore.”

“Do they charge for that?” she asked.

Randy chimed in and suggested we offer them a couple of beers, but before any of us could respond, a seagull flew in and landed on the lid of the cooler.  It just stood there and looked at us. 

“That seems kind of friendly, don’t you think?” Sally said.

Randy replied, “I’ve heard of this.  Seagulls are smart and if we pay attention, we might see that he’s trying to tell us something.”

“I think he’s just looking for food.  They see people and they know there is food around.”

Sally gave Randy a smirk and said, “OK, smarty-pants, what is the bird trying to tell us?” 

Randy scrunched up his face and put an index finger to his head, like he was receiving some mental message from beyond.  Then he finally said, “Yea, I got nothing.”

The sounds coming across the water from the hotel seemed a little louder.

"Are we drifting in closer, or are they just having more fun?"  Neither Randy or I answered her.  We were too focused on the bird.  It had jumped up onto the rail and was now pecking on the wood.

Randy held up his hand, signaling us to be quiet.  "Does anyone know Morse code?"