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July 22nd, 2024
04:29 pm - Who Are We?
WHO ARE WE? - A One-Page Essay
We are females or males, brothers and sisters, mothers and fathers, aunts and uncles, cousins, friends, neighbors, coworkers and often strangers.
We are farmers, clerks, construction workers, truck or taxi of bus drivers, doctors and nurses, mechanics and electricians, military personal, first responder personal, accountants or in many hundreds of other vocations. And, sadly, there many who want to work but can’t find work and are unemployed.
We come in many sizes, heights, shapes, ages and sometimes skin variations.
Many of us believe in a Creator and show our faith in different ways. Those who don’t believe in a specific Creator still want to be respected for their own beliefs. Our own US Constitution was written to separate the church from the state and we should all be allowed to believe in our faith, whatever our faith is, without government interference.
What most of us want from life is to have our basic needs filled: a steady job that allows us to buy a home or pay rent, our utility bills paid on time, healthy food to put on our tables and enough money left over to put in savings accounts. And good schools for those of us who have children. And with or without children we need affordable health care and we want to live in neighborhoods where we can feel safe.
( Read more...Collapse )
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July 23rd, 2023
11:55 am - A Day In Anna's Life
A Day In Anna’s Life
1.
She had just finished eating breakfast when her phone rang. Answering it, she knew it was her art rep and she noticed, by glancing at the wall clock, that he waited until a minute after ten to call her because he knew she never answered her phone before ten A.M.
“Anna, I’m not interrupting you, am I?” Hal asked.
“No, I had just finished breakfast and you’re timing is perfect.”
“You know who Sam Granger is, right?”
“Of course.”
“Well, he wants to interview you.”
“Did you tell him telephone interviews only?”
“I’m well aware of your rules, Anna, and Sam is fine with that. But he is hoping to see some works in progress.”
“I will e-mail him several, care of the newspaper he works for. But never to him or anyone else a photograph with me in it.
“I’ll mention the e-mails to him and he already knows the no photographs rule, but you realize the more publicity your paintings receive the higher the demand for them will be”
“Hal, we’ve been through this before and you’re enough of a friend to understand I want my creative efforts to become well known, but my private life has to stay private. That’s why my phone number is unlisted and my mailing address is a Post Office lock box number.
“Yes, I know. Remarkably talented, and perhaps a bit eccentric and always stubborn,” he teased her and said goodby.
Anna spent the next few hours cutting to size sections of canvas to mount on stretcher bars she assembled herself, attaching each canvas to their own frame with staples, a process she enjoyed doing. Then she applied gesso to each canvas, a process she took seriously because she didn’t want to see obvious brush strokes on the canvases.
After doing so, she carefully lifted each one and leaned then against the wall. Then she sat in a chair in her studio to study them. While doing so she received a call from an old friend.
“Bette, you taking a break from editing?” Anna asked her.
“Ha! Sometimes I think I over-edit my stories. Sometimes I think I don’t edit them enough. And sometimes I want to scream in frustration. I’m always coming up with excuses when I’m not sure where to take the story I’m working on.”
“Sounds like me and some of my painting when I don’t think they’re turning out exactly the way I visualized them to look.”
“Yes, we’ve discussed this before, but I called for a specific reason.”
“You’re not trying to fix me up with another blind date, are you?”
“Am I that obvious?”
“Considering we’ve known each other since grade school, yes.”
“I deserve to be mocked for my failed past efforts, but Aunt Lucy suggested him, not me. And, from what Aunt Lucy told me, you and he share a lot of the same interests. And I’ve got a good, non-emotional feeling about him.”
“Okay, but don’t tell me about his age or what he looks like. Tell me what he does and what he really wants to do with his life.”
“Okay, Anna Banana, but don’t laugh when I get around to telling you what he does for a living.”
“I’ll decide if I should laugh or cry after you tell me what he does for a living, Bugger, she teased her long time friend by using her childhood nickname.
“Aunt Lucy showed me a photo of one of several installed structures. One was of a Racoon family riding on the back of a Llama. Another photo is of a maybe twenty foot tower that has maybe a hundred holes in it. It looks like Swiss Cheese made of cement.”
“Certainly inventive, Bette, and I’ve seen the Swiss Cheese Monument in person, but that doesn’t mean he’s someone to consider entering into a serious relationship with.”
“Always true, but this guy I want you to meet didn’t design these two structures. He simply photographed them, showing them in their most appealing way. He took the photos at the request of Aunt Lucy and she told me they turned out great. And you know, she is the head of our City Parks And Recreation Department.”
“So he’s a professional?”
“Yes, and no?”
“Please don’t get cryptic with me.”
“He is a serious photographer, but Aunt Lucy says he claims it’s just a hobby. I was just letting you know he’s got his own talents. And Aunt Lucy also says he loves to read, loves art and has a natural wit that many people love.”
“Sounds promising, but what does he actually do for a living?”
“You won’t laugh?”
“I may give you a kick in the behind when we see each other again, but I won’t laugh.”
“He teaches wood shop and metal shop at the same high school Aunt Lucy teaches at.”
“Nothing wrong with that, as long as he isn’t the abusive male type.”
“Not all men are, Banana Brain. And he’s certainly not close to being like your ex.”
“Sounds very promising, but is he the needy type who wants to spend a lot of time with the person he’s involved with?”
“I hardly doubt that, you picky woman. In his spare time he teaches and coaches youth league basketball and soccer, both girls and boys teams. And he’s got both a wood shop and metal shop in this own garage, simply because he enjoys building things, according to Auntie.”
“So now his age and what he looks like?”
“I’m guessing he’s in his mid-thirties and I haven’t seen a photo of him. Aunt Lucy says he’s not the ‘eye candy’ type, but he’s not bad looking.”
“Okay, Ms. Cupid, give me a few weeks to think about it.” Anna told her and they said goodby.
2.
Although Anna is not a regular drinker, she liked to hang out at a local Tavern several times at week. Here she can socialize with the people in the neighborhood she’s met and she will drink two draft beers from the tap while at the Tavern. And when she arrived at the Tavern there were only two people she didn’t recognize by site and they were a couple, perhaps in their mid-thirties, sitting at a small table near the center of the room.
Anna wasn’t fond of judging people she doesn’t know and haven’t met, but the woman spoke loudly, much louder than was needed in the half-empty Tavern on a Monday night. And she listened to their conversation because it was either sat and hear what the loud woman was saying or step outside or head to the women’s restroom and hope the loud woman toned down her voice or the couple left the Tavern. So, Anna headed to the bathroom, even though she didn’t need to, and lingered in there for perhaps fifteen minutes. But, as she walked back to her bar stool, the couple were still seated at the table.
And as she listened silently to their conversation, the man was telling his date about a painting he saw and loved at the Beck Gallery down the street and suggested she should see it, telling her it was a large, somewhat surreal, painting of an apartment building where every window facing the street seemed to be of a different style, from Gothic to Art Deco to modern and in every window someone was looking into the street, from older people to children, and they seemed to represent a cross-section of the city’s population. Less than half way through his describing the painting Anna knew he was describing her painting, one she called ‘Generations’ and this pleased her.
Then his date told him she really wasn’t interested in seeing the painting, even it he thought it was wonderful, because only realistic art appealed to her. Anna said nothing to the couple as she paid for her beer and said goodnight to the people she knew at the Tavern. And, on the block long walk back to her loft, she chose to dismiss what the woman said because Anna was proud of the efforts she made and outcome of her painting.
3.
It was close to 10:00 PM when she arrived at the steps of her brownstone and Bette was sitting on the steps waiting for her. After they were inside, sitting in comfortable chairs in the library, Bette stared at her friend for several moments before she spoke.
“Well?” Bette finally asked.
“Well, what?”
“What did you think of Greg?”
“Greg who?”
“The man Aunt Lucy and I told you about. The teacher and coach?”
“I haven’t met him yet, Bette,” Anna informed her old friend.
“Oh, well. I suppose he couldn’t make it to the Tavern. Aunt Lucy told him where it was and told him you hang out there several times a week.”
“Oh, hell, Bette, I’ve had enough drama and stress to last several lifetimes, starting as a teen through my really poor choice in that jerk I married.”
“I know. We’ve known each other a long time.”
“If your Aunt Lucy is still awake, do me a favor and call her now.”
“And?”
“Ask her, by chance, if Greg has a sister?”
“As in if he possibly asked his sister to come with him to the Tavern so you wouldn’t feel too uncomfortable talking to a stranger? And if he doesn’t?”
“Then ask her if he might have invited a fellow teacher along, a female teacher, for the same reason.”
“And if he didn’t?
“You were a real pain in grade school and you’re still a pain in the butt. So, forget the call to your Aunt Lucy. Sister of no sister. Teacher friend or no teacher friend. If that was Greg in the Tavern, I don’t want to believe that was his date. If we’re supposed to meet, we’ll meet. Leave it up to fate or Karma, but we’ll meet. Anyway, Bette, I’m worn out from over-thinking and want to go to bed. So, when you get the chance call me tomorrow.”
On the sidewalk Anna watched Bette silently linger for a moment, then grim at her friend.
“If Greg had a sister her name would be Gloria and you wouldn’t like her and her conservative taste in art. If he had a sister,” Bette replied
“You’re a worthless sack of skin and bones.” Anna shouted at her.
“Yes, I am, and not just because I get paid well to write humor novels. I just wanted to make you mad enough to get over your fear of dating again.”
“It’s not a fear, but a caution. Sometimes I’m too cautious. With some of the stress and disappointments and heartache I’ve had I’m scared to try again.”
“I completely understand that, because you’ve been hurt emotionally and, that one time by your ex, physically, but you’ve got to put all that behind you and move on.”
“Did you ever get over your brother Charles, after he got his degree, moving out of state and denouncing materialism and never contacting you or your folks, except e-mailing you twice a year to say he’s still alive?”
“Yes, that still hurts me a lot, that’s not the same thing, and you know it. I’m not the one who’s afraid to take the chance to overcome past setbacks. It’s like when Judith introduced you to that guy who teaches at Tech. You only said hello and walked away, telling me later he wasn’t your type. That’s like a form of self-sabotage.”
“I know. I just wasn’t ready, just wasn’t... just go ahead and call your Aunt Lucy it’s not too late,” Anna replied.
“She doesn’t teach during the Summer and stay up until around 11:30, so I’ll call her now. But I want to talk to her privately first,” she told Anna, then walked perhaps ten yards down the sidewalk. After she talked to her Aunt Lucy she came up to Anna and sat beside her on the steps.
“Well?”
“Greg has a sister he invited to join him at the Tavern.”
“Okay, but that doesn’t mean they were sitting at that table.”
“Are you so scared that you’re trying so hard not to believe that maybe you’ve gotten a deserved break?”
“If you weren’t my friend I would disown you.”
“You’re my best friend and I love you, Banana, but you’ve become like a beautiful Butterfly who’s been trying to return to what she perceives as the safety of her cocoon for years. And even if Greg isn’t the right person for you, at least you’re spreading your social wings again.”
Bette gently laughed as she rose up, gave Anna a note with Greg’s phone number on it and walked down the street to her townhouse.
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January 9th, 2023
06:37 pm - The Unanswered Question
The Unanswered Question
A large round table sat in the middle of a stately library. And around the table were evenly placed cushioned arm chairs. Suddenly the ghostly figures of Isaac Newton, Karl Jung, Sigmund Freud, Madame Curie, Ivan Pavlov and Immanuel Kant appeared and sat at the table. Then seven bottles of vintage wine and chilled wine glasses vaporized in front of them.
“It’s not surprising we all showed up again here, because none of us came to a valid conclusion to the unsolved mysteries we discussed the last time,” Jung started the conversation.
“Valid conclusions for some with a greater degree of comprehension,” Freud curtly replied.
“I knew you would say something like this,” Jung replied, followed by Marie Curie laughing.
“You two still act like vain and foolish school children,” Newton told Freud and Jung as he stared at them, then continued, “You’re like young lovers who had a spat and won’t admit the other made good points.”
“Words of wisdom coming from the mouth of a lifelong virgin,” Kant added.
“Play nice, you little boys,” Marie told them, then added, “But right now we should focus on who the seventh chair is for.
“Not Edison again, I hope, because he was such a bore,” Pavlov suggested.
“Maybe you should invite your dog, Ivan, so you could condition it to agree with you,” Kant told him, followed by snickering from the others.
“If I could I would because he’s smarter that most of you. But my dog eloped with Schrodinger’s cat.”
“And I think we should all agree that you wannabee comics shouldn’t quit your day jobs,” Marie told everyone.
“Oh, dear Marie, after your passing you still have such a radiant glow,” Jung teased her.
Jung’s reply caused good-natured laughter from everyone else at the table. After the laughter died down an older woman, perhaps eighty at the time of her Earthly demise, suddenly vaporized and seated herself in the seventh chair.
“Are you supposed to be here?” Pavlov asked her.
“I obviously am or I wouldn’t be here,” she told Pavlov.
“And who might you be?” Kant asked her.
“I might be anyone, based on that phrasing of the question. But just call me Martha. And I’m here mainly to listen, observe and hopefully learn something,” Martha told everyone.
“I know who this woman is,” Marie told her other collogues, then added, “And Martha is quite famous in her own field.”
“Thank you, Marie, but let’s keep that to ourselves for now,” Martha told her, followed by Marie nodding her head in agreement.
“Famous in your own field, right?” Freud asked.
Martha nodded yes, then poured herself a glass of wine from the bottle sitting on the table in front of her.
“Obviously, our unseen moderator deemed her worthy to be here,” Isaac stated, then added, “So, let’s get back to discussing the major unsolved mysteries now.”
“Of course, and I would love to as long as Karl and Sigmund can set aside their silly squabble and focus on why we’re all here,” Kant told everyone.
“And rely on your own concept of philosophy, Immanuel?” Freud curtly asked him, then added, “Why don’t you go off by yourself and ask yourself why the Chicken crossed the road?”
“Doctor Freud, you still can’t answer that question and, even in the afterlife, you still harbor serious Mother issues,” Marie teased him.
“Please excuse my interruption of your humor routine, but how do any of you esteemed collogues know if the Chicken did or didn’t cross the road?” Martha asked everyone.
“I think the question is posed as a metaphor,” Kant suggested.
“Of course you would, Immanuel, because philosophy is hardly an exact science,” Freud curtly told him.
“Doctor Freud, were you an actual witness to a Chicken crossing the road,” Martha asked him.
“Why is this women even here?” Freud asked everyone else.
“She’s an expert in behavioral science, you grumpy, bitter old man,” Marie chastised Freud, followed by laughter from everyone but Freud.
“So, Martha, how would we know if the Chicken did or didn’t cross the road?” Jung asked.
“The point is we don’t know without confirmed data. And I would consider the motivations of the average Chicken. Was the Chicken motivated to cross the road out of fear, like having some predator chasing it? Would an average Chicken be smart enough to try not crossing the road because it didn’t want to get hit by a passing vehicle? It’s about motivation, aided or hindered by intelligence levels and possibly conceptions of a reward, or punishment, for whatever choice is made,” Martha told everyone.
“She’s right,” Ivan told everyone, then added, “I used motivation as the prime in my research.”
“You taught a dog to think it was going to be feed, and think it was hungry, by ringing a bell, right?” Kant asked him.
“Simplified understanding, but yes, The dog was still motivated to respond for it’s reward.”
“And why is the question always posed while using a Chicken to cross the road?” Martha asked.
“Because fried Chicken tastes better than a fried rock,” Isaac Newton responded, followed by good natured laughter.
“That’s funny Fig, but why not use a Fox, a Deer or a Skunk?” Freud asked next.
“Seriously? The intelligence lever of a Chicken is near the bottom. So, why a Chicken? Why not a Duck?” Marie asked playfully, followed by the laughter of those who knew the classic comic reference from the Marx Brothers film.
“Back to the point, my collogues! Why are we even discussing this silly question?” Freud asked everyone.
“Because of your snide remark aimed at Kant,” Marie reminded him.
“This wine is nice,” Martha told everyone while hoping to change the subject, then added, “But I really prefer red wine over white wine.”
“We’ll drink to that,” Jung said, and raised his glass as a toast to his fellow collogues.
After everyone drank for the toast, Martha stood up to address them, but first focused on Maria.
“Marie, would you like to tell everyone what you know about me?
“You were an expert in Behavioral Science. Then for awhile you were one of the more famous, more efficient investigators of your time. And cases you solved often appeared in major newspapers. Then you stepped out of the spotlight and basically disappeared from the public.”
“I started to long for having privacy again, so I retired, changed my last name and moved into a small town. Doing this afforded me the time to read, study and think. I read everything from your bios, accomplishments and often differing points of view. I also read everything I could on the subjects I had little knowledge, from topical to classical. And I chose that small town because I met and married an unassuming and honest man named Earl in that town and we got married. And for some reason just about everyone in that small town started calling me Aunt Martha.
“Interesting, and productive life you had, Martha,” Kant told her sincerely.
“Thank you, Immanuel, but I not in the same league with the rest of you.”
“Most modesty would be welcomed from the rest of you,” Marie told everyone. “From all of us.”
“There’s nothing wrong with being proud of your achievements. And there’s nothing wrong with using humor, from subtle to slapstick, to defuse challenging times and issues, but let pettiness and jealousy die out with our demise. All of you had so much to offer the world, and you can continue to offer more if you channel your knowledge and help and encourage each other. And you can still offer what you’ve learned to the still living,” Martha told everyone.
“How? As ghosts or some type of celestial apparitions?” Freud responded and it came across as mocking the last part of what Martha said.
“And what did Einstein mean, Sigmund, when he told you ‘God does not play dice with the universe’?”
“It meant he was probably drunk at the time,” Marie replied in just.
“I wasn’t drunk, and Albert told me this after I mentioned I had a sudden and unexplainable insight, call it a vision if you must, into the diverse, interwoven nature of life itself.”
“And I refuse to believe life itself came into existence because the universe farted,” Isaac added.
“Without the snide remarks, using humor, from subtle to slapstick, and other forms of harmless diversion, and merging it with serious insight and knowledge, is what you can still share with the world,” Martha told them, then added ,“ I must be leaving soon.”
“Where too?” Marie asked her.
“To do my own direct, personal research into an unsolved mystery,” she told everyone, then morphed into a Chicken and disappeared in a cloud of vapor.
They watched as the vapor dissipated and looked at each other.
“Well, it’s obvious that Chicken never had to worry about crossing the road, because she figured out how to fly over it,” Pavlov told the others, followed by good-natured laughter.
“I was joking,” Martha said after she suddenly reappeared.
“How did you do that?” asked the befuddled Ivan.
“If the six of you pool your intelligence, you could consider it a form of Space-Time Continuum. Or not. Sometimes, in the learning process, it’s wise to trust your gut instincts. The point is, if a dullard like myself learned to do what I’ve done, and by saying dullard it means I’m pretty much self-taught, it should be easy enough for you six to figure it out. You can even figure out how to return to Earth. Not as yourself, of course, but you can still help influence those willing to make needed charges on the planet,” Martha told them, then she vaporized for the last time.
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September 2nd, 2022
12:33 pm - The Misfits Club
THE MISFITS CLUB
1.
By the time they were in the 9th. grade, Cal, Susan, Stan, Marcos and Patty had become best friends. This was not surprising to their fellow classmates and some of their teachers because, by stereotype standards, they were considered the nerds in the smaller school system in the suburb where they lived. And if the teasing ever seemed to bother them they didn’t mention it.
And each member of the club seemed to have advanced knowledge in the subjects they were most interested in. Susan’s passion was Archaeology and she hoped to be able to some day translate antiquated languages that had not yet been deciphered. Marcos intended to become an astronaut and was already taking advanced classes. Cal was a mate wiz and was already waiting computer code he believed was unbreakable. Stan’s main interest was in mechanical engineering, and he was already building prototypes, based on his own concepts, in his father’s machine shop.
But, as a teacher who’s had all five of them in my classes, Patty is the most interesting of The Misfits Club members. She excelled in the few subjects she found interesting to her. But in the other subjects her grades are barely passing. Still, Patty’s mind, when she focused on something she wanted to, was like having a magnetic memory for details. From the seemingly mundane to the complex she had an excellent recall memory for details. And is was not surprising that her fellow classmates nicknamed her Glue or sometimes Brain Glue.
2.
After enrolling for their 11th. grade classes, the five of them sat at a table in the nearly empty school cafeteria. Sitting alone, at the table across from them, was a guy who was likely their age and likely a new student. To Patty he seemed shy, awkward and uncomfortable in the new school. And Cal was the first of the five to rise and introduce himself and his friends to the new student.
“I’m Cal, and these are my good friends Susan, Stan, Marcos and Patty.”
The new kid stared at them a moment, then at Cal.
“Well, none of you look like the lying type, so hello,” he responded.
“And you are,” Patty asked as she rose from her chair.
“I’m Darwin,” he told them.
“Cool name. But first or last name,” Susan asked as she rose from her chair.
“First name, and I’m not related to Charles.”
“Would you care to join us, Darwin, or shall we come to your table?” Stan asked.
“Well, I suppose you can sat at my table,” Darwin said and waited until they were seated,
then added, “And I suppose you want me to join The Misfits Club now.”
“A conclusion made before all the evidence is in,” Patty told Darwin.
“And, as a new student, how would you know about our club?” Marcos asked.
“Simple, pre-enrollment research,” he told them. “And you were all teased and stereotyped about being in a nerd club by some of the other students in your yearbook.”
“And you’re not fond of stereotyping, are you?” Susan asked him.
“Why would any free-thinking person embrace stereotyping,” Darwin replied.
“Do you know Kant? I’m asking because that sounds like something he would say,” Marcos asked.
“I know who Immanuel Kant was.”
“Yeah was, if you factor in the Earthly demise part of his life,” Susan replied in jest.
“That’s witty, Susan, in an esoteric sort of way,”
“And sometimes with the dead they still have unresolved issues. In Freud’s case his mother issues stayed unresolved and followed him into the afterlife,” Stan suggested in a good natured way.
“Now that’s funny, Stan.”
“Yeah, that’s funny, but please don’t take this as an insult, Darwin, because I detect a chip, metaphorical on not, on your shoulder,” Patty told him.
“My ego is healthy enough that it’s hard to insult me. As to chips of shoulders? Everyone has chips on their shoulders. And the term is so quaint I wonder when people still use it.”
“Us nerds still do,” Susan informed him.
“Everyone is a comic in one way or another,” Patty said, then focused on Darwin. “But I think your chip is caused by several things. My guess is you’ve been in many different schools, likely because one, or both of your parents are in the military. And you seem uncomfortable about making new friends you won’t see again, likely because your father is officer, the type who gets transferred from one base to another every few years. Or perhaps both of your parents are officers. How close am I to the truth?”
“Amazingly close. Both of my parents were officers. My father still is, but my mom resigned her commission when she found out she was pregnant with me.” Darwin admitted to Patty.
“Her nickname is Glue because Patty absorbs all the details everyone else misses. That girl can walk into a strangers house, glance around the different rooms, and can provide a creditable profile of the people, or person, who lives there,” Susan told Darwin.
“Sounds like she would be a natural born detective,” Darwin told Susan.
“Of course, and she will be if she gets off her mental block ass and improves and brings her grade point average enough to go to college. She’ll have to do this because she wants to major in Criminal Science.”
“Trust me, I will do that,” Patty assured everyone.
“Okay, but do you still want me to join your stupid club?” Darwin asked them.
“Personally, I think you’re over-qualified, but we need proof first, Darwin,” Cal told him in jest.
“And only if you’re nerd enough to belong, Darwin,” Marcos told him.
“My main interest is in Mediaeval History and some day I want to teach it at a university.”
“Welcome to The Misfits Club, you over-qualified nerd,” Patty told hin as she reached across the table to shake his hand.
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September 27th, 2021
06:33 pm - Just Another Typical Poker Night For Me
Just Another Typical Poker Night For Me
While sitting around a campfire near the bank of a muddy river I was playing poker with some of the woodland creatures I’ve made friends with. On my left was an Alligator. Perched on his head was a Mockingbird. On my right was an Elk. Next to him sat the mythical Bigfoot and across from me sat a Mudcat Catfish.
I won the first hand, Seven Card Stud, with three Aces.
The Alligator stared at me a moment.
“Nice hand for one so edible,” he replied with a sly grin.
“Nice hand for one so edible,” repeated the Mockingbird.
“I don’t care who wins because I’m a myth anyway, but if you keep wining I’ll break some bones in your head,” warned Bigfoot.
“And I won’t let you join The Elks Club,” laughed the Elk
“Just hurry up and finish the poker game because I can’t stay on out of water that long.” screamed the Mudcat.
“Everyone slow the game down because I know what we’re having for dinner tonight,” I told my new friends while looking at the Mudcat. That scared Mr. Michael Mudcat so much he dove into the water. While the rest of us were laughing, a Mermaid came out of the water sat down where the Mudcat had been sitting.
“Can I join your poker game?” she asked, then flashed us a tempting smile.
All we could do is gawk and nod our heads and, of course, she won every hand and took all our money because, except for her. we were all males and we kept staring at her bare chest.
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August 13th, 2021
10:19 pm - WALLS WITHIN WALLS
Walls Within Walls
For most of us
the construction began in early childhood,
an intuitive defense mechanism,
to cope with being deemed too short or too tall,
too bright or too dim, too cute or too plain, too
large or too small.
Tools of the trade,
employed by parents, siblings and playmates,
were both inherited and fabricated,
as needs arose, and mandated to install
protective foundations, so ordained as our
walls within walls.
With only a
few strong souls brave enough to venture beyond
the barriers, the construction continued
for the rest of us as defined social cures
required to justify perceived shortcomings
in our structures.
Must we follow
those who conceived the earliest prototypes,
commissioned the plans, dictated the dogmas
that stifled our light? Or can’t we embrace flaws
in the perfectly imperfect so we might
tear down the walls?
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July 17th, 2021
10:21 pm - HER GRANDFATHER'S GIFT
HER GRANDFATHER’S GIFT
1.
When Sophie was seventeen years old her grandfather requested to speak to her alone. Because he only had a few weeks left to live his family, two generations of them, respected his request.
Mr. Green had been propped up against the headboard by his live-nurse and his intention was to talk to her alone, with the door closed, about several related reasons. As a child, he grew up during the Great Depression and lived through the hardships that most American families did at the time. Now, as he accepted that his time was near, he was leaving this life not a wealthy man, at least not by today’s standards, but over his long life had managed to acquire some rental properties, all paid for, that produced a decent, regular income. Still he knew, based on a generation of family bickering, that no matter how his will was worded, some in the family would be upset, if not outright angry about who received what in the will. And Mr. Green considered this ironic because his two sons and his daughter had done well in their own right, with all three of them far better off than he was financially.
Though grandparents are not expected to show favoritism towards their grandchildren, of his seven grandchildren Sophie was, and always has been, his favorite. To him his reasons were simple enough because, among other things, she had never asked for or expected money or expensive gifts from him and always seemed to love reading books with him or talking long walks in the park while discussing a number of topics, current and past. She was also the only grandchild showing any desire to go with him to see major league baseball games nearby. And even when younger she ever seemed to get bored doing so. Such smaller tokens Mr. Green took to heart and to show his appreciation, when his attorney drew up his will it specifically stated any relative trying to take from or manipulate what he was leaving Sophie would face forfeiting their share of the will. And his attorney assured Mr. Green the will was iron-clad.
What Mr. Green was leaving Sophie was all contained in a 24"x12"x6" old wooden, locked box placed under his bed. Taped to the top of the box, something he’s had since the 1940s, were two keys to open the box. With the her waiting, he instructed his nurse, Ms. Carlson, to call Sophie into his bedroom and for her to wait outside in the hall, once Sophie was in the room with the door closed, and make sure none of her relatives were close enough to hear their conversation.
2.
With Sophie in his bedroom and sitting in a chair close to the bed, Mr. Green spoke as softly as he could to her.
“Under the bed in an old wood box is what I’m leaving you in my will. Most of it is personal things I’ve saved, going back to my childhood in Chicago, to right after I was released from military service and married. These are all precious to me in many ways and I expect, actually want you, to keep these always as a reminder. However, in a sealed, air-tight smaller box I’m leaving you are forty collectable items worth, on today’s collectable market, a small fortune.
These collectibles I want you to sell because they will put you though college and grad school, with plenty left over to start your own business and buy a house.”
“Oh, Grandpa, I thank you, but this is just too much. Shouldn’t some of it go ...”
“Don’t be foolish, dear Sophie,” he interrupted her gently. “Your Uncles and Aunt have done well for themselves. Besides, your Grandma and I put them through school and helped them get started in their careers And you more than deserve what I’m leaving you, so please accept it as my sincere thanks to you for being who you are.”
“Oh, I will always,” she told him and rose from her chair to kiss him on the forehead.
“That’s my girl,” he smiled warmly, then added, “ But when you go to sell those collectibles in that sealed box, dear Sophie, use a lot of caution so that you’re paid what their worth. Do some on-line research first, then contact an auction house that is respected and trusted.”
“I certainly will, Grandpa.”
“And one last thing, something rather important to me, is don’t open the box until after I’m in the ground and after the will has been certified. And then, don’t tell any of your relatives what’s in the sealed box. When you turn eighteen in two months is when you can legally sell all those valuable collectibles and only after they’re sold should you mention what was in that sealed box. But now it’s time for the nurse to give me my worthless meds now. I mean, they’re not really worthless because they dull the pain, but still. And we’ll talk again soon, Sweety.”
She kissed him on the cheek and left his bedroom.
3.
After the will was read and her other relatives were seemingly satisfied that Sophie was not left an unfair portion of the estate, with several actually feeling sorry for her, she complied with her grandfather’s wished and even waited until she was eighteen. Sitting in an inner office at her grandfather’s bank, she opened the wooden box and her grandfather’s personal treasures he saved ranged from die-cast toy cars from the late 1930s, marbles he kept for some reason, to photos of him in uniform, a Purple Heart Medal awarded him, and photos of him and his wife, Sophie’s grandmother, together when they were still very young.
What was in the smaller, sealed, air-tight box were forty mint condition baseball cards from the early 1930s through the 1940s, up to right before the war started, and most of the baseball players she recognized as being in the Baseball Hall Of Fame, and Sophie understood, without knowing their current value, that her grandfather had left her a fortune and the baseball cards were carefully put back in the air-tight box and locked in the safety deposit vault at bank, at safety deposit box she had rented. They would stay there until an expert from the auction house she chose examined and appraised them for the auction.
And those three mint condition baseball cards from the 1950s were the rookie cards of Sandy Koufax, Ernie Banks and Mickey Mantle, and though they were not nearly worth near what the rookie cards of a player like Lou Gehrig or Ty Cobb, the three were players Sophie remembered and chose to keep the Koufax card because he played on Sophie’s home team and Ernie Banks card because Banks played on her grandfather’s home town team.
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May 25th, 2021
09:59 pm - THE CONSTANT MUSE
THE CONSTANT MUSE
When she felt the need she slipped in through the back door of my soul and lingered long to speak to my sub-conscience, whispering encouragement and inspiration. Her mission was to remind my spirit that my creative efforts and achievements should not be gauged by fame or fortune and my writing still touched the lives of those who read it.
After doing this she skipped three time zones to converse with mind of a young woman, sitting at her desk, drinking her morning coffee and doubting her own early efforts to compose serious poetry. This young woman’s problem was not her passion for verse but her trying to find her own unique voice to express herself. The Muse whispered to her gently that she should just keep writing verse and she will naturally find her own poetic voice.
Next the Muse jet-streamed through the clouds to Hawaii to visit an older, accomplished writer who was trying to convince himself to give up writing because very few people took the time to read book these days. She reminded his damaged spirit that even though few people read modern literature now his words, images and concepts they convey are still passed along from readers to non-readers, from personal conversations to social media web sites.
Next the Muse teleported herself halfway across the planet to visit a young man, a painter, blessed with the talent to paint in any style he chose, from realistic to surreal or abstract. This young man’s problem was also striving to find his own unique voice as a painter and he refused to go back to the old-school realism, paint in the over done surrealistic style and the redundant abstract-expressionism style that started in the late 1940s and is still being rehashed today. The mission of the Muse was to whisper to him, much like she did to the young poet, but with a different approach: suggesting to him that he leave his studio and observe as much of life as he could, from the architecture to the diverse people he encountered on the street. Observe his surroundings with a fresh perspective and continue to observe everything until his creative inner being comes to naturally realize he always had the ability to approach art in his own unique style.
After doing this she retired to her celestial realm hang out with the other Muses until she felt she was needed back on Earth.
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April 22nd, 2021
10:32 pm - BECAUSE THE SERPENT KNEW HE WOULD BE BLAMED
BECAUSE THE SERPENT KNEW HE WOULD BE BLAMED
When the roller bearing could no longer bear it’s share of the preordained work load it suddenly froze, as if going into a self-imposed coma. Four of his fellow coworkers took his untimely demise in stride because they realized, with age, they became expendable and they silently welcomed the short reprise, a well earned semi-vacation from their duties.
However, the serpent, the fifth member of the team, perceived the bearing’s failure to perform it’s duty as a personal insult to him. The serpent rightfully knew he carried the bulk of the workload that keep the mechanism functioning as intended. Being au contraire by nature the serpent responded by shedding his skin, his skin being the serpentine loop that kept the pulleys in motion. Though the standard reaction was for a serpentine belt to snap in two, the serpent’s ego compelled him to splinter the belt into long remnants, with each remnant wrapping itself around the base of a pulley, causing each to equally freeze.
The serpent’s desired effect created mechanical chaos when the idler went totally idle, the tensioner became to tense that it suffered a symbolic panic attack and the alternator could no longer alternate. Though the crankshaft worked independently of the belt it became very cranky knowing it could no longer drive the cooling fan and the engine would quickly overheat and the assigned collapse of their teamwork happened as expected.
Was the serpent’s seemingly excessive response, with it splintering it’s belt through pent up outrage, justified? In his defense, though only figuratively called a serpent with a serpentine tail, he identified with the snakes worldwide he bared a slight resemblance to, considering them kindred spirits. And. more importantly, he knew in advance that once the truck’s hood was raised he would instantly be blamed for the failure of others.
Still, was his reaction justified? If they were able to respond in a language humans could understand most of the earth’s fowl, fish, animals and reptiles would likely say yes. Their justification in his defense was instinctively based on the stigma caused to serpents for egos, a bad rap going back to the Garden Of Eden. To them the serpent dwelling in Eden at the time was set up to absorb it’s share of the blame, framed as it were, by circumstance. The serpent was never really the cause of or the instigator of the Original Sin because the Creator had pre-ordained him to offer Adam and Eve a simple option. That Adam and Eve chose the wrong option, and then invented the first attempted coverup, was hardly the serpent’s fault.
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March 8th, 2021
07:42 pm - THE TWO-WAY HOLIDAY GIFT
THE TWO-WAY HOLIDAY GIFT
Henry Hawkins, a Psychologist working for local law enforcement, and just three weeks from retiring, pulled into the parking lot of a local convenience store and stopped his truck at the front of the store’s sidewalk. As he was stepping out of his truck he noticed through the plate glass window a tall, thin man wearing a mask and holding a switchblade knife upwards at the clerk behind the counter. Before entering the store, because he wanted to observe the two of them Henry stepped back into the driver’s side of his truck to wait to see if the clerk was really in danger. And he knew, from personal experience, that if he rushed into the store now the robber could panic, cut the clerk or try to hold him hostage. As long as the robber stayed on his side of the counter it was likely the clerk wouldn’t be hurt and Henry’s hunch as right. The clerk opened both cash registers and filled a bag with both coins and paper money as the robber demanded, then the robber fled the store.
As the robber turned and ran down the side of the building towards the alley behind Henry jumped out of his truck and started running after the thief.
“You’re not going anywhere, dude,” Henry shouted at him.
The thief, not planning his escape route wisely, found himself boxed it by three six foot tall chain-link fences, where his only chance to escape was to climb over the fence into the alley behind the store. Having caught up with him trying to climb the fence while clutching the bag of money, Henry grabbed him by his leg and pulled him to the ground, kicking the robber hard enough in his lower abdomen to discourage any attempts to rise up and the pain caused the robber to try to curl into a human ball to prevent any more damage to his body.
“Please don’t hurt me! Please don’t kill me,” the thief pleaded without looking up at Henry.
“I won’t kill you and I might even let you escape with the stolen money if you’ll sit long enough for me to talk to you and ask a few questions,” Henry tried to reassure him.
“You won’t try to kill me?”
“If you stay seated long enough for me to ask a few questions,” Henry told him. “Besides, I’m now even carrying a revolver now.”
“And what’s to stop me from just getting up and running away?”
“My Special Forces training while I was in the military. I could easily break your bones or jam your nose up into your brain,” Henry warned him by simply telling the truth. “So, are you willing to have a few bones broken or are you willing to sit and listen as I ask a few question? I don’t know about you, dude, but personally I’m not too keen on walking through life with a limp or spending time in prison for armed robbery. So, are you willing to sit up while I talk to you?”
“And then you’ll let me go?”
“Of course, but we’ll have to act quickly because I’m sure that clerk has already called the cops and when they get here they’ll search for the crook’s escape route.’
“Yes, but what about the ... ?
“The bag of money is already tucked away inside my coat and your knife is in my coat pocket, in case you’re wondering,” Henry told him, then instructed him, “Quickly, pull off your sweater and sat on it with the mask under it, then you lean against the fence and act as innocent as you can.”
While the thief did as he was told Henry sat on the asphalt directly across from him.
“The first question is why did you rob that store with all those security cameras it has?”
“Why? Why? I’ve got a ... a wife and little girl and ... and we’re expecting another one and ... I lost my job and ... and can’t seem to find another one because of this god damn pandemic and ... and we’ve got an eviction notice taped to our front door. And ... we have so little money, barely enough for food and none for a tree or even gifts even if we had a tree. That’s why!”
“Okay, I can understand your current reason and I’m gone through some pretty rough times myself and so has my wife early in our marriage and if you’ll let me I’ll get you enough money to hold you over and I’m pretty sure I can get you a job. But I’m returning the stolen money and telling them I screamed at the crook and he panicked and dropped it. Anyway, I’ve already figured out a back story for us and you’ll have to feed off my cues. Okay?” When the thief nodded yes, Henry continued, “You’re my future son-in-law and we’ve been having a discussion, heated at times, about you marrying my daughter and your prospects of supporting her. I just hope your acting is far better than your one-time crime spree.”
“I would hope so because I’ve had plenty of practice coming up with impromptu stories for my little girl because she got tired on the ones she’s already heard.”
2.
After interviewing the clerk two police officers rounded to corner of the store and saw Henry and the young man sitting on the asphalt.
“Doctor Hawkins, what a surprise! You’ve already captured the suspect!” Sergeant Johnson exclaimed.
“Who, this skinny little dude?” Henry responded as he stood up to face her. “No, but he seems to have captured my daughter’s heart. This is Jack and we’ve been having a discussion about what I expect from my future son-in-law.”
“You didn’t know the store was robbed?” wondered Officer Garza.
“We heard some sirens, but let’s just say our conversation was getting a bit too intense. And I’m sure you’ll go through something like this, Angie, when your Julie get older.”
“As hardheaded as she is I’m sure that will happen,” Officer Johnson laughed.
“I guess because you’re no longer Detective Hawkins you’ve lost your paying attention edge, huh? Officer Garza taunted him.
“You guys don’t need me anyway. I’m sure that store has inside cameras and whoever the clerk is can ID him.”
“Ha! The camera system is down because the DVR went down and it hasn’t been replaced yet and the clerk was too nervous to notice much.” Officer Garza stated as he shook his old friend’s hand. “We could have used your help.”
“Leave him along, Joey. That old fart can still kick your ass,” Angie jokingly scolded Joey. “Let’s climb back into our unit, cruse the neighborhood and maybe we’ll get lucky and see the suspect or find a witness, then patted Henry on the shoulder and told him, “And tell Martha I said hello.”
3.
After their patrol car was out of sight the young man jumped to his feet and screamed at Henry.
“You’re a cop? A cop! And you pulled this bullshit on me to keep me here?”
“I was a cop years ago and made Detective, but now I’m just a Psychologist who works with first time offenders and tries to help them go straight if they’ll let me,” he explained to the young man as he showed him his credentials. “So, if you’re smart enough we’ll calm down, sit back down and see how I can help you. And if you’ve got questions just ask, okay?”
“I’ve got a question you need to answer first before I start to believe anything you say,” the young man insisted. After Henry nodded yes he continued, “You’re a Doctor? A Psychologist? You must make a dam good living doing what you do, so what’s with all the tough times stuff you claim you and your wife went through?”
“Fair enough question. I was born and raised on a small farm outside a small town, the type of town where it wasn’t safe for a young black man like me to be on the street after dark. In the old days I might have been hung from a tree. During my time living there I was more likely to be beaten and arrested on a some phony charge and thrown in jail and my folk hardly had enough money to go around, must less post my bail to get me out? And I’m sure you’ve read or heard about places like that? Right?”
“Was you wife from the same town?”
“No, but she grew up in one much like that. And both of us have been called just about every ethnic slur you could call a black person. Anyway, we met in college, fell in love, and decided, when the time was right to children, we didn’t want to raise our kids in such an environment.”
“But you still managed to get your PhD.”
“That part was rough, too. We moved to LA and my wife worked her precious ass off the help me get my degree in Criminal Science because the help from the G.I. Bill for education wasn’t enough. Once I landed a lob with law enforce I helped her get her teaching degree and she worked as a teacher to help me get my PhD and that part wasn’t easy because by then she was pregnant with our daughter.”
“Okay, all you’ve through I certainly understand from what I’ve read and seen in those Civil Rights documentaries. But, listen, Doctor, I know I’ve got my own problems, but I’ve still got my pride and I’m not looking for a handout,” the young man told Henry sincerely.
“I’ll lend, as in lend, you enough money to get by on until you get a good job. And you’ll pay me back when, as in when, you can. Now, let’s talk about you skill levels so I can help you find a decent job. But first stretch out both your arms and turn them slowly, then hold out your hands palm up and keep them steady,”
“Sure, but ...” He started to say but did as instructed.
“No needle marks and your steady hands suggest you’re not likely an alcoholic. With those hands as steady as they are you could be an artist or a surgeon, but the calluses certainly suggest you’re not an MD. So, let’s go right to your skill levels now, but first tell me your name, your real name, and don’t worry because I’m hardly going to turn you in,” Henry reassured him again.
“It’s ... uh ... it’s Keith Summers.”
“And now you skill levels.”
“I worked on the docks when I first moved here from Texas and the pay wasn’t bad, but then with those tariffs and all the jobs lost because of the pandemic and because I didn’t have my Union Card yet I was one of the first to be let on.”
“I’m sorry that happened and I honestly can’t help you with that. So what did you do in Texas before you moved out here?” Henry asked hopefully.
“Before, back in Texas, I loaded trucks at a grocery chain warehouse. I ... I just ... thought the management there was a little too racist for me. It was more in what they implied about the ethnic workers. So I took my savings and moved out here.”
“And before that?”
“My foster father worked in construction and when I turned fifteen I started working with him at his job sites and began to learn just about everything needed to know about building new homes and doing remodeling. I even started doing copper plumbing and electrical wiring and, though I never had a state licence to do either, I got good enough at it that it always passed inspection.”
“I can help you with this kind of work, but I could lend you and your young family enought money to move back to Texas to work for him.”
“Oh, dear God, I wish I could but my foster folks, Rex and Alice Summers, died in a car crash years back,” Keith explained while trying to control the pain. “I never knew my real parents and was placed in one foster home after another until my real loving foster parents, Rex and Alice Summers, took me in at thirteen and gave me my first real taste of a secure family home.”
“Keith, you’ve certainly had it rough and you have every moral right to be bitter about it all. I think you’re remarkable in that you haven’t turned to drugs or crime or both.”
“Give my wife, Maria, a lot of credit for that.”
“I certainly will when I meet her, but until then I know two contractors who would certainly hire you based on your experience and I’m willing to bet, once you learn the local codes, you can make something like twenty an hour for plumbing and a little more for wiring. And my name is Henry. Henry Hawkins. But don’t call me Doc or Doctor, please.”
“Mr. Hawkins, I ... uh ... I thank you so much and ... I ... just don’t ... just don’t know how to thank you enough.”
“You already have, Keith, and you will continue to do so once you’ve started work and got back on your feet. And you’ll thank me even more when you, your wife, your daughter and the newborn have reached your own security. And likewise I thank you.”
“I ... uh ... I ... “
“Gifts are like twoway streets. We receive in accepting and in giving. Understand?” Henry quizzed Keith and he nodded his head, but still seemed puzzled. “When I lived in that little town and was studying at the library late and started walking home in the dark three local punks cornered me and I figured I was about to get my ass kicked until a white guy, a stranger to me, came into the alley, punched out two of the punks and chased all three down the alley, then he returned to me and reminded me there were always a lot of good people in the world, but they seldom get enough attention while the bad usually do. Then he turned and walked quickly away before I could thank him and I never knew his name or even it he lived in my town or was passing though.”
“Wow! Did he instinctively just help you or perhaps was responding to his own needs to help?”
“I’m not even sure if he considered that. I think he was just naturally doing the right thing. We receive by giving and by receiving. But my point is few people can get by in life without the help of others. Early in my life I received a lot of help and encouragement and just want to pass it on to others when I can.”
Keith rose to his feet and Henry followed and then Keith gave him the type of hug reserved for a father figure.
Henry offered to give him a ride home, but first returned the bag of money to then store clerk, telling him he screamed at the robber and he dropped the money while climbing over the fence, then Henry drove to an ATM machine at his bank before taking Keith home.
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