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 |   Tales from real life |
| Well, if they're not true, they oughta be! |
I'd bet that most of us have a special shelf dedicated to books that we really, really mean to read one day. Of course, some of us are less tidy. Some of us have a shelf and also a pile of unread books stacked in a corner. A few of us may even have a stack of boxes filled with books (guilty). The allure of the printed word is powerful, and the idea of reading is sometimes more gratifying than actually doing so. We've all suffered the disappointment of diving into a 'great' book that turned out to be a dull slog. So, the anticipation and good intentions that accompany those unread books can be well worth the ‘waste of space’. Remember B. Dalton, Waldenbooks, Borders, and Crown? The big chains are mostly gone now, but Half-Price Books endures to feed my habit. I used to visit those bookstores like some people went to the zoo. I loved the sight (and smell) of the pristine new book jackets. The delightfully random spine colors, the soothing quiet, the orderly arrangement of the different sections - an entire world tour was available on their shelves, and more. Old favorites, exotic lands, startling new ideas, and horrific monsters stood side by side. Some of my unread books are classics that I should read, some are delicious treats from favorite authors that I definitely will read, many are 'bargains' that I'll never read, and a few have such compelling titles that I just couldn't resist taking them home. Here's a sampling of the latter group: When Mediation Fails by Donny Brooks Framed by Holden D. Bagge Living With Anxiety by Titus A. Drummond Rent, Don’t Own by Lisa Carr 3 Sheets to the Wind by Ginny Sayler Introduction to Plate Tectonics by Myles B. Lowe Criminal Methodology by Jimmy D. Locke Guide to Bowling by Howie Rolle Savanna Melody by Rory Lyons Impulsive Behavior by Oliver Suddens Cat Training for Dummies by Claude A. Bunche Fulfilled: Memoir of a Pastry Chef by E. Claire Baker A Song for Christmas by Carole Ng The Book of Questionable Answers by Jeb Purdy The Blooms of May by April Schauers Keeping Secrets by Don Evert-Tell How to Hit Your Targets by Amy Welles The Art of Appeasement by Ben Dover Living With Hiatal Hernia by Ginger Lee Criminal Behavior by Robin Steele Feeding a Crowd by Kate R. Ng Marginal Trading Strategies by Owen Moore Pouring the Proper Pint by Phyllis Kupp Too Much is Never Enough by Gil D. Lilly A Leisurely Repentance by Marian Hastings Knick Knacks & Paddy Whacks by Roland Holmes Queen of Limbo by Lois Barr The Twisted Tress by Braden Harris Silent, but Deadly by Sharon DePugh The Last Bullfight by Gordon Downes |
| There was a newsfeed post a few days ago that asked "what's the weirdest thing that's happened recently?" I didn't have anything then, but I do today. I've been on my own for a few days while my wife is out of town. That means I can stream old episodes of Deep Space Nine while fixing myself scrambled eggs for breakfast. It took about half an hour to slice and dice peppers and onions, sauté them in olive oil, stir in three eggs, top with cheese, and eat same. DS9 was still wrapping up as I settled down in my recliner to finish my coffee and watch the final scenes. Our cat, as if waiting in ambush, immediately leapt into my lap and settled down. I had my smartphone and newspaper at hand, so I was willing to provide the lap, but I hadn't grabbed the remote to turn off the TV. Not to worry - the wind was blowing briskly and the power flickered just as the closing credits started to roll. It wasn't enough of an interruption to reset the clock on the microwave, but the Roku rebooted and returned to its home screen. It was just as good as turning it off. I felt a prickle on the back of my neck. It was kind of eerie to merely think, darn, I wish I didn't have to disturb the cat, and then have the power flicker on cue. |
An inquiry from RICH   made me realize that others might be interested in the cover image. It's a 1972 Harley-Davidson Sprint 250, made by Aermacchi in Italy and sold by Harley dealers in America. It's somewhat unique in that it has a single cylinder laid down in front of the crankcase. The geometry results in a long wheelbase and a low center of gravity. This yellow one belonged to my Dad. I had a black Sprint 350 when I was in High School, and I always enjoyed the way it handled. I grew up on a small ranch among cowboys, farmers and loggers. I sometimes rode horses as a child, but abandoned four legs for two wheels the first time I straddled my Montgomery Ward minibike at the age of twelve. I had several real motorcycles over the years, including a Harley Rapido 125 (also made by Aermacchi) and a BSA 250 single, but I finally settled on Yamahas. I could wheelie my RD250 two-stroke twin through three gears. After getting married, I traded it in for an XS650 parallel twin that was better suited for two-up riding. My last bike was an XV920RH V-twin with an enclosed chain drive. I rode it more than 50,000 miles and it still had the original chain. Dad liked my Harley Sprint so much that he bought one for himself. It was handier for him to kickstart the bike for a quick trip out to the fields than to saddle up a horse. The original street mufflers didn't fare well in the dirt, so we used a hacksaw to create the 'megaphone' look. The bike didn't run quite as well with the open pipes, but it sure sounded cool! Also, check out the home-made mud flap on the front fender. It was cut out of an old tire and mounted with three bolts. This photo captures a juxtaposition of the old and new west. Dad's horses all passed away and he finally got too old for the motorcycle. He created this 'artwork' from the remnants of his riding past. |
Here's my second trinket:  |
Tonight the bats and brooms careen sky high, witches ply the scene, this eve is Halloween. Author's note: ▼ |
Late for class / wearing pajamas / no homework / didn't study / surprise test / etc. It's been over 40 years since I graduated from college, but I'm still dreaming variations on these themes. The most frequent scenario has me suddenly remembering that I signed up for a class, but never attended a lecture or opened the textbook. In my dream, I somehow know that today is the midterm, but I haven't been to class and I don't even know the room number. I wander aimlessly, already late, wallowing in the certainty of failure because I don't know the material. And now there's a new wrinkle (pun intended). I dreamed last night that I'm back in school (at my current age), and living in the dorm. This time, I don't know my dorm room number, but it doesn't really matter because I don't have a key, either. I wander the halls aimlessly, looking for an RA to help me find my way home. There are a series of rooms and alcoves as I make my way up and down stairs, and along the corridors. Groups of students are playing pool, watching TV, or just hanging out. They smirk and make snarky comments about the 'old guy' as I pass by. I can't quite catch the words, but the tone is clearly not welcoming. And the topper? There are little piles of blue N95 masks on various tables and countertops, yet nobody in the dream is actually wearing one. How's that for social anxiety? |
| There’s something about the first day on the job that just seems to invite disaster. We’re overeager, self-conscious, and feeling lost in unfamiliar surroundings. Is it any wonder that we manage to find new and novel ways to embarrass ourselves? Growing up doing chores on the ranch taught me about hard work, and as a high school Senior, I felt ready to get paid for doing a ‘real job’. My academic record was in good shape, so I arranged to spend mornings in class and afternoons at the two-register Mission Mart grocery store. My position as bagboy, stocker, and third checker paid the princely sum of $2 an hour. The store was mostly empty when I arrived for my first shift, so the boss handed me a broom and sent me outside to sweep the sidewalk. I went at it ferociously, determined to make a good first impression. But, as I swept briskly along the edge, the head of the broom caught against the curb and the wooden handle snapped in half. My face burned red as I contemplated just giving up and going home. I’ll never forget the amused and exasperated look on the boss’s face when I sheepishly brought the pieces back into the store. To his credit, all he said was “I guess you better grab another broom.” |
| Trigger Warning! This post may be offensive to entitled right-wing snowflakes. You can’t touch the hearts of the heartless, nor show those who won’t use their eyes. You can’t change the minds of the mindless, nor speak truth to those who choose lies. I had an encounter with a deplorable yesterday. They felt that I wasn’t being respectful because I didn’t use the word ‘president’ each and every time I referred to a certain one term politician. I did use the complete phrase no less than four times in my satiric essay. More would have made for awkwardly repetitive reading. I shouldn’t have engaged, but I couldn’t resist taking a little jab. I complimented my critic on their principled stand, and thanked them for supporting President Biden by extending him the same courtesy. As you might guess, I was swiftly corrected once again. It seems Joe Biden does not deserve the use of the title 'president', because the orange oaf really won the election. Sigh . . . Doublethink NOUN 1. the acceptance of, or mental capacity to accept, contrary opinions or beliefs at the same time, especially as a result of political indoctrination. The concept of doublethink was introduced by George Orwell in his novel nineteen eighty-four. When I read it as a teenager, 1984 was still in the future. I was impressed with the book, but didn’t believe it could really happen in America. Despite the difficult lessons of Vietnam, the U.S. was still the champion of freedom and democracy. I’m not so optimistic today. I see a very real possibility that America’s freedom will be surrendered to a clownish con artist for a handful of magic beans. It's already happened in Texas and Georgia. Other states are lining up to surrender their free elections. But don’t worry, you’ll learn to love Big Brother. |
| Sometimes, the best part of a relationship is what you don't share. My wife and I visited our youngest and her fiancé a couple of weeks ago. They've been living together for a little over a year now, and we were happy to see the engagement ring. He's a nice guy and they're good together. We enjoyed the visit, playing with the kittens they adopted last spring and generally catching up. There was a moment of friction, though. Our family has a sometimes unfortunate habit of teasing each other. It's usually all fun and games, with everyone getting a turn in the middle, but sometimes it goes too far. Betty shared a 'funny' story about Devin that embarrassed him in front of his future in-laws. It made us laugh, but he was visibly annoyed. In one sense, it meant that she considers him part of our family and fair game. But it also meant that she doesn't fully recognize his boundaries. I couldn't help but think that it would have been better to keep it as an inside joke between the two of them. What and when to share? Which thoughts do we inflict on the world around us, and which do we let pass quietly? It's a lesson that takes a lifetime to learn. I am sometimes reminded of a line from a movie or TV. It may not fit the situation perfectly, but I toss it out just to hear it out loud. Sometimes people get the reference and laugh, often I get a blank look. Once in a while, they take offense. 'But it's such a good joke' is a poor salve for injured feelings. We have to remember that funny is in the ear of the listener. I like to tell 'dad' jokes to make myself laugh. The exasperated groans from my wife and kids are just part of the fun. They seem to enjoy my enjoyment. If I miss an obvious setup, they're disappointed and ask why I didn't knock down the punchline. I think they see their participation as a gift to me. Over the years, I've had my ups and downs. There are times that I get lost in my own head, spinning in a pointless eddy of negative thoughts. I've wondered, at times, if I'm 'on the spectrum' of bipolar disorder (it's in the family). I've learned to keep this moodiness to myself. It passes with time, and my wife can deal with quiet withdrawal much better than with the aimless, angry rants echoing in my mind. Once the fixation passes, I can barely remember why it seemed so important. 'Words Whirling 'Round' isn't merely a handle. It describes how my head feels. There's a constant flow of comments, jokes, and non-sequiturs that stream in the background of my consciousness. Is it right to set it loose on an unsuspecting world? Just because I can, doesn't mean I should. |
| "Don't it always seem to go that you don't know what you've got til it's gone" - Big Yellow Taxi by Joni Mitchell The water main break put an exclamation point on our summer drought. We haven't had significant rainfall since June. Three months without rain in Seattle! Trees and shrubs are turning brown and dropping leaves. Lawns are parched. Blackberries, usually juicy and big as your thumb, look like shriveled black peas. We set a high temperature record of 108 degrees this summer. I am definitely not a fan of climate change. The hole in the street was patched on Tuesday, and there were no trucks on Wednesday. If the pipe is mended, then why isn't the water on? If the pipe isn't mended, then why fill the hole? Jorgen, the Assistant Superintendent of the water company, stopped by Wednesday evening to answer these burning questions. "Ten feet of pipe has been replaced, sealed, and pressure tested," he told us. "We could have turned your water on yesterday, but, out of an abundance of caution, I wanted to get a sample tested first. To make sure that no contamination was introduced - no critters in the pipe or anything. We should get the results tomorrow morning." "I just want to let everyone know, personally, that this isn't the standard of service that we expect to provide," he continued. "If you would like, we'll put you up at a hotel tonight to get a real shower." "Well, we have been able to shower. The pressure is low, but it's usable," I replied. "We do appreciate the garden hose work-around, but your communication wasn't very good." We discussed the outage and the water company response for a few minutes. We could have asked for a case of bottled water at any time, but we didn't want to bother the workers. He agreed that they should have simply brought one to each house. He also agreed that a Wednesday visit was rather late for a Saturday outage. And, finally, he agreed that posting information on Facebook isn't adequate for people who don't use it. In the end, my wife and I decided that it would be more effort than it was worth to go to a hotel for one night. The trucks came back Thursday morning. The water company guys turned on the water at each house, flushed the lines, and rolled up all the garden hoses. They picked up their traffic cones and the fire hoses. We flushed water through all the inside faucets, and I felt privileged to be able to water our wilting rhododendrons again. |
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