parallax

Parallax conjunctions of the soul often carry waste as well as water.

Just thought I'd mention it. More on this later.

Bowls from Bowls

Well, my sister Martha left. That was Thanksgiving. The TV can cool down now. I know it's been a while, and I don't want to make this weblog about complaining, but just today, and that's it, then I get to the constructive stuff. It's - well Martha tries, I really think she does, but then maybe that's because my job in the family was always to kind of go around explaining after her to protect her from the hostilities she made everywhere she went. If it'd turn out she hadn't even been trying for some semblance of cooperation all this time, then I'd be pissed!

Her trouble is she's mean. She's mean because she's mad. She's mad because of the way she thinks. She thinks the way she does because she's mean. That's what wraps it up like that snake that eats its own tail. Not much I can do but it's gotten worse. When she came for Thanksgiving, she kept scrambling for fights, so we just let her watch TV and tried not to get her irked by talking about anything. She likes the medical dramas. No wonder she's so anxious. Who ever knew so many things could go wrong. And everybody knows in real life you'd never get a whole team trying to figure out what's wrong with you, so you're screwed, in that world anyway. I like the comedies myself.

Like I said, the TV's cooling off now.

Selma Rae's making ceramic bowls for everybody for Christmas, and they're gonna be beautiful. She flattens the clay then lays it over an upside down bowl to make the shape, then when they're half dry she turns 'em over and paints on some glazes and takes it over to Pete's up the hill - he lets her use her kiln which Pete says is supposed to be pronounced, "kill" but I think that's just somebody's illiteracy spreading. Kiln. Super hot oven and those bowls come out like prizes. I like that she makes bowls from bowls. This year's first batch oughta be done by Sunday. I hope I get one (hint - hint).

MM

Gut Level Messages

The gate falls shut at inopportune times, usually. There was the Thanksgiving picnic where we were running relay races, the back and forth kind. Me and Luke were on one team, and Selma Rae, Childress and my sister Martha were on the other. The start line was the bottom step of the porch and the turnaround point was the peanut patch about fifteen feet outside the gate, which was hanging open. Thanks to my procrastination we had a good race course there.

Me and Luke were winning by half a lap, Childress likes to run alongside and bark at whoever's running, and right when the gate was starting to swing shut from God knows what, Childress noticed it and leapt right over that gate with such graceful flight Luke stopped in his tracks. We all did, but what mattered most was Luke did because where he was on the course was just about at the gate. Because of Childress' fascinating levitation and awe inspiring springing up, Luke stopped just in time to not get slammed in the belly by the gate and especially its most prominent feature, the metal mailbox.

Childress' coat so shiny in the afternoon sun was sheeny with a magical light that made everything go slow motion, including the part where Luke looked down to the mailbox, inches away from his middle and laugh with relief, touching his shirt to see if it got singed from the near friction, and the moment stayed slow motion suddenly speeding fast when I saw that look on Selma Rae's face - happy then remembering her cause and yelling, "we need a reliable gate!"

But to me it's a kind of a come-see come-saw thing now - since it was a good thing I hadn't fixed it, maybe I shouldn't, except I write this from the couch because Selma Rae's saying I should know when my luck is up and just do what I'm supposed to, which is to fix the gate. Good thing Martha's going back to Sac'to soon.

MM

Hammers, Books and a Gate

I don't lend books or tools unless I don't care if I ever see them again. Selma Rae lives with me here, so if she borrows a book it's not really borrowing - it's just "the" book and she happens to be the one reading it. But she has my hammer and it's the third day she's left it in the car. It's not "the hammer" it's my hammer. Hers is more petite - like for hanging pictures. Mine you could build a house. I could go get it but she keeps saying she's gonna bring it in and I keep thinking she means it.

Now, what I'd like to know is what is the real difference between this kind of behavior and my not fixing the driveway gate til I get around to it? I'm not bugging her bout bringing in the hammer, so why's she so fixated on that gate? I'll fix the gate when I get my hammer.

This weblog is therapeutic. The PTA lady was right!

MM

Crackers

My girlfriend, Selma Rae, says the typewriter font I was using is distracting. She says people have more choices and I shouldn't choose what I used to have to have when I could have almost anything I can imagine. Well, if that is the case, I'd have Gina Lolabrigida in 1966, not Selma Rae telling me how to manage my weblog.

I refuse to say "blog". I mean, I just said it, but it's short for "weblog" and how much harder is it to say "we" than just "blog"? Speaking of We, I wouldn't give up my Selma Rae for all the Gina Lolabrigidas in heaven or earth at any time! I was just saying that because Selma Rae was looking over my shoulder eating graham crackers.

Now the tea's whistling. Gotta go. Tea and graham crackers with Selma Rae Sunshine is one of my life's true pleasures. I hope you like this font.

MM

That Woman and My Psyche

There's a thing women do that really rankles me. I just don't get it at all, but at the same time, I do. By my age I've seen it all, but then again there's always something new. Women don't like anybody suggesting their mood is because of that certain time of the month, and really my girlfriend is in the menopause so I don't know about the cycles. But I digress. What they do is, they try to make a man talk about something when there's nothing to talk about.

I don't mean what movie I like or what's for dinner, I mean - feelings. She (Selma Rae) will come out of the blue with some edgy concern, and then when I let her know I don't know where she's coming from, she tells me I have issues I don't know about. If I don't know about 'em, there's probably a good reason I haven't been informed by my own conscience.

A woman trying to make a man talk when he's got nothing to say is kinda like when a man insists on sex when a woman's got a headache. To her defense though, God bless her, Selma Rae's seldom got a headache!

That's all for now,
MM

Welcome to my Blog!

Hi. My name's Max. Sometimes I just say, in natural conversation, things that make people say, "Hey, that's pretty good." Since there's an internet now I thought I'd take advantage and start writing some of these things down, expand on a few of them even. My book, Dogma of the Saints hasn't fared so well, so I might include chapters of it here, too. I shouldn't try to make you think I'm self effacing - the book hasn't been published because I'm still working on it. Maybe this weblog will help me complete the task.

Thank you for coming. I'll hope to keep you entertained.

M.M.