It's been so long since I've written on this thing you'd think I'd disappeared. I think I say that too often when I DO write on this thing. Summer was hard. The job I got didn't work out, and if it weren't for Selma Rae's steady income we'd've been in some serious money trouble. I'm living in an area with a lot of people worried about money, so while most of the complaining I hear drags me down, it also makes me feel grateful things aren't worse.
My parents grew up in the depression, and were old enough to know what was going on. My grandmother was a music teacher, so she didn't make much but she did help keep hearts light by teaching some local kids and not charging for lessons. My grandfather was a dentist, and had times where he got paid in chickens or apples, so to think of our situation now, I know it could be like the dustbowl, or the great plague or - Iraq, 2009. Wherever we are we just have to make the most of it and be as good to each other as we can, I figure. I'm doing some tutoring at the junior college. Roberta, my teacher from last year, says I'm good enough to help the new students coming through the class. Til I find something permanent, this helps.
I saw the deer - the fawn, a little older now but I'm pretty sure it was her on the ridge yesterday morning while Childress and I were out walking. Once again I'm grateful to live in an area where hunting's off limits.
More later. MM.
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Friday, July 3, 2009
There's a Poet in You
I can believe it's been over a month since I've written on this thing, but I can't really. I thought I'd keep everyone (all six of you?) apprised of the progress with the deer and the fawn as it went on. I thought I'd keep you on the very pulse on my success in my writing class at the community college. But as it happens, these were the very things that kept me from writing.
The deer and the fawn: the deer got better. We determined it must have eaten some poison, because if the injuries were internal, she would have gotten worse and day by day she got better. The fawn stuck close by her and even weaned. That business with keeping the fawn in the kitchen was over after a few days. When the fleas started biting us Selma Rae got concerned about deer ticks and lyme disease, so we made a pen for the deer off the house and Childress kept watch for coyotes and lions. None came.
We opened the gate yesterday and they leapt off into the woods. We left the gate open and Childress still watches for them. Sometimes he's gone all day and I think he's sort of chaperoning them back into the wild.
This isn't the gripping tale I meant to tell, with moment by moment observations but I guess the truth is that's why those kinds of stories are left to the professionals. I suppose real writers have a trick for gnashing ideas together - concentrating them in ways that make it feel like the story is happening over a long time without putting in so much of the mundane. Every time I cleaned up deer poop or fed that deer fresh lettuce (and she liked rose blossoms too!) I just thought, "this is nothing to write home about," although the experiences were always sweet, the eye contact you get with a deer is - well I'd like to say "indescribable" but I know that's just being lazy.
Selma Rae said I spent long periods out there just sitting, which I did but I didn't know it was that long. I was trying to understand what a deer truly is, who a deer truly is. I mean beyond instinct, beyond eating habits and behavior patterns. For that matter I wonder the same about Childress, and Selma Rae even - and myself.
Which brings me to the writing class. I got an "A" and Roberta said, "You have a knack for introspection and insight," on my paper. When I left the classroom, ostensibly for the last time (unless they use the same room next fall) she said, "I think there's a poet in you." I laughed and said, "Well I hope he can breathe!" She said, "See what I mean?"
I'm not sure what she means.
The deer and the fawn: the deer got better. We determined it must have eaten some poison, because if the injuries were internal, she would have gotten worse and day by day she got better. The fawn stuck close by her and even weaned. That business with keeping the fawn in the kitchen was over after a few days. When the fleas started biting us Selma Rae got concerned about deer ticks and lyme disease, so we made a pen for the deer off the house and Childress kept watch for coyotes and lions. None came.
We opened the gate yesterday and they leapt off into the woods. We left the gate open and Childress still watches for them. Sometimes he's gone all day and I think he's sort of chaperoning them back into the wild.
This isn't the gripping tale I meant to tell, with moment by moment observations but I guess the truth is that's why those kinds of stories are left to the professionals. I suppose real writers have a trick for gnashing ideas together - concentrating them in ways that make it feel like the story is happening over a long time without putting in so much of the mundane. Every time I cleaned up deer poop or fed that deer fresh lettuce (and she liked rose blossoms too!) I just thought, "this is nothing to write home about," although the experiences were always sweet, the eye contact you get with a deer is - well I'd like to say "indescribable" but I know that's just being lazy.
Selma Rae said I spent long periods out there just sitting, which I did but I didn't know it was that long. I was trying to understand what a deer truly is, who a deer truly is. I mean beyond instinct, beyond eating habits and behavior patterns. For that matter I wonder the same about Childress, and Selma Rae even - and myself.
Which brings me to the writing class. I got an "A" and Roberta said, "You have a knack for introspection and insight," on my paper. When I left the classroom, ostensibly for the last time (unless they use the same room next fall) she said, "I think there's a poet in you." I laughed and said, "Well I hope he can breathe!" She said, "See what I mean?"
I'm not sure what she means.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Doe, a Deer
Been a while since I wrote on this thing. Selma Rae and I've been pretty much consumed by the deer. The night Childress rescued the fawn, we went out with flashlights looking for the mother. Thinking told us to wait til morning but hearts won out. Now, you can't really find a deer at night with a flashlight unless it's mortally wounded; they'll get up and run off if they have an ounce of life in 'em. So we did a lot of careful tramping through the chaparral all night and just at dawn we found her. She was by the creek lying in plain sight on her side. At first we thought she was dead but when she saw us coming she flinched, but she couldn't get up.
Turned out her injuries were internal. No broken bones, but when we tried to move her she bleated in pain, so Childress and Selma Rae waited with her while I went to get something to use as a stretcher. Back at the house I paced a little then it came to me - I got the kitchen table and flipped it, put Selma Rae's yoga mat in there. It's not an easy thing to carry but it was manageable. Taking it to the creek was no picnic (table!) but I did it and Selma Rae and I carried it with the doe in it back to the house. I won't say it was fast.
The fawn must've smelled us coming because she was up and on her feet pacing when we got to the kitchen and laid the doe down, still in the table. She let me palpate her abdomen and it seemed to be her ribs that were bothering her, but there was no blood so we just let her take it easy.
It's been a few weeks now and she's up walking, we made a pen off the kitchen door out back and she and the fawn are doing fine. She's been nursing the fawn since about the third day. Childress patrols the fence and keeps everybody feeling safe. Selma Rae keeps singing the Do Ray Mi song a lot, especially when she's brushing her teeth with the electro-sonic toothbrush.
Turned out her injuries were internal. No broken bones, but when we tried to move her she bleated in pain, so Childress and Selma Rae waited with her while I went to get something to use as a stretcher. Back at the house I paced a little then it came to me - I got the kitchen table and flipped it, put Selma Rae's yoga mat in there. It's not an easy thing to carry but it was manageable. Taking it to the creek was no picnic (table!) but I did it and Selma Rae and I carried it with the doe in it back to the house. I won't say it was fast.
The fawn must've smelled us coming because she was up and on her feet pacing when we got to the kitchen and laid the doe down, still in the table. She let me palpate her abdomen and it seemed to be her ribs that were bothering her, but there was no blood so we just let her take it easy.
It's been a few weeks now and she's up walking, we made a pen off the kitchen door out back and she and the fawn are doing fine. She's been nursing the fawn since about the third day. Childress patrols the fence and keeps everybody feeling safe. Selma Rae keeps singing the Do Ray Mi song a lot, especially when she's brushing her teeth with the electro-sonic toothbrush.
Monday, May 4, 2009
World Laughter Day
Today is World Laughter Day. Don't let that be so funny you forget to laugh! I have known about this holiday for some time now. In fact, the first time I heard about it, I fell off my dinosaur.
Happy WLD, May 4!
MM
Happy WLD, May 4!
MM
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Childress Saves
Childress, my dog, is part Border Collie, part Australian Shepherd, part some kind of hound and part some kind of setter. He's the smartest dog I've ever known. Today when I got home from Trader Joe's, he was sitting just outside the gate. You may recall this is the gate I fixed, so it shuts and latches, but it's a ranch style gate - Childress can step easily between the beams. We don't have to worry about him running off. He's not that kind of guy.
Childress is sitting just outside the gate and when I start to open it, he gets up and walks between me and the gate. He herds me away from the gate. I tell him to knock it off, because I've got ice cream and it takes me twenty minutes to get out of town to the house, but he won't let me open that gate. Selma Rae's not home.
I had to turn the tables on Childress and try to herd him away from the gate but he basically said, "nothing doing!" he barked at me! He barked at me like Lassie in an urgent situation. So I asked him if Timmy was trapped in the well and he starts away from the gate along the fence, but keeps looking back at me and barking. I set down the groceries - by now the ice cream isn't evoking my sense of responsibility as much as Childress is. I follow him. Now I'm getting curious. Childress sees I'm following and picks up his pace and leads me to the seven redwoods about 500 yards down the fence trail.
There's a fawn. It's alone. It's actually pretty well hidden in the grass, but there it is.
So I sat down out of the way to watch a while and Childress sat beside me. We hid so the mother would feel comfortable approaching. We sat til twilight, til dusk and that fawn just waited. When dark came she started to bleat. It was so mournful, so uncertain. I heard Selma Rae's car coming up the drive and saw the lights. Childress sat watch and I went to get Selma Rae - and a flashlight from the car.
The three of us sat in our hiding place til at least 9:30 and the fawn finally stopped crying and seemed to go to sleep. No mama. Coyotes were yipping in the distance. Childress pretty much tip toed over to that fawn and lay down beside it. And the fawn let him. So Selma Rae and I made our decision.
And that is why right now there is a fawn sleeping soundly on a bed of grass here in the den. And that is why Childress is spending the night beside her, and why I'm too riveted to go to bed. It is why Selma Rae made a baby bottle out of a glove and a water bottle, warmed up some milk, and why the fawn drank it down like a champ. This is also why the ice cream melted.
At dawn, we track down Fawn's mother.
Childress is sitting just outside the gate and when I start to open it, he gets up and walks between me and the gate. He herds me away from the gate. I tell him to knock it off, because I've got ice cream and it takes me twenty minutes to get out of town to the house, but he won't let me open that gate. Selma Rae's not home.
I had to turn the tables on Childress and try to herd him away from the gate but he basically said, "nothing doing!" he barked at me! He barked at me like Lassie in an urgent situation. So I asked him if Timmy was trapped in the well and he starts away from the gate along the fence, but keeps looking back at me and barking. I set down the groceries - by now the ice cream isn't evoking my sense of responsibility as much as Childress is. I follow him. Now I'm getting curious. Childress sees I'm following and picks up his pace and leads me to the seven redwoods about 500 yards down the fence trail.
There's a fawn. It's alone. It's actually pretty well hidden in the grass, but there it is.
So I sat down out of the way to watch a while and Childress sat beside me. We hid so the mother would feel comfortable approaching. We sat til twilight, til dusk and that fawn just waited. When dark came she started to bleat. It was so mournful, so uncertain. I heard Selma Rae's car coming up the drive and saw the lights. Childress sat watch and I went to get Selma Rae - and a flashlight from the car.
The three of us sat in our hiding place til at least 9:30 and the fawn finally stopped crying and seemed to go to sleep. No mama. Coyotes were yipping in the distance. Childress pretty much tip toed over to that fawn and lay down beside it. And the fawn let him. So Selma Rae and I made our decision.
And that is why right now there is a fawn sleeping soundly on a bed of grass here in the den. And that is why Childress is spending the night beside her, and why I'm too riveted to go to bed. It is why Selma Rae made a baby bottle out of a glove and a water bottle, warmed up some milk, and why the fawn drank it down like a champ. This is also why the ice cream melted.
At dawn, we track down Fawn's mother.
Monday, April 13, 2009
Cirtus Courage
Had class tonight. The girl who usually sits in the row next to me was uncharacteristically quiet. I asked her if she was okay. She sat up a little straighter and said she was fine, but within a few minutes of Roberta's lecturing she was slumping down, chin on her palm, leaning on her elbow. Roberta was explaining the next assignment would be a "mood piece," and the girl just went into full "heads up seven up" position, except no thumbs up.
At break I gave her an orange juice from the machine and asked if she needed to talk about it. I'm not usually the guy who does a thing like this but all the other students were mesmerized by their cellphones. At first when I'd see 'em from a distance I thought enlightenment was breaking out all over - thought they were all contemplating their navels. Nope. Texting.
The girl's name's Cindy. I'd put her at about 24. As the orange juice seemed to be giving her a little courage she just said, "I miss my boyfriend."
Oh. I didn't know for sure what to do next, did I want to crack this open? "Where is he?"
On came the crying. Told me they broke up because he couldn't find a job and didn't know what he was going to do, didn't want to string her along. As the next comment came out my mouth I tried to stop it, but it was reflex. As soon as I heard it I wanted to kick myself for reminding her of the obvious and making her feel worse. Simple and unstoppable I said he sounds like a good man.
The crying simmered down. She took a big breath and seemed relieved. She said, "Thank you."
If anybody wants to explain women to me, and I'm probably not the first man to ask, I'm listening.
MM
At break I gave her an orange juice from the machine and asked if she needed to talk about it. I'm not usually the guy who does a thing like this but all the other students were mesmerized by their cellphones. At first when I'd see 'em from a distance I thought enlightenment was breaking out all over - thought they were all contemplating their navels. Nope. Texting.
The girl's name's Cindy. I'd put her at about 24. As the orange juice seemed to be giving her a little courage she just said, "I miss my boyfriend."
Oh. I didn't know for sure what to do next, did I want to crack this open? "Where is he?"
On came the crying. Told me they broke up because he couldn't find a job and didn't know what he was going to do, didn't want to string her along. As the next comment came out my mouth I tried to stop it, but it was reflex. As soon as I heard it I wanted to kick myself for reminding her of the obvious and making her feel worse. Simple and unstoppable I said he sounds like a good man.
The crying simmered down. She took a big breath and seemed relieved. She said, "Thank you."
If anybody wants to explain women to me, and I'm probably not the first man to ask, I'm listening.
MM
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Always More than Two Possibilities
I got a challenge today. I was asked if I would rather be right or loved. Why do people create these pretend either/or decisions? I'd rather be right AND loved. I'd rather be rich AND happy. I'd rather be fast AND slow. More than one thing is possible at a time. And this also reminds me of that little piece of Yoda Starwars pseudo wisdom about, "Oh, there is no try..." That's bullshit, pardon my French. Same smart ass who asked me if I'd rather be right or loved tried to pull that one on me. Said, "Max, try to pick up that pen [from the desk]." I picked it up. He says, "I didn't tell you to pick it up, I told you to TRY to pick it up. Trying isn't doing." I set the pen down, pushed it toward him a little and said, "Pick up that pen without trying."
That's when he gave me the alternatives of either being right or loved. I have to admit I fell slightly into the dualistic trap because as I stood up I said, "I don't need you to love me. I need you to hire me." Then I walked out. Man's gotta have his dignity first, and I guess that means he has his food on the table second. I'd rather have a job AND dignity, but I guess forced to have one or the other, dignity's the foundation.
Man calls me half an hour later and offers me the management position instead of the lower level I went in for. Said he liked the thing about the pen, never thought of it that way before. So starting tomorrow I'll be finding worksites for the team, rather than just going to 'em. Well I gotta love that, right!?
MM
That's when he gave me the alternatives of either being right or loved. I have to admit I fell slightly into the dualistic trap because as I stood up I said, "I don't need you to love me. I need you to hire me." Then I walked out. Man's gotta have his dignity first, and I guess that means he has his food on the table second. I'd rather have a job AND dignity, but I guess forced to have one or the other, dignity's the foundation.
Man calls me half an hour later and offers me the management position instead of the lower level I went in for. Said he liked the thing about the pen, never thought of it that way before. So starting tomorrow I'll be finding worksites for the team, rather than just going to 'em. Well I gotta love that, right!?
MM
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Ictheus frigidis
Aha! Another "A". I guess that means I'm a good student! I did my character analysis paper - now don't think I'm really getting that caught up in my own importance here, it's just a 101 class, but I wanted to become a better writer after starting this weblog and so I'm taking the class. I did my character analysis about a woman my wife works with, Julia. She's a middle manager with a very nice office who does accounting. The thing about Julia is she's a real cold fish. So I did my analysis on the presumption that somewhere inside was a nice warm person who was just afraid, but as I wrote, I concluded that actually she's a real cold fish and likes it that way.
I think I got good points for having an insight while writing, that I was able to guide the reader to. Some people are the way they are by accident, and some are the way they are by calculation. I've met Julia at several functions at Selma Rae's work, dinners, fundraisers, things like that. I want to like Julia so I pretended to myself there was a value in her I could connect to. But actually she's a different animal. She's a cold fish.
Maybe I'll post the analysis. But probably not. I mean, I changed the name to protect Selma Rae and if I went and made it more clear who she could be I could get slapped across the face, figuratively speaking, by that cold fish, and I don't think I'd like it.
But then again, since Julia's proud of her way of being, maybe she'd be flattered. I'm not willing to test the theory. I was talking to her at a dinner Selma Rae had to drag me to, and when she's done talking she just looks away. No goodbye or thank you or have a nice day, just moves on. Cold fish.
I got the A because I followed instructions and like I said, shared some insight. I think I also got the A because of the bell curve and the fact that most of the students in the class are not much older than 18, 20 years old, it being community college, so my works kind of stand out.
I think I got good points for having an insight while writing, that I was able to guide the reader to. Some people are the way they are by accident, and some are the way they are by calculation. I've met Julia at several functions at Selma Rae's work, dinners, fundraisers, things like that. I want to like Julia so I pretended to myself there was a value in her I could connect to. But actually she's a different animal. She's a cold fish.
Maybe I'll post the analysis. But probably not. I mean, I changed the name to protect Selma Rae and if I went and made it more clear who she could be I could get slapped across the face, figuratively speaking, by that cold fish, and I don't think I'd like it.
But then again, since Julia's proud of her way of being, maybe she'd be flattered. I'm not willing to test the theory. I was talking to her at a dinner Selma Rae had to drag me to, and when she's done talking she just looks away. No goodbye or thank you or have a nice day, just moves on. Cold fish.
I got the A because I followed instructions and like I said, shared some insight. I think I also got the A because of the bell curve and the fact that most of the students in the class are not much older than 18, 20 years old, it being community college, so my works kind of stand out.
Saturday, March 28, 2009
The Sweet Sense of Later
Why does the internet seem so much more interesting when I have something else to do? I'm doing my research to decide about my character analysis for my writing class, but all of the sudden, as I try to decide if I'm going to do a real person or a fictional character, everything else seems so much more crucial. Do I really care how much fat is in a hamburger from Chili's versus some other giant chain restaurant when I don't even eat hamburgers and I stay away from chain restaurants? Do I really need to know if opposites attract or just pretend they do? Must I dwell on the cat nursing the puppies or the dumbest criminal in Philadelphia who mugs a cop in a bathroom stall in a hotel full of cops at a convention?
I mean, these are interesting items but two days ago when my assignment deadline wasn't looming, the same - pardon me - crap was out there and it wasn't nearly as interesting as it's been tonight.
I'm thinking Atticus Finch, because I love "To Kill a Mockingbird" but that's a little obvious. Maybe one of the more obscure fictional characters would be more intriguing. Or I could just do one about myself, and why, or how, procrastination seems to make my life more endearing to me. No, that's autobiography, that's next semester, if I stay with the program.
I do like having something to look forward to. Maybe it's that simple. Selma Rae says we should plan a vacation. But with the floorboards creaking in the fifth and sixth steps the way they are, I think we need to spend our hard earned money on more practical items.
I mean, these are interesting items but two days ago when my assignment deadline wasn't looming, the same - pardon me - crap was out there and it wasn't nearly as interesting as it's been tonight.
I'm thinking Atticus Finch, because I love "To Kill a Mockingbird" but that's a little obvious. Maybe one of the more obscure fictional characters would be more intriguing. Or I could just do one about myself, and why, or how, procrastination seems to make my life more endearing to me. No, that's autobiography, that's next semester, if I stay with the program.
I do like having something to look forward to. Maybe it's that simple. Selma Rae says we should plan a vacation. But with the floorboards creaking in the fifth and sixth steps the way they are, I think we need to spend our hard earned money on more practical items.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
The Maxiverse
The haiku got an A! Roberta (instructor) said she loved the content, but had to also grade on its structure and how well I stuck to the concept of a haiku, which is it's sort of a riddle, the punch line, or last line, pulling it all together. She said she had to think about mine because the fact that she lost five thousand dollars in one day on a stock market account made her want to give me the A "without using any of my critical thinking skills at all!" She'd bought tabletops. She thought that was a pretty safe investment, tables always being necessary. Turns out they may be necessary, but they are very commonly outsourced - well a combination of outsourcing and importing for manufacture, but more lately, just stuck together in China and brought over here on a slow boat and sold cheap.
So, first assignment and I got an A. I'm glad I went back to school. It's much easier when there's a little wisdom behind the curiosity! Now I'm getting cocky. Next assignment is a character analysis. I can choose fiction or someone from real life. Thinking about it til Saturday. Then I start writing.
It's not like I hang around fixing things and going to classes at the community college. I have a job - I just don't feel certain how much of my personal information I'd like to divulge on this thing, so I'm just sharing what comes up. Okay, I'm censoring myself a little, but this is the maxiverse, so I think a little thought should go into the presentations. Maxiverse. Hey: I made a clever joke. I think I'll use it for the title of this entry so it's copyrighted!
So, first assignment and I got an A. I'm glad I went back to school. It's much easier when there's a little wisdom behind the curiosity! Now I'm getting cocky. Next assignment is a character analysis. I can choose fiction or someone from real life. Thinking about it til Saturday. Then I start writing.
It's not like I hang around fixing things and going to classes at the community college. I have a job - I just don't feel certain how much of my personal information I'd like to divulge on this thing, so I'm just sharing what comes up. Okay, I'm censoring myself a little, but this is the maxiverse, so I think a little thought should go into the presentations. Maxiverse. Hey: I made a clever joke. I think I'll use it for the title of this entry so it's copyrighted!
Friday, March 20, 2009
Economy Haiku
I'm taking a writing class at the community college. Here's the haiku I wrote for an assignment. I don't know what my grade is yet.
Greedy CEO's
calculators set on stun:
economy wrecked.
-MM
Greedy CEO's
calculators set on stun:
economy wrecked.
-MM
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Decisive Hinges
Hinges are fascinating things. Hinges open doors. People give credit to the doorknob, or the foot in the door, or the presence of anything on the other side of a door that opens it, but really, what determines whether or not a door will open? Hinges.
Without hinges a door is a prop, a plank, a board, which, without working hinges, is an obstacle. You might be able to move it out of the way, but it's not as easy as opening a door.
I like the expression that this or that "hinges" on a decision. That's the kind of decision that makes or breaks a possibility. Hinges need to be even and well adjusted. A good decision hinges on the same things.
Without hinges a door is a prop, a plank, a board, which, without working hinges, is an obstacle. You might be able to move it out of the way, but it's not as easy as opening a door.
I like the expression that this or that "hinges" on a decision. That's the kind of decision that makes or breaks a possibility. Hinges need to be even and well adjusted. A good decision hinges on the same things.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
In Good Repair
Selma Rae made fruit preserves. They're orange. Marmalade. Had me singing in my head that Pointer Sisters song all day. They were ready by dinner. She put most of 'em in to jars for - well they're preserves, but we had some with dinner and so she made biscuits. Not the kind you break out of the tube, but with flour and baking powder which it turns out is different than baking soda, and eggs and salt and butter and delicious!
We were old fashioned today. She cooked, I was the handy man. I fixed the doggie door. It was stuck on in. If Childress goes out, the flap shuts after him, but if he comes in, the flap stays up. This invites the racoons. The oranges had been boiling down on the stove all night and Selma Rae got up about 4 and turned off the stove so they could cool, and when we got up at six we had two raccoons.
Our timing getting up was luckier than lucky, because as one raccoon innocently drank out of Childress' water bowl, the other was up on the counter, whipping his little hand at the edge of the lid to the pot (still hot) and about to knock it off. If she'd knocked off the lid the next move would've been to knock the pot to the floor.
Instead, I yelled, "get outa there!" and Childress sprung to his feet growling as his claws tried to grip on the linoleum and barking when he got traction he chased those racoons to that doggie door and the first one hit the flap that was sticking horizontal into the kitchen and the second one hit the first one and they tumbled and scrambled a little and Childress, well he didn't really want to catch 'em so he stood there barking at 'em. He was scolding those racoons for missing the target but he kept his eyes on the racoons and turned his head toward me like to say, "When are you gonna fix that dog door?" Childress wouldn't be the kind of dog who would say "doggie."
The racoons got their bearings and slip-skulked through the doggie door and ran off and Childress ducked his head out the dog door standing wide stanced in the kitchen and barked a few more choice phrases then he hopped outside to go pee.
So today I fixed the flap on the dog door which meant replacing a few springs and a bolt and I had 'em in the garage and Selma Rae put the marmalade in jars and we had mashed potatoes and string beans and salmon for dinner and biscuits butter and with fresh, delicious slightly bitter, sweet marmalade. So I said to Selma Rae, "Voulez vous couche avec moi, c'est sois?" and she said, "Oh you know I love it when you fix things!"
We were old fashioned today. She cooked, I was the handy man. I fixed the doggie door. It was stuck on in. If Childress goes out, the flap shuts after him, but if he comes in, the flap stays up. This invites the racoons. The oranges had been boiling down on the stove all night and Selma Rae got up about 4 and turned off the stove so they could cool, and when we got up at six we had two raccoons.
Our timing getting up was luckier than lucky, because as one raccoon innocently drank out of Childress' water bowl, the other was up on the counter, whipping his little hand at the edge of the lid to the pot (still hot) and about to knock it off. If she'd knocked off the lid the next move would've been to knock the pot to the floor.
Instead, I yelled, "get outa there!" and Childress sprung to his feet growling as his claws tried to grip on the linoleum and barking when he got traction he chased those racoons to that doggie door and the first one hit the flap that was sticking horizontal into the kitchen and the second one hit the first one and they tumbled and scrambled a little and Childress, well he didn't really want to catch 'em so he stood there barking at 'em. He was scolding those racoons for missing the target but he kept his eyes on the racoons and turned his head toward me like to say, "When are you gonna fix that dog door?" Childress wouldn't be the kind of dog who would say "doggie."
The racoons got their bearings and slip-skulked through the doggie door and ran off and Childress ducked his head out the dog door standing wide stanced in the kitchen and barked a few more choice phrases then he hopped outside to go pee.
So today I fixed the flap on the dog door which meant replacing a few springs and a bolt and I had 'em in the garage and Selma Rae put the marmalade in jars and we had mashed potatoes and string beans and salmon for dinner and biscuits butter and with fresh, delicious slightly bitter, sweet marmalade. So I said to Selma Rae, "Voulez vous couche avec moi, c'est sois?" and she said, "Oh you know I love it when you fix things!"
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Man as Fighter
I haven't said my age yet but I'll tell you now I'm fifty six. As a man gets older, he mellows some, but he's still got fight in him, if he's lucky. I'm lucky. Now I'm not a squabbler, much. And I'm not a complainer, much. But sometimes I just need to run ragged on some such or other. I can't help it - it's like the involuntary reflexes of my youthful exuberance have metamorphosized into a need to rail about something from time to time. I found out today I'm talk radio's favorite demographic.
And it pisses me off.
I need to fix something. Now I know why I put off fixing that gate last winter. I needed it to look forward to.
And it pisses me off.
I need to fix something. Now I know why I put off fixing that gate last winter. I needed it to look forward to.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
But for a Pipe: A Dream
Selma Rae does pottery, and we were talking last night she said, "I do pottery, you do poetry!" She talked me into putting one of my pieces on here. This one's called:
"But for a Pipe: A Dream"
The man with the beard
stands by the steps
he thinks he looks distinguished there
elbow patches on his jacket
book in hand, pensive
but the woman can see
the weak chin he hides
and the strict limitations
by which he abides
even if he is reading
Tolstoy.
"But for a Pipe: A Dream"
The man with the beard
stands by the steps
he thinks he looks distinguished there
elbow patches on his jacket
book in hand, pensive
but the woman can see
the weak chin he hides
and the strict limitations
by which he abides
even if he is reading
Tolstoy.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Gate's Fixed
This weblogging takes up some serious time! I know because I haven't been weblogging. But I did fix the gate out front, because I did get my hammer back, and I did get one of Selma Rae's beautiful bowls for Christmas (a blue one with a burgundy red glaze below the edge on the inside, presented filled with blood oranges and cloves wrapped in the funny papers).
I got the hammer back because I followed Selma Rae out to the car with nails between my lips and, since I'm adept, said to her that I'd only be able to kiss her goodbye for the day if I didn't have nails in my mouth, and I'd only be able to take the nails out of my mouth if I had my hammer back so I could fix the gate.
Fortunately, Selma Rae takes to my particular kind of charm and she took the nails out herself and kissed me French style right there in the driveway. Put the nails gently into my hand and handed me my hammer from the floor of the back seat of the car. Showed cleavage when she reached back for it. Now I'm not gonna get all risque here, but I think that's enough to say she is so much more beautiful to me than Gina Lolabrigida could ever be - mostly because Selma Rae is real and Gina's a phantom from a past I never really even lived in.
I got the hammer back because I followed Selma Rae out to the car with nails between my lips and, since I'm adept, said to her that I'd only be able to kiss her goodbye for the day if I didn't have nails in my mouth, and I'd only be able to take the nails out of my mouth if I had my hammer back so I could fix the gate.
Fortunately, Selma Rae takes to my particular kind of charm and she took the nails out herself and kissed me French style right there in the driveway. Put the nails gently into my hand and handed me my hammer from the floor of the back seat of the car. Showed cleavage when she reached back for it. Now I'm not gonna get all risque here, but I think that's enough to say she is so much more beautiful to me than Gina Lolabrigida could ever be - mostly because Selma Rae is real and Gina's a phantom from a past I never really even lived in.
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