tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-90589181613805868852024-03-13T04:29:22.080-07:00Max MiffriesI'm Max Miffries. Thank you for coming to my weblog.ojeanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01070965779762431690noreply@blogger.comBlogger25125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9058918161380586885.post-89649888554286285932021-12-09T13:34:00.006-08:002021-12-09T13:36:48.066-08:00Back to the Weblog<p>Woah hey, it's been a long time since I've said anything here. What with a certain social media company claiming the space of our greater existential universe and naming itself thusly, I'm considering moving out of it and into the slower lane of weblogging again. </p><p>So much has happened since I last wrote - including my foray into the use of social media to the extent that artificial tears have become a bedside staple. Ow, I don't like that image! Well it just means I've been straining my eyes (oh! what a vision!) looking at the computer too much. And by artificial tears I mean my eyes get dry from staring for long periods and forgetting to blink (I guess) and that the excessive amounts of information I consume daily trigger a treadmill of superficially received emotional experiences for what, when I was a young man, well just one or two such issues would exhaust my attention for weeks. How can you really feel the impression of a reality when you dust by it so fast you barely give it credence?</p><p>When I started this weblog I was a lot older than I am now though. I was falling into a routine and it was aging me. I feel more refreshed these days, in some ways, and stagnant in others because of the pandemic. So what I mean by saying I was older then is that I was on a settling path toward retirement, picking up some hobbies, including writing, and now, just like the millennials, I'm considering reinventing myself.</p><p>Let's see what happens. Not sure I want to try to catch you up on the recent past or start fresh here. So for now, I'll say I've established my resurgence and am open to development.</p><p>MM</p>ojeanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01070965779762431690noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9058918161380586885.post-1153936764458093592010-02-11T06:48:00.000-08:002010-02-11T10:52:16.264-08:00Duck Season! Rabbit Season!Hunting season, and hunting zones make no sense to me. Neither does the notion of legal killing in war. I think they're based on the same kind of cowardace: "I have standards until I am scared enough to compromise them." So then, what are standards? What are ethics?<br />
<br />
This semester Roberta asked me to guest lecture in her 101 class. I'm gonna use that for discussion and see what happens. See also what happens when you're over fifty and you take a writing class at the community college? The next academic year you find yourself the budding teacher! Doors open!ojeanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01070965779762431690noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9058918161380586885.post-22581695384535440862009-09-20T22:59:00.000-07:002009-09-20T23:05:29.645-07:00Where Hunting's Off LimitsIt'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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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. <br /><br />More later. MM.ojeanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01070965779762431690noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9058918161380586885.post-19958165171931981322009-07-03T12:12:00.000-07:002009-07-03T12:31:52.709-07:00There's a Poet in YouI 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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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?"<br /><br />I'm not sure what she means.ojeanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01070965779762431690noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9058918161380586885.post-51794196264395480682009-05-13T09:20:00.000-07:002009-05-13T21:51:09.968-07:00Doe, a Deer<div>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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.</div>ojeanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01070965779762431690noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9058918161380586885.post-40967454177703039822009-05-04T06:12:00.000-07:002009-05-04T15:14:12.865-07:00World Laughter DayToday is <a href="http://worldlaughterday.org/">World Laughter Day</a>. 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.<br /><br />Happy WLD, May 4!<br />MMojeanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01070965779762431690noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9058918161380586885.post-1419853392340299612009-04-23T23:29:00.000-07:002009-04-24T00:05:45.820-07:00Childress SavesChildress, 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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />There's a fawn. It's alone. It's actually pretty well hidden in the grass, but there it is.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />At dawn, we track down Fawn's mother.ojeanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01070965779762431690noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9058918161380586885.post-89201603040600231502009-04-13T23:36:00.001-07:002009-04-14T07:29:59.277-07:00Cirtus CourageHad 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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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."<br /><br />Oh. I didn't know for sure what to do next, did I want to crack this open? "Where is he?"<br /><br />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. <br /><br />The crying simmered down. She took a big breath and seemed relieved. She said, "Thank you."<br /><br />If anybody wants to explain women to me, and I'm probably not the first man to ask, I'm listening.<br /><br />MMojeanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01070965779762431690noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9058918161380586885.post-69956469134260818852009-04-08T23:50:00.000-07:002009-04-09T00:02:56.246-07:00Always More than Two PossibilitiesI 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."<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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!?<br /><br />MMojeanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01070965779762431690noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9058918161380586885.post-70189266553526452192009-04-05T23:02:00.000-07:002009-04-05T23:13:48.920-07:00Ictheus frigidisAha! 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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.ojeanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01070965779762431690noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9058918161380586885.post-22958048076290993082009-03-28T00:11:00.001-07:002009-03-28T00:22:02.564-07:00The Sweet Sense of LaterWhy 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?<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.ojeanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01070965779762431690noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9058918161380586885.post-78014423318001923402009-03-25T22:29:00.000-07:002009-03-25T22:36:30.676-07:00The MaxiverseThe 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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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!ojeanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01070965779762431690noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9058918161380586885.post-26305891048992102432009-03-20T07:20:00.000-07:002009-03-20T15:22:25.780-07:00Economy HaikuI'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.<br /><br />Greedy CEO's<br />calculators set on stun:<br />economy wrecked.<br /><br />-MMojeanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01070965779762431690noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9058918161380586885.post-81017831671507411672009-03-17T22:52:00.000-07:002009-03-18T21:56:02.999-07:00Decisive HingesHinges 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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.ojeanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01070965779762431690noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9058918161380586885.post-31828461278119405102009-03-12T23:30:00.000-07:002009-03-13T09:26:35.598-07:00In Good RepairSelma 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!<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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."<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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!"ojeanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01070965779762431690noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9058918161380586885.post-81432314446090535942009-03-04T21:38:00.000-08:002009-03-12T23:29:48.300-07:00Man as FighterI 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.<br /><br />And it pisses me off.<br /><br />I need to fix something. Now I know why I put off fixing that gate last winter. I needed it to look forward to.ojeanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01070965779762431690noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9058918161380586885.post-39512639952422888052009-02-18T17:28:00.000-08:002009-02-18T17:30:52.950-08:00But for a Pipe: A DreamSelma 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:<br /><br />"But for a Pipe: A Dream"<br /><br />The man with the beard<br />stands by the steps<br />he thinks he looks distinguished there<br />elbow patches on his jacket<br />book in hand, pensive<br />but the woman can see<br />the weak chin he hides<br />and the strict limitations<br />by which he abides<br />even if he is reading<br />Tolstoy.ojeanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01070965779762431690noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9058918161380586885.post-9701900913492139322009-02-04T20:30:00.000-08:002009-02-04T20:37:10.130-08:00Gate's FixedThis 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).<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.ojeanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01070965779762431690noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9058918161380586885.post-43768993080560090592008-12-19T05:00:00.000-08:002008-12-19T17:00:54.645-08:00parallaxParallax conjunctions of the soul often carry waste as well as water.<br /><br />Just thought I'd mention it. More on this later.ojeanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01070965779762431690noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9058918161380586885.post-47140357072244643172008-12-11T21:36:00.000-08:002008-12-11T22:00:53.403-08:00Bowls from BowlsWell, 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!<br /><br />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.<br /><br />Like I said, the TV's cooling off now.<br /><br />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).<br /><br />MMojeanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01070965779762431690noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9058918161380586885.post-59802450396100596892008-12-02T21:51:00.000-08:002008-12-02T22:11:06.184-08:00Gut Level MessagesThe 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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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!"<br /><br />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.<br /><br />MMojeanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01070965779762431690noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9058918161380586885.post-47135111285276592212008-11-20T22:39:00.000-08:002008-11-20T22:46:57.329-08:00Hammers, Books and a GateI 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. <br /><br />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.<br /><br />This weblog <span style="font-style: italic;">is</span> therapeutic. The PTA lady was right!<br /><br />MMojeanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01070965779762431690noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9058918161380586885.post-56960181623778973872008-11-19T21:15:00.000-08:002008-11-19T21:25:48.627-08:00Crackers<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5Qu5dc_8Egk/SST001Yc0nI/AAAAAAAAAT8/bhQVpvSnjeQ/s1600-h/gina+lollobrigida+life.gif"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 141px; height: 190px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5Qu5dc_8Egk/SST001Yc0nI/AAAAAAAAAT8/bhQVpvSnjeQ/s320/gina+lollobrigida+life.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5270606652450329202" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">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. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">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. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">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.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">MM</span>ojeanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01070965779762431690noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9058918161380586885.post-8246293630388389512008-11-09T02:35:00.000-08:002008-11-09T02:41:12.026-08:00That Woman and My Psyche<span style="font-family: courier new;font-size:130%;" >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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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!<br /><br />That's all for now,</span><br />MMojeanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01070965779762431690noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9058918161380586885.post-47594445543967992282008-11-08T14:53:00.000-08:002008-11-08T14:58:07.283-08:00Welcome to my Blog!<span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;">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.</span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;">Thank you for coming. I'll hope to keep you entertained.</span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;">M.M.</span>ojeanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01070965779762431690noreply@blogger.com0