Happy Halloween

Happy Halloween

I find myself alone in the house tonight so I intend to rattle the rafters by cranking up the decibels on the stereo and shaking loose all the ghosts and goblins.

Here's hoping your Halloween is equally rewarding.

Too Poor to Die

Now I know the financial worst is yet to come. How can I deduce anything else from the internet headline that Walmart is selling discount caskets?

Obviously the writing is on the wall - a growing percentage of the population is unable to afford a final resting box for the dearly departed.

I submit that a better approach would be a modern day version of bring out your dead. Instead of a filthy, limping man driving a mule drawn cart loaded with dead bodies, a biological entity recycling vehicle will make weekly rounds to collect bodies recently evacuated by the life essence.

Does the new improved version sound sufficiently politically correct? I wouldn't want to offend anyone's sensibilities.

The non functioning biological entities would be taken to a perpetually burning pyre where they would be reduced to ash and packaged as fertilizer.

The only cost to the departed's survivors would be a nominal pick up and processing fee.

Got'ta run - the local patent office closes soon.

Clown Fear

Media Girl recently reminded me that she is terrified of clowns. The reminder sort of came out of nowhere - there were no clowns to be seen at the time nor had there been any recent close encounters of the red nose kind.

My daughter's fear stems from the movie It, based on the Steven King novel.

Media Girl's statement reminded that as a child College Dude also had a fear of clowns, though his fear had no tie to a specific movie or book so far as I know.

Earlier in my life, when my hairline first started to recede, I had said that when the hair on top of my head got too thin I would go for the Bozo the clown look. I had decided that I would shave the top of my scalp, leaving a ring of hair about ear height that I would douse with hair spray so that the hair stood out on end.

Given that both my children grew up with a fear of clowns, I guess it's a good thing I never followed through on the Bozo hair style.

Hershey Coasters

Our family celebrated my birthday on Saturday with a trip to Hershey Park. We've been there several times in the past, but this was our first night time experience.

Motivated Mom and I are roller coaster fanatics. We were thrilled to discover that park attendance in the dark was low enough that we were able to get on each coaster with virtually no waiting.

Much as I enjoy roller coasters, at the top of the first drop I almost always find myself wondering what form of dementia caused me to misplace my common sense.

Saturday night was no exception. Our first ride was a new coaster with a ninety degree drop on the first hill. That's right - straight down.

Just before gravity took over, I found myself shouting - bad idea, I've changed my mind.

Of course at that point it was too late. The coaster plummeted earthward and I aged an additional year. Then the coaster looped, spun, pointed skyward again, and left terra firma behind.

My screams changed to laughter, I briefly encountered my childhood during a barrel roll, and when the ride was over I hurried on to the next coaster so I could once again laugh at certain death.

Imaginings & A Break

What captivates me during evening walks at this time of year is the warm light coming from inside of the homes I pass.

I think about mothers standing at stoves in the kitchen. I imagine wooden spoons clicking against the inside of metal pots, electric can openers whirring, and kitchen drawers sliding open and shut.

I picture fathers in overstuffed chairs, reading the newspaper, and sipping their favorite beverage.

These images are cliches, I know. The reality is that both parents are probably contributing to the evening meal. Spoons and pots have long been replaced by beeping microwaves -at least on weeknights, I accept that.

But somehow the reality of express living seems less warm, less inviting. So I allow myself the imaginings of what was.

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I'll be away from the internet for a few days. Look for a new post on Tuesday.

Needles and Zen

Media Girl had her first acupuncture treatment yesterday - and became an instant believer.

Suffering from a lowered immune system resulting from stress, Media Girl accepted my recommendation to give acupuncture a shot.

I knew the results as soon as I walked into the treatment room at the end of her session. Media Girl was sitting on the edge of the treatment table with a mellow half smile, drooping eyelids, and a faraway look in her eyes.

None the less I had to ask, So how did it go?

I could have poured out half a jar of molasses by the time Media Girl finally turned her head in my direction, raised a finger to her lips, and shushed me into silence.

I was envious. On a day when I was rushing from one appointment to the next Media Girl had found Zen.

On the drive home, my daughter commented that she couldn't believe half a dozen needles had turned every muscle in her body to jelly and that she couldn't wait for next week's return visit.

I'm wondering how many readers have discovered the benefits of acupuncture. I'd love to hear about your experiences. You can e-mail me at scripterbwk@verizon.net.

Struggle to Think

I'm struggling to think tonight. A monstrous head cold has my usually creative thoughts ending in fog enshrouded dead ends. I've changed the subject of tonight's post four times and still cannot seem to come up with one cohesive paragraph.

I'm wondering now how the word cold ever came to the name for the annoying ailment that makes our noses run, our eyes water, and our heads feel like they weigh fifty pounds. It seems to me sludge would be a more appropriate name for the malady.

When we get the sniffles our thoughts flow as slowly as sludge, we sludge through the day, and cough medicines taste like sludge.

Yes, all in all I think sludge is the better choice. It certainly invokes more sympathy. If we hear someone has a cold we dismiss it with a wave of the hand. But we would feel genuinely sorry and concerned for someone who told us they had sludge.

There's no way your boss would expect you to come into work if you had sludge. In fact I'm betting you would be instructed to stay the heck away until you were sure the sludge was gone.

I'm off to find my sludge relief tonic now.

Jack Frost

I can't believe I have had to scrape thick coatings of frost from my windshield the past two mornings. Apparently Jack Frost doesn't understand we're only a month into post-summer and that his invitation to the area isn't valid for another two months yet.

Jack Frost's existence first became known to me in early childhood. Our family lived in a house with a storm door which always frosted up on cold Christmas season days. The crystaline patterns on the glass would prompt my mother to say that Jack Frost had paid us a visit. The very thought of an elf who directed flows of air cold enough to ice an entire door was enough to make me shiver inside my footed pajamas.

It was the holiday cartoon Frosty the Snowman that put a face to Jack Frost. A mischievous imp who delighted in bringing chilling strife to the lives of people and snowmen alike.

If it's all the same to you Mr. Frost, I'd appreciate it if you'd bundle up your annoyances and slide on out of here. I understand Manitoba is beautiful at this time of year.

Anxious Gum

What a disappointment to find that the one television show I watch religiously was superseded by a baseball game that had run into extra innings.

I lost my interest in baseball many years ago. The game just moved too slowly for me. But I was reminded tonight of the excitement that can still be found in the game.

The reminder came in the form of a young boy's face filling the television screen. The boy was sitting in the stands and wearing the hat of his favorite team. Just beneath the lower edge of the hat, flexing jaw muscles suggested unbearable tension. The young man had one end of a generous wad of chewing gum clamped between his teeth. The other end of the sticky string was wrapped around the tip of his index finger.

This was a study in anxiety. The boy's team had the bases loaded with no outs and was surely poised for a win. And yet.... those jaw muscles clenched. And yet... the gum wrapped first one, two, then three times around the index finger.

As it turned out, the unthinkable happened. No runs were scored. The boy was long since lost in the crowd. I wondered what happened to the gum. Was the chewy wad released by a jaw that dropped in disbelief or did it snap in half when the boy pounded his hand on his knee in frustration?

Media Girl & Poetry

Media Girl is going to be a celebrity. She will be reading some of her poetry at a public venue this Tuesday.

Since Halloween is just around the corner, the theme for the evening is masks. Media Girl's poetry will fit in well. For a teenager she has some very mature views of the world. Her writing often bores into the dark, hidden agendas of relationships at all levels.

My daughter is taking the event in stride and I'm impressed by her calm demeanor. It takes a lot of self confidence for a seventeen year old to get up in front of a group of adults she's never met and read her one of her own creations.

I'm sure I'll be more nervous than her. It's always been that way since the days of elementary school plays and concerts. I would sit in the audience with clammy hands and beads of sweat on my forehead while my daughter performed her part flawlessly.

Picture Process

I'm rearranging my office space and I'm undecided on which of two pictures to hang above my desk.

It's a big decision because the picture will inevitably influence my thoughts when I raise my eyes from the keyboard to ponder the direction of a chapter, short story... or blog post.

One picture is an oil painting of a country scene in the post-summer season. A gravel road winding between a barn and shed would invite my thoughts into the carefree enjoyment of a warm afternoon.

The other picture shows a lantern carrying gentlemen dressed in the garb of the 1800's standing in the shadowy entrance to a crypt. Obviously an iron gated crypt leads in a decidedly darker direction than a country walk, but since a lot of my writing deals with the paranormal, perhaps this is the more appropriate of the two.

Then again, perhaps I should just leave the wall above my desk undecorated and let my musings create a scene unique to the moment.

Eyebrows and Spas

I frequently pass a spa on my comings and goings - the sign in front of the spa advertises massage, hot stone therapy, essential oil therapy, etc.

Today I noticed the list of services had changed to include eyebrow threading.
I have no idea what eyebrow threading is but it certainly doesn't sound like anything I would associate with the other relaxing services offered. In fact it sounds downright painful.

I'm picturing the client lying on a bed while the "threader" uses a needle and thread to weave a pattern into the skin along the eyebrow hairline.

Do you suppose the client needs to remain immobile during the threading in order to prevent the hot stones from sliding off the chakra points?

I shouldn't make fun of something I don't understand. I'm a firm believer in alternative health therapy. It's just that the term eyebrow threading conjures up some very peculiar images.

If anyone out there knows what this treatment really is, I'd love to be enlightened. You can shoot me an e-mail at: scripterbwk@verizon.net

Or perhaps I'll just knock on the door of the spa and ask.

Topsy Turvy

It's been a topsy turvy kind of day so here's a short meditation.

The problem with the future is that by the time we recognize it, it has become the past.

Cork History

I found a cork from a bottle on the beach the other day and started wondering about how it came to be there.

Had someone been drinking a bottle of wine on the beach and left the cork behind or had the cork come in on the tide?

Perhaps the cork had originated from a seaside restaurant on the Riviera and traversed the ocean to arrive on the Delaware shore.If so, had the restaurant patrons been celebrating a special event like an anniversary, or had it been nothing more than a casual dinner party?

The cork could have had more mundane origins. The captain of a local fishing boat could have inadvertently let the cork fall from his grip.

What if the cork had been in a bottle containing a note? Had the note been found and the cork discarded or had the cork come out in the ocean and the note lost forever?

If the note had been lost forever, and if the note had come from someone stranded on a tiny island in the middle of the ocean, what had happened to that person? Had they died from lack of food and fresh water or had they learned to survive on coconut milk and roast lizard?

It's amazing the world of possibilities that a single cork can open.

Race Cab

I was sitting at a traffic light yesterday when a dragster pulled up beside me.

The rumble of a high performance engine made the fillings in my teeth rattle. The sound waves had the rear view mirror of my car vibrating so much that the cars behind me were a blur in the mirror.

The light tuned green and the dragster raced off. Except it turned out to be a taxi cab making all the racket.

I guess removing the muffler saves on horn honking.

Time Flies

I can't believe it's already been a year since I last talked about Greyhound weekend in Rehoboth Beach and Dewey Beach.



That means I've been doing this blog for over a year now.



How time flies!



For those of you who are new readers - or old readers who have forgotten what I posted a year ago - Greyhound weekend is when dogs are welcomed at most establishments in Rehoboth Beach and Dewey Beach in Delaware. Retail stores have bowls of water and doggie treats available for canine companions and restaurants allow dogs to accompany their owners for a declicious meal. Over half of the hotels and motels allow canines during the annual event.

This started off a an event to promote the adopting of greyhounds, but has expanded to include canines of all shapes and sizes.

For more info about greyhounds you can go to: www.adopt-a-greyhound.org

Glow Worm

There's a children's song that includes the words glow little glow worm, glow and glimmer

The song has always conjured up images of a cute little worm glowing in the dim evening light.

That image was shattered forever by an episode of the television series Planet Earth. It turns out glow worms are disgusting little critters that spit out sticky strings of mucus with which to ensnare unsuspecting insects.

When I hear the song in the future I'm going to picture a slimy worm sucking a fluttering insect into its mouth and chomping the life out of the captured bug.

Glow little glow worm, chew your dinner

Tough Catering

Competition must really be tough if caterers are willing to haul bulky seating to outdoor functions.

That's what went through my mind when I passed a house with three sets of benches sitting in the front lawn. I'm talking about the type of bench seats found in Mom and Pop diners - cushioned benches that back up to one another. A vertical strip of dark wood covered the seams where the backs met and the seats themselves were upholstered with an appetizing pumpkin colored vinyl.

I guess the tables hadn't arrived yet - or maybe the benches were the first items to be moved out front for an upcoming yard sale.

If a yard sale was the true reason for the presence of the benches, I can't imagine the kitchen or dining room they were pulled from.

Because surely nobody would haul bench seats from a diner just to try to sell them in their front yard - would they?

The Price of Status

Two years ago we were forced to shop for a new car for Motivated Mom after the car she had been driving was totaled by a careless driver who ran a red light.

We ended up getting a used BMW. It wasn't the BMW name so much as the heated seats that sold my wife on the car. Motivated Mom and I share an intense displeasure of cold weather so I could empathize. Since her daily schedule includes a lot of driving time, I figured Motivated Mom was entitled to a warm butt.

I hadn't foreseen the cost of maintaining a status car. We recently scheduled service for the vehicle because of a warning light on the dashboard. What we thought might be a leaking coolant hose turned into hose repair, thermostat replacement, brake overhaul, belt replacement, and axle boot replacement.

It seemed we were assuredly heading for a budget breaking thousand dollar repair bill. I was stunned when the total came in at over two grand. (I wonder if the cashiers at the dealership have to be trained in CPR.)

I'm convinced half of the price was the BMW logo on the replacement parts.

Now I remember why I loved my first car - a Volkswagen Beetle - so much.

Subjective Classic

When it comes to music, everybody has their own idea of what constitutes a classic song.
For some of us the classics live in '60's rock and roll, for others the early years of rap are where a classic is found.

Last night I had the opportunity to watch the performance of a band whose members believe the true classics are the hits by Frank Sinatra, Bobby Darin, Nat King Cole, and Tony Bennett.

I must admit that I rarely listen to music from that era, but Eddie Sherman and his "orchestra" put on a very enjoyable show. The music was interlaced with history of the original songs. I was surprised to learn that some of what became the greatest hits of that era were songs that had been hidden in bureau drawers or tossed into rejection piles only to resurface by chance at just the perfect time for the perfect artist.

I imagine that to the original songwriter, the rebirth of the song must have seemed miraculous.

The same resurrections must continue in present day. It's nice to think that miracles still happen.

Chernobyl Grapes

While packing my lunch this morning, I reached into a recently purchased bag of grapes, then quickly withdrew my hand in surprise. I must have bought the wrong item. Yes, whatever was in the bag grew in bunches, but each piece of fruit was big enough to be a night light bulb.

I checked the markings on the packaging. Red seedless grapes - Imported

Imported from where - Chernobyl?

Exposure to radiation seemed the only explanation for the gargantuan size of the grapes. I briefly worried that I would glow a sickly green color if I ate the fruit, then decided that might be just the perfect effect for the upcoming Halloween season.

I guess I'll get my answer when I go to bed tonight. If it turns out I can read by the light emanating from my hands I'll know I should have trashed the grapes.

Winning the Jackpot

I won the jackpot today - the coupon jackpot that is.

I was doing the weekly grocery shopping. Once all of my items had been scanned and bagged, I handed the cashier my special discount card - you know, those cards that by and large have taken the place of coupons.

As soon as my card was swiped, the printer spat out one of those endangered coupons, followed by another, followed by nearly a dozen coupons after that. The cashier nearly collapsed in a giggle fit and I was tempted to start looking around for the hidden candid camera.

Oh if only I had been in Vegas and if only it had been a slot machine paying out big time.

Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful for the coupons. It's just that I'd rather be having to worry over the taxes on a hundred thousand dollars than where I'm going to put the extra 3 bags of kitty treats I need to buy in order to collect my 75 cents savings.

Microscope Moon

The full moon was still high in the sky when I left for work this morning. At ground level, bands of fog shifted on eddies of air so that at one moment the moon was a blazing white circle and the next a muted gray puddle of light.

Perhaps because of the other-worldliness of the morning, it occurred to me that the moon resembled the eyepiece of a microscope. Which made me wonder if maybe I was being scrutinized by a greater being.

Was the progress of my car along the road being studied from above just as I had once studied the seemingly frantic travels of amoeba in a drop of liquid during science class? Was the fog surrounding me in fact a drop of liquid on a glass slide? Was I as minute a part of the universe belonging to the watcher in the sky as an atom is to my world?

I would have liked to have traveled further down this road of hypothesis but the beams of light from an oncoming car brought my attentions back to the here and now.

Perhaps as I fall asleep tonight I will return to my pondering of being part of a larger organism - what I would call the universe, but the watcher might call a petri dish.

The Beginning of Tomorrow

It's been a full schedule today. So here's a short contemplation.

Tomorrow begins with today.
To look past the present is to miss the future.

Hair Glue

I firmly believe the strangest collection of items in any house can be found in the bathroom.

On the vanity top the other day I noticed a jar labeled Spike Glue for Hair.

Now I don't know about you, but as my kids were growing up I spent a lot of time trying to keep things like Elmer's glue and Play Dough out of their hair, so this product was quite an attention grabber.

I couldn't understand the need for Spike Glue in our house. Neither Motivated Mom nor Media Girl sports a hairstyle resembling a rooster's comb and for that I am very grateful.

I'm sure you're familiar with the hairstyle I'm referring to. A narrow row of hair running down the center of an otherwise clean shaven scalp. The gravity defying strands are frequently multi colored and downright dangerous in appearance. I always assumed such a look was achieved with an aerosol can of spray starch and perhaps an iron. I never imagined maintenance required someone smearing their hands with glue and then combing their fingers through their hair.

What happens if they have to sneeze? Do they dare reach for a tissue or do they just Windex the bathroom mirror when their hair preparations are complete?

Tomatoes & Fruitcake

It was a disappointing season in my backyard vegetable garden this year. My normally green thumb morphed to brown. The tomato plants were lackluster at best and the pepper plants never managed to grow beyond eighteen inches in height.

So I didn't experience the normal pangs of regret when I cut all the plants back and pulled out the roots this past weekend. It wasn't like I was marking the end of a plentiful season.

I'll miss Motivated Mom's homemade spaghetti sauce over the post-summer months. Usually we manage to "put up" at least a couple dozen jars. This year, nothing.

Still, there's other things to look forward to - like the fruitcakes I 'll start baking in another six weeks.

Right now College Dude is rolling his eyes at the mention of those fruitcakes. He believes them to be good for nothing more than a door stop. I keep telling myself that one day he will develop an educated palate and recognize the cakes for the culinary delights that they are.