Back to Back

They sat back to back on the beach, a man and woman, each reading a book and each relying on the back of the other for support.

I could think of no better physical example of how a healthy relationship. Each person in the relationship able to rely on the certainty that the other is there to support them.

Beyond that, I thought how perfect a way it was to spend the day lost in a book yet still connected with the love of your life. Rather than sitting in chairs side by side, only nebulously aware of the others existence, this couple was intimately involved even as their minds traveled the worlds revealed in the written page.

Morning Rift

The orange orb of the morning sun sat with its very base resting on the land. Layers of clouds pink, purple, and yellow and color formed steps up to the glowing ball.

It seemed I could place my feet upon those steps and upon reaching the top discover the orb not to be the sun at all but a rift in space - a perfect circle leading to a brilliantly lit world. A world where everything was the same pastel colors as those that had spilled through the rift and presented me with the opportunity for adventure.

Got Us a Convoy

It was a rabbit convoy.  Half a dozen Volkswagen Rabbit's traveling the highway together. Each car customized so that it rode so low to the ground that the furry variation of the rabbit would have had a hard time squeezing underneath.

Not a big car to begin with, a single VW Rabbit riding that low might have been overlooked completely - even in the middle of a busy highway.  But six of them in a row was enough to make all the other cars slow down to a pace that would have made a tortoise proud.


All of which gave me time to assess the low riding wonders....and wonder that the bottoms of the cars hadn't been ripped out at the last bump in the road. What would possess a person to modify a car so that a single speed bump could leave the car high and dry - all four tires spinning in the air and the chassis teetering just like a teeter-totter.

It occurred to me later that what the convoy had really resembled was one of those wooden Brio trains set loose in traffic.

Fruity Flies

They're one of life's mysteries, those pesky things that reproduce as rapidly as rabbits or a virus gone wild, and serve no useful purpose.

I'm talking about fruit flies of course. I saw the first one buzzing over my morning fruit on Friday and now they move through the house in swarms that look like miniature storm clouds.

I can only hope that they will soon reach a number where they can lift a banana - in which case I'll open a window and let them carry the fruit away.

Perhaps then I'll be able to eat a peach without swatting at the end of my nose and knocking my eyeglasses from my head.

Change to the Same

From wooden building blocks to building with wooden blocks. Things change and yet they stay the same.

Those were the thoughts going through my mind this weekend as I helped College Dude construct a feline Taj Mahal.

College Dude and Language Lass are welcoming brother and sister Siamese cats into their family. In anticipation of the cats' arrival, College Dude decided the royal pair needed a palace.

And a palace is just what we built. 

Only instead of sitting on the family room floor and stacking wooden blocks one atop the other as we did twenty-three years ago, this weekend we stood at a workbench fastening blocks of wood together as we built a towering edifice with no change of falling down as those building block towers were prone to do.

We worked with material pulled out of the back of College Dude's car rather that out of a toy box. And although College Dude had come with a set of plans we still considered each block of wood carefully - wondering if it really was the best piece for the next building phase.

In the end we constructed a kitty playground as fantastical as the towers we designed those many years ago.

It's nice to know that some things never change.

Transition

So here we are in the first days of Post-Summer. The sun is rising later and setting earlier. Even near high noon shadows are lengthened as the sun falls short of its mid-summer zenith. The air takes on a crisp quality. In the space of a single step from sun to shade the temperature may change ten degrees. Shrubs and trees are shedding nuts and berries that animals eagerly round up for their larders.

While daylight hours have lessened, there is a certain comfort to spending a little extra time indoors. We rediscover the pleasure of lingering in an easy chair after dinner and on weekend mornings. We anticipate recipes untasted since last year such as pumpkin pies and ginger breads.

Closets are reordered, drawers are shuffled, and the mere act of moving warmer clothes from back to front stirs thoughts of hay wagons and fire pits. We ponder the camaraderie that comes from toasting smores and sharing warmed cider.

These early days of Post-Summer offer much in the way of comfort,

Empty Battery

Sometimes there's just nothing there.  You reach down into that creative corner of yourself and find an empty room.

And while empty moments can be great for recharging batteries, it does nothing for getting words on paper.

Unlike the energizer bunny's consistent drumming, creativity doesn't always just keep on ticking - at least not in a manner that results in a pleasing read.

So here's wishing everyone a great weekend - hopefully things will be better on the flip side.

Putting a Phrase to Use

Sometimes you come across the perfect situation for those phrases that find their way into our vocabularies.

Take the case of the man who was obviously making changes to his living arrangements.  He first caught my attention when he made a precarious turn into the lane of traffic in front of me.

Precarious because the back of his pickup truck was piled high with a bureau, chairs, bookcase, and mattresses.  The household furnishings were lashed together haphazardly - the attempt at restraint obviously insufficient to prevent any one item from toppling over the edge.

As I got closer, my attention was drawn to a metallic gleam - and I realized the man had truly taken everything including the kitchen sink!

A Broken Cycle

The cherubic face was so out of place on the hulk of a man that those around him were captivated by his seemingly innocent charm.

But there was nothing innocent about the man. I knew him from before, knew of his twisted and demented  passion. A passion for inflecting pain.

He was close enough that I could say nothing without tipping my hand so I tried to communicate my pleas for help with facial gestures, head nods, and body shrugs. Those I sought help from acknowledged my urgency, but when they looked into the man's boyish face they dismissed my concern.

I knew what would come next. I had lived this nightmare before. Eventually I would manage to struggle awake drenched in my own sweat but not before the tortures I was yet to experience set my heart drumming and my pulse  pounding.

And then a new face, a person who had not been there before. A small thing, but enough for my subconscious to accept the dream need not play out as before.

I woke gasping for breath, the ethereal arms of my would be tormentor trying to drag me back into sleep - and almost succeeding as the wooded lot of my dream solidified - superimposed over my bedroom walls.

Reaching for the switch on the bedside lamp, I half expected my movement to be blocked and my hands trussed behind my back as had happened in past occurrences of this nightmare.

Relief washed over me as light flooded the room. The hulking man with the cherubic face was banished. Yet I fought the return of sleep for hours to come.

Squirrel Mumps?

When I first saw the squirrel scrambling down the tree I thought it had a series case of the mumps. It seemed the squirrels cheeks were enlarged far beyond anything nature had intended.

Curious, I sat patiently and waited for the bushy tailed critter to work its way closer. The squirrel slowed its descent as though sensing my presence and worrying about entrapment. He scrambled to the far side of the tree trunk, then cautiously poked his head around the corner.

It was then that I was able to see the squirrel had hit the jackpot. Not only were his cheeks stuffed full, but in his teeth he carried a twig with an acorn on either end - like a nut barbell.

Finally satisfied I meant no harm the squirrel made its was to the ground and scurried off to bury its horde.

The Good Ship Mayflower

It all started this day (Sept 16) back in 1620.  A bunch of folks who came to be known as pilgrims piled into the Mayflower and set sail across the Atlantic in search of a new world.

In this day of cruise ships the size of cities sailing the oceans, it's easy to lose sight of the fact that the Mayflower was only 100 feet long. Only slightly longer than three stretch limos placed end to end. One hundred and two passengers, along with goats, sheep, and chickens were packed into that ship in conditions so tight that anyone over five foot had to hunch over to stand upright.

Today I could not even imagine a hundred people agreeing to take on the Atlantic Ocean in a ship that size. The entire vessel would disappear between ocean swells during a raging storm.

Nor can I imagine what conditions might have been like back then to drive people to agree to make that crossing. 

If ever there were heroic explorers - these folks take the top of the list.

Off to the Races?

Baby sitting duty tonight. At only five months of age my granddaughter is standing on her own feet as long as she has someone else's finger to hang onto for balance.  She hasn't hit the crawling stage and I'm guessing never will.  It would be like expecting someone was going to ride a bike everywhere they went after having purchased their first car.

Is this all part of the newest generation? Is genetic evolution causing kids to race out of the gate?

I'm hoping not.  There's a lot to be said for slow and steady.

30% Solution

I spent most of the evening traveling the local highways and I noticed that regular gasoline in our area has suddenly jumped to $3.85 / gallon.  No doubt companies like Exxon and Shell will tell us the price jump is due to the new uncertainties in the Middle East resulting from recent events in Libya.

But is it?

It was not so very long ago, February of 2009 actually, that regular gas was $2.00 / gallon and folks across the nation were appalled that a gallon of regular gas might hit $2.50.

So let's see... from $2.00 to $3.85 in three years.  That puts the inflation rate on gas at something like 30% per year. (Wouldn't you like to see your paycheck increase by 30% per year?)

Are we really supposed to believe the world's gasoline consumption has risen so dramatically over the past 3 years as to warrant an essential doubling in price?

A recent report stated that even with the dramatic increase in price, the average household expenditure on gasoline remains relatively unchanged from previous years - due to increased sales of fuel efficient cars.

Which would mean consumption is dropping (though probably not by as much as is suggested). Which means oil companies adjust prices to make sure they bring in the same revenue regardless of the efforts of people like you and I to reduce the amount of gas we buy.

So why, in all the rhetoric about the crippled housing industry, Wall Street shananagins, and stubborn unemployment, isn't equal attention being paid to gas prices?

The answer of course lies in the unhealthy relationship between Congress and the Exxon's, Shell's, and Mobil's of the world.

I promise lighter fare in my next post - just needed to get this off my chest.

Strategic Placement

Four wooden rocking chairs placed in a semi-circle on the front porch of the row home. That was all it took to communicate a welcoming invitation. What would otherwise have been just a shelter from the elements was transformed to an intimate gathering place by those oak rockers.

I could picture four close friends sharing a bottle a wine and childhood memories. I could imagine laughter as embarrassing moments were relived and tears as lost loved ones were remembered.

There would be hands waving on that porch - greetings offered to recognized passers-by and perhaps even an invitation to join the gang. 

In all of this it occurred to me how little it takes to change any house from a mere structure to a welcoming home.  A hand-knitted afghan draped casually across the back of a couch, a framed sampler hanging in a prominent location on a wall, a vase of flowers in the center of a table, or rocking chairs on a porch - all of these things say someone is glad to live here.

Sun Tilt

With the approach of Post-Summer the morning sun sits lower in the sky as  start my day and I am treated to sights that have been lost in the blaze of a high summer sun.

Low angled rays skid across the surface of lakes, bouncing into windows on the fronts of houses nestled together on the shore, and setting mirrors and picture glass within those homes aglow in a molten yellow.

Forests that had been acres of dark shadow beneath a thick canopy of green are now free of mystery as sunlight slices between trunks and branches to spotlight the birds that flit between trees and the four legged mammals that scurry through the brush.

The golden orb that sits in the center of my windshield is not a nuisance, but a call to pause at a stop sign just long enough to watch the world come to wakefulness. 

And while the late rising sun is a harbinger of less favorable weather to come, it is also a reminder that universal cycles continue and things are as they ought be.

Screech of Terror

A bone-chilling screech brought me to my feet. Heart hammering in my chest, I stood frozen in place - trying to make sense of what had just happened.

I had been sitting on the back porch in a near doze - that state where I was not quite asleep, but not really awake either. The screech had been so loud that I was now certain I would find some catastrophe at my doorstep.

But as I looked around, I found nothing out of place - no cats engaged in fighting - no children screaming - no one racing through the back yard in terror. So what had happened?

Lacking an unfolding, my breathing slowed, my blood pressure dropped and....

I nearly jumped right out of my shoes when the screech came again. Right behind me this time. I whirled, prepared to either flight or flee, and found - nothing.

Systematically I walked from one end of the porch to the other looking in every crevice and corner. Something was hiding someplace.

Then came the screech yet again. I stared in disbelief. Right in front of me, clinging to the frame of a screen, was a frog little bigger than the first joint of my thumb. As I watched, a sac just beneath the frog's mouth ballooned out and then....SCREECH.

All of that noise from that one tiny tree frog.

Listening Kitty

So you say your kitty has been acting a little strange recently?

You just might want to take the time to investigate whether your feline friend is still the same kitty you've grown to know and love.

Seems the CIA once perfected the ability to implant a listening device in a cat's ear (with the battery pack surgically implanted in the abdomen and an antenna running along the cat's spine).

We all know that any good invention is subject to resurrection.  Recent advances in technology could condense the entire listening apparatus into a single component.

The next time kitty seems unusually interested in your activities outside of feeding time, it may be because your pet is... truly unusually interested... 

That fleck of dirt in kitty's ear may not be dirt at all... and you may want to pay just a little extra attention to what's being said.

Kept and Neglected

The property was an enigma.  Torn screens in second floor windows flapped in the breeze. A rain gutter, fallen from the roof eave, lay entangled in a sagging chain link fence. Clapboards showed bare wood beneath faded and flaking paint.

Yet the garden filling the front and side yards was immaculate.  Carefully pruned rose bushes grew between nurtured clumps of white and purple wildflowers. Evergreens were pruned into twisting spirals and crepe myrtle bloomed in pinks and blues.

Flagstones formed a twisting walk to the sagging front porch. Not a single weed grew in the mulch between stones. Yet the steps to which these stones led were a splintered and broken mess.

How was it, I wondered, that such beauty should flourish in front of so neglected a house?

Morning Pair

I pass them nearly every morning - an aging pair who walk the city blocks near my office building. Each moves with a stiffness that speaks of age.

The man is barrel chested, his curly mop of hair still predominately brown but his beard gone mostly gray. He carries a walking stick in one hand, usually grasped in the middle so that it is parallel to the ground - a safety measure should his joints complain too much. He is constantly mindful of his companion kept nearby by the leash he holds in his other hand.

The leash is as much a safety measure as the walking stick. The collie has turned a faded silver-red from nose to tail and places each foot with a care. Periodically the dog pauses to look up lovingly at its companion, then staggers a step or two before again finding a rhythmic pace. I suspect the only time the elderly collie thinks of running now is in dreams.

I wonder just how long the two have been together -  and what will happen when one of them is no longer able to make the daily journey, or worse yet, is no longer there at all. I have a suspicion they both hope that when that time comes they will move on together.