Facebook Farming

I’m going farming today—for likes. If you like my post not only will you be supporting a starving artist’s self esteem, but you will also be boosting my already inflated ego. Thanks in advance for making my day worth living.

Absurdly Rational Conclusions

Yo! Peeps! of the digital world?! What’s the word crazy birds? Nah, I ain’t that corny, but I try. Don’t hate. You know you like it ;-)

Anyway, peeps are are like little yellow things. They can be put into a microwave and heated and also explode. That’s fun. Don’t know ‘bout you but I like destruction. Who doesn’t? Like smashing glass just to hear it break. But, that’s not just for the sake of destruction, that’s for the sake of a beauty, an appreciation towards destruction that creates a beauty, in turn, a sound, in essence, that resonates something more beautiful than destruction for the sake of destruction…

A ball of yarn so clever

Wakes rippled the waters. The speed boats sped. Engines sounded and sails sailed. The water sparkled as if a treasure trove of jewels was blanketed over it as the reflections shone onto the wall of the sunroom. And, the kitten played within the glass room that overlooked the beach, warmed over with the days that followed spring.

The cat, crouching behind the foot rest, pupils dilating, tail being held as stiff as still and it was about to pounce on the ball of yarn. The battle of wits began as the cat was there as quick as light by two giant leaps from behind the foot rest, from where it peered over to eye its pray; then, onto the couch and it struck the ball of yarn with claws out, giving a swift three jabs, right, left, right, but – the ball of yarn refused to give up. And so they sparred and the cat was convinced it was winning.

The owner watched the cat playfully toy with its amusement. The owner was amused, too, as the cat was her object of amusement and affection.  Although, sometimes before the kitten would attack, it would jump high. Higher than a knee of an average sized adult. Strait up, too! On occasion, a sneeze would alarm the kitten like the attention shattering fog horns that sounded near the water. The cat did not cause the sneezes. It was the dust that had settled over the many years the owner had not hired a housekeeper, seven to be exact, since she had gotten the kitten.

Now a cat at the tender age of seven, it grew tired. The yarn, that is. It didn’t move around as much as the owner would have liked it to but that was the natural tune of age. The lesser the energy of the yarn to offend was the more the cat didn’t defend itself. The wisdom of age will speak of at least one thing and the tone with which it would speak would sometimes suggest that not all battles neither have to be fought out of selfish defense nor offense. The yarn had nothing more to not disprove, and the owner was fine with that and so was the cat.

The longer the whiskers, the slender the body and the more regal and elegant the cat became as sometimes it would sit on its owner’s lap with front legs crossed.  Now that some grey was showing, the cat kneaded the owner more and more for comfort, staying on its lap for naps that seemed like the terrible length of dog day afternoons that dogs would often sigh on and on about, but –  the cat was content, happy and purred more so now that it felt its young age. Even though its appearance may have told a story of an old and tired cat, it was ripe with life and love; it no longer had that childish hurriedness that often accompanied immaturity and, outside, even the boats that sped seemed to slow and the treasure trove of sparkling jewels were not as dazzling as once had been before. They didn’t need to be.

So it was that life was coming to a cadence, a resolve and with it the cat reflected that the ball of yarn didn’t want to win. They were both never concerned with winning. For, now the ball of yarn and the cat and the owner were all content to be with one another, without conflict, with nothing left to prove other than the love for their selves and, in turn, for one another. They didn’t mean that, though – because the only thing that they cared about was their own sense of a true, happy and selfish lovingness.

Flights of Fancy

I walk outside. A branch droops—more than yesterday. 

I start the car. The radio was left on. I Drive. The wheel lightly tugs to the right.

At the deli my sandwich was made and a song was sung along to a tune on the radio. 

I'm back home. I sit. I think. The branch drooping, the radio on and the song that was sung and what came but a brief glimmer of inspiration—I fervently write.

Time stopped or didn’t exist. I didn’t know which. I held back and strategically attacked. At first, ideas were friends. As I befriended each, their hostage would not be short. For, after their time as a prisoner of war, they were let go. Over time some things are no longer useful for war or friendship.

I felt time start again; many days and hours had passed. I hadn’t slept; still high on my creative flight. I wrestle desperately with sleep; thoughts still racing and finally asleep—dreams lucid. 

I wake and repeat.

Crazy don't know it's crazy

“Hey! Where are you? We’re on a short schedule. We have to get going! LET’S GO!” and she hammered the horn, no care that I was outside and already walking towards the car.

Her granddaughter got out of the passenger’s side and I was about to get in.

“Did you lock the door,” Ley asked as she passed me.

“No,” I said.

Ley squinted her eyes.

I grabbed for my pocket, raced to the door, unlocked it and hurried back towards the car.

“Sorry, Retta,” I said as she was tapping her finger on the steering wheel.

“You know I do what I do…I do for the best, no?” she said.

“I do, Retta” I said, closing the door.

The radio was playing Suspicious Minds. I’ve always enjoyed this song by the late, great Elvis. Could never go wrong with an oldie, but I didn’t tune the station, and I enjoyed it.

“Who put the toast in the toaster this morning?” she asked and sighed.

“Do you mean to say the bread?”

She took a deep breath in and said, “I don’t want any bread! We’re driving!”

“Oh, well, we’re going to the shoe store?”

“The Walmart. The shoe store is in the same parking lot.”

“Sounds good. I’ll walk over.”

“Good. Then I’ll drive over there after I get everything and I’ll pick you up. I have to go to the Dollar Tree now.”

“My feet hurt. I can’t wait to get some new shoes,” I said.

“Well, don’t walk!”

“How am I supposed to get places?”

“I’m driving you. What do you mean?”

“Nothing. Thanks for driving.”

We arrived at Walmart and got out.

I walked to the shoe store.

“Hello, can I help you find anything?” the shoe store attendant said.

“Where are the ten-and-a-halves? The athletic shoes, sneakers, what-have-you?”

“Right over this way,” and she waved her hand for me to follow.

“Oh, thanks. Yes, these will do,” as I eyed up the shoe rack.

“If you need anything else don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Thank you,” I said.

A matter of seconds passed, and I picked up a pair of some grey and tan running shoes.

“Excuse me,” I said, “are there any other stools to sit on, so I can try out the shoes?”

“There’s one in each aisle. The next one over will have another. I know. Sorry. I realize with stocking these shelves I’m taking up the one in this aisle.

“No worries,” I said.

I sat and tried them on. I tightened the shoe laces. I stood and started walking, seeing if my heel and arch were supported enough so that they didn’t hurt when I walked. They didn’t. I walked a few more paces back and forth and sat down to take them off. I walked over to the next aisle where she was and said, “I’m ready to buy these. Would you be able to ring me out?”

“Would you like any socks to go with your purchase? They are two for ten today.”

I looked at the rack, where she was pointing, and I saw a pair of black and neon yellow socks.

I picked up the two sets of socks and said, “I’m ready,” and we both walked towards the register.

When I got outside with my bag-in-hand Retta was not there. I waited for a few moments and decided that I would walk over to the Dollar Tree to see if her car was still there. I did. I was only a few hundred feet away and saw it. Even if I had been wearing no eye glasses I’d still be able to see how crooked she parked.

I sat on the curb in front of the car and put the shoes on. They held my feet like a soft glove, and then I stood up, leaned against the car, placed the bag on top of the trunk and rested my back against it, looking towards the Dollar Tree.

I saw a person exiting the store. It was not Retta. There was a man, an elderly one, with a cane, and he was hunched over. He walked slowly, was thin and with each five to six steps he paused to catch his breath.

The old man walked to a car that was idling in the fire lane since I had been there, about five minutes ago. He got in but without haste. While he was entering his car a mini-van pulled up in front his. Apparently, the old man didn’t like that the mini-van was parked in front of his car. Even though he had enough space to get around the van he honked his horn as if it was his last dying wish for everybody to hear his frustration. He did this for the next two minutes, letting off the horn for only seconds at time and the driver in the mini-van honked back, just as needlessly. Birds took off from their perch upon hearing the obnoxious horn battle.

I chuckled – just a little.

Finally, the mini-van driver backed up only after flipping the man the finger and cursing him. I only saw the violent hand and mouth gestures. The old man pulled out but not before revving his engine, squealing his tires and honking his horn but one more time. Despite how old the man was he certainly still had some fight left within him.

Then, Retta came out of the store.

She put the bags in the back seat, we got in and she started the car.

We were on our way back home.

Now, we were only one stop sign away from the house. Retta was talking to me and not paying too much mind to the road. From what I could see as I raced to put my seat belt on and to grab the door handle – there Retta was unknowingly playing chicken with an oncoming car. She noticed I was tense and only then did her eyes dart from me to the road, and she honked her horn. She didn’t even attempt to get out of the oncoming lane that she was half way in. In fact, I think she pulled a little more towards the wrong side of the road.

I counted my blessings.

At the last moment, she swerved to the correct side of the road.

We passed the oncoming car, and we could both hear the driver yelling some nasty words.

She yelled back and went onto say to me, “You see!? People around here are crazy, aren’t they?”

I held my breath and tongue and agreed by nodding my head. I was only relieved when she parked the car and pulled the key from the ignition. Only then was I happy to be alive.

We parked and I asked, “Would you like me to carry anything in?”

“No,” she said, “you’re carrying the stuff in!”

“Sure thing, Retta,” and she carried on as if nothing had happened.