A Great Idea for Year’s End

I came up with a great idea for a year end story.

The other night, right there at the mall as I was riding up the escalator at Barnes & Noble...of course, of course.

It was perfect for the season and one of those easy right brain downloads that really do just write themselves.

Plus, I was actually chuckling to myself at all the humorous possibilities.

Unfortunately this isn’t it.

Not even close.

It totally slipped my mind by the time I got home, and I’ve been trying to recreate the circumstances in which it popped into my head, ever since.

As, I said, we had been in the basement of the book store, looking for Z’s annual Polar Bear calendar, without success.  I was now riding up the escalator and passing a little girl of about 8, on her way down. 

As we passed, the little girl actually made eye contact with me and gave me a big smile, which is not a situation I’m accustomed to; especially since when I walk thorough most stores, let alone ride up their escalators, I normally assume the expression of a prisoner undergoing enhanced interrogation techniques.

So I don’t usually generate smiles, except from folks sporting monocles.

I kind of nodded, which is about all the congeniality I can muster in these uncertain situations, monocle or not, and snuck a quick glance behind, since surely this unadulterated friendly gesture was certainly not directed towards my unwelcoming countenance.

But there was no one else nearby. Z had already gone on up ahead.

The Magic’s in the Memories

I’m constantly dismayed by the lack of magic in my recent Christmas holidays...more and more with each passing yuletide.

But, no big deal.

I’m constantly dismayed by a lot of things...especially the inconsistency of the haphazard size variation found in the O’s in my box of Cheeri-Os.

I mean, shouldn’t they all be the same?

You might think that’s an odd thing to be constantly dismayed about, and you’d be right, which is my point...but chances are, more than a few of you will be checking out you own nilly willy O’s in about 5 minutes.

Anyway, despite my constant dismayity over this issue—the missing holiday magic...not the cereal—I take comfort in that I don’t appear to be alone. 

I hear it all the time, especially while eavesdropping.

“I don’t know...Christmas isn’t what it used to be...especially since I have to buy my own presents.”

“I swear, I used to hear tiny reindeer bells, up on the roof...but not anymore. Now it’s just the neighbor’s kid crashing his drone into my chimney. ”

“I can still recall when sugar plums danced in my head? Nowadays, there’s not a sugar plum to be found; not since the E-coli scare of ought 12.”

“My family’s lost all our old holiday traditions...like hiding Grandpa’s teeth in the mashed potato bowl! Man, that brings me back...and to this day, I still can’t eat anything mashed!”

Okay, sure. Some of those reminisces might sound a bit peculiar to you, as they do me. But who are we to judge another’s Christmas reveries.

Thanksgiving Cavalerity

You can tell the Christmas hub bub season is upon us, because everywhere you look folks are running around gobbling up turkeys.

Get it...turkeys...gobbling up?

I know...what can I say?

It’s a gift.

Which is very appropriate for the Christmas hub bub season.

You know...gift...cause it’s Christmas...right?

Or should I say “Clause it’s Christmas!”...ha ha ha...I can’t get enough of me....

Anyway, once we get through all this big, turkey gobbling, family gathering, giving thanks hoo ha stuff we can get onto the “real” holiday festivities and start drinking egg nog, which sounds gross, and, at least to me, tastes even worse.

However, tradition demands it...for some...not all...and certainly not me.

But first, like I said, if you were paying attention, which I’m sure you weren’t, because who does these days, there’s all this turkey stuff.

Horrified by my Thanksgiving Cavalerity?

I know...sorry...I made that up.

Cavelrity...no such word.

But there should be since it kinds of sums up the kind of second class treatment Thanksgiving gets these days.

Which I’ve written about before...and before that...and before that...and which I’m sure I’ll write about again.

Same ol same ol.

I was on the fence as to which way I wanted to go this year, theme wise...at least until my neighbor pointed out, in no uncertain terms, I was gonna bend his fence...which I thought was  rude.

Time and Again...and again...and....

October now folds into November, which slips into December that leads to an entirely new year.

Time and again and again and again.

Yet, no matter how many times we’re graced as witness, we never seem to grasp the quickening pace at which it all occurs.

As if we’re taken by surprise...time and again and again and again.

“It’s Halloween already?  Wasn’t it just Christmas and summer a week ago?”

Even though we’ve been warned—our entire life we’ve been warmed—by those who came before.

“It goes fast...enjoy every day...cherish every moment, don’t look back...full steam ahead...the future is now!”

But most of us we’re too busy to listen. Let alone take it to heart.

Yeah, I know.  Not more of this same old same old, again. Haven’t I written this story about 20 other times?

Like just last month...and probably the month or two or three before that.

Sorry....

It all seems like yesterday.

Which is the problem.

Zombie Come Home

The other morning finally brought temps down into the 30’s; this after a schizophrenic fall made it difficult to discern if we were indeed heading towards winter, or straight back to spring.

Just this past Saturday, Z and I came upon a small bunch of confused crocuses happily reaching toward the warm, sunny, October sky.

However, once they saw all the pumpkins scattered about the neighboring lawns the expected finger pointing began, at least in a metaphorical sense, since crocuses don’t have fingers to point.

“I told you this didn’t seem right!  Wayyyy waaaaay too early! What are we going to do, now; I didn’t pack my woolies...did you? I told you not to listen to Carla...Carla always jumps the gun!”

At least that’s what I heard in my head...in reality who knows what they were saying.

They’re crocuses. They have a language all their own.

Anyway, it was cold the other morning.

Really cold.

Winter cold.

So, there I sat in our sun room, minus the sun, listening intently for signs of hot water meandering its way through the pipes and into my 92 year old cast iron radiators.

Did I mention it was cold?

Shivering, transfixed with every drip and gurgle, hands wrapped around a hot cup of coffee,  I heard a rustling outside, by the front door.

More of a shuffling, really, which could only mean one thing...the Zombies Across the Street were back.

But, how could that be? The Zombies haven’t been around for over a year; not since they decided to pack up and take what I perceived to be an extended vacation with some ghouls out west

That was Then...This is Now

In less than a week we’ll hit the mid-point of August, at which time some among us will begin to bemoan the fact that most if not all the Halloween candy has already been snatched up, by those more industrious than we, the contented, still living in the heat and humidity of "now".

Hopefully, they'll leave some Snickers.

I admit I used to be amongst the “amongiest of us” lamenting in the EZ-Pass lane of summer’s highway.

I’m not sure what that means, exactly, but it sounded good, so I left it in.

Z and I would only just be depositing our tomato plants, along with the rest of our spring flowers into our pre-Memorial day, barely defrosted gardens, when I would begin to fret the soon to be hasty arrival of 4th of July, which was most certain to jettison us straight into August....

And hey, don’t those Snickers bars stacked alongside the Scare Crows and candy corn look tasty.

Maybe I should check out my Christmas lights, too, while there’s still time to pick up replacements before they sell out, as well.

But that was then... this is now.

I don’t say that anymore.

Unless, I forget I’ve already consumed my allotted two Gin & Tonics and breeze right onto my fourth...by mistake.

Then there’s no telling what will come out of my mouth.

But, not to worry; I usually don’t remember much of it anyway...at least until I get all the e-mails, the next day.

Goodbye July - No Hard Feelings

Am I too late...did I miss it?

Is it still here?

I mean July... did I miss it...did I wait too long?

I did...didn’t I?

Maybe it’s still out back, downing a short one for the road.

Maybe I can still catch it.

July...are you out there?

I think it is, but it’s refusing to talk to me.

Says I ignored it, all month long.

Not even a peep from me, so now it’s just, “So long it might have been good to know ya....”

Summer months...so temperamental. All it takes is one small thing to set them off.

They’re kind of the prima donnas of months.  Like they’re doing us a favor with all their sunshine and warmth.

Unlike their winter cousins, who are just happy we tolerate them at all, let alone need us plying them with accolades and lemonade.

Yeah, I could have posted something here in July, but, to be honest, I was too busy enjoying all the nice summer days and my own version of “lemonade” to actually sit down and spit something out...I mean, other than olive pits.

Okay, that’s not true. I don’t even like olives. It was more like lime stems.

And it’s not as if I haven’t been overly generous to July in the past.

Dangling Transitions

Another day, spiraling in transition, sitting here sipping on a second cup of coffee.

I mean, I’m sipping on the second cup of coffee, not the day, spiraling in transition.

The day, spiraling in transition is sipping ice tea; herbal green, I think.

I know...I have to watch the dangling participles

You have to be careful where you dangle your participles, especially these days when everyone loves jumping to conclusions; transitions or not.

So Summer Solstice is right around the corner.

Yeah, for real...I saw it grabbing a hot dog from the guy with the snack truck, just outside the park.

To be honest, I’m not sure if it paid—in fact I know it didn’t pay— since Summer Solstice never carries cash. Mostly because it’s so full of itself, it figures somebody is bound to pick up the check, which they usually do.

Spring has done its best, this year, to keep summer at bay seesawing between a string of cool, if not downright cold, dreary, wet days with the occasional flash of summer-like sunshine and warm, if not hot days, usually followed by a penance of some more cold and drearies.

But now that Summer Sol, as I like to call it, has gulped down its hot dog, I have to admit it does feel as if we’re finally making the jump into full fledge “Official” summer.

In fact, now that spring knows it’s on the way out, it seems to have surrendered completely and dropped a bunch of upper 80 plus degree days on us.

I guess as if to say...“What...what cold and dreary days are you talking about, Writer Boy?”

What...? I have a complicated relationship with all the seasons.

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Brain Train

I’ve been trying to brain train my brain.

For a while, now...a long while.

But it never listens...and that’s a problem.  It just blabs and blabs and blabs; all day; all night.

Like it has a mind of its own.

My brain is never satisfied...ever.

If you happen to find me sitting quietly, somewhere, on a street corner, munching on a Turkey leg, my brain isn’t thinking, Mmmm, this is one good turkey leg!

 No, it’s thinking...Mmmmm,  I wonder if I could have gotten a better turkey leg at that other turkey leg store...and how did I end up on this street corner? Did I get on the wrong bus again?

Or, if it’s not thinking that, it’s probably thinking, I’m gonna miss munching on this turkey leg when it’s gone. I wonder how long before I get another turkey leg like this one...and what time does the next bus come by?

So by the time I’ve finished munching on the turkey leg, I don’t even feel as if I had a turkey leg.

I’m just some weird guy sitting on an unknown street corner holding onto a greasy, old turkey bone, thinking to himself...Ok, this is weird...I usually go for the wing.

It’s just how my brain works...always has, right from the get go.

Data Dis...Data Dat

Lately, everyone’s in a panic over the possibility of their data being stolen.

Which is a little odd since I’d bet most people weren't even sure how to actually pronounce “Data” let alone realize they had data to steal?

But now it’s all the rage to...well...rage about your misappropriated data, so it seems as if it’s a big deal.

My data is my data, and I’m saving it for that one very special data analytic company. Not just any Tom, Dick and Harassing analytic company who’s gonna use my data to persuade me to buy fake Fig
Newtons over genuine, authenticated Fig Newtons.

Ain’t gonna happen...nuh, uh...no way.

I cannot be swayed from my Newtons...you’re darn tootin...no matter how many of them you try to convince me are involved in undesirable activities in the basement of pizza parlors all over the country.

You can’t fool me...I mean, most of the time, unless it has to do with bottled water.

But who can tell from water?

Certainly not me.

I say, so what if someone steals my data?

In fact, I already had my data stolen, years ago.

Jump to Conclusions

Imagine if we could jump into the essence of another person.

Spend a little time in there, poking around, getting a sense of the place.

“Ah...so that’s why that woman appears so content, taking pictures of her dog. He’s the only one in her life whoever smiles at her...but does it really explain the odd choice in footwear?”

“Okay, so that’s why that guy is always so cranky...maybe he should rethink those thongs.”

“No wonder that kid has a chip on his shoulder...I would too if  I had so much trouble understanding velcro.”

If we could jump inside, even for a half a minute, it might change our perspective about a lot of things.

Folks who always seemed so inscrutable, might just become very scrutable.

That is if you ever paid any attention to them, in the first place.

Because the fact is, most people aren’t really paying attention to anyone else but themselves, most of the time.

Except for that women at the deli who always makes a face whenever I ask her to remove all the corn niblets from my soup.

What?

I don’t like corn niblets.

Sue me....

I have my reasons.

And that’s the thing.  We’re all so busy being “us” we never take the time to consider being “them”...and what makes them “them”.

Facts is Facts

The fact is, it used to be a fact...facts were important.

Facts is facts.

In fact...the facts speak for themselves.

Just the facts, Ma’am.

Nothing but the facts.

If in doubt, in regard to any given issue or topic, which in fact are pretty much the same thing, one would always look to the facts.

Facts don’t lie.

It’s just a matter of fact.

If I say the sky is blue, some folks would agree.

It’s true...you can see it...take my word for it...a fact...right?

Uh, uh...nope...no way.

Not a fact at all.

The Bubble Within

With all the important and controversial issues thrown at us every day, all day—collusion vs. illusion...obstruction vs. construction vs. destruction. Sexual predators vs. harassers vs. lousy dates and just plain stupid people. Secret societies, Fake News, partisan politics, a divided nation, head spinning Tweets, my guy vs your guy...and the Yankees trying to buy yet another championship...again...and probably succeeding. And don’t even get me started on the “evil” Belichick/Brady coven up in New England—I thought I would tell you about the difficulties I'm experiencing planning our upcoming Disney Vacation.

What?

You thought I built myself a triple layer, extra strength, double bubble living compartment for nothing? Plus, painted it with two coats of “Opaque Opal” so no one can see in, while I can’t see out, just so I can spend more time watching cable TV, while weighing the pros and cons of an all Oprah administration featuring free weight watcher memberships for everyone?

Uh uh...I’ve got real problems here, Bud.

Like trying to locate where I put those Mouse Ears I wore so well back in the 60s’.

But let me start where all pointless, self-absorbed, misinformed stories like this always start....somewhere in the middle, mostly near the end...since to start at the beginning would be a cliché, not to mention time consuming.

A Good Lookin Year!

Less than a week into 2018 and I have to say, I really like the look of it.

I mean, actually the look of it.

Even the sound of it.

Two Thousand Eighteen!

Not sure why.

Maybe because the 8 looks a little like a snowman.

Or my Uncle Stew.

And Aunt Mazie.

Or possibly because it has a cool endless flow thing going on.

But maybe, just because, when I was growing up, 18 was kind of a teenage promise land.

For all intent and purposes you became “legal” at 18, whereas before, I suppose, you stood a little on the outlaw side of things.