Monthly Archives: March 2018

Clutterbugs

there was a crooked man
who had a crooked house
full of so much detritus
you couldn’t fit a mouse

freezers packed up to the doors
they almost wouldn’t close
but make no comments, see no wrong
or you’ll step on someone’s toes

rooms are full of random clothes
dresser’s used for knitting
boxes stacked up to the roof-
someone needs babysitting

the child that left five years ago
forgot her bedroom closet
was almost full of bric-a-brac
a clutterbug’s deposit

the one that flew a year ago
left all in disarray
a broken CD stereo
that wouldn’t even play

his home’s become a muse-e-um
he thinks he’s had enough!
but, make a move to clean it up?
Don’t touch my effing stuff!

 

The Eyes Have It – By Ruskin Bond

Thanks for this great story.

@gauravskaintura's avatarIn the joy of others lies our own

I had the train compartment to myself up to Rohana, then a girl got in. The couple who saw her off were probably her parents. They seemed very anxious about her comfort and the woman gave the girl detailed instructions as to where to keep her things, when not to lean out of windows, and how to avoid speaking to strangers.
They called their goodbyes and the train pulled out of the station. As I was totally blind at the time, my eyes sensitive only to light and darkness, I was unable to tell what the girl looked like. But I knew she wore slippers from the way they slapped against her heels.
It would take me some time to discover something about her looks and perhaps I never would. But I liked the sound of her voice and even the sound of her slippers.
‘Are you going all the…

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A show of hands

In high school, they used to call him maggot face
because of his ruddy cratered complexion.
As if he could help it.  Those bastards.
And that was for starters.
But some of us saw the person,
saw him withdraw.
No smile, low hesitant voice, averted eyes.
And the locker he picked, down at the hall’s end.
He was one of the few in class who paid attention,
and he quietly beat them all out, to the very top.
That is when they started
with more vitriol and gang mentality,
calling him “number one”
and bowing before him in mockery.
You know, now I am so ashamed
that we, the fence sitters,
the best we could do
was not to participate in Charlie’s spiritual flogging.
Even the teachers offered only the occasional reprimand
to the unholy clowns.
One day,  our teacher drew a logic problem on the board:
a series of buckets, each connected to the other
in some way.  About twenty of them.
There was chittering going on,
everybody wondering what she was doing.
Then she said “if I poured water into the top cup
which one of the others would fill up first?”
“Let’s have a show of hands if you have the answer.”
Nearly everyone thought it was simple,
and waved their arms excitedly.
Everyone except we few and Charlie.
Of course, none were as smart as they thought they were.
The teacher said
“there were five of you who didn’t put up their hands.  Why?”
We looked towards Charlie, told him to get up there.
He knew, and the teacher asked why he hadn’t come up before.
Charlie said   “I wanted to give everybody else a chance.”

That afternoon, Charlie didn’t make it home
before he was down and bloodied.
And we wonder why things “happen”.  Happen.

Oh, that magic feeling

Irene’s lovely spirit had indeed changed Jack over the years.  Spring was coming now, and he looked back at his winter as having been worthwhile.  Since Irene’s death, he had helped many people on the streets, and some of them had even gotten off the streets.  He had wanted to spend as little time as possible fretting in his lonely apartment, and had thought of many novel ways to somehow make their lives more bearable.  He had a pretty good instinct about people, and knew which ones would make good use of some cash, and which would be better served with some groceries, a hot meal, and some extra blankets.  Some he even brought home for a time.

On a particular morning, actually the official first day of spring, in his 70th year, his phone rang.  Doctor’s office.  Could he please come tomorrow to see Martin Smith?  The secretary sounded a little off.  Jack could tell, because he had known her for years.
So, this was how he got the news about his Cancer.  Inoperable, but, with a treatment regimen, he had a chance, had a chance.  Without, there were no guarantees.

Something was going through his mind now.  Something Irene had always said.  Don’t fret, Jack, don’t fret.  It does no good, and will only eat away at you.  Enjoy today.
Soberly, he packed a few things, made some sandwiches.  Pulled his last will and testament out of its file and laid it on his work desk.  Drafted an email to a select few, scheduled it to be delivered in a few days, and pressed Send.  Then got in his car.

Jack was not going to the hospital.  No Sir, not this guy.  I’m not having anybody mooning over me for weeks while I lie drugged up with tubes and wires.  Just like dear old Dad.  No thank you.

He drove to the bank,  withdrew a good sum in cash, and more in prepaid cards.  This would be his last trip uptown.  He’d meet some new people, and some old friends he had made, wish them well.  Say some farewells. Visit the kids and say nothing. Just make sure they were okay.

Jack knew of a bridge under construction a little ways out of town.  The road was closed, and there would be no workers there today.  Neat and tidy.

Just at dusk, he pulled up to the barricades, got out, and managed to move one enough to squeeze his car through.  All quiet on the western front.  He had a little cry, for Irene, for this ending of things, for his nagging pain that had been with him for weeks.  He stood by his car as the rain came streaming down.  Tears in the rain, Hah!  Sorry, Irene!  I’m coming Thelma!  I’m coming, Louise!

It was a good five hundred yards to the drop off.  Plenty of room.

The last thing he thought of was an old song.

McCartney said it best.

But Oh, that magic feeling….nowhere to go.
Oh, that magic feeling, nowhere to go.

Follow Jack in a previous story…..

https://wordpress.com/post/secret-lifeof.com/2405

A peculiar guy?

Haha….today’s little spot of amusement.

I had stopped along a country road to take a photo of an interesting tree, standing by itself.  I had to navigate a shallow ditch to get into proper position.  As I was doing so, a Police Officer pulled up behind my car.  My first thoughts were Oh oh.  Am I trespassing? Perhaps she thinks I am peeing in public?  Or maybe doing an illegal drop off?
Of course, what actually happened was that she opened her window, kind of gave me a look, and said “Are you alright?”.  Yes, Officer, I was….ah….just taking a shot of this pretty tree.  She looked from me to the tree, then back, gave kind of a funny smile, then waved goodbye.

Hopefully, we made each other’s day.

Two more weeks

Two more weeks
says the eternal optimist.
Two more weeks
and Spring is here!
This hoary winter- blasted bush
may commence to cloak its brokenness.
Time-thwarted.
Challenged at every turn.
Of the Bonsai persuasion, of its own accord.

I have seen you, lonely friend,
budding with those precious green stems.
Are we of a kin?
Downtrodden for now,
we but await the blooming
of those summer smiles.
They make up for all.

The overseer

This man has overseen our house, no matter where we have been, for the last 41 years. His serene smile and kindly eyes have been a calming influence to me during turbulent times. There have been moments when I have wanted to shake his hand and sit by the fire with him. The name of the painting is Mountain Man and his Fox, by James Bama.

the Tetris of decision

slowly he walks in the snowy night.  approaching the street lights, he’s in one of those glass globes, shaken.  frozen furrows underfoot. crispy, crunchy.  making statements in the deadened sound.  there’s only the baying of solitary hounds, fading back into cotton in the ears.  he’s glad of the long johns and the fur hood.  much to think about in this wintry vacuum.  a relationship that’s run its course.  irreconcilable, he thinks.  how much, or even whether, he has sinned in seeking or accepting new friendships.  whether he cares about the fallout.  what she will do if he leaves, how she will live.  will these clunky intractable blocks of woe somehow fit together and form a path, a way out.  she knows they are in trouble.  she sees his half smiles and repartee with others, and is despairing of what to do, what to offer.

he is rounding the block, and sees home now.  the wind is picking up and he’s shivering a little, but he thinks he will do it one more time.  Maybe one more time.