Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
I haven’t been employed for about seven years, and today I find myself nostalgic for that old corporate work routine when I worked from home from 2005 to 2015. I think it’s because I was alone in the house, on my computer, and it was quiet and rainy.
Good times.
I previously wrote about a couple of coffee-shop regulars who disappeared. These were Austin and Ross. Now both are sort of back.
A reminder, Austin was a tall, fair man with red hair and hiking gear. When I first saw him in the coffee shop in late spring of this year, I assumed that he was off the Pacific Crest Trail (PCT). Several trailheads are right by Ashland, and we’re use to hikers coming into town for supplies, mail, or a break.
But he hung around through the summer and into autumn, stopping by the coffee house several times a day. And then, he just stopped, but I also didn’t see him elsewhere in town. I wondered and worried: where in the world was Austin.
Well, he just walked in one day recently like nothing had changed. Something has changed, though; I see him walking around town now, but he doesn’t come to the coffee house as he used to do. Good to see him and know he’s well, but questions remain about that disappearance and why his habits have shifted. Not any of my business, of course; I’m just nosy.
Likewise, Ross turned up in the coffee house yesterday. He’d been banned for comments he was making to the staff and for disturbing other patrons with his economic and religious ideas. No other details are available.
I saw him come in yesterday and head to a table. Then he went up and ordered. A few minutes later, the shift manager went over and reminded him that he’d banned. Ross went albeit not without shouting, “At least say it with a smile, you fascists.”
So, he’s still banned but at least I now know he’s still alive and in the area. Like Austin, though, there’s a mysterious gap over the last few months, which is always fodder for a fiction writer.
I ended up talking to the baristas about my hair this morning. The conversation launched off their casual question, “What do you have going on today?” I mentioned that I needed to have my hair cut.
Showing sympathy and politeness, they talked about their own hair woes. Then one barista mentioned that he has one part of his hair that always flips up. Drives him crazy.
“A cowlick,” I answered, adding, “I have one, too.”
The young baristas stared at me. “A cowlick?” one repeated for the group.
I laughed hard from the blank look accompanying the question, and then explained the expression, learned from Mom when I was a young boy.
It started with the quote in the graphics on the coffee shop tip jar and the question, “Who wrote this?”
I admitted, I didn’t know it, though The Neurons declared that they knew it and would deliver the author’s name if I just gave them more time. Already shifting into my own writing mode, I rebuffed their request.
Two days later, the situation has been modified. Now, the quote is above two tip jars. On one jar, it says, “Taylor Swift” while the other is annotated, “Shakespeare”. Apparently,
It’s Shakespeare, of course, Sonnet 65, which The Neurons again insisted they could have told me if I’d given them some time to think. Meanwhile, the baristas informed me that several customers guessed it was Taylor Swift. Hence, the change.
I admire this sonnet:
Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea,
But sad mortality o’er-sways their power,
How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea
Whose action is no stronger than a flower?
O, how shall summer’s honey breath hold out
Against the wreckful siege of battering days,
When rocks impregnable are not so stout,
Nor gates of steel so strong, but Time decays?
O fearful meditation! where, alack,
Shall Time’s best jewel from Time’s chest lie hid?
Or what strong hand can hold his swift foot back?
Or who his spoil of beauty can forbid?
O, none, unless this miracle have might,
That in black ink my love may still shine bright.
h/t Wikipedia.com
So much said and unsaid that ends up compounding and bolstering its meaning and intentions.
And it’s very satisfying that my coffee shop put it up there on their counter’s tip jar.
Bit behind schedule today. Arriving in my office with a fresh cup of coffee this morning, I peered out the window. The sun was highlighting blue skies over green, yellow, gold, and scarlet autumn leaves. Under it all across the street was an enormous, beautiful light brown buck, blacktail, with a large set of antlers. He was standing in the neighbor’s front yard across the street, not stirring much except to flip his tail or to look one way or another.
It’s rutting season, though, so I knew what was up. Expanding my watch (in other words, lowering blinds, leaning forward, and turning my head), I spotted a doe busy eating in dense foliage beneath a giant old oak tree. She was about twenty-two feet from the buck. After a few minutes, she drifted out of her spot and across the yard, sometimes nibbling, passing seven feet from the buck. He paid little attention, so I wondered if he was standing guard against an intruder. I didn’t see one, though.
The doe crossed the driveway and into another blind of bushes and trees. I saw her turn and go between two houses, heading towards the Talent irrigation ditch. Only then did the buck turn and stroll after her.
Show wasn’t over folks, just taken to the next scene. All told, I watched for fifteen minutes, just enjoying nature on a sunny, fall day.
A conversation with friends about fire ants reminded me of the places where my family lived.
My oldest sister was born in Des Moines, Iowa. I was born in Arlington, Virginia. My next sister was born in San Antonio, Texas, then my late brother was born (and died) in Fairfax, Virginia.
The family split, courtesy of a divorce. My two little sisters via Mom were born in Wilkinsburg, Pennsylvania, and Penn Hills, Pennsylvania.
My two little brothers from Dad’s side were born in Beckley, West Virginia (where my youngest brother also died).
I guess that it’s little wonder that wanderlust plagued me by the time I was seventeen and joined the military to see the world. It shouldn’t be a surprise that after almost twenty years of living in Ashlandia (the longest I’ve ever lived anywhere), I’m ready to move again.
This morning delivered light serendipity.
Waiting to turn, he was behind a silver third generation Toyota Prius and a current series Dodge Ram pickup, also in silver. Both turned left, and he did the same.
As the three accelerated down the boulevard, he checked the oncoming traffic: a silver third generation Toyota Prius, and a current series silver Dodge Ram pickup. From his angle, the two pairs of vehicles were identical.
He laughed as the cars and trucks passed each other, wondering if their drivers noticed what he was seeing and about the odds for this happening.
It would have been really freaky if a car like mine was behind the other two doppelvehicles coming my way, especially if the driver looked like me.
This is a short dream, or more explicitly, my memory of this one is brief. I have a sense that there was more dream but disturbances in the force truncated remembering more substance.
This was a neat part, though. Truging up a hill, I was in a deep twilight, one that curtailed light, limiting what I saw and knew. A weight was on me and my shoulders, back, and leg muscles were all aching. Weariness was slowing me. Each step was shorter and the time between steps was longer. I was thinking, I might not make it, and what should I do if I didn’t?
Taking a longer break to rest and rally my will, I looked almost straight up. Above me was a jagged rend in the darkness, displaying a galaxy splashed with red and blue swaths, a surprising and breathtaking sight.
Almost immediately after seeing the galaxy, I was in another place. Confusion punched through me about the change. I staggered a little, feeling myself off balance.
Then a man was talking to me, an older, baritone voice. I whipped my glances around, trying to understand who and where he was, missing what he was saying. When he paused, I asked, “What?”
Impatience glazing his inflections, he said, “I said, this is your new rock. We’re replacing your old rock.”
Bewilderment ascended in me. “What are you talking about?” But in parallel to me asking that, I saw a line of boulders in spotlights ahead of me. All were pretty large but the first one, an light grey ovoid, sucked in my attention. “What rocks?”
“You’ve been dragging a huge rock, a boulder, up the mountain. We think it’s time you get a break, so we’re giving you this one to drag for a while.”
“That little gray one?”
“Yes.” The impatience flared. “That’s the one.”
I shook my head. “I didn’t even know I was dragging a rock.”
“Dragging, carrying it,” the other said. “Do you want it?”
While that exchange went on, I took in a huge black monolith to one side, bending backwards to see its top. “Is that the rock I had?” I knew it was. Rock was a pale noun for the enormous piece towering over me. “I’ve been dragging that?”
“Yes, that’s your burden.”
Laughing, I was already answering, “I’ll take the grey one, then, sure. That’s a lot smaller.” I was thinking, that’ll make it all much, much easier.
“Okay, go ahead, then, take it, but you should now, it will grow. Burdens always do.”
Michael Seidel, writer 