Roberferghen

He came into the kitchen and watched her as she flitted from counter to counter, cupboard to pantry, collecting ingredients and utensils. The oven was on. He wondered what she was baking. “What’d you say about Roberferghen?”

She flashed him a quizzical look. “Who? What?”

“Just now. I was in the other room and you said something about Roberferghen several times.”

“What’s Roberferghen?”

“I don’t know. That’s what I came in to find out.”

Picking up a measuring cup, she sifted flour into it and shook her head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“What were you just saying?”

“When?”

“Just now, before I came in here?”

Shaking her head, she poured the flour into a bowl. “I don’t know. I don’t remember.”

Her tone made it clear that the topic was closed. Turning, he sighed and left.

Now he’d never know what Roberferghen is.

July 10, 2019 2

The Disconnect

He walked through the neighborhoods of circa 1940 and 1950 bungalows and craftsman houses. The newer neighborhoods were ranches built in the 1960s and 1970s, larger houses with smaller yards.

Throughout were large oak, sycamore, and maple trees, along with cars and RVs filled with belongings parked up against the curbs. Some cars had people sleeping inside. Others had windows or doors open with people lounging by their vehicles, smoking cigarettes, talking to others, listening to music, or reading books.

Churches occupied every third block, churches with an acre or more of vast asphalt for parking with signs stating, “Church Use Only. All Others Will Be Towed.”

Somehow, seeing those cars and RVs of homeless parked on the streets and the vast empty church parking lots, he thought there was a disconnect, but he just couldn’t connect it.

July 8, 2019 2

Not the Same

“I don’t believe in the Holocaust,” he said with a challenging, simpering smile.

“What’s that mean?”

“I wasn’t there, so I don’t know that it happened.”

“It’s a well-documented historic fact. Millions of people died.”

He waved that away. “Papers. Photographs. That can all be faked.”

“And bodies in graves?”

“They can be faked, too. I wasn’t there, so I can’t confirm that it happened, and I don’t believe it did. Just like slavery. I don’t think it happened, either.”

My mouth fell open. “So you need to be there to know if something happened.” As he nodded, I said, “Are you a sports fan?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“How do you know that a game took place if you weren’t there? You can’t watch every game on television. Even if you could, that can be faked.”

He laughed. “Oh, that’s different, because I’m alive now. I’m experiencing it.”

“You were born, when, the early seventies?”

“Exactly nineteen seventy.”

I set my cup to focus on him. “The Moon landings began the year before, nineteen sixty-nine. Do you believe in those?”

“No, I don’t. There’s a lot of evidence that the entire space program was faked.”

“Then World War II was probably faked, too, right?”

“No, because my grandfather fought in World War II in the Pacific. He confirmed it was real.”

“But only in the Pacific, right? He didn’t serve in Europe.”

“But he had friends and other relatives that fought in Europe.”

“But not you.”

“Of course not. I’m too young.”

“Then you must not believe in Jesus Christ. You weren’t there when he was alive, were you? Or the first SuperBowl or any of the other football championships? You must not believe in Babe Ruth, either, or Columbus coming to America, right?”

He was shaking his head. “No, no, you’re wrong. Fake news to control the people is a modern pracitice that the United States government developed. Things that happened hundreds of years ago are true because people told the truth in that time. See, it’s just not the same.”

July 8, 2019 7

Unforgotten

Memories,

I make them now,

so far my brain hasn’t forgotten how.

Time shoots by in a quickening blast

and I recall with fondness a nebulous past.

Starry-eyed and glittery mind, I used to look ahead.

Now, sometimes, it’s wearying getting out of bed.

My oceans of thoughts seem dark but calm,

a prelude, or harbinger, of a once-remembered song.

I seek comfort, I seek reminders, I seek the past,

even though I know, like the future,

it never lasts.

July 6, 2019 2

Laurel

I met a woman named Laurel today. She’s young and pleasant. I began wondering about her name. I’ve never met anyone named Oak or Maple as a first name. No Pine or Spruce. I’ve heard of Willows and Magnolias but have never met them.

What about Spruce? It’s in use, but way down at #12,611 in 2018 according to BabyCenter, and it’s a boy’s name.

I can imagine a female named Spruce. “Hello, I’m Spruce.”

“Oh, pleased to meet you, Spruce. Lovely name, by the way.”

We shake hands. “Thank you. I’m named after a tree.”

Works for me.