Tag: just goofing around

Munda’s Wandering Thoughts

I was in the coffee shop on a writing mission, nursing a stiff neck. Falling asleep in a chair the other night, my head slipped out of position. I’ve been doing micro movements almost absent-mindedly to loosen it.

So, there I was, eyes closed, flexing my neck and head back and forth. A Steve Miller song, “Keep On Rockin’ Me, Baby”, floated out of the speakers. Without thinking about it, I was moving my head side to side in time with the music.

When I opened my eyes, a small pair of blue eyes were watching me—blonde hair, rosy cheeks, pink plastic boots. She began copying me. Eyebrows lifting, head tilting, she mirrored every little motion.

I grinned, and she laughed, and so did I. For a moment, it felt like we were performing a tiny, accidental duet—two strangers connected by rhythm, movement, and the music of another time.

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Across the Room

I saw

and thought

what is it

that

I think

I see

on that

wall?

is that a fly

a speck of dirt

a spider

or

very tiny

bee?

I moved closer

to see

what

I thought

I saw

then I got

distracted

when I thought

I heard

a song

listening to

the rhythm

I thought

I know

this

tune

so I started

singing

with it —

and forgot

to look

at all

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Fumbling Through

In the garden of love and hope

things appear level

but this is a slippery slope

where loss hurts like the devil

words drive worrying stumbles,

and feelings force hurtful falls

sometimes no one answers

your quiet, urgent calls

you fall

you lie

you get up

you swear

never again

but you keep on going in there

to see

what you find

hoping love and answers

will find you there

in time

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Sundaz Wandering Thoughts

My wife and I were in Albertsons. A light replenishing mission, this wasn’t a full-on shop. Certain items are only available at Albertson’s or Safeway in Ashland. Albertson’s is closer, and so there we were.

I was in the sprawling produce section, which shares space with the deli and bakery. A frozen section of frozen mashed potatoes and macaroni and cheese lines another wall.

Standing on the end, I gazed across these commingled sections and all of their offerings, looking for my wife and trying to remember what she was wearing, eagle-eyed for a purple hat or blue jacket. I think that’s what she was wearing.

As I did, I questioned myself and chuckled, “How many times do I end up like this, looking for my wife in a store?” Seems like every shopping venture with her has a moment like this.

I was perplexed. Everything — just five items — on our list was in the basket, and I had the basket. Clearly, my wife had gone rogue and was shopping ‘off-list’. That happens, but what did she seek? Answering that would let me find her.

I noticed a woman looking at me as she pushed her cart my direction. Not recognizing her, I decided she wasn’t looking at me but something around me.

She came right up to me. “You look confused. Are you looking for the frozen fish? They’ve changed everything around again.”

I smiled. “No, I’m looking for my wife. But you’re right, they’re always moving things around.”

The woman nodded. “Yes, they want us confused and lost, so we spend more time in the store, which might lead to more impulse buying.”

She wheeled her cart away.

I watched her heading down another aisle. She’d clearly given this a lot of thought.

But she was right. Like, right now, my wife was probably pursuing another impulse buy.

Then I turned and added a bag of pistachio nuts to the basket. I mean, as long as it’s there, and I’m there, waiting…right?

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Wenzdaz Wandering Thoughts

The markers of familiarity intrigue me. I like to walk and friends and strangers comment on seeing me walking around town. People often mention they know me by my hat and its flair. My flair reveals my interests in writing, coffee, beer, the Steelers, and being retired military and living in Oregon.

On my end, I know several dogs who come into the coffee shop by name but I don’t know their owners’s names. People socialize differently with animals. The baristas and other customers often talk to the dogs by name. But even when people talk to the owners, names are rarely used, a facet of behavior which intrigues me.

Things are changing, though. This week, I learned that sweet Lenny’s owner is a retired sociology professor. Happy and social Sugar’s people are Thomas and Alice. Bear — who lives up to his name with his size but is a friendly, relaxed pup — belongs to Norm and Sarah. In this way, gaps are closing, and we’re all becoming friendlier and more open.

Today, Jessica didn’t know my name or regular coffee order. She did remember my Co-op number and knew that I was Brenda on that account. She and I enjoyed a good laugh about it.

Little interactions like all of these help enliven the coffee shop writing life for me.

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Mundaz Wandering Thoughts

My wife came in, sighed, and gave a book report. She reads a lot — over one hundred novels in 2025. I read but not nearly as much, in large part because I write fiction.

I often hear two or three book reports a day from her. Today’s report launched from a familiar sore spot for her.

“Well, I’m enjoying this book, but. I have nine pages left. I know that they’re not going to wrap this story up in nine pages. Not if it’s going to make sense. That means there’s a sequel, a book two, maybe more. Why do they do this? It should be illegal. It should be a crime. If you write a book, it should have an ending, not another thousand book to read.”

Report finished, she stalked back out. A minute later, I heard her singing and cleaning the kitchen. She gets angry about it but at this point, she’s resigned to the situation. I don’t think it’ll be much longer before she begins confirming that the book has an ending before she begins reading it.

We all have our limits.

1

It’s A Church Thing

Papi the ginger wonder was beating on the front door. Technically, it wasn’t the front door but the narrow vertical window alongside the door. Seeing me approaching, he opened up and let out an indignant meow.

“Okay, okay,” I said, letting him in. Papi dashed past towards his refueling station like an Indy 500 pit stop. As I shut the door, I saw a flyer hanging from the knob.

I walked into the office reading the flyer. “This was on the front door. It’s about a church grand opening.”

My wife answered, “I don’t think we’re interested in that. We’re not church people.”

“I know but I want to know what church it is. Huh, it’s on Siskiyou. It’s a Baptist Church.”

A chortle spilled from my wife. “Oh, hell no. I’m a recovering southern Baptist. No way I’m setting foot in that place.”

2

Sundaz Wandering Thoughts

While out shopping yesterday, my wife and I took a break and had dinner out. Our waiter introduced himself as Zack and displayed charm, humor, and natural friendliness. We’ve eaten at this place regularly, so we quickly ordered and off Zack went.

Our salads were brought and eaten. Then we waited Zack kept coming by, asking, need more beer, more bread, or anything else? We smiled, turned everything down, and waited for our meal.

When it finally arrived, Zack grinned. “I’m sorry it took so long. I was getting worried.”

I replied, “You were getting worried? I was asking myself, what did that Zack do with our order?”

Zack rewarded me by doubling up in laughter.

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Satyrdaz Wandering Thoughts

Eating oatmeal remains a little messy and problematic. It almost slipped off the spoon and down my chin.

Wait, I should set it up right: I’m talking about reverse days. That clarifies it, doesn’t it?

Maybe if I go further back, this will begin making sense.

I’m right-handed. Years ago, I decided that I would be right-handed on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. I’d be left-handed on Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday. Sunday was dealer’s choice.

I began easy and worked my way into more difficult efforts. Along the way, I grew deeper appreciation for what left-handers must suffer in order to cope with our right-hand biases. My house feels specifically set up for a right-hand user. I never thought about that when I bought it; I accepted it as ‘normal’. I realized that many things can be changed to accommodate a left-hander, matters like how the faucets are oriented, and the way the dryer and refrigerator doors open.

After my practice with reverse days, I can only imagine how difficult daily life must be for natural left-handers. Learning to drive must require a Herculean effort.

Beyond those, I’ve become fascinated with how my right and left hands have negotiated into who does what. Holding and eating a banana, for example. I found that I hold my banana in my left hand so I can peel it in my right. Yet, I continue to hold it in my left hand while I eat it.

The most daunting task for reverse days: definitely shaving. I can shave my face okay with my left hand. But my left hand hasn’t earned my trust for trimming my mustache and beard. An electric razor is used for that task. Using it to shape things requires careful movement and concentration. I like it just so, you know. Although I’ve picked up my razor with my left and braced myself to do it and yet…wincing, returned it to my right. Yes, I am a chicken.

I’m sure I’ll someday summon the courage to permit the left hand to give the electric razor a go. Until then, the left hand won’t know what the right hand is doing.

Then it’ll learn just how hard it is being right.

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