Tag: just goofing around

The Look

A woman entered the coffee shop. Not a busy place this day, I typed, half-watching her as I do with almost everyone who walks into my line of sight. I noted that she put down her small case and then paused, head swinging around, a small frown creasing her face. Picking her case up, she drifted toward the coffee shop’s center.

I knew the look. Walking over, I said, “Excuse me,” and pointed at the table she’d been at when I had her attention. “There’s an outlet in the middle under the bench.”

Seeing the outlet, she laughed and said, “Oh, thank you!”

Nodding, I answered, “I knew the look,” followed by, “You’re very welcome,” and headed back to my seat, feeling really good about helping someone else in such a small way.

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Floofsy

Where is the fur

Where is the purr

Where is the regarding gaze

Maybe out in the sun

Somewhere having fun

Or resting in some shade

Then he arrives

Taking me by surprise

Leaping onto my lap

To tell his news

Through chirps and mews

It’s my buddy, my fur friend, my cat

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The Usual Places

The usual places are empty

Our air is still

No soft noises are heard

None are there for a treat or a pill.

Toys are collected and put away

Wondering if they’ll be needed on another day.

Food bowls are cleaned, beds are washed,

Unopened food is given away,

The others are tossed.

Quiet shadows every motion and move

You think of memories

Which help and soothe.

But the faces remain, always there

In the empty space, an empty chair.

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Wenzda’s Wandering Thoughts

They call it sticker shock. My wife and I labeled it a friggin’ kick in the head.

We decided to make brownies for our annual Fourth of July gathering. To give it an Independence Day flavor, red, white, and blue chocolate M&Ms would be added to the top. I hustled to the store to buy said M&Ms.

First stop, Bi-Mart, didn’t have them. Second stop, Albertson’s, did. One size: 38 ounces.

38 ounces. Seriously? Who needs that many M&Ms? But if I need to…I guess…

$15.99. On sale. Marked down from $17.99.

Get out of here. What are these, organic M&Ms hand-wrapped by virgins in gold foil?

Neither price was acceptable to me. As a boomer, I remember M&Ms as something I bought a little bag of for a quarter. Last time that I bought a pound of M&Ms, they were like $5. Even a pound bag seemed more than enough, and this wasn’t that many years ago. What are people doing, spooning M&Ms into their mouths?

The world has gone friggin’ nuts. I really am channeling the old codger in me, aren’t I?

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Munda’s Wandering Thoughts

Sunshine hangs long and hot. The temperature rests at 95 F. The sky darkens, heralding a fleet of clouds. The fleet burgeons as more clouds drift over to see what happens. Darkening and darkening under added layers of clouds, the sunshine skips out on the rest of the day. So dark at 4 PM, we’re forced into turning on houselights. Thunder cruises through with long throat clearing. We look out, talking out our thoughts, “Looks lik it’s going to rain.” “It’s going to storm.”

Wind dashes around and through the trees. Then it sinks.

The day grows still and dark. Feeling bored, the thunder slinks off. The darkness stays, the clouds remain, and the temperature puts it hat on 87 F, and stays there. Tension builds as we wait and look, asking each other, looking outside for clues, surfing the net for information. Friends share on the net, “weird weather.” No one knows nothin’; we wait.

It’s weather’s move.

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The Writing Moment

The coffee shop had net problems today. Shrugging that away, I told myself, “Just write and check the net later.” Two and a half hours later, I’d finished 2300 words and the story had progressed as if I had some notion of what the hell was going on.

The Hunger Band was on my stomach’s center stage by then, their first notes careening through the rest of my bod. Coffee shop net still down, I listened to the Hunger Band’s sorrowful lyrics about dying of starvation and decided, “Yes, I’ve written enough. Time to go home and eat.”

Now to explore the kitchen to see what the Hunger Band will find acceptable. Salad? Maybe. Burrito?

Hmmm.

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Wenzda’s Wandering Thoughts

I had a haircut earlier this month. Really? Which one? *tish*

My wife said, “You look nice. Your hair looks really good.”

“Thanks,” I answered. I was leaving for the coffee shop. “I have a campaign to look less homeless. My hair is too short.”

“Looks good.”

“Too short. It’s shorter than it was when I was in the military because I have less of it now.”

“It looks good.”

“It’s too short.”

“It looks good.”

“Agree to disagree. See you later.”

“It looks good.”

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Twosda’s Wandering Thoughts

I had oral surgery with a dentist last week. They sent me home with a ‘complimentary’ pint of chocolate ice cream. Later that week, I found flowers from my dentist waiting on my porch: yellow roses with yellow and white daisies and baby’s breath. When I told others about these things, people replied, “I can see the ice cream. But flowers? I’ve nver heard of anyone receiving flowers from their dentist.”

I grinned. “I think you just need to spend enough money. Tier one is ice cream. Tier two, and they include flowers.”

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Munda’s Wandering Thoughts

Some days, shit is happening, and all you can do is pretend to pursue the normal aspects of being. For one, war is hettin’ up in the Middle East or whatever you want to call it. It’s been a war zone for years. It’s usually a matter of who is going to strike back, how, and when. There will be violence, death, and destruction. The Middle East quagmire of religions, history, and tribes and factions are overstocked with tendencies to war.

Personally, dispiriting matters keep piling up in my world. I don’t write about all of them. Not going to start now. My basic bottom line which I return to again and again, is, this is life. Many of us — hell, I’ll go out on a limb and declare that most of us — go through this shit. I can only imagine how worse the shit is magnified if you’re suffering from serious diseases, homelessness, racism and other prejudice, discrimination, or hate. On paper, I have it pretty good but life is lived on a spectrum. We slide up and down it. I’m on the down side today.

We watched again a Neflix series on the gut and the biome’s influence on our brains and pains.* As part of this show, they talked about fecal transplants. Transplants were done by people who had problems and were seeking solutions. One woman used her boyfriend’s fecal material as her transplant source. She noted that he has ‘mental issues’ but didn’t specify more. Or maybe I spaced on it. I did catch her say that she began acting and feeling like him, emotionally unstable, anxious, and depressed. She quit using his shit and used her brother’s shit. After a week, she felt much better.

I imagine a future of routine fecal transplants. A partner on the computer says, “I’m ordering some groceries and things. Is there anything you need?”

“Yes, get me some new shit. I’m almost out of shit and I’m feeling it.”

“What shit do you want?”

“Same shit as last time. It should be in your order history.”

“Is it the Tom Cruise brand Improved Shit?”

“Yes, that’s the shit, but get a big jar. I’m really feeling it.”

“You got it.”

I think about whose shit I might order. Maybe Taylor Swift, Tom Brady, or Patrick Mahomes. I pity the fool who tries mine. But then again, I know people with some shit that’s a lot worse.

*The Neflix series is You Are What You Eat: A Twin Experiment

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