Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
Heading into a store, I encountered a woman standing to one said, leash in hand. On the leash’s other end was a handsome but elderly golden retriever, sitting and yawning. I said good morning to her and then addressed the dog, “What a handsome, yawning puppy.”
Without a beat passing, the woman replied, “I’ll let him know what you said.”
We both burst out laughing.
Had to replace the overhead bulb on the stove. It’s for one of two lights setting on either side of the exhaust fan, below the microwave, above the range.
As I’m removing the old way and going through the usual questions of what watts, what size, all that, I see that instructions for replacing the bulbs are printed on a label right there by the exhaust. Only problem for me is that this required me to be on the other side of the stove to read it, you know the rear of the stove, the part residing against the wall.
Boy, someone was thinking hard when they made that decision.
Do you know that they still sell packages of cookies that don’t reseal? I’m not talkin’ of one or two cookies; these are packages of twenty-four cookies. It’s like they expect us to eat all the cookies at once so they’d don’t bother with a resealable package. It’d be uncivilized for us to eat a few and then set aside an open package of cookies. The cookies’ freshness must be preserved.
Those manufacturers not providing resealable packages are really cruel. Mean. Barbaric. I’m looking at you, Trader Joe’s.
The man at the table beside mine is a coffee shop regular. Don’t know his name but I know his habits.
A woman approaches him. I’ve seen her once in a while. They chat for a bit. He mentions that she’s back from her travels and elaborates, remarking that she returned to Reno to see friends and family, like, her daughters and parents still live there. “Oh, yes,” he responds, “you left everyone back there, didn’t you?”
“Yes, but I love living here in Ashland. I think it’s great.”
Then he asks, “Remind me your name again?”
“Donna, and you’re?”
“Jack.”
I‘m a little amused by the sequence. Then again, I’ve gone through those sequences myself. A face and history is recalled, but the name is swimming through the mind’s lower depths, beyond your reach.
A friend sent me an email which included a recent Charles Pierce column in Esquire.
https://www.esquire.com/news-politics/politics/a46506384/trump-rally-new-hampshire-qanon-hecklers/
My buddy closed his email, “I especially liked the phrase, ‘he will wrestle unsuccessfully with the spark gaps widening in his brain’. Although it occurs to me that few under 60 will know what ‘spark gap means.”
Spark gap might be one term falling out of use. Another is DMZ, as in De-Militarized Zone. A friend teaching network security began talking about a DMZ with servers as part of network security and had to stop and first explain ‘DMZ’.
No surprise for me, but a little sip of delight. The world is always changing; word use is just more piece of evidence.
I watched a young woman walking past the coffee shop. Wearing light-toned blue jeans and a dark blue sweatshirt, a dark blue ball cap let dark hair escape but was pulled low, like she was some manner of gunslinger from wild west days. It was her walk which struck me; her white shoes seemed to slap the concrete and she kept her head down, as though she had to concentrate like the Newman song, left foot, right foot, left foot, and so on.
That walk and style reminded me of someone I knew but no names came to mind. I’ve always been bad with names and faces.
They were a couple, with those socks. Skin-tight, displaying every angle and curve of their ankles and feet — they both wore sandals on this warmish winter day — his socks were as golden as a Trump Towers sign, while hers were hot pink. Though he wore loose trousers and she wore capris, both garmets displayed a good six inches of their interesting socks.
They raised some questions, they did.
“Let’s go,” I urged myself this morning. “Time is ticking away. Time to go write. Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go.
“Well, first I’ll dress. Of course. And shave. Okay, let’s go. Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go.
“I should clean the kitchen first. And exercise before I do that. Okay, let’s go, let’s go, let’s go, let’s go.
“But I think I’ll have more coffee first. Okay, let’s go. Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go.”
One woman at the table beside me in the coffee shop said to her companion, “I wish the Dairy Queen would re-open soon. I’ve been eating healthy all year, and I need a break.”
* Our local DQ closed after a kitchen fire in September of 2023.
She entered with a confident stride, scoped the coffee shop and selected a seat. Little was special about her: about five two or three, slender build, upper twenties for age, disheveled crown of golden curls, average clothing. But those shoes, those bright mango-colored running shoes.
You can write a lot of stories about a woman in mango shoes.
Michael Seidel, writer 