Tag: observations

Knock On Wood

Daily writing prompt
Are you superstitious?
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Knock on wood, I am not superstitious. I’ve owned three wonderful black cats in Crystal, Sam, and Boo. Each gave me nothing but purrs and good company.

Of course, I do respect that others are superstitious. That affects things. So, for them, I throw salt over my shoulder when I spill it. With many affected by Friday the 13th, I know that many people are a little more distracted and nervous, so I’m a little more careful and alert.

Sure, I do have my lucky underwear, but that’s not superstition. I’ve observed the cause and effect of having them on. I only wear them when extra luck is needed these days because the elastic waistband is worn out and its cotton material has grown as sheer as a silk negligee. The light blue boxers also have a couple holes torn in them from getting a toe ripping through the material when I was putting them on. My wife wants me to throw them away but come on, that would surely be temping the gods to do that.

I do wear a pen on my shirt, but that’s not superstition. I’m a writer and the pen is a talisman to enhance my creativity and prevent writer’s block. What fiction writer would turn that down?

Also, I don’t walk under ladders just as a matter of safety and common sense. Someone could be doing something up there, drop it, and bonk me on the head.

And that would be bad luck.

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Sa’day’s Wandering Thoughts

A common casual question being posed as people meet is, “Are you ready for the new year?”

I watched and listened to folks in the coffee shop. Yes, spying on them, listening to them. Most commonly when they’re asked this question, shrugs are given. Sometimes someone will say, “Not really.” I’ve not any any who say, “Yes.” I don’t answer yes, myself. I’m part of that not really congingent.

We all agree, ready or not, here it comes.

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Thursday’s Wandering Thoughts

I witnessed a coffee house conversation that threatened to escalate into violence.

It was a mildly busy day as people gathered and socialized with pleasant autumn weather outside. Many were bent over phones, laptops, or notebooks.

One table hosted an octet of chatting women not far from me. Their age hovered around my own, which is to say sixty to seventy-five years young. They were mostly laughing and talking about books. Somehow their conversation rolled into the important question everyone wants to know, “How much paste should you put on your toothbrush?”

I haven’t read any books on the subject, and I didn’t study it in school, but I agreed with one brunette woman. She said, “Oh, I read that you just need a dab. Especially with an electric toothbrush.”

“No, no, no,” a red-haired woman erupted. “That is wrong. You need to cover the bristles from end to end with paste.”

Coffee shop conversations dropped off a cliff. Focus went to the table of women.

Other women at the table started disagreeing with paste woman. You’d think they were assaulting her grand toddler from her reaction. Voice rising into a screech, she declared, “No! No!” It was like she was channeling Khruschev addressing the United Nations. “The paste must be on all of the bristles! Anything else is wrong!”

I expected a duel to erupt. Pistols at twenty feet on the sunlit sidewalk outside.

Maybe she’d had too much caffeine. Maybe she didn’t have enough. The other women, wide-eyed with alarm, were backing down fast, trying to placate the redhead before she whipped out a sword to defend her toothpaste position.

Thank God they weren’t discussing politics.

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Wednesday’s Wandering Thoughts

I enjoy being in the coffee shop and witnessing people encountering one another. They’re often so pleased, excited, or happy to meet. Short hugs are exchanged, and there’s often smiles and laughter.

Just a tonic for my spirits when I’m exposed to such joy.

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Trusting

She’s riding her bike. Looks about fifteen years old. She’s in the bike lane. Headphones cover her ears. Her hands are busy with her cell phone.

Yes, she has no hands on her handlebars.

She passes in a flash, steadily pedaling. I’m both admiring and dubious. It’s a busy street and she’s going along a stretch with many business entrances and several intersections.

I admire her confidence but I’m a little dubious about her decision making. Ah, youth.

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Saturday’s Wandering Thoughts

Most people learn that the same response doesn’t fit every situation and adjust their behavior and responses to reflect the moment. Some, however, never seem to learn, insisting on using the same strident notes, no matter what’s happening. Even as that fails, their only response is to lean harder on that one mode, as though it’ll miraculously work, never seeing how they’re only worsening matters, even though people avoid them or walk away.

They end up alone, shouting at themselves.

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Tuesday’s Wandering Thoughts

A young middle-aged woman is at a table with a middle middle-aged man. That’s how they appear to be experienced but amateur eye. Both are attractive. She’s in light grey yoga pants and he’s in khaki hiking shorts. He’s tall, with graying curly hair, while her brunette hair sweeps away from her face and lightly lands on her shoulders. The two are so average white people of the Pacific Northwest. I notice them in the same way as I note others in the coffee shop.

But then, what makes her memorable, after they disposed of their coffee cups at the busing station, she methodically moves through the coffee shop, straightening up the chairs. He goes over and stands by the door, waiting for her to finish. She joins him and they depart, leaving the tidy tables and chairs behind.

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Monday’s Wandering Thoughts

Boys and girls in clean baseball uniforms come into the coffee shop and wait for drinks. Last names and numbers adorn the jerseys. The young players all wear their caps with its team insignia. Crocs, or Croc wannabes adorn their feet so they’re not wearing their cleats into the shop.

The parent situation varies. Sometimes a solitary adult accompanies the young athletes; less frequently, it’s a couple. I wonder about the family situation and whether about the significance of the adult situation.

None seem particularly happy. Phones are often studied, arms crossed, as they wait. But one father and the children talk, joke, and laugh.

All so different from my years of young ball playing. This is part of the new Americana, Starbucks, phones, and Crocs. I wonder how many times these scenes play out across the land on this Monday American holiday.

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75 Degrees F

Being here at Mom’s home and witnessing the thermostat follies fascinates me.

Back in my visit’s first few days, it was chilly, often rainy in the morning or at night. With the thermometer showing 75 F in the house, she and her partner would discuss ‘why it’s so cold’ in the house. I would be consulted but I was overly warm. I didn’t think it cold. My 89-year-old mother would put on a sweater but then ask for the temperature to be raised a few degrees.

It’s 77 degrees outside today, and in the house. Complaining about how hot the house is, she turned on the airconditioner and set it on 75 degrees.

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Tuesday’s Wandering Thoughts

I’ve been writing. Now I pull my head out of the morass of story and look around.

The burst of activity which took over the coffee shop like a late spring storm has faded. Regulars have come in. Parked at tables as I’ve done, they pursue their personal agendas in a public forum.

One of them is a woman. I have no idea what she’s doing. I wonder, but, shrug. I try to give everyone the same privacy I seek.

Today, though, I see that her toenails are bright mango. They match her shirt.

I haven’t noticed these things before but now I’m thinking, did she select a shirt and paint her toenails to match it, as is this a coincidence?

Now, I know, I’ll need to see her again and make a note to look for her toenails. Yes, it seems weird to me, too.

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