Not Non-Fiction

Stories.

It’s Been A Minute.

Author: January 1, 2026 10 Comments

So a few things have changed since we moved, and by “a few things” I mean, of course, almost everything. We’re now out in the country, though I still commute to Nashville on a regular basis. We’re mostly surrounded by trees. There’s a high ridge behind our house and just beyond it there are train tracks. Hearing the regular sound of train whistles is really a nice thing. We looked at several places together but none seemed quite right: the house was too small or the yard was too small. One had everything we wanted but also one thing we didn’t want: a front yard with the road running right through it. It also had half a dozen RVs parked in far side of the front yard. If we’d picked that place I would have kept one and turned it into a writing studio, but that wasn’t a sufficient to compensate for the miniscule backyard or my concerns about how our dogs would react to the neighbor’s chickens. Or how the neighbor’s chickens would react to our dogs since they seemed to have free run of the backyard. 

We looked at another house that had everything we wanted, including a nice shed I could easily turn into a writing studio, and also, just a few houses away, there was a graveyard–something I didn’t know I wanted but was really great–but it would also have meant an hour and a half drive to work. I don’t mind driving but I knew that doing it three hours a day at least four days a week I’d really come to hate it.

Then one Friday morning my wife and our amazing realtor–name available on request–decided to go look at a place that had a little more acreage than we were looking for but seemed promising. And then she called me and said, “I need you to leave work now.” And just like that we found the place. It had almost everything we wanted, including some space where I’ll eventually put a writing studio, and even some fun little surprises lurking in the drawers.

Our realtor, who really is amazing, made the whole process as smooth and easy as selling a place where we’d lived for more than three decades and buying an entirely new home could be. Then she took us out for a nice lunch and I said, hey, if I’d known this was part of the deal I would have sold our house years ago.

First, though, we’d have to move and while we did quite a lot of that ourselves–including one harrowing night drive with the CRV packed full of boxes–we had to rely on professionals for the big stuff. So let me introduce you to the moving crew:

Skip: The first to arrive in a small moving truck that pulled into our driveway ten minutes ahead of the scheduled appointment time. Skinny as a toothpick. Carrying a vape in one hand and a phone in the other. The first thing he said when he got out was, “Sorry we’re late. We got lost. The other truck will be here in ten minutes.” It would take the other, larger, truck half an hour to arrive.

Alex: Arrived with Skip but sat in the truck for ten minutes while Skip surveyed the scene. Skinny as a toothpick. Climbed on top of the moving truck and stayed there until the other truck arrived.

Derek: First off the second truck. Skinny as a toothpick. Bright, chatty, and very funny. At one point, after he’d carried five bookcases by himself, he and I chatted about the time he got poison ivy at basketball camp and told me he was so covered in calamine lotion “I was boppin’ around the court like a brown and pink lollipop.” While I laughed awkwardly he gracefully carried out a box that weighed more than he did.

Anson: Skinny as a toothpick. Carried boxes out so quietly and smoothly he might have gone completely unnoticed if he hadn’t been the only member of the crew with sleeve tattoos.

Jerry: Skinny as a toothpick. Frowned a lot. Borrowed Skip’s vape then proceeded to carry the refrigerator out by himself.

Josh: Carried a bottle of Gatorade in one hand and nothing heavier than twenty pounds in the other hand. Followed Jerry the entire time, talking non-stop. From what I could hear he knows more about Bauhaus the band and Bauhaus the design school than any human being should.

Rowan: Looked like he lifts weights professionally. Was 6’2″–and that’s the width of his chest. Needed help carrying a coffee table.

Of course moving was just the start. It would be followed by unpacking that, well, if you’ve ever moved, you know still isn’t complete, and also a lot of “Where is the…?” followed by “In a box somewhere.” Then there would be getting to know the neighbors, but that’s another story.

 

Adventures In Busing., Hail & Farewell., Not Non-Fiction, Ramble With Me., Submitted For Your Approval., The Weekly Essay

Annual Report: 2024/2025

Author: April 1, 2025 4 Comments

April 2024: Back in 1995, playing around with email for the first time, I created an list to forward funny things that had been forwarded to me. To protect the identities of everyone in the list I called it “Anonymous” and, because I’d learned about the Freethinkers from Mark Twain, I added that to the name. Then I started writing funny things of my own to preface whatever I was forwarding. Then a friend created a website and started archiving the pieces. Then I just stopped forwarding stuff because I wanted to focus on my own things and eventually it evolved into a blog, again with a friend’s help.

I’d read somewhere that the average life of a blog is three years. While I’ve never been able to confirm this I felt that, while I couldn’t pinpoint the exact date I’d started, I was close enough to say I’d now hit the twenty-nine year mark. It would only take one more year to bury the average.

 

May 2024: At this point I’d been playing the ukulele for a little over a year. I couldn’t pinpoint the exact date I started but that doesn’t matter because time is flexible and with almost any hobby there are a lot of different points at which you could say you technically started. So when asked what song I’d like to learn next I said “John Cage’s Four Minutes and Thirty-three Seconds.” This resulted in approximately forty-seven seconds of silence but I’m sure with practice I’ll be able to get through the entire piece.

 

June 2024: I remembered that this was the centennial year of the Surrealist Movement although with something like surrealism, which is more of a vaguely defined style than a single specific movement, there’s no way to really pinpoint the exact date. Even the first members of the Surrealist group claimed Hieronymous Bosch as one of their members and in 1924 he celebrated his 474th birthday. Or at least he would have if he hadn’t died four hundred and eight years earlier.

 

July 2024: I finally decided this was the year I’d find the best milkshake in Nashville. I’d had this idea for several years, though I couldn’t pinpoint the exact date it came into my head, but I do know I always got distracted by the idea of whether I should include chain restaurants of focus solely on local places. Local places would be my preference, and I’d also keep in mind that “best” is subjective. And then I wondered if I should focus strictly on ice cream places or any place that serves milkshakes. And didn’t I also plan to do this with gyros?

 

August 2024: Team members Dave Casman and Joe Bertman came into the office and announced that all of Emily Dickinson’s poems can be sung to the tune of John Cage’s Four Minutes and Thirty-three Seconds and they were immediately told to get out.

 

September 2024: Conseils d’application: Répartissez le conditionneur de manière uniforme sur les pointes et le centre de vos cheveux. N’appliquez pas le conditionneur sue votre cuir chevelu. Laissez le conditionneur s’imprégner pendant quelques minutes. Rincez abondamment. Avertissements: Réserve a un usage extreme uniquement. Conserver hors de portee des enfants. Cessez de utiliser en cas d’irritation.

 

October 2024: This is a test. This is only a test. Please stand by. Do not adjust your television set. We control the vertical. We control the horizontal. Scarecrows and magic and other fatal fears do not bring people closer together. There is no magic substitute for soft caring and hard work, for self-respect and mutual love. If we can learn this from the mistake these frightened men made then their mistake will not have been merely grotesque, it would at least have been a lesson. A lesson, at last, to be learned.

 

November 2024: I decided to participate in “No Shave November” and by the end of the month had acquired what most people would describe as a “five o’clock shadow”. All right, technically it was closer to four-thirty, but it’s difficult to pinpoint the exact date.

 

December 2024: The final month marked the end of yet another year, although these annual reports get filed in April, and anyway time is arbitrary, wibbly-wobbly, and as soon as you focus on a single moment it’s already on to the next. There’s nothing to do but keep going and hope things will get better.

 

January 2025: Team members Dave Casman and Joe Bertman came into the office with the idea of finding the best place in Nashville to get Boston cream pie, New England clam chowder, Belgian waffles, Baked Alaska, Buffalo wings, Pad Thai, Swedish meatballs, Turkish delight, Vienna sausages, Black Forest cake, Swiss chard, Brussels sprouts,Chicken Kiev, Canadian bacon, and Eggs Benedict and were immediately told to get out.

 

February 2025: I would procrastinate if I ever get around to it. Anyway while digging through the backseat of the car in search of some ketchup I found my gym shorts and realized it was well past time to wash them. In fact I could pinpoint the exact date because there were a couple of receipts for a milkshake and a gyro in the pocket.

 

March 2025: I’d read somewhere that the average life of a blog is three years. While I couldn’t pinpoint the exact date I’d started, I knew it was close enough that I could safely say I’d been doing this odd little thing I called “Freethinkers Anonymous” for thirty years. It would have been nice to gather everyone who’s been with me on this journey together in one room, but you’re all so scattered, and some fell by the wayside. Many years ago—I can’t pinpoint the exact date—I read the Epic of Gilgamesh and found comfort in the idea that nothing is permanent. At the time I thought it meant that everything ends but as I’ve gotten older it feels deeper than that. Everything changes and as soon as you focus on one moment it’s on to the next, but as long as we’re here the important thing is to keep playing.

Hail & Farewell., Happy Birthday., Not Non-Fiction, Quick Takes., Ramble With Me., Submitted For Your Approval., The Vault, The Weekly Essay

Marching On.

Author: March 21, 2025 1 Comment

The Five Stages Of March:

  1. Denial.

It can’t possibly be March. Sure, February is the shortest month on the calendar, but it’s still too soon to be March. And too cold. It seems like just a week ago we were in the middle of January. How could it possibly be March already?

  1. Anger.

Fine, it’s March. It’s still too cold but the weather’s supposed to warm up a little bit the next week. And then go back to freezing after that. Later in the week we’ll get tornadoes. Yep, that’s definitely March and I hate it.

  1. Bargaining.

Can we get some consistent weather here, please? Is there anything I can do to make that happen? I promise I’ll wear my heavy coat to work in the morning and won’t complain about having to carry it home in the afternoon when everybody’s out wearing shorts.

  1. More bargaining.

I swear I’ll do anything if it will just get warm and stay warm. Or get cold and stay cold. I can’t tell if I’m coughing because I’ve got a cold or because of allergies.

  1. Extra special bargaining.

Yes, I said I wish I were on a beach somewhere but I didn’t mean I wanted flooding. Look, the kids get Spring Break. Isn’t it close enough to spring that I could catch a break here?

  1. This is definitely bargaining.

Of course it’s raining nails and tiny little Ernest Borgnines. It’s March. I think I’d better lay off the allergy medication.

  1. Back to bargaining.

This is the third time I’ve packed away my heavy coat and then had to pull it out again. If I just leave it out will the weather finally stay warm?

  1. Depression.

Sun is out. Birds are singing. Buttercups and lilies are popping up in yards. The grass is getting green. Everyone’s happy. Yep, it’s definitely March and I hate it. I’m just going to sit here wrapped up in my winter coat.

  1. Acceptance.

All right, spring really is finally here, the forecast shows nothing but high temperatures and clear skies. I’m going to go out for a walk in the park and just relax and enjoy myself. Time to break out the shorts and sandals.

  1. Acceptance, ten minutes later.

Blizzard.

Nature Talks., Not Non-Fiction, Quick Takes., Submitted For Your Approval., The Weekly Essay

Lucky Day.

Author: March 17, 2025 2 Comments

In recent years St. Patrick’s Day has become controversial because of a maligned and often caricatured minority. I’m referring, of course, to leprechauns. Reviled, mistreated, and still all too frequently portrayed as happy little figures sitting on toadstools smoking pipes even though increasingly they’re switching to e-cigarettes the leprechaun is still the object of prejudice and misconceptions. Many of us, in fact, have passed by or even worked alongside leprechauns, often without realizing it. In the interests of time I’ll just be addressing a few of the most common misconceptions here.

The first is the ancient belief that leprechauns are mischievous, even dangerous creatures. Stories of leprechauns luring travelers into bogs or inflicting injuries on those passing through wooded areas go back as far as the 8th century, but sociologists now agree that such behavior is not characteristic of leprechauns, and is, in fact, quite rare. While there may be some basis in truth for these stories it’s widely accepted that destructive behavior was the act of a minority among leprechauns who, feeling marginalized from the culture as a whole, acted out in anti-social ways. Unfortunately this misconception has been perpetuated and reinforced by stories that are still told to children, as well as in movies, such as the 1993 film Leprechaun, its many sequels including 2000’s Leprechaun in the Hood, and, of course, the 1980 Al Pacino movie Cruising.

There is also a less common misconception of leprechauns as helpful. There are stories of leprechauns discreetly doing farm work, including harvesting, milking cows, and repairing small machinery. Again there may be some basis for these stories, but not all leprechauns enjoy the outdoors or are suited for farm work. Many prefer to work in offices, or seek employment in fields such as shoemaking. This is, of course, not to say that all leprechauns are adept at working with footwear, but many did find this to be an accepted trade. It’s believed this originated from leprechauns making shoes for fairies who, being generally more accepted, would be asked by more common folk where they got such amazing stilettoes. Working as cobblers proved to be profitable even when leprechauns were subject to such fierce discrimination that they were kept out of most cities and towns and had to form their own exclusive villages, commonly known as leprechaulonies.

Stories of farmers rewarding helpful leprechauns with suits of clothes, only to find that the leprechauns considered this an insult and would disappear, may also have some basis in truth, mainly because you can’t expect a leprechaun to wear that coat with those pants, especially after Labor Day.

Finally we come to the most common and persistent belief about leprechauns: that they are hoarders of massive quantities of gold which they keep in pots at the end of rainbows. This belief has been so pervasive that attempts have been made to lure leprechauns with artificial rainbows by everyone from Sir Isaac Newton to the manager of the band Pink Floyd. As a belief it was understandable at a time when people regarded meteorological phenomena as magical, unlike now when it’s understood that rainbows are caused by the refraction of sunlight through water droplets suspended in dragon farts. Because rainbows rarely have ends that reach the ground it’s still not understood how exactly leprechauns could have kept their alleged pots of gold at the ends of rainbows, in spite of several theories advanced by folklorists and experiments attempting to hang pots of gold from rainbows using balloons. A frequently repeated tale is that a leprechaun, when caught, may be forced to give up the location of his pot of gold, but only if the person who caught him keeps his eyes fixed on the leprechaun. In stories of this type the leprechaun often escapes capture by telling the person who caught him that there’s a fierce beast or the Chrysler building just over his shoulder. Folklorists believe that there is some truth in this, but only to the extent that leprechauns seem to have invented the “made you look” joke. Also it’s now known that leprechauns are not inherently wealthy. While there are some who have enjoyed success—the heir to the Lucky Charms fortune, for instance, or Mickey Rooney—leprechauns are no more likely to be wealthy than the general population.

That concludes the lecture for today. In preparation for next week read pages 126-153, when we will be discussing genetic mutation and its potential for altering reality. Our lab work will involve real four-leaf clovers, but I’d better not catch any of you wishing for a better grade.

Adventures In Busing., Not Non-Fiction, Submitted For Your Approval.

Basket Case.

Author: March 14, 2025 3 Comments

People make fun of me when I tell them what I’m majoring in at college. They say “I thought that was just a joke!” Well, let me tell you, it does sound funny and a lot of us who major in it joke about it too, but there’s also a very serious side to it. Do you think basket weaving is easy? Have you ever tried it? Do it before you make jokes. There’s a lot more to it than just threading a strand around the spokes. That takes a lot of manual dexterity and also concentration and time. And you have to think about the materials you’re using. Wicker, reed, rattan, and bamboo all have to be handled differently, and each one can be woven in a wide range of styles. Those are just some of the most common materials, the sort of stuff you’d get from your local hobby shop, if it hasn’t gone out of business. If it has, well, you can buy a kit online if you want, but, as a college student, I’m also learning how to forage for as well as grow my own raw materials. If you think that’s easy then just try it. But don’t come crying to me when your willow tree dies because you didn’t know where to plant it.

Yes, I know, the process of making baskets can be mostly automated. Mostly. Who do you think designs and builds the machines that make baskets? Well, mostly engineers, but they need to consult with trained basket makers to know where to start. It’s all interrelated. And think about how useful baskets are. Let’s back up a bit. Think about the whole history of humanity and our reliance on handmade crafts. That kind of puts things in perspective, doesn’t it? Now think about all the things you can use baskets for: storage, carrying. Well, they can be decorative too. The point is, if you’ve got a nice basket for carrying things or storing things you’re not just going to throw it out. If you were going to do that you might as well use a plastic bag. Thanks for helping to trash the planet. And when’s the last time you heard about a kid suffocating inside a woven basket?

Great, so you want to know about the other part. That’s not easy either. What, do you think we just sit waist deep in a swimming pool? Or hold our breath while weaving? No, we go all in. We don’t have to do it but we like the extra challenge. And that’s what it’s all about: learning to overcome challenges. I realized that way back in fifth grade when my English teacher used to use “underwater basket weaving” as a metaphor for something useless that didn’t require any thought. Not that I’m knocking English. After all English majors know what I’m talking about. We even get the same questions. “What are you going to do with that?” I don’t know. How does creative problem solving, manual dexterity, and scuba certification look on a resume? Exactly. It’s not like I’m studying something so highly specialized it’ll only be applicable to one career path. If I wanted that I would have studied accounting.

Source: Tenor

Not Non-Fiction, Submitted For Your Approval., The Weekly Essay

Look Before You Leap.

Author: March 7, 2025 3 Comments

When I was offered a golden parachute for my retirement I jumped at it. Well, not literally. The jump would come later because it turned out what they were giving me was an actual golden parachute. Literally. I don’t know how they got enough pure gold to make an entire parachute and it’s probably best not to ask. Sure, it’s just gold foil so it’s not exactly thick but it’s still a parachute. All folded up and in the pack ready to go. The thing’s got to weigh at least fifty pounds. I checked and the price of gold is close to $3000 an ounce right now. If I can find a place to cash all that in I really will be set for life. That’s the problem, though. It’s not like I can just walk into a pawn shop with fifty pounds of gold foil and expect them to buy it from me on the spot. Even if I can still find one of those cash for gold places I couldn’t expect them to have enough on hand to buy it all. If they could I’d need five, maybe six briefcases for all that cash. Okay, now I know I’m being ridiculous. They’d give me a check or maybe we could work out some kind of direct deposit. Even if they could, though, I’d be lucky to get the whole amount. Talk about flooding the market. It’s not like a few years ago when there was one of those cash for gold places on every corner and I could have made a separate stop at each one before they knew what hit them.

What about the taxes? Could I set up a Swiss bank account? How hard is it to do that? Or maybe one of those offshore deals in some place like the Cayman Islands. I would have looked into this if I’d known I was going to suddenly get this much gold. I guess I still have time, though.

Yeah, now that I think about it I realize I really don’t want to cash it in all at once. It would be better to break it up into little pieces and cash it in over six months or maybe a year. That would be smarter and even a little bit of gold is going to be enough to live on for a pretty long time.

That still leaves me with the question of whether I can sell it like it is. Are there places that take gold foil? Maybe I could find places that make statues, like the Oscars or something. Or those super fancy restaurants that put gold foil on desserts sometimes. But I doubt they’d want this much gold. Now that I have it, though, I’d kind of like to try one of those desserts. Hey, I could even make my own. Then I’d get the gold back. Yeah, that’s kind of gross but I still wouldn’t want to waste it.

Maybe it would be smarter to melt it down into little ingots or something. How hard could it be to melt gold foil? Oh, this says the melting point of gold is almost two thousand degrees. I guess it wouldn’t be that easy. Maybe I should buy a forge or something. I bet I can get one online for pretty cheap. Sure, I’ve got a big wad of gold right now but I still want to be smart about how I spend it.

Speaking of research I also need to figure out how to open this parachute. I never really thought about it before but I think this building’s got about twenty, maybe twenty-five floors. That’s got to be at least three-hundred feet. Should I check that? Never mind. I should be fine if I just pull the cord as soon as I’m in the air. But it’s almost five o’clock and that’s when they said they’d be throwing me off the building so I really need to figure this out.

At least I’m not stupid like Dan in the next cubicle who took the severance package. That cost him an arm and a leg.

Not Non-Fiction, Submitted For Your Approval., The Weekly Essay

Then And Now.

Author: February 21, 2025 5 Comments


The difference in taking cough medicine when you’re a kid versus an adult:

Kid: You don’t remember taking it before but something about that shimmering spoonful of liquid that manages to be both purple and brown at the same time triggers fear in you. This is a trick. They’ll have to strap you down and pry your mouth open before you’ll let that in your mouth.

Adult: It can’t possibly be as bad as you remember.

Kid: Bleh, that is the most horrible, awful, disgusting thing you’ve ever had in your mouth, and you were once tricked into trying kale.

Adult: How is it worse than you remember? Seriously, that is the worst thing you’ve ever had in your mouth. Okay, there was that one time in college at a party when what you thought was a rum and Coke was the spit cup being used by that one guy who chewed tobacco…no, this is worse.

Kid: It’s been ten whole minutes. How is the horrible taste still there? At this point you’d drink anything, even water, to get rid of it. And when is it supposed to make you stop coughing?

Adult: It’s only been ten minutes. Is it too early to drink some water? 

Kid: You’re never taking that crap ever again. You’ll never risk getting a cold. You’ll never go outside. What’s that? Your friends are sledding. Now you remember why you agreed to take it in the first place. Where’s your coat? Never mind. You won’t need it. But first you’re going to sit down on the couch for a minute.

Adult: The label says “may cause drowsiness”. When is that supposed to kick in? Some sleep would be nice for a change. Must not work on you for some reason. You’ll just sit down on the couch for a minute.

Kid: Why is it dark? Oh, it’s been about four hours. Oh no. You feel another cough coming. You have to suppress it or they’ll give you another dose.

Adult: How are you still tired after sleeping for more than four hours? Oh great, here comes more coughing. Time to take some more. It can’t be as bad as you remember, right?

Kid: Maybe if you scream enough next time you’ll get the kind that tastes like candy.

Adult: Next time you’re buying the kind that tastes like candy.

Not Non-Fiction, Quick Takes., The Weekly Essay

Fantasy Football, Superbowl LIX Edition.

Author: February 8, 2025 3 Comments

 

Offense            
Wide Receiver Xavier Worthy Wide Receiver Schmendrick The Magician
Left Tackle Jordan Mailata Left Tackle Buffy Anne Summers  
Left Guard Mike Caliendo Left Guard Inigo Montoya  
Center Cam Jurgens Center Dark Helmet  
Right Guard Trey Smith Right Guard Inigo Montoya  
Right Tackle Lane Johnson Right Tackle Rocket Raccoon  
Tight End Travis Kelce Tight End Lessa/Ramoth  
Quaterback Patrick Mahomes  Quaterback Xena, Warrior Princes
Running Back Saquon Barkley Running Back Jareth    
Fullback Carson Steele Fullback Hellboy    
Wide Receiver Jahan Dotson Wide Receiver Yog Sothoth  
             
Defense            
Defensive End George Karlaftis Defensive End Optimus Prime  
Defensive Tackle Jordan Davis Defensive Tackle Gamera    
Defensive Tackle Tershawn Wharton Defensive Tackle Ellen Ripley  
Defensive End Mike Danna Defensive End Peter Pan    
Linebacker Nakobe Dean Linebacker Marceline The Vampire Queen
Linebacker Drue Tranquill Linebacker Falkor    
Linebacker Leo Chenal Linebacker Arya Stark    
Cornerback Trent McDuffie Cornerback Spock    
Cornerback Quinyon Mitchell Cornerback Galadriel    
Safety Justin Reid Safety Mrs. Whatsit  
Safety Reed Blankenship Safety Ged    

 

Source: Wondermark

American Graffiti., Happy Birthday., Not Non-Fiction, Quick Takes., Submitted For Your Approval., The Vault

Giving Thanks For 2024.

Author: November 28, 2024 2 Comments

This is one of my annual traditions, celebrating a time when turkeys aren’t the only thing that gets stuffed. Happy Thanksgiving to all those who celebrate it, and a very special belated happy Thanksgiving to Canadians who celebrate it before Halloween.

It has been celebrated as a federal holiday every year since 1863, when, during the American Civil War, President Abraham Lincoln proclaimed a national day of “Thanksgiving and Praise to our beneficent Father who dwelleth in the Heavens,” to be celebrated on the last Thursday in November.
–Wikipedia

November 25th, 1864

It was even worse than last year. I know every time my family gets together we fall into certain patterns, but that never makes it easier. This time it was even worse because just getting to my parents’ house was such a pain. I thought I’d carriagepool with my younger brother and his wife, but they went up early so that fell through. Then I thought I’d beat the traffic by setting out at dawn, which was such a great idea everybody else in Richmond had it at the same time and the horses were nose to tail, stop and trot, for miles. Finally I got there a little after ten in the morning and my older sister came out already holding a glass of blackberry wine and when she hugged me I could tell it wasn’t her first one. She asked me how things were going and then didn’t wait for an answer and ran back into the house to tell everyone I was there.

I should have known I’d be walking into an argument in the foyer, the way my family is. It’s just what it was about that threw me. My kid brother had this crazy idea for a new way to cook a turkey, leaving the feathers still on and roasting it in the coals of a fire. Well, it sounded pretty stupid to me, and I wasn’t surprised to learn that the neighbors tried the same thing last year and burned down their stable. But I didn’t want to side with my father either. So I said it had been a long trip and I needed to visit the outhouse and slipped out. Well, there was a line at the outhouse: two of my nieces, three cousins, all four of my brothers, and my sister was already in there getting rid of some of that blackberry wine. So I went back inside to see what was going on.

In the parlor my mother was putting together some kind of monstrosity with dead leaves and dried berries that she said she was going to put in the middle of the table.

“Where’s the food going to go?” I asked.

“Well, we’ll move it before we eat.”

I was going to ask why she’d bother to put it in the middle of the table if she was just going to move it again but decided against having that discussion, so instead I sat down and leafed through a broadsheet that was handy.

“The other men are organizing a game,” she said. “It’s some new sport called foot-ball. You should go and join them.”

Well, she knows I’ve never been athletic, but when I protested she got put out with me and said, “It’s your Uncle Wilkes’s idea. You know you’ve always been his favorite. You really should go and do it just to please him.”

FINE.

Well, when I came back in my sister just cackled and toasted me with another glass of blackberry wine. All my mother could say was “Don’t get any blood on the carpet,” and my older brother kept telling me to stop being a sissy and just put some salve on it. Then Aunt Gerda said pinch the back of my neck and tilt my head forward and Uncle Wilkes said no, put pressure between the eyes and lean back, and then my cousins got into it so there had to be a family brawl about that. A day later and I’m still bleeding. So much for the salve. I’ll have to make an appointment with Dr. Samuel Mudd when I get back.

 Then Uncle Aloysius had to start in Daniel about supporting the Whigs and Elizabeth about Suffragettes, just trying to start an argument. Fortunately they didn’t rise to the bait.

Then I tried to head off another argument about who’d have to chaperone the kids’ table by volunteering, but my father cut that off.

“No, no, I want John seated here on my left. After I sent him to that fancy and very expensive school so he could waste his time studying the dramatic arts and oratory he should be well-equipped to deliver the traditional Booth family prayer of thanks.”

Traditional since last year, he means. Then my kid brother who was sitting over there grinning at me kicked me in the shins which I know was his way of saying “Don’t start anything”. I kicked him twice as hard in the shins which was my way of saying, “I wasn’t going to,” and then kicked him again to say, “Hurts, don’t it?”

All this might have been a little more bearable if my sister had let me have some of the blackberry wine.

I swear I’m going to get that Lincoln for making us do this.

Happy Birthday., Not Non-Fiction, Submitted For Your Approval., The Vault, The Weekly Essay

Really Rough Drafts.

Author: November 15, 2024 6 Comments

Notes From The Journals Of Mother Goose

Who does Muffet think she’s fooling? She didn’t drag a mattress out to her garden just to sit on it and eat cottage cheese. Probably airing it out after all the use it’s gotten if you know what I mean. Boy is she gonna be surprised when she realizes what’s crawled into that thing.

 

Met a guy from Ives. What a character! He’s been married seven times. How’s that even legal? Every one of his wives had a bunch of bags filled with cats. People from Ives are so weird.

 

Don’t tease your pets. I’m gonna laugh so hard when old Hubbard’s dog bites the shit out of her.

 

Farm animals got loose again. Seriously where’s the kid with the horn? Probably suffocated under that haystack. I hope.

 

That black sheep is pumping out wool like crazy. It’s nice the owner’s got enough to give away bags of it to pretty much everybody but seriously anything that gets knitted from that wool is probably gonna be cursed.

 

Pease porridge? More like please take this porridge, hot or cold, and bury it. That mess has been there for over a week and even the rats won’t go near it.

 

Told Jack and Jill to be careful but did they listen? Noooo. What kind of asshole puts a well at the top of a hill anyway?

 

London Bridge has been shut down AGAIN. I say we stop paying for its upkeep, sell it to Arizona or something.

 

Sixpence is a pretty good price for a pie but, look, you just stuck a crust on top of a bunch of live birds and no one wants to eat that. Oh, wait, royalty. That explains it.

 

Went by a house built to look like a shoe. If that wasn’t weird enough the place was packed with kids. I guess we know who wears the pants in that family and it’s not the husband because he never has time to put ‘em on. People from Ives, man.

 

I get that a screaming baby can make anyone a little crazy but you stuck the cradle on a tree branch. What did you think would happen JILL?

 

Swear I saw a cow jump over the moon. Dog’s laughing, cat’s got a fiddle, and now all the dinnerware is running crazy. Tell me you didn’t feed me that pease porridge.

 

Always thought Mary’s garden was a little eccentric but nice. The cockle shells added minerals or something and the silver bells were pretty when the wind blew. But who’d have guessed she murdered three milkmaids and buried them in a row? No surprise she’s from Ives.

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