Dirty Laundry

Is the head dead yet?
The boys in the newsroom got a running bet.
Get the widower on the set,
We need dirty laundry.
-Don Henley

So it’s finally over and we don’t have to listen to any more of the whining! The poor brain dead woman has passed on and perhaps the world can move onto something that actually matters?
I get so sick and tired of the whining about the good care and feeding, the bad care and feeding; of what is essentially a useless piece of meat.
Think of the millions of dollars wasted. The time devoted, when there are important, newsworthy events.
And another thing, by letting her slowly die of thirst, her organs are probably useless! Two kidneys, two lungs, a heart, a liver. At least six actual living people could have been helped. People that had the potential of living productive lives.

Welcome the coming, but speed departing guests.

I never want to be left like that. I plan to fill out the form, tell everyone. If there is no brain function, no chance of coming back as even a semblance of human life, for goodness sake, pull the plug; and harvest the organs! At least that way, part of me can continue someone else’s life.

And take the money you would waste and go on a nice cruise.

someone stole my idea

On http://postsecret.blogspot.com/
I came across this postcard that said-
Everyone who knew me before 9/11 believes I'm dead.

I wonder who the person is.

I have half of, 'When the fourth monkey misbehaves' worked out in my mind. And it starts with the world trade center, and how it allows Cerric Scott to disappear.

And I find that someone else has already taken my idea, and actually done it!

Ludmilla

Ludmilla

Around the summer of 1966, when I was nine, my family moved to Costa Rica. We lived there for about a year and a half.

The first place we lived was a little town called Santa Anna, perhaps an hours bus ride from the Capitol, San Jose. (at the age of nine, time was hard to track)
.
I believe that this town is now just a sprawling suburb of the capital, but back in ’66-67, it was a small village.

Living in a small, rural town, in a foreign country; well it’s very different from growing up in Oakland California.
My Spanish may have consisted of uno, dos, tres. But soon, we learned to communicate with the kids around us. The important words are covered early.
Son of a Bitch-Hijo de weputa. Now perhaps they meant puta, perhaps bitch wasn’t a match, but for kids, you translate as best you can.

There was this American family that we were friends with. Well, they were friends with my parents. So we had to get along with their kids. We couldn’t stand their kids; John and Ludmilla.

Ludmilla was several years older than me. She was large, doughy, plodding, ugly; I don’t remember her being very bright. (Oh don’t even start with me! For heaven's sake, I was nine! So grow up and read, or go somewhere else!)

Anyway, there was this group of local kids I played with. We would go exploring around the little town, hiking in the hills. The funniest insult we had was to hold our left thumb and forefinger in a circle; then stick our right forefinger rapidly in and out of the hole and say. “You and Ludmilla in the middle of the night!” And then one of the other guys would say, ‘No! You and Ludmilla in the middle of the night!” And we would all laugh.
At nine, I know I never wanted to do that, with her!

Funny how these things stay with you. I still smile when I think of it. But that has clouded my impression of anyone named Ludmilla. It is a name I will never like. If I ever meet someone named Ludmilla, I will have to fight hard to get past my prejudice. I may never like the person, or be comfortable with saying the name.

On the flip side, I have always liked Becca. Becca is a cute name.

Bring out your dead

Thursday, Wonder Girl was not feeling well. Well enough to go work at the school, barely. Miserable little rug rats probably gave her the cold in the first place. Might as well give it back!

Friday, as I worked from home, wonder girl tried to do a few things, but lost power and ended up sleeping through the afternoon.

Now if any of you know Wonder Girl, then you know that nothing slows her down, nothing. So if she sleeps the afternoon, she is sick.

Saturday dawns with blue skies and cool breezes. Time to start the end of the project. For the last month, we have bought several piles of this tumbled blue-grey flagstones. The idea is to pave the concrete pad that the spa sits on. Just the exposed part around the spa. We have random shapes chosen, to go around the straights and curves. WG and I have spent the last month fitting the flagstones, chipping, refitting. It’s like doing a random jigsaw puzzle.
Once the stones were dry fitted, we took sidewalk chalk and numbered the stones. For each row we used a different color. Digital camera pictures get printed and now we have guides to the puzzle.
So we are set to pull off the stones, lay down a bed of mortar and away we go!

WG is a perky zombie. We know she can’t last too long, but she will work as long as she can.
Lay some mortar, lay some stone, drink some coffee, trim a stone just a little. Slow work on your knees. Knee pads help, but joints start to complain around noon. Wonder Girl is starting to flag.
More mortar, more cutting and trimming. Clouds of stone dust fly up as the power saw cuts into the stone.
As you set the stones, thick mortar between the stones does subtle changes. The fit and form alters. By the time I am four feet along, the puzzle has altered. You adapt, to cut the stone a little, you move on.
WG keeps up. As I need stones, she brings the ones I need. As I move along, she pulls off the next set, keeping them in order; then feeds them back. A pause to blow her nose, bring me a cup of coffee, pour one for herself. We move along.

And the day ends and we are half way around the spa. The big half. A little meal, we collapse on the couch. WG winds down and falls asleep. I am nor far behind her.

Easter Sunday, a fast breakfast. And back on my aching knees. Ibuprofen only does so much. WG is tired, she did way too much the day before.
Today we work on the back half, between the spa and the fence. Room for only one, which is just as well, WG will never get better if she doesn’t rest.
Less puzzle, I can work faster. By noon, the back half is done.
Lunch, and now I start to fill the spaces between yesterdays stones. WG has rested more and now helps with the smoothing.
As the sky darkens, we try to speed things up. But joints complain, muscles get stiff.
The wind rises, clouds thicken, the sun is long gone.
The first fat drops begin to splash and we have not even finished one side. But the mortar is mixed and we have to press on.
Hats and rain gear on, we throw down the mortar, smooth, wipe. Water drips off the spa, adding more water to the mortar. Feet and legs getting soaked, water drips off the face.
The last of the mortar is used up, we’ll finish next weekend.
Clean up the tools, clean up us, abandon trying to wipe the excess mortar off the stones.

Showers, warm sweats, hot soup and French bread. Then we collapse on the couch.

The dead can rest.
Achy from the cold, overused muscles and joints, the weekend is done.

Bulshit

In writing class, I finished reading a passage where our hero thinks back about his picnic with his best gal.
--
She had looked good in just a tee shirt and jeans. Her short red hair and the requisite dusting of freckles over her nose. Cute, and a good figure too. He lay there and let the pleasant thought drift inside his head
--

When I put the paper down, this chick says, “That’s not politically correct.”

And I snapped back, ‘Thought are rarely Politically Correct.’
All was silent, then the instructor said, ‘I guess that takes care of that.’ And the discussion started for real.

Next class, I wrote a poem.

I wonder if that bullshit still goes on?


BOYS AND GIRLS
By GW Hogg
©1993

Ladies and Gentlemen?
Boys and Girls?
Guys and Gals?
Your fingers pause,
on the keyboard.

Men and Women?
Bastards and Bitches?
Meat-treats and Boy-toys?
In these days of oxymoronic political correctness,
it’s hard to choose.

Pigs and Pig-lets?
Males and Females”
Push a button,
smooth a feather,
all of the former,
some of the latter.

Screw-it!
Guys and Gals;
you finally say
as your fingers take you,
to the next sentence.

One less

I got sad news today. My High School sweetheart’s mom passed away today. Perhaps the email may not have been the most personal way to spread the news, But I am sure that if PB had phoned me with the news, it would have been difficult for her to talk.

Easier with email.

I had not seen her mom for perhaps five years, but she had the same warm smile, the same warm greeting; that I remember .
Such a nice lady.

Of course, when PB and I were dating in high school, perhaps a bit too nice? Yes, we just wanted to sit in her family room and neck. But her mom always wanted to know if we wanted to play dominos. Did I want a snack? Etc…

Of course my PB will miss her. As will the rest of her family.

As will I, for the world is now short a nice person.

A matter of unnatural security

So, there was a small matter of a deposit to be done. So, account number in hand, I am off to the bank on Thursday. I have never been to this bank before, but banks are banks.
Park up the street, next to the Starbucks. No time for a latte, business first.
So, a nice walk down the block. It is a beautiful spring day, almost 80. A few women in shorts and tee shirts. Ah yes, spring is here. While the poor bastards in the northeast are slogging through the snow, freezing their nuts off; we have sweaty balls.
But I digress.
Enter the bank (are jeans and tee shirt nondescript enough?) and walk to the little table and grab a deposit slip. Hmmm…I have too many numbers. I could make a call, get clarification; but no, I was trusted to handle this on my own. Drop two zeros and trust your charm.

I wait my turn and glance around. Cameras everywhere, but no security. I am waved over to a teller.
I pass the slip to the teller and explain my problem. Cousin out of the country, won’t be back for two more years. Account going inactive. Blah…blah…blah. The lies fall easily off my lips and I turn on the charm.
I smile, she smiles back. A nice smile, friendly. Good for her, a nice smile. She is a little plain. Nothing to write home about.
We chat as she checks the account. ‘Oh, this is an out of state account, you’ll need a different slip. I have one here, I’ll fill it out for you.”
“Thanks.” I smile.
She smiles back.

Well, cousin is gonna get an earful.

I look over the teller, as she fills out the slip.
Now I try to be a gentleman, but sometimes, the warthog slip out.
Pale skin, nice freckles. One earring at the top of her ear. Tight Black sweater fits nicely over small breasts. Not much more than speed bumps for the tongue, as it travels the path to the nether regions. But that’s probably okay for her and…check the hand…the fiancée. Nice diamond! Speed bumps are obviously not a problem! Just as well, I sure she would rather he rock the little man in the boat, than play Magellan and spend all his time circumnavigating the globes.
Slim waist and…
My attention snaps back as I region control. I hand her the cash. A few more keystroke and I am given a receipt.
‘All set.’
‘Thanks for all your help.’
“You’re welcome. And have a good afternoon.’ She smiles cheerfully.
‘And you have a good day too.’ I smile back, turn and leave.

And I am out the door and back into the sunshine. A quick walk to the car and I’ll be on my way.
That went well, no problems. No alarms, no heavy hand on the shoulder. One can never tell with cousin. She lives her own life, plays by her own rules. At least this time it was simple. Not like that weekend in... That…well, some tales are not yet ready to be told. I hope everything goes well down south and that she can come visit soon. Cousin is always fun.

Shots

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Phase Two

You should read Phase One first.

Are you familiar with Earth Abides, Lucifer’s Hammer, No Blade of Grass, Some Will Not Die, The Stand, Alas Babylon, Damnation Alley, I am Legend?

I grew up with the constant threat of nuclear attack. Fallout shelters, duck and cover.
I have thought of ‘End of the World’ scenarios ever since I read Earth Abides. So I began reading what my High School library had to offer. And then you find out of other possible catastrophes.
Perhaps nuclear is less of a threat now, but there are other real threats. So, sometimes, I like to think of what I would do in that kind of a situation. It can be overwhelming, thinking of all the things to do.
A common theme is that you are all alone, friends and family are dead. How do you survive?
Radiation? Wild animals? Packs of starving dogs? Roving bands of criminals?
Survive you can, for a while, but then you think of companionship.
Would any live body do?
What if you can’t stand the people you meet?

So I think of the people I have known. How much do I like them? Would I want to see them? How far would I travel to find a person? Through what travails would I pass?

So when I look you in the eye and tell you, ‘I would travel cross country to find you.’, you will know what I mean

Phase One

Phase one
It’s hard to describe relationships that build slowly over the years. People that you might, or might not seek out; you end up growing fond of. And they like you. That’s all there is. You are friends.
I remember, years ago, when my wife was going out of town with some friends for a week. I remarked to my group of ladies, over lunch, that while my wife was away, I would have trouble matching the right ties to what I was wearing. L said, “Don’t you worry. While she is away, just considers us as your office wives. Bring the ties in and we will help you pick out the right one.’
I liked that term, ‘Office Wives’. It just means that there would be ladies watching over me, making sure that I behave, that I dress well. (And whack me on the arm, if I misbehave)

A different lady called me her ‘Office brother’. (but I think that was just so she could whack me with impunity)

LP is one of my favorites. We began working together over ten years ago. (I had the advantage of remembering that I meet her, for all of fifteen minutes. Interesting that she did not remember me.) She in the East, me in the West. She would ask work questions, and I would explain by weaving a story or fairytale around the answer. It was fun, between work stuff, telling each other about our lives.

And then there was KM.(aka the Daughter-twin) She worked on the other coast. One day she called with a question. She was new. Since she worked the later shift, most of her shift overlapped mine. We used to chat a lot. KM would sometimes call when she was bored. So we became friends. The beauty of it was, we had no idea what the other looked like!
After two years of this, I managed a business trip to the East coast and we actually met.
Amusing, you reach a point where you are friends with someone. It really doesn’t matter what you look like. If one of you is older, younger, taller, shorter, lighter, darker. You are friends with the person.

So, there are friends that live close by, friends that live far away. Some friends you never meet.

And that’s phase one.