Stocking Women, Stalking Men

Cousin Becca blew into town a little while ago. I would have said she flew into town, but I have no idea how she arrived, much less how she left. I don’t even know if her broomstick is still running. I am sure that some of you may have guessed that she just sprouted leathery wings, but that is just a myth. Vamps don’t do that. But I digress.

Anyway, we met at the little café we like. And when the waitress arrived, it was the same old Cos. “I’d like a large half calf half low fat latte with a shot of vanilla and a twist.”
“And you Sir?”
“Large Latte.”
She paused, then realized that my taste in coffees was simple, unlike my taste in women. Amusing, for despite Cos being sixteen years younger than I, people seem to think we are together. I guess they mistake the playful family banter for something else.

She began telling me about some of her escapades in P-. I won’t pass them on to you because most of them never ‘happened’. At least not officially. I told her about my friends Fantail, Chemical Girl and an amusing little anecdote about Lacquer, that ended with me getting a whack on the arm.
“I can tell Lacquer is crazy about you.”
“Why do you say that?”
“GW, come on, when a gal gives you a whack, it just means she likes you.”
“We’re just co-workers.”
“Sounds like you have stocked another one.”
“I’m not stalking anyone.”
“I didn’t say stalking, S.t.o.c.k.i.n.g.! Damn, do I have to spell out everything?”
I groaned at the bad pun. “I don’t ‘stock’ women.”
“Oh PLEASE! Of course you do, you just don’t realize it. You stock them just like they stock you.”
“What?”
“Look, we are different. You’re married to a wonderful gal, you have a great life and are happy with it. Everyone knows you are devoted to WG, and that makes you safe. Me, on the other hand; well, I am just too busy having fun. I have a few guys marked down for later if I ever want to settle down, but I don’t work at keeping them in a stable for later riding. Most probably don’t think of me very often.”
“Yes, that’s why you move so often, isn’t it? You exhaust the ‘pool’ and have to move to other pastures.”
“Kinda like that. I also get a rep. and people keep their young boys home, away from my claws that catch.”
Our waitress arrived and carefully set our drinks in front of us,
“But you're not above stalking your prey.” I said as the waitress left.
“Of course not! That’s half the fun. You set things up, opportunities, coincidences, and things happen! The poor guys never know what hit them.”
“So, it’s a game.”
“Yes, but it has it’s dangers, unlike yours.”
“I’m not playing a game.”
”Well, maybe, maybe not. Perhaps in some cases you don’t realize that they are playing a similar game.”
“But nobody is stocking me.”
“I have seen the way…I’ll call her ‘The Needy Nurse’.”
“I know who you mean.”
“She has you stocked. If you were ever single, she’d be at your door soooo fast!”
I shuddered a little.
“So be careful.”
“I never thought of it that way.”
“Well, you’re in a different world than me. Just like OTP, I am always hunting for the next conquest. The next hottie to light my fire. You already have yours, and what you like is a companion. But one who also can light your fire.”
“I never thought of it that way.”
“Well, I know you like to hear my stories, and OTP’s; but your needs are different.”
“I have grown up.”
“Not sure I like what you are implying.”
“Just stating a fact.”
She stuck out her tongue at me.
“Then I am right.”
“Well, just a little” She admitted.
“You have friends out there that simply like you and like being around you.”
“And you have friends that just like being in you.” And I grinned.
The back of her hand caught me hard across my shoulder. “You can be such a pig!”
“But I am right?”
She blushed, just a little. “Yes, but it’s not a bad thing!”
“No. Just different.”
“See? We are so different.”
“Someday, you too will find a companion, probably when and where you aren’t even looking.”
“I suppose, but I’ll never have the half-dozen or so that have put you on their list.”
“And I am not even trying.”
“That’s what I hate about you!”

The waitress came by and as I placed a twenty on the bill, before Cos could.

I thought about her, as I drove home that night and I felt sorry for her. Despite her fun and adventures, she was alone. And even driving home by myself, I am never alone, for my companion is always with me, and I’ll be in her arms soon.

EXILE

It’s Bunko night tonight. WG has eleven women coming over to play. Guys are not welcome. So I have to find a place to stay. Alas, poor over-protective dog must go too. You can’t count dice with a dog barking at you!

Bunko is a dice game played with twelve people. Once a month, the group meets at someone’s house and the games begin. There will be food, prizes, and lots of hen-clucking.
It’s amusing how guys and gals treat things. WG is getting the house decorated with the theme she has chosen, Hawaii. Lot’s of shopping was done to get the décor just right. The prizes and food all reflect the theme. I have helped where I could. The mixtape is all set for her.
Today we spent setting up. While I did the lawns and a quick trip to the store, WG got the house ready. Clean up this and that, put things away. We really don’t want the house to look lived in. Once my stuff was done, WG said I should just go play in the garage, or something. No need for me to be underfoot. And I am available if needed.
It’s the same as when I am doing a project. Leave me alone to make the thing. If I need help, I’ll ask.
We both cut up the chicken and made the skewers.

I’ll start the barbeque in a few minutes and cook the skewer. Keeps me out of her hair.

By six, I will pack up some food, beer and the dog; and head to Al’s. Well spend the evening doing whatever, until it’s time to for me to come home.

Now if I planned a poker night with the guys, it would be simple.
Beer, chips, dip, pizza; play poker. The guys couldn’t care less if there was a theme and if the house was clean.

Amusing. But we all have our priorities.

As long as I don’t burn the skewer, I will be a hero.

The women’s circle.

You know, sometimes I get tired of the same question. It always comes once people learn about me and my lovely wife.

“Your wife sounds like an angel…how did she ever end up with you?’
I sigh and figure that I might as well tell the story.

‘Well, when I lived in Reno.’
‘You lived in Reno Why?’
‘I’ll get to that.’
‘Yes, let him tell the story.’
“As I was saying, I lived in Reno and I met the lady who would later become my wife.’
‘But why would she ever go out with you?’
‘Well, the local group of women elders, known as the Women’s Circle, got together and decided that they needed a sacrifice. Someone who would marry me and thereby save other women from being bothered by me. So Wonder Girl was chosen as the sacrifice.’
‘Oh GW, they’re not called a women’s circle, they’re called a coven.’
‘But you still haven’t explained how you ended back in California!’
‘Oh that’s simple. Once I was married, then the restraining order that prevented me from entering California was null and void. It was assumed that I would no longer bother other women.’
Well, it’s apparent to me that your wife is a saint.’

Mad dogs and Englishmen

It’s 105 on the deck right now, but nicely in the shade. There is a small breeze blowing, augmented by the ceiling fan over my head.

Four pm and the smiley dog is fed. Tommy, aka Gyrth-boy(got to make his name special), is happy. He is always happy when he is fed on time. Okay, he is just happy being fed.


We got the heavy work done early, knowing that it would be hot today. Little stuff, done in the shade, was all we planned for the rest of day. Wonder Girl picked out a brick red paint for the front door. And while I was busy doing a little concrete patching, she was painting.

On hot days, we try to keep to the simple life. Unlike the folks across the street. They are busy putting up a picket fence on their corner lot. Has to picket, because the little twirps that go to school next door like to sit on the fence. Everyone has always had a simple fence there. Posts and 2x6’s. Great for the miscreants to sit on, and when they sit on it, it eventually breaks. They will be in for a rude awakening when school starts and the points dig into their little butts. I will laugh.

We have a hedge around our front lawn, not good to sit on, but great for the kids to stuff their trash into it. Nothing is perfect. Hedges have to be trimmed, pickets sharpened and painted. Always maintenance to be done.

Two years ago, older brother and his family were visiting. One morning, he looked out the front window and called us all over. “Look at the color they are painting the house across the street!”
And Wonder Girls said, “Oh, that’s only the primer.” As she stared in horror at the mustard-yellow paint being applied.

The next morning, we looked out and saw them painting the trim a yellow-brown. As WG came in, my brother said, “WG, I don’t think it’s the primer.” He laughed and WG winced. “It’s baby-shit-brown!” She declared. WG has a good eye for color.
So we have lived with the mustard house for two years and people we meet tease us about it. “How do you like living across the street from the yellow house?”
“The baby-shit-brown one?: WG asks.

So now they are doing the pickets. The new posts were white, for a day. And we held our breath. The next day the posts became BSB! And we knew all was lost!
Today they are working in the hot sun, screwing on the pickets…painted bright mustard yellow!
Mad dogs!


PS. It’s now dark, 10pm, and 85 degrees outside(and a damp 25% humidity) The house across the street doesn’t look so bad at night.

Sleeping with Darth Vader

When you laugh, the whole world laughs with you.

When you snore, you sleep alone!

That’s what my strange friend DAC says and if you talk to anyone who has a bed partner who snores, they will say the same thing.

In fact, anyone who lives within the same house or apartment complex can say the same thing.

So think of poor Wonder Girl, a light sleeper, stuck with this giant warthog that can shake the house when he snores. And when the snoring stops, so does the breathing. And she waits, and waits, and waits, and then with a gasp, I begin to breath again.

And she tells me she does not know what is worse, the noise of the snoring, or the silence.

And surprise, it really isn’t healthy for you. Or the comely lass trying to sleep at you side. For the poor gal has to do what she can to get you to roll over and sleep on your side, where you don’t snore as much. Now over two hundred pounds of sleeping like the dead warthog does not move easily. Poor Wonder Girl!

Though it may sound funny, there can be serious consequences. The lack of oxygen puts a big strain on the heart and lungs. Plus the constant half waking up to start breathing again robs a person of their deep REM sleep. The result is that they don’t get a good nights sleep and are not at their peak during the day.

So I finally mentioned the problem to my doctor, and quick as a wink, he had me scheduled for a sleep study. The study involves strapping some equipment on and sleeping. It little machine records air intake, heart rate, breathing rate and if you are on your back or side.

Long story short, I have moderate to severe Sleep Apnea. (but only when I sleep on my back) What they suspect happens to me, is that when I am on my back, my breathing passages get blocked by my tongue collapsing. Short of having a nurse sit there all night and turn me over, I need a CPAP machine. It blows a continual stream of air trough my nose and keeps my breathing passages open. With luck, it will enable me to breath well and get a good nights sleep. As will the comely lass that shares my bed.

So now I wait for my appointment to get the machine. And we will see what happens.

Will it be a nice quiet machine? Or will Wonder Girl claim that she is now sleeping with Darth Vader?

Me, or a close facsimile

Nuff said

Second hand Rose

I took Friday off because my sisters were coming over for a shopping trip. I know, ‘woo-hoo’ you say. Well, older sis was up from LA and we have not seen her for a while. Younger sis just lives fifteen miles away, so we see her often.
The shopping trip was not your usual type. We planned to hit the antique and second-hand stores. Nothing specific, but we have ideas. Wonder girl was looking for more old things for the kitchen. The decorations there are late thirties. Old coffee pot, sifter, old cans. We were thinking of maybe an old electric mixer. You can get them on eBay for twenty dollars(plus shipping), we at least know the value.

It always fun to go through these stores and look at the old junk, some of which we own.

By the third store, a break for lunch. We had seen a couple of mixers, but they were sixties models and not quite right. Yes, we can be picky. My sisters found a few little things, Wonder Girl found an old, interesting aluminum coffee pot.
More browsing. Mixing bowl for the mixer run fifteen dollars each, but we have the mixing bowls.

And in the eight or ninth store, we found a nice, 1939 model Sunbeam Mixmaster! It was in excellent shape and actually works! You couldn’t beat the price, $8.50.

I won’t bore you with the rest of the shopping, but the sisters found a few more interesting items, as did WG.
A good, fun day.

So tonight, get out the scrub rags, old toothbrush, spray cleaner and soldering iron. A little scrubbing, dismantling and more scrubbing and the gunk is cleaned off. New cord takes a bit of work, but after an hour and a half, we have a cool looking old mixer on the counter, and it works! Wonder Girl is quite pleased. It is just the old look she wants.

Now I wonder if I should look for the juicer attachment?

Happiest place on earth

Though it may have been a long drive down, it is well worth it. WG worked on some crossword puzzles and kept asking me for help. I try to make it a practice of having no cross words between us, but I help when I can.
After an hour she had to put them away. She said they were making her ill. I asked her why and she said it was the tiny letters. I had to throw in, ‘Well, it’s a small word after all!’ That got me poke in the arm with her pen.
A six hour drive to LA to see our son and his new puppy. Oh yes, and meet his roommate. Playing with a five month old Jack Russell Terrier is a lot of fun for a while, then you start looking for the off switch and you remember that puppies do not have an off switch. Still, cute is cute.
We spent a fun three days visiting and just relaxing. It takes a few days to unwind from the real world and pack up your troubles in your old kit bag.


Then it was off to Disneyland to meet Wonder Girl’s sister and family.

Disneyland is still a fun place. Lots to do and see. The rides change a bit, get spruced up and you really have to admire the amount of work they put into things. At the gate, it seems expensive, then you see all the little details that they put into things and you understand.
The Jungle cruise is still fun and they recently redid it. The new puns are just as corny and wonderful. I am not sure if it is my age, but I did notice a few scuffs. I suppose they cannot maintain and repaint as often as they used to. Still, the people are very friendly and their desire for you to have a good time seems in earnest.

And then there are the people to watch. Moms and dads trying to keep their little ones in check. The little ones seem to want to run everywhere at once. So excited. At the end of the day, the little ones get tired and sometimes cranky. Well, so do us older folks. My calves are still a little sore from all the walking!

The other amusing thing is seeing the teenage girls dressed up and trying to look hot. The amusing thing is that a lot of them fail to realize that when you have a fat little tummy, no one wants to see it sticking out, or lapping over your too-tight pants! As my strange friend DAC says, ‘Waist not, flaunt not!’ And yes, there are adults who forget this.

Met a cute little Australian woman in the smoking zone(there are very few of these) She knows about sunscreen, as did most. But you do see your share of lobster-people. Yes, they will hurt, but they are having fun.

Two days, between both parks was tiring, but not enough time to enjoy everything. You need a good two full days to see all of Disneyland, one day for the California Adventure. But alas, we had but two days.

Then the long drive home and reality creeps in. The sprinklers kept it all watered, so of course it grew. Now we have to mow and trim. Our weekend will be full.

Tails of the back yard

So we are now pretty well set. The last part of the sprinkler system is in. I hooked up the drip mist sections to the ferns, added a few to some big flower pots. And then turned the stations on one by one and adjusted the head. Looks good and I am pleased. Now, when we go on vacation, the lawns will not die and all the potted planed that Wonder Girl carefully tends, will be safe too.

There is still much to do before we are off on vacation.

Since it is summer and things are drying out, it’s time for the local wildlife to come browsing.
Can’t do too much about the birds, but the roof rats have started to show up. We don’t get many, but we usually see one a year. They are attracted by the plants and vegetable garden.
WG saw a large on last week, but Tommy (aka the Guardian pup) was snoozing and he missed it.
So, after I take Tommy to the kennel, I’ll put out the traps again. You can’t use poison because if Tommy catches a half dead rat, it will poison him too.

And the city frowns on shooting off a shotgun, in the city limits.

Maybe I could buy a pellet pistol?

A song in my head

You know how you get a song going through your head?
Last month, after a long dusty day of doing yard work, it was shower time.
I turned to Wonder Girl and inadvertently said.
'Well, I'm off to clean the wizard!'

PINING WOMAN

Read the next post first, then you will understand why I wrote this.

PINING WOMAN
By GW Hogg
September 17, 1998


Louisiana fires are burning somewhere,
tonight.
And I sit here wondering
where the chard remains are buried.
Monroe, Kansas, Idaho, California,
have all been touched,
or torched.

Week after week
we heard your quiet voice
Speak of a lost lover
felt your passion,
burn.

For the man you loved
was somewhere else
married to another,
as are you.

So I began to wonder
about this woman
aflame with passion
for the man she could not have.

Why did she leave?
What was the sin of their affair.
And was it the forbidden
that made it burn so hot.

And I pitied her,
being torn from the man
who lit her fires.
And wondered why she left him.

Then I realized,
that my pity.
belonged to another,
her husband.

For she was lost
before they met
and would still be lost
when she left.

The poor man
could not comprehend
her pain for another
nor ease it.

And in her attempts
to replace the man she cannot have,
Who else would her fires lick
besides my classmate?

I try to comprehend
this passion that she feels
compare it to my own
and do not understand.

For my passion sleeps at my side.
a constant ember,
always ,
ready to ignite

And the pining woman will know no rest.
For she cannot be happy where she is,
and will not find joy with him
Will only death’s embrace
extinguish her fires?

A Smile is Just a Smile

Bullshit

There are so many smiles. A smile can change a plain woman into attractive. In fact, a pretty woman without a good smile can cease to be pretty. How attractive a woman is can depend simply on her smile. Now I am not talking pretty vs. beautiful vs. plain vs. cute. I am simply saying, does the person attract you, or not?

And it doesn’t have to be a pretty smile, it can be a warm smile, a cute smile, or a mischievous smile. Something that lights up the face, and makes the eyes sparkle. Something that says there are interesting thoughts going on behind the face.

And a smile can ruin a face.

Take the pining woman.

The first night of a new semester and as I walk into the creative writing class, I scan the room.
The tables are all in the center of the room, I move to the left. There is an attractive blonde on the right side. My glance brushes past her. So lightly that she is unaware.
Blonde, shoulder length, pretty face, blue eyes. Well dressed, as if she works in an office in the city.

I sit across from her and to the left, set my coffee down and the folder of stories. I have two stories ready for the first night. I know the routine for class and I am ready. And I glance up and to the right at the pretty blonde. Our eyes meet, I smile, she smiles. The world freezes.
Alarm bells go off in my head.
The bos’n mate begins screaming ‘Dive! Dive! Dive!’
I feel claws sink into a part of my anatomy, that claws have no business sinking into; especially for a married man!
Red lights flash DEFCON4.
I feel a chill.
Warning! Self-destruct sequence will begin in five seconds!
I have an almost overwhelming urge to get up and run from the room.

I drop eye contact and turn to the left as the instructor walks into the room.

‘What the hell was that?’ I wonder as the instructor begins to talk. I have never had that kind of reaction. I dare not make eye contact again. There is something weird going on here. More than me just having too much coffee today.

I am going to have to stay well away from this woman, don’t sit across from her. I don’t know why

Puzzled, I pay attention to the class.

Once a week, we have class. People bring in stories, poems; read them; get feedback. The blonde woman has poetry. Lots of it, and it seems good. And I begin to understand.

She lived in New Orleans and began an affair with her college professor. She fell in love with him and he said he would leave his wife to be with her. And something happened and she left. Traveled. Ended up in California. And began to wait, as she is still waiting. Waiting for a man who will never come to her. Who has told her he can’t leave his wife to be with her.
Every week, she reads her poetry; we learned the depth of her feelings. For she wrote well, though perhaps I did not catch all the nuances. I am not good at poetry. But it was clear how in love she was with the man she could never have.

When class ended, we all went to Julie’s apartment for a little get together. Maybe ten of us and not the pining woman. We learned more.

As she has pined for this man, she had gotten married to another. One night, while sitting in one classmate's car, she poured out her heart about her feelings, then grabbed him and kissed him. Long, hard and deep.
We all agreed she was trouble and troubled.

And for whatever reason, at a visceral level, I was warned.

So I pay attention to smiles.

Imagining the past

So I have been emailing DO from high school. It's been fun talking about what we remember of the students, teachers. One teacher in particular was quite popular with the guys, and she did not seem to mind the attention too much.
And that reminded me of the story I wrote years ago. It's a small piece of a larger thing.


Honor Student
Ann I
By GW Hogg
©3-24-00

“I don’t want to do anything that will get me in trouble.” She said as she finished filling her glass of wine.
I put down my coffee and walked over to her, thinking about what she really meant. This was the moment, now or never.

All our time spent alone in her apartment. All the long talks we had. Her telling me about the little town she grew up in and how she was one of the few girls who didn’t graduate pregnant. I understood the implication, she was careful. The discussions of English writers and the authors real meaning. What a ‘vorpal blade’ really was!
I don’t know how or why, but one day after class, she invited me to her apartment. Fresh out of college, maybe she liked that one of her students enjoyed her class, actually got something out of it. Maybe I was actually interested in learning something, not trying to endure summer school like the rest of my classmates. Maybe I also paid attention because she was young and gorgeous. Most of my other teachers were much older. But I enjoyed the class and watching her. Her big smile and the way she would laugh.
And now I found myself walking towards her, taking the glass out of her hand and carefully placing on the counter in her small kitchen.
“I won’t tell.” I said and gently kissed her on the cheek.
“Reg, I can’t. I could get into so much trouble.”
I took her hands and kissed them. Held them and looked into her eyes.
“Reg…”
I kissed her on the lips. Softly, just a taste. I looked into her eyes again and when I kissed her again, she pulled back just a little, paused; then she opened her mouth and devoured me.
Buttons, belts and bra straps fought us, but we won. There were long scratches on my back from her pulling off my shirt, her zipper got broken. As I fumbled with my pants, she pushed me into her bedroom, onto her bed and stripped the rest of my clothes off. I fumbled a lot, but she was a patient teacher. There is a difference between a woman and a teenage girl, a wonderful difference that I discovered that night.

In the rosy pink light of dawn, I awoke and cuddled next to her. As I kissed her, she woke up and this look of horror crossed her face.
“Oh My God! What have I done!”
Stunned, I could only watch as she leapt out of bed and grabbed a robe from her closet.
“Ann? What?”
“Oh God, what was I thinking! I could get into so much trouble! I could lose my job!”
“I don’t understand.”
She sat on the bed and looked at me. The emotions on her face were too complex for my young mind to understand. “Ann?”
“Reg…Reg, we have done a terrible thing. Please, promise me you’ll never breathe a word of this!”
“But…”
“Not a word! Oh, what was I thinking!”
“Ann.”
“Promise me!”
“Okay,” still not comprehending. “I’ll never mention this to anyone.”
“Do you swear?”
“Yes, I swear I’ll never tell a soul.”
“Reg, you’re a wonderful young man.”
“But.”
“But we should never have done this. I am too old for you and there are laws.”
“But I thought.”
“Oh you dear sweet guy, of course I am fond of you, who wouldn’t be! But this can’t happen between us.”
She started picking up her clothes and I gathered up mine and slowly got dressed. We didn’t say much, I didn’t know what to say. I felt crushed and rejected. I guess she sensed my mood, for she came to me and gave me a big hug.
“Reg, you were wonderful, better than most. If you were just a year older, I wouldn’t have to worry about the age difference.”
“But it’s there.”
“Yes, it’s there, damn it all. I do enjoy your company and lord knows I enjoyed last night.” She smiled at me and I felt better. “We can only be friends, no we better not even be that. Reg, if we still spend time together, people might wonder.”
“And if they wonder, that’s all it will take for you to lose your position.”
“You understand.”
“I guess I do, but I don’t like it.”
“I don’t either.”
“Okay, I guess I can handle it. It’s not me.”
“No, never you.” And she surprised me by giving me a kiss on the cheek. “I’m going to have to be hard on you in class.”
“I understand, we don’t want people to get ideas.”
“And.”
“And I can’t come over here anymore.”
“No, I am sorry.”
“I’ll remember.”
“Do that. Remember a woman who risked jail for a night with you.”
“Thank you, I will.”

I felt a lot better as I walked home that warm summer morning.

Or

“I don’t want to do anything that will get me in trouble.” She said as she finished filling her glass with wine.
I picked up my coffee cup and walked over to her, thinking about what she really meant.
“Just a little wine?”
“No, sorry.”
“Then I guess I’ll have some more coffee.”
“Okay. Now, what did you mean when you said that you didn’t understand what Bram Stoker meant by…

Bring out your dead II

Yes, we are dead today. After a marathon of work over the weekend, all of you muscles ache.
I spent a good part of Saturday, under the house, running the new water line to the backyard sprinkler valves.

I need the pipe to go forty feet under the house, turn right for about ten feet, then straight again through the wall in the front of the house.
Chip a hole in the stucco, then drill a two-inch hole through a 4x6. Push in a ten-foot length of PVC pipe. Enough to go across the house to the existing water line. Then feed in ten feet of PVC pipe, glue on a coupling and another ten feet; until forty feet of pipe is under the house.

Now the fun begins. With a tub of all the tools I need, it’s time to crawl under the house. This is a job for a tiny person, but it has to be me.
It’s all crawling on your stomach work. Keep your butt low, there may be nails above you. Rocks and hard dirt dig into your hands and chest. Dirt gets scooped into your pants.
Put on a strap, crawl six feet, put up another strap. You get to the bend, glue on an elbow, spill the can of glue. A full can of glue. The solvent fumes fill the air. I am sure it’s just not healthy.

A little air blows in through the vent. You strap the pipe to the floor joists and crawl away from the fumes. You find the spot in the front wall, drill the hole, roll onto your back and stare up at the pipe that is too short. Okay, it’s a ten to fifteen minute crawl back to the crawlspace access door. Get…you measure…eighteen inches of pipe; then crawl all the way back. I wish my friend Skinner lived close by. She is short and was in the military. She should be a crawling expert. But being a wimp, I know she would not do it.

I grab my cell phone and call Wonder Girl. I can hear her footsteps above as she gets to the phone.
“Hi Honey, can you do me a favor?”
“Everything okay down there?”
“Yes, but I need a little more pipe. Can you cut me an eighteen inch piece of the one inch pipe in the Garage? Then feed it through the hole by the front faucet? Then feed the rest of the pipe through the same hole?”
“Sure.”

Maybe five minutes later, the pipe comes through the hole. It’s not just cut to the correct size; but the burrs have been sanded off, inside and out. Is there any doubt why I call here Wonder Girl? In minutes I am done and it’s the long crawl to get out.

Sunday, we rent the trencher, dig the trenches. Hand dig some spots. Lay out the pipe, fittings, sprinkler heads. Measure, cut pipe, glue. We work well together, to each according to their needs, from each according to their abilities. We started at eight am, by nine pm we are filling in the trench. Dead tired, but ninety percent done.

And Monday we are sore and tired. And while I sit in my comfy office chair and juggle parts, Wonder Girl is finishing up with filling the ditch and getting the dirt off the lawn before it kills it.

There is no stopping Wonder Girl.

You don’t know me.

So, PB asks if I have heard anything of a 30 year reunion. No, for she is my conduit to that world.
The I get email from Pcakes, who happens to work with a gal from my high school. Strange connections. So I pass the info to PB. And to be a nice guy, pull some names off the bulletin-board, and pass the info on to them.
Two emails bounce, of seven, not bad. Some were to people I barely knew.

And an actual answer!
So for the past two days, I have been exchanging emails with DO. I don’t think I ever said a dozen words to her in High School. (We won’t go into the strata of that world, yet)

Anyway, It’s been fun exchanging info with her. She traveled in different circles and only occasionally the edges of our circles intersected.

She’s been married for twenty three years, three kids, nice marriage; sounds pretty good. Lives maybe fifteen miles away.

Add one person to talk to.

Oh, PB will be my date, like the other reunions. It’s getting to be a tradition.

I don’t like you.

Interesting, a few weeks ago, when I went in for the bi-monthly blood donation.
As I walked up to the technician, my first thought was, ‘I don’t like you.’ I don’t know why. She was a nondescript woman of about forty. She was competent, but not good. I can’t there was anything bad about her. I just didn’t like her.

Oh, and they have changed the questions and they ask them verbally now! Boy, talk about tiresome!
Did you have sex?
It’s okay for love, but not for money, or drugs.
Hmmm…Gas, Grass or Ass, nobody rides for free. (does barter count?)
Did you have it on a train?
Did you have it on a plane?
Do you like green eggs and Ham?
Sam I am…
But I digress

I’m gonna have to think of some new material to keep it amusing. Twitchy was the one who asked the questions. Poor gal seemed twitchier today. Now I like her, despite the fact that she is a bit of a Gorgon.

Who knows why, I certainly don’t.

Stories from the wilderness

The annual fishing trip
The river at High Bridge campground was running fast and high. We unpacked the truck and set up camp, eager to go fishing. However, stream fishing season does not start till Saturday, so now it is all talk and getting to know one another again. A’s three sons, Thomas 8, John 20, Chris 25; Gary(Chris’s friend 25). Later that night, Chris and John’s cousin Sean arrived, with his girlfriend Jenny, and Chris and John’s two half-brothers, Artie and Kevin.

It was fun for Al and I to listen to the younger guys talking trash about how many fish they would catch. Well, Chris (the lip) was the biggest talker. Ignore that Al and I each out fished him the last two years. But that is part of the game. Later, some of the young guys got in to a discussion about which of their two football teams was the best, would be the best. But all this talk kept the camp warm.

Saturday dawned warm and full of promise. We all worked the creek, scrambling over rocks and steep banks. Few nice pools and eddies to fish. The river is so full and fast, that the known spots are not there.

Al gets a nice twelve inch trout in a pool above the ‘swimming hole’. A nice fish for the creek. We have fun that day, some bites, some nibbles, a few little ones that get away, but no one else brings home a fish.
The fish becomes part of our dinner.

We fish a little more after dinner and Thomas says he saw a really big fish near the ‘swimming hole’.

The second day, we try another stream. The fish are not cooperating and rain forces us to move on. We drive to the other side of the lake, beyond the rain, and try another stream.
We spread out along the steep banks.. Some jump from boulder to boulder, into the middle of the river. John misses a jump and gets wet up to his waist, and a nice scrape on the chin.

I get three little fish, throw two back. The third had swallowed the hook, so I keep the little nine inch fish. But my little hole gets me nibbles and bites and I am having fun.
Al and Thomas come by, they want to head back. They are getting nothing. John and Artie join us.

On our way back, we try another stream and get nothing, so back to camp.

After a late lunch and a cold beer, we relax. Not a great day, but not bad for me.

Thomas still wants to go back to the ‘swimming hole’ and try for the big fish he saw. So Al and I agree to try once more.

It’s a short walk to the spot. Al takes the top of the boulder and fishes the pool on that side, Thomas and I take the safer spot on the shore and fish the small pool on this side of the boulder.

Suddenly Al calls out that he has a fish. I look up at him, twenty feet above me and his pole is just moving a little.
“It’s a big one. Someone get the net” Al’s a pretty calm fisherman and I detect an edge to his voice. I set my pole to the side and go get the net. It didn’t feel like a time for Thomas to be the net man.

By now Al has guided the fish to our side of the boulder, but he cannot climb down the steep face of the huge boulder and land the fish.
As Al coaxes the fish towards me, I try to get under him, but the rock is too steep. So throwing caution to the wind, I put one foot in the water and then step onto a small boulder directly under him.
The fish is huge!
Kneeling, I stretch out over the water and try to dip the net in front of the fish as it swims past. Unfortunately, between the cloudy water, the glare of the sun on the ripples and the trout’s coloration; I cannot see the fish when he is directly in front of me.
Al has the drag set really light and the fish can almost swim where ever it wants. He guides it, coaxes it in front of me three more times before I can see it, dip the net and catch the monster.

Thomas is jumping up and down on the bank all excited. I carefully make my way to the shore and Al works his way down the boulder, grinning like a son-of-a-bitch.

The fish is big, looks like 24 inches long.

“Thanks for the assist.” Al says.
“No problem. I was just afraid I’d screw it up and lose your fish.”
“Sorry you had to get your shoe wet.”
“It was worth it.”

Thomas gets the stringer and I hand Al my pliers. The little hook is just barely in the lip. In a second, the hook is out and stringer hooks the fish through his gills. Al places the fish in the water, now kept from escaping by the stringer.

“Well, I’m done fishing.” Al says, the big grin still stuck on his face.

Thomas and I try a little longer then call it a day.

Al lets Thomas carry the trout back to camp. Everyone at the other camps were impressed.

But the best was when Chris(the lip) gets back to camp and sees the huge fish his dad caught. The best way to shut up cheap talk is to quietly prove it wrong.

Nose to tail, the trout was 21 inches long. The scale showed three pounds, but are not sure how accurate it was. It was the biggest fish anyone in the group had ever pulled out of that creek.

All in all, a nice weekend and I at least got some credit for an assist.

Smelly old goats

Well, we are off tomorrow, to the annual ‘guys’ camping trip. It’s ‘guys’ because the women really don’t want to come.
No running water, no showers, no flush toilets. Just the river and ‘pit’ toilets. No wonder the gals don’t want to come.
Three days of fishing in the stream and camping in tents. Always a good time.

So it’s Al and his three sons, Bill’s son and there may be a few guest. We will find out when we get there.

With any luck well catch some fish, not stick a fish hook in any important body parts.

Poor Wonder Girl will be left all alone, in a house that for three days, won’t get dirty. She and Al’s wife will probably go out for drinks one night or see a movie. WG has other friends to shop with. Then there is yard work to help pass the time. She may not miss me.

Al’s wife has one little weakness. She is uncomfortable staying by herself. She knows there is no reason for it. So she will bring the dog into her bedroom, lock the bedroom door and snuggle up with Betty. Betty is her little 9mm handgun. She’ll be fine.

Of course, the dangerous time will be when Al and I arrive home Monday afternoon.
No showers for three days, sweat, dust and fish essence. Three days growth of beard.
Our women will not want hugs from their long lost men. At least not until we smelly old goats have gotten in the shower.

And the Muse dances away.

You have to hate it sometimes. You have a thought, a story jells. You dictate it into the recorder and get the gist of the story pieced together. Worry about part two later. Get some of it written, and the Muse, like a will ‘o the Wisp, dances away.
And the Fourth Monkey story stalls.
And you can’t force a Muse. I tried that with ‘Just a Touch III’ and had to abandon it.

So I wait, as pieces of the story, other stories, dance in the periphery of my mind. A Darkness of Auntie, A Goddess walks among Us(just a touch 4). Ideas, but just bits and pieces. They taunt me, tease me; but I just don’t feel like sitting down and pounding them into the computer.

Blogger-buddy mentioned I may need a pen name.

I don’t feel clever tonight, I’ll think about that tomorrow.

Take the Lawn way Home

When you are a homeowner, you lawn for a power mower.

Different from when you were younger and long for a paramour.

And not to be confused with a poker hand of a pair or more.

Generally, if you have a paramour, you at least have a pair.

Of course, if you’re like Cousin Becca, who may have dabbled with a pair or more.
(makes me wonder what women think of twin guys. But I digress)

Still, it may explain why she's in Paraguay. She probably thought they said pair of guys. And she said, ‘I’m there!’

But then, Cousin is so much like her mom, and has a fondness for men.

And someday I may write, “A Darkness of Auntie.” And tell you about it. But it will take some obfuscation.

Airport Laptop

I was sitting in the Oakland airport, waiting for my flight to Boston. A couple walk up, drop their stuff. “I put your laptop in the duffle.” He says.
“I already did.” She says.
He opens the duffle. “Isn’t this yours?”
“Nope.”
“Oh, I guess I grabbed someone else’s laptop. I’d better take it back to security.” And he walks back to security.

I can’t believe it. How do you forget your laptop? I am so paranoid about mine and it belongs to my company! Can you imagine how stupid you would sound, telling your boss that you lost your laptop?

Morons.

Now we go back three years.
Wonder Girl and I arrive at the Oakland airport, for a flight to Vegas. After passing through security, we walk over to a bunch of empty seats. I see a laptop sitting on a seat. I walk over, drop my jacket on top of the laptop, drop my backpack on the ground and sit.
My mind slips into overdrive.
I open my backpack and get out a book. My wife sits down next to me and does the same.
I open the book and pretend to read as I discretely scan my surroundings. No one seems to be watching me.
Or so I think.
Any moment now, someone is going to come running over, looking for their laptop.

Should I keep it? My luck, someone will come and get it. Or worse, as I enter the plane, someone will see it and denounce me as a thief.
Or there is something wrong with the laptop. Perhaps it is meant to be taken aboard the airplane. Then as the pressure drops as the plane climbs, a sensor trips and one of the battery packs is not really filled with batteries. The resulting explosion takes out the plane, or at least the greedy bastard that kept what did not belong to him.
And out there, somewhere, is the moron who misplaced his laptop. How would I feel if I lost a laptop? And you know, it’s not like finding a twenty on the ground. With no name on it, you can keep the twenty. But you know a laptop belongs to a specific person.

And what if the terrorist comes back for his laptop? What data is on it that he wants?
Or a drug dealer?

I sigh, pick up the laptop, turn to my wife and tell her what I have found, then I get up, walk over to the security desk and hand them the laptop, explaining that someone left it.
Security calls for a police officer.

I explain to them what I found, we boot up the laptop(maybe stupid?) But nothing blows up.

I give them my info and write down the serial number of the laptop. I also find out that if no one claims it in thirty days, it is mine.

I walk away, feeling okay. Maybe I’ll get a reward? Maybe a laptop?

A week after the trip, I call up the lost and found. The conversation went like this.

“Hi, I am calling about a lost laptop I turned in at the airport a week ago.”
“Are you the officer who turned it in?”
“No, I am the guy who found it.”
In an extremely hurried voice she said, “It’s been picked up.”
“Oh. Okay. Thanks.”
I hang up. The bastard officer took it for his own and she knew it! I should have just kept the damn thing!

Addendum.
I was chatting with cousin some months later and mentioned the incident. Still pissed that I passed up a free laptop.
“Oh.” She said. “You did the right thing. And not just because it’s the right thing. Yes, a terrorist might have used it to plant explosives. But it has been used as a way of passing information from one group to another. I would not want some criminal group coming after you, trying to recover it. They are not nice people to deal with.”

I feel better. Cousin deals with people like that. Better her than me.

Reunion?

Heard from my friend PB a few days ago. Looking to see if I heard from anyone about a 30 year High School reunion. Nothing. But not surprised. PB is my conduit to that world. I have thought of signing up on one of one of those ‘reunion websites’. Not sure I would like my email address out there. But you would think there would be more info out there. I do find it amusing how there is so much information out there, but not what you are looking for.

Maybe lots don’t care?

Where the bad girls are.

A three hour layover in Las Vegas. As I get off the plane and walk into the terminal, I can smell smoke! It’s nice to catch a whiff in a terminal today. That means I don’t have to go outside, go through security again This is good.
A leisurely cig, walk to the Taco Bell, a bit of lunch. Then I remember the nickname DT thought of the other night, ‘Gillette Girl’. It oh so works.
I know where the bad girls are, where they hang out. When I turn from my desk at home, I sometimes see a young High School girl, standing across the street, smoking.
At the hotel this week, I spied two of the front desk ladies standing by the back door, cutting a butt.
And in the terminal smoking room, there are bad girls and bad boys. And it stinks in here. I have grown so accustomed to smoking outside, even at home, that I really don’t like it indoors. If it wasn’t so quiet, I could probably get away with letting a fart go. Maybe not.
I had dinner with DT on Wednesday. I have not seen her in almost two years. DT is a good girl.
DT and I have a odd friendship, in that we were friends long before we ever met. We are friends still, and we always try to get together for a dinner, when I go east. She is much younger than I, twenty one years, but when you become friends over the phone, email, who you are is what is liked, not what you look like; or how old.
And DT is fun, fun to talk to, personable, and has good laugh.
And yes, she is pretty too!
When Wonder Girl and I were in Cebu, so was DT. WG and DT became friends and when the restaurant woman mistook DT for our daughter, we all thought it was so funny. DT began calling us mom and dad. So for the few weeks we were there, we had a daughter to watch over and take care of.
DT and I share the same birthday, hence, The Daughter-Twin.
So, last Wednesday, as I told DT about the strange tale of EL, DT coined the nickname.
The story of EL.
Years ago.
EL arrived at the plant for two weeks of training. EL was young and hot. Everyone noticed her and it was more than the ‘fresh meat syndrome’. It wasn’t just her looks and the way she walked. She picked up on the office banter immediately. And she was one of those people who exuded sensuality. (and yes, my ‘gaydar’ hummed a little)
After getting settled in, she mentioned to a group of us that she did not have a computer to work at. Being the gentleman that I am, I offered her the use of my spare laptop.
The next day, as I was in the hall talking to RM, describing this saucy little number that was here for training, EL walkup. Eyes sparkling mischievously, in a loud voice she said, "Good morning, Laptop Sugar Daddy."
And walked on, laughing.
You could see the surprise and a bit of jealousy in RM’s eyes. For here was a young hottie paying attention to me, instead of him and he knew he had been outmaneuvered.
It was fun, those two weeks, seeing guys checking her out, and then having them hear her call me her LTSD.
Most of us at the plant had worked there for over ten years. We gently teased each other about things. We knew each other pretty well and were like family.
Monday rolls around and EL finds me and wants to tell me about her weekend. Her girlfriend had flown out from the east and the two of them rented a room in the city. They had a blast!
I remember her saying, "You would not imagine the things we did!"
‘Sorry darlin’, I thought to myself, ‘you don’t want to know the workings of this perverted mind. You can bet you tight little white butt that I CAN imagine!’
The week ended. EL gave me back the laptop, gave me a little hug, a big thank you and returned to the east.
And the story seems to end, as it should.
Weeks go by and I we did exchange a few work emails, as she still had some questions and sometimes, I was the right one to ask. She always addressed me respectively as ‘LTSD’.
And then I had cause to fire up the laptop to retrieve a file. The laptop was a little sluggish, so I checked the hard drive space(back then drives had limited space). There was almost none left! I went right to the explorer cache and found gobs of files there.
Well, my computer, I can look. Most of the stuff was pretty normal until I checked the pictures!
Seems that she had spent a lot of time surfing the ALS website, and she had good taste! Oh? You say you don’t know ALS? It may still exist.
All Ladies Shaved
Nuff said!
So, my first impression was correct, as was my imagination when EL talked about her weekend.
DT loved the story and immediate suggested that I give her the nickname of ‘Gillette Girl’. And I could immediately picture EL, Razor in one hand and a wicked hungry look in her eyes and saying, ‘Any young ladies need a shave?’
I never saw EL again, and a few years later she was laid off. That was too bad, but I always have the fun story to tell people.

I may be alone, but I am never lonely.

I don’t see anyone online, and I have time. Where is my Pip? My TLS? Skinner is too busy, I doubt DT goes online, she has a life! Well, so does TLS; as does Willow and Pip. Rich can't get his nose out of a book.
Perhaps I need a few more occasional friends that are sometimes available for a chat now and then.
I don’t want to work, I don’t want to write, wrong, read, watch TV.
Perhaps I’ll just let my brain spin and go nowhere.

A Cold Day North of Boston

Well, this morning did not start out well. I woke up at 3:30am and struggled to get another nightmare out of my head. A little variation on the usual plant closings ones.
This time, I was the only one left in the Hudson building(I wonder how many Bostonian even know where that is?), working away at my desk. I left the little office to get some lunch and when I came back, my desk and laptop were gone. Rushing downstairs, I found the moving people loading the last of the furniture into a big moving van. They all claimed that they never touched my office. Then they left and I was forced to try and walk home. My car keys were in the laptop case.
It was a long walk home and the whole time I was worried about trying to get another laptop and rebuild my lesson plans for the new people I was training.
People sprayed hoses at me, dogs tried to bite me, it was a long walk and at some point, I woke up.
I tossed and turned for an hour and finally managed to fall back asleep.
The alarm woke me up at six, and when I tried to take a shower, there was no hot water! I called the front desk, and I guess when the changed one of the water heaters the day before, someone didn’t turn something back on.
I was not about to take a cold shower, and I didn’t know if any of my coworkers lived nearby. I think DT is not to far away, but I don’t have her phone number. I know she would have let me use her shower, but I would have had to make sure no one ever heard about it! It just wouldn’t sound good, me taking a shower at her apartment!
It sure seemed like it was going to be a bad day, but I was pleasantly surprised. The sky had cleared from the night before. The people I was supposed to train seemed eager and attentive. The lesson went well. The afternoon meetings went well. Okay, I only got to see Prada-Girl just long enough to get a hug. It would have been nice to at least sit and chat over a cup of coffee.
Back to the hotel and a light dinner. Phone call with my sweetie and now I can relax a little. All in all, not a bad day.

Monday notes

Well, the rest of the flight was uneventful and I was able to sleep. This is good because I have been trying to get over the Flu for two weeks! Finally went to the Doc about it(after being prodded by Wonder Girl, and then my sister(the Doctor). The Doc thought I might have the beginnings of a secondary infection, so I am now on antibiotics. Fun, one more pill to remember!
But I am feeling much better

It was nice, see my coworkers again. It has been over a year and a half. I still have to make arrangements to see some friends. DT will meet for dinner one of the nights, but I fear I will not have a chance to drive into Boston and see Skinner. Perhaps not even Prada Girl. It can be tough, decentralized.
Good or bad, sitting in a hotel room does give one a chance to go over notes, finish up a few projects, write some emails.

I talked to my sweetie, and all is well at home. That’s probably what I miss most, just the quiet companionship of the one you love.

Phoenix

"Dive! Dive! Dive!"
Amusing, the announcing voice at Phoenix airport is one of those computerized voices that has not changed in twenty years. It sounds just like the voice in the old submarine game I used to play on my old MAC Plus!
"Should we abandon ship, Captain?"
No, I think not. This is just a layover to Boston. But I shall at least add it to the list of cities I have touched for a moment, then leave it unchanged.
At least there is civilization here, you can sit in the bar can cut a butt. Amusing, now everyone carries matches.
I check the cell phone, there is a message from Wonder Girl. She tells me she loves me, it’s so nice to hear. I have not been gone for more than a few hours, but I miss her already.
They have started calling boarding, I have a few minutes to wait. It is so much more, hurry up, than wait. Security this and that. Ignore(mostly) the repeated warnings. We all know the these and those.
It was a bit of a walk, from one gate to the connecting gate. I welcome the walk. I didn’t have my walk this morning, and I think I have confused the poor Tommy-dog more. He is such a creature of habit; terribly broken routine, since I have been sick these last two weeks. No walks at the regularly scheduled time with the big guy. Just the walk with WG, but at different times every day. Tommy dog likes a proper routine.
And now I am gone for a week, further changing the routine. He will soooo not be talking to me when I get home!
Oh, time to go!

When the fourth monkey misbehaves

So, here is the first tidbit of my current project



When the Fourth Monkey Misbehaves
By G.W. Hogg
©4-9-05

Carric Scott was not a good man and most people you asked would agree. Though they would rarely say he was a bad man, few really knew him.
That morning, he got off the New York subway at his usual stop. Rode the elevator up to the eighty-fifth floor, badged in at the entrance to the office, and stopped to talk to the security guard.
Beverly, the security guard, smiled at Carric as he approached. He smiled back. She was a good looking woman of around forty, with the nice extra curves that women her age get. Black hair, cut neat and short. Carric always liked women in uniform, and she looked particularly fetching in hers.
She smiled again at Carric, as he put his laptop case on the counter. “Would you like to come over for dinner tonight?” She asked.
“Sure, anything special?”
“No, I just thought I’d like to have you over for dinner.”
“Should I bring something for dessert?”
“No.” She smiled and winked. “You can be the dessert.”
He smiled back. It was understood.
“Are you ready for your staff meeting this morning?” She asked.
Carric gave her a blank look, then suddenly realized what day it was. “Oh my gosh! I have treats today, and I didn’t bring anything!”
”You had better hurry, your meeting starts in half an hour.”
“Can I leave my laptop here?”
”Sure.”
They exchanged smiles and winks and he walked to the door. She hit the button, and the door unlocked.

As he rode the elevator down, he realized that he had not badged out. The system would still show him in the building. It didn’t matter to him, but some anal retentive security guy would see that he had badged in twice that day, and out only once. The might think that he was still in the building at two o’clock in the morning. This didn’t worry him, as he rode down to the first floor.
Out onto the busy sidewalk, passed everyone who was hustling to work, from work and where ever New Yorkers went at that hour of the morning. He walked the several blocks to the bakery that he knew.
Just before Carric entered the bakery, he heard a large explosion behind him. He spun around and looked up. The upper floors of the office building were he worked, were now engulfed in flames.
He stood there, silently, watching. Passersby stopped and looked also. Soon there were gasps from the crowd, fingers pointing, murmurs that were getting louder.
They all watched, as the flames grew, licking up the upper floors of tower.
Carric had worked in the tower long enough to recognize that whatever had caused the explosion and fire, was either at, or a few floors from where he worked.
Different people yelled, shouted, screamed, or quietly murmured. He heard someone say, ‘I saw a plane, I saw a plane hit the building!’

Carric didn’t care that much what caused it. All he knew was that someplace, probably in the basement of the Hudson building in Boston, where his company kept a small office; there was a record on a server, of Carric going in and Carric not coming out. That server also had a record of losing it’s connection with his office, on the eighty-fifth floor.

Everybody leaves, Carric knew. Sometimes you leave on your own, sometimes you had leaving forced upon you. He unclipped the cell phone from his belt and removed the battery. Then he did the same to his pager. Then he turned from the sight of the burning building and continued on down the street.

He turned down the first alley he came to. Tossing the batteries in different garbage cans. He found a piece of pavement, took it, and smashed his cell phone, then his pager. He continued to walk down the alley, putting the smashed bits into different garbage cans. He then crouched down next to a dumpster, emptied his wallet of all identification, credit cards, library card and put it all in a neat pile. He fished a pack of matches from his jacket pocket and carefully set the little pile on fire. With a little help from some newspaper he found, within a few minutes, Andrew C. Scott, ceased to exist.
He stood and opened a hidden flap in his wallet. From there, he took out a drivers license and credit card with a different name on them. Put them into their proper positions and left the alley.
-------------

Spring

Well, I guess it’s a sure sign of Spring. There are half a dozen houses for sale in our neighborhood. Most of them are around the half million dollar range. Boy, that sure makes things sound sooo expensive! Gosh. GW, you must live in some swanky neighborhood!
It’s so funny because we live in a very ordinary, middle class, suburban neighborhood. All the houses around us are similar, late fifties, tract homes.
I know of others who always want to move up to a bigger, fancier house. But who really needs more rooms to clean and a bigger mortgage. No thanks. Yes, a little more yard would be nice, but the house is comfortable. The other nice thing is it’s all one level. Two steps to get in, two steps to go out. With both Wonder Girl and me being a little clumsy, less to trip on.

So, as we walk the dog, we grab the fliers off the for sale signs and read about the houses. Some a little better, some a little less.

And now the house with the crazy man is for sale. We can see it off our back deck, hear their damn bird screech into the night. (yes, we thought of tossing some poison peanuts over the fence, just to quiet the night)
A few times, the crazy guy would come out, yelling and screaming. It has been quieter since their kid moved out.

There used to be a lot of comings and goings. Cars would pull up, young people would get out and go inside. Soon, they would leave. Probably dealing drugs. Then we stopped seeing their kid. The neighborhood got quiet again.

Yes, crazy guys still screams one in a while, but very infrequently.

Now if we could just reduce the crazy moms and dads, zipping by to drop off their kids at the school behind us.

Two Thoughts

I realized that she is one of those people whom I like more for who she is, than what she looks like.

I am not sure where that thought came from, it just popped into my head.


Damn them.

So I was chatting with my coworkers about the story I am working on. The crux of the story is of a guy who takes an opportunity to vanish from his life.
And I described his walking away, the discussion turned from why he was walking away, to the effect of those he leaves. Damn them! Now I find my thoughts sidetracked with the other characters, their lives, and how it affects them. I don’t even know where he is going, much less those he leaves behind. And now I am wondering.

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.

Women want me

I just finished reading my friend's blog, where a young woman expressed an interest in him by flirting with him. He wasn’t quite sure. Amusing that she could not tell he plays for the other team. But then, he flies under the radar.

Amusing still, because there is a time and a place for that.

My friend A, and I were out for dinner with our wives one night. He and I went to the bar for a beer and this good looking woman made a conversational gambit to him. She glanced at his Raiders sweatshirt and said, ‘I thought we didn’t allow you kind in this bar.’ Wonderfully said, nice smile to go with it.’
I rescued him. ‘Excuse me, but they are out of season this time of year.’
As we walked back to our ladies, you could see him just beaming. It nice when someone flirts with you. Kinda says, ‘yes, you’re good looking’. It can make you feel good.

Subtle is nice.

Blatant can be nice to. Like when she came into my room, blonde on blonde, in the pale moonlight; and asked ‘Are you cold?”

If you are single, subtle or blatant, all can be good.

But when someone is married, you might use subtle, if you use anything. But for heavens sake, look at the left hand, before you do something blatantly!

When you ask a married coworker for a ride home, because you don’t want to walk six blocks through the snow; don’t start telling him about you not having a muff. Don’t tell him that your fantasy is to have sex with two guys. (you might have had a chance when he was single)
What does it get you? He will never, ever, give you a ride home, period!

The ring is supposed to mean something! Just assume that the guy is taken, that he is not interested.

And for goodness sake, look for the ring, especially on a coworker!

New Years Eve, at the Hotel, the two waitresses are leaving, heading out for a night on the town. They come over to the front desk and ask for a new years eve kiss. Now I know the protocol, and when the first one leans over, it more a light kiss on the cheek. That’s how it is done.
Not number two! A hand behind my head, lip lock and a tongue snaking down my throat!
Disengage, greetings exchanged and they are out the door.
I just stand there, stunned. ‘Where the fuck did that come from?’

The next day, waitress one tells me the rest of the story. They got outside and she hit waitress two so hard on the arm. ‘You stupid idiot! You just got married six months ago!”
She forgot to check my left hand.
She was so embarrassed, I did not see her for three weeks!

A little flirt, ‘I think you look good’ A little flirt back, ‘You’re rather cute too’. There’re okay. After all, it nice to hear that people like the way you look, it makes you feel good. But there are rules here and you must play by the rules.

Ideas

Sometimes, a little something makes me think. A phrase, a smile, a well-turned leg. I take that little thing, weave a story.
Sometimes, something happens to me. Years go by, I wonder about the incident. Was there a meaning, was there a reason.
And sometimes, I can take a little incident, take that phrase, add the smile, mix them together and I have an interesting little event.

There still may be no meaning, but perhaps there never was.

PERVS 1975,1999
“Sex! That’s all you men have on your minds.”
“You say that like it is a bad thing.”
“Well, we get so tired of it!”
“Oh sure, you’re tired of it now. But what if you’re a 30 year old hottie with short blonde hair? You turn from the bar and see these two 17-year-olds at a table by themselves, quietly having a drink. You’re not wondering what’s on their minds, you’re counting on it! Because you know all you have to do is walk over there, let them buy you a drink and you can take them both home with you. Then it’s suddenly okay, isn’t it? It’s even okay that you didn’t tell them you’re married and your husbands out of town.
But that’s okay until he comes home early and surprises you. But you didn’t think of that, as the boys do a mad scramble out the second floor window.
You don’t think of how those two boys end up sitting for hours in the ER, waiting for their parents to come and get them. How they struggle to explain how one of them has a broken ankle, one a broken arm; or where their shirts and shoes are.
Sure, you’re tired of it now, but at a different place and time, you expect it and to hell with the consequences!”
And I stood and left the table

The Colored Lens

It suddenly dawned on me that my friend LP is turning 40 this year! I usually get a chance to see her, when I am in Boston. But I have not seen her for a while.

I can’t picture her older than when I first met her, over ten years ago. Oh, she still looked young the last time I saw her. Or maybe, as I age, she always stays the same amount younger?

And I think of my wife. When I see her, do I only see the lovely woman of 28? Will she always be that to me? I have to stop and look at her, she doesn’t seem to have changed very much, to me.

I am older, grey, some wrinkles. But she seems still…like she hasn’t aged as much. It’s like I am the older one now.

And do we do that to our friends and family? Freeze them?

A photograph in your memory,
Through the colored lens of time?

But I won’t ponder it too much.
There is a lovely woman in the next room,
One who shares our life.
One whom I still love to gaze upon.
To hold in my arms.
To keep me warm at night.

Everybody hurts, sometimes.

Kitchen remodeling takes time. Sand, fill, wait. Prime, wait, sand, paint, wait, etc.
Today was one of the fun things. Straddle the kitchen sink and tear out the old light fixture. The guy who built it originally did a crappy job. The framing for the soffit and light fixture were…shitty is the only way to put it.
So, trying to kneel over the sink, Sawzall chewing away, then chisel in hand; hack, cut, saw. And constantly calling the bastard foul names.
It’s a tight space, but with the right bending and twisting, I got the pot lights installed and only sliced one finger.
Okay, I almost fell off the countertop five times. My leg hit the faucet twice and I had to stop and clean up the water. But there weren’t any really big problems.

It’s times like these, when I’d rather be short, and with small hands.

And maybe younger.

All that bending and twisting.

There are a number of muscles that are starting to complain. Muscles that have been quiet for years.

Oh shut up old man.

reading, and writing about it

As I walked into the Safeway store, I noticed this gal walking out. There were four lines of text on her sweatshirt. It said something about licking something, then she was passed me.(yes, and there was a distortion to the letters, caused by the ‘curvature’)

Now come on, if your gonna say something on your shirt, please walk slowly. Or better yet, since we are not supposed to stare at a woman’s chest; put it on the back of the shirt!
The front should be a simple, short statement.

This is especially true if the puppies are unencumbered! For if you want attention, you’ll get it without any writing. Even a simple ‘Guess?’ is unneeded. Darling, we can see that they are wondrously alive! We don’t need to ‘guess’ what delights lurk beneath that thin tee shirt.

And if you are well built, with the ‘Guess?’ logo stretching to its breaking point. Yes, we’re guessing silicone.

Eschew obfuscation

Well, I feel better. Nobody knows I am here, but if I google me, I can find myself! Hey, that will save me thousands by not having to go to a shrink!

'Plain jello' is out there, as is 'righthand twist'. I'll have to find others. I am sure they are there, hiding? Or are they? If I reveal myself to them, will they reveal themselves to me? They could even see me, but not know it's me.

It's so odd, people out there, spilling their guts from behind the curtain. Show off as they remain unknown.

Or they make things up, spin a yarn, obfuscate.
Open the curtain, expose the sets, props. Say the lines. Become someone else, or not.

You decide, you who can be deceived.

GW

when dee mood is there

Sometimes, a beginning seems almost lost in time.
Hard to remember if first there was a glimpse, a chance sighting, someone talked about someone.
But I remember walking into the bank and trepidatiously, approaching the loan officer. I sit and look at the loan officer. She is so cute! As I explain what I need, want, I watch her grey-green eyes sparkle and dance. Forms are filed out. She has a nice smile. Warm. And something else.
I know something will be wrong with me, no car loan.
But she is so cute. How long can I sit and talk to her?
I know someone, who knows someone, who works at this same branch.
The worlds can come together. (yeah, right)

She hands me back the form, asks for some more information. I write more and look up at her as I pass back the form. I smile, she smiles back. There is just a hint of mischievousness in her smile, her eyes.
She looks to be just a little older than me, maybe.

I pass muster, the check is handed to me, and the payment book. I thank her and walk out the door, off to buy my first car.

And you know, over two decades later, she is still only a little older than me. Her eyes still sparkle. And when she smiles, the mischief dances up into her eyes.

The Fog

It's not easy being a night owl. The world wants you up early, to bed early. The dog wants you up, now! For every morning starts with a dog walk. While the rest of the world seems asleep, and the coffee is brewing, you find yourself wandering down foggy streets. The dog knows the way, knows what to do. All you can do is try to avoid tripping over the dog, and your own two feet.
You know that far ahead, your wife is briskly walking along, not slowed by the investigative dog.
At least, after all these years, you know the route. Unfortunately, the mind is wandering.
That first blast of coffee and sugar is still in the distance.
Words flow through my mind, thoughts, and phrases. But like an old river, it meanders, flows over its banks, and carves new channels. Sometimes, the flows of thoughts go nowhere, sometimes they erode the banks, revealing nuggets of gold; at times, lumps of coal. Regardless, and out of control, they flow.
Mindless meanderings, every morning.

Wal-mart
A big-box store
Big-box store
another name for a brothel?

a tough row to hoe
A large madam
stuck in the brothel
the town is flooded
no one wants to rescue her
because she is a tough ho to row.

Words split, come together
dissipate
baldness
when hair will diss a pate

So, as the sky lightens, the fog begins to lift from my mind. By the time I am home, coffee poured, the mind begins to wake and I try to remember the wordplay. Most of the time, it is gone, just a fleeting impression that I might have thought of something clever.

Well, tomorrow morning, the thoughts will be back.

Should I tell you of my real life?

I spent the day removing the center panels of the kitchen cabinet doors and putting beadboard in its place. Boring stuff with a router and electric miter saw. Power tools can make the work go faster, but you can also get into trouble very quickly!
I was pretty lucky. No big mistakes. Not cut fingers. A successful day in my book. With luck, I’ll get the uppers done tomorrow.
W spent the day priming the cabinets, tomorrow the drawer front get primed. Eventually, all the cabinets will be white. Wall color is still to be determined.

Dinner, some TV, then off to bed.

Such excitement! I can hardly contain myself.

It’s more interesting to go online and read some jokes, check up on some friends.

Simile

My golfer friend told me that he never met-a-fore he didn't like.

And suddenly, I saw the answer to my dad's question!

Several years ago, my dad asked me a simple question.
"If turnabout is fair play, what's foreplay?"

I first thought the answer was 'Turn around is foreplay.' But now I see it was a trick question. The answer is, "Twins are four play."

So, 'I never met-a-four I didn't like!'

And it's not, in their arms entwined, it's…can you be 'twinned'?

And you don't use twine, cordage is much better.

How did I get roped into this?

Well, don't worry, I saved the best for lash.

There Are Rules!

I am not saying we should misbehave, but we should look as if we are capable of doing it at any time. Oscar Wilde

We have Tommy, a five year old Beagle-border collie mix. Much different from the Lab we used to have. With a word, a gesture, a snap of the finger; he knows what to do.

Boarder collie? Well, we give him room and board. Border collie, because there are borders! You cannot do that. Patrol the perimeter of the yard. Guard the door. Do not go into the Forbidden Zone! ‘Bark, bark, bark’ –(stranger! In the house!)

So Tommy is a smart dog, not sure if it is the beagle or the collie. He will not sleep on the couch unless certain conditions are met.
1. No one is home
2. They have turned out the light and gone to bed.
a. Once they have gone to bed, if they come back in the room, they cannot see the dog.
3. If, and only if, there is a specific invite. (a hand, dropping to the couch cushion, can be correctly interpreted as a specific invite.)


Tommy will not cross the vinyl floor in the kitchen unless.
1. The doorbell rings.
2. A snack falls to the floor, within 3 feet of the door.
3. They have gone to bed.
4. The Mistress of the house is being too quiet. One must check on her.
5. The Master of the house has awoken, Tommy will now check to see if the Mistress is awake.

You can invite Tommy into the kitchen and he will not enter.

If you catch him on the wrong side of the Forbidden Zone, he will not cross back to his room until you are no longer watching.

He watches us. If we are not watching him, the rules change, borders move.
With a word, a gesture, a snap of the finger; he knows what to do.

We walk him every day. He waits for me each morning.
On weekends, when I sleep in, he checks on me.
Quietly. For he is nothing, if not stealthy.

Smart dogs are different.