I’ve heard it for years now.
” You could be pretty…if you tried. “
Guess what- I have tried.
Lots of times.
I think I have the right to ‘ not try ‘ anymore.
Shallow Bastards.
I really should do something about the company I keep.
Life
Real Archaeologists Don’t Have Whips
Real archaeologists don’t have whips
I can vouch for that.
I wanted to be an archaeologist pre- Indiana Jones ( this was in 1973 or maybe 1974 so I was about 10 ) until I met one.
He was wearing a Grateful Dead t-shirt and reeked like Patchouli and when I asked if he had ever been in a mummy’s tomb he said yes, several in fact.
So of course I asked
” are they really cursed? “
And he says no.
He enjoyed telling me no.
Jerk.
So I said, ” that’s too bad. “
I decided to be a Mortician after that.
Taking The Ghost With You
Years ago I heard a story about a woman who checked into a somewhat upscale hotel without any luggage. She didn’t even have her purse or any I.D- somehow it had been left behind.
This was back in the early 1950’s and I’m guessing they let her do this because people were more trusting back then- that and from all accounts the woman was well dressed, well spoken and by appearances seemed like a real lady.
At any rate, it was on it’s way she told the Hotel Clerk- in fact it was going to be showing up any minute so could she just check into her room- it had been a long day.
The Clerk let her check in and the next morning when the maid went into the room they found the woman dead, sitting in a chair facing the window.
They authorities would only ever learn one thing about the woman- she was dead from cyanide poisoning- an odd thing to use to kill yourself, but that was the cause of death and that’s what was reflected on the death certificate.
The woman’s luggage never did show up, and no one ever came forward to I.D Jane Doe- and somewhere in Seattle under a little grey stone with numbers on it- probably overgrown with grass now is a woman who according to some never existed.
So I wonder.
Can a person who never existed-
Truly Ever Die?
Fair?
This morning someone I know showed up on my loading dock, he was sort of nervous and making idle chit chat when he finally told me he had set a trap in his yard to catch cats.
And he caught one.
He was going to take it to the Animal Shelter.
So why tell me this I wondered.
I went out and the cat in the trap was clean and well fed- it doesn’t look like a stray, it’s friendly and not feral.
He caught someones pet.
That’s what he did.
And he knows it.
He did this because cats are digging up the flowers in his yard.
My Cat, Wolfie, left me last fall.
But I know where Wolfie is…he’s buried under his favorite tree in his herb garden- he died from Kidney Failure at age 17 just before Halloween.
I will know where my wonderful Wolfgang is for the rest of my life until the day I die.
Someone out there will never know that their wonderful sweet black cat that is clean and well fed and and has been loved
Is going home with me.
It’s not fair.
Is it?
a.m.
Sometimes It’s Not All About Flowers
My friend sent me this picture and asked me what I thought about it.
I said I hate flowers, especially cut flowers- I can’t stand the smell of cut flowers. My friend knows that. I thought he was being a smarty-pants.
My friend sent me another e-mail with those little smiley faces that move around and in big red letters that said I was a dingbat and to LOOK at the picture.
So I did.
What do you know.
It wasn’t all about flowers.
Sometimes the obvious isn’t always obvious.
Especially if you’re not paying attention
David’s Dad Is Very Cool
The following is a snippet from Dads: A Celebration Of Fatherhood From Britain’s Finest And Funniest, by Sarah Brown and Gil McNeil, to be published on May 29:
Actor David Tennant, 37, a.k.a. Dr Who, grew up in Ralston, Renfrewshire, where his father, Sandy McDonald, was the local Church of Scotland minister.
David Says Here:
When you’re a child you blithely assume that your dad knows everything. Now, aged 37, I have to admit that mine probably does.I don’t mean he could rattle off the kings of England in order, or work out the quantity of dark matter in the universe on the back of a napkin (although he’d probably give it a good go); it’s the dad stuff he’s good at.
Problem with the car? Confusion over the house insurance? Need to put a shelf up? Even how do you blanch broccoli? I’ll call my dad.
He’ll always have an answer, or at least know where to find one. (Anything involving gadgets, for instance, gets outsourced to his mate John, who lives nearby in a house full of self-soldered circuit boards and half-built computers.)
But it worries me. I’ll be 40 in a few years: shouldn’t I already know how to tile a bathroom wall?
Where does Dad get all this knowledge from? Is it instinct? Was he born knowing how to replace a fanbelt? Did he rely on his father for all these life skills? Were they passed down like an Olympic torch, practicality burning down the generations?
Trouble is, I think I’m in danger of dropping it. In years to come, when my kids phone me up to ask how to reignite their boiler, I’ll have to put them on to Granddad.
I know it’s not just me – my brother and sister are the same. Luckily, despite being 70 and with one false hip, my dad is still the most energetic, indefatigable man you’re ever likely to meet.
Thank goodness for that. You’ve got years of cutting down trees and fixing curtain rails ahead of you, Dad. No peaceful retirement for you, I’m afraid. We’d be neck-deep in chaos without you.
Roaring Through My 20’s
When I was a kid I wanted to be a Flapper.
I wanted to wear those cool clothes and have that edgy haircut and have boys coming to my house in Model T Fords-preferably painted yellow.
I wanted to hang out in Speakeasys
and smoke cigarettes from long cigarette holders and say things like ” that’s the bee’s knees alright ” when something impressed me and I wanted to say in a low sexy gravely voice that could make people blush ” Did you see Anne’s new Sheik? He’s the Cat’s Pajama’s”
Oh wait.
I do say things like ” The Bee’s Knees ” and “Cat’s Pajama’s” and when a guys are off the scale gorgeous I do think of them as Sheiks ( as in Valentino Sexy and if you don’t know who he was, Google him )
And be warned nobody can do the Charleston as good as me- well, nobody my age anyway.
So how did a Punk Rocker born in 1964 find her way back to the 1920’s and come back again as an Honorary Flapper?
Other Grandmothers take their Grand-kids to the Park and to the Beach.
My Grandma sent me on a trip to the roaring 20’s.
My Grandmother and her Sisters- who in their day weren’t just on the cutting edge of the 1920’s it sounded to me like they stood on the blade itself and jumped up and down all over it.
I grew up on their stories about the advent of extreme makeup styles and short hair for women and the music- which seemed to have a preoccupation with fruit, booze and love.
When they would tell me about having to sneak out to change their clothes so that they could ‘ look modern’ and the lengths they went through just to wear makeup and find boyfriends and get their haircut short I would think how sweet and silly and innocent that all sounded.
One day after we traded a few wild stories that started because we had been discussing my music and motorcycle riding and new black leather jacket ripped up jeans and black eyeshadow and safety pin look I remember my Grandmother sort of looked over to one of her sisters and they didn’t laugh or chuckle or tell me how exciting my life sounded.
In fact, if anything they seemed a bit under-impressed.
And then my Grandmother winked and said how silly and fun and innocent it all sounded.
And looking back on it now and looking at the world my Nieces are living in and what it’s like for them now days- I’m starting to think she was was right.
It Is What It Is
Are We There Yet?
Last weekend I saw some friends.
They asked about my writing, they complimented me on my recent story they told me how excited they were about the entire ‘writer’s experience’. They went on to ask about mutual friends- when I think back on it they smiled more then I had ever seen them smile before.
Two days later they totally betrayed my trust, and the trust of some of our other friends.
I still haven’t gotten over that.
Sometimes the days are just too darn long.
amm
Once Upon My Time
When I was about Five I wanted to be a Magician- not just any Magician I wanted to be as great as Harry Houdini himself.
I still do.
Sometimes you might set dreams aside.
But you never really give them up, do you?
Irregular Bones 
