POOKIE’S ADVENTURES: 2024 begins.

 

 

“Ripeness is merely the name we give to the first stage of decay.’

Hill, Reginald. The Long Kill (p. 162). MysteriousPress.com/Open Road. 

 

Sigh. For me, ripeness is now but a cherished memory. On the other hand, 2024 as we enter it is certainly not yet ripe, I fear it is destined to deteriorate significantly long before the year ends. 

Watching humanity wriggle through another chapter of what we call history seems to me like observing bacteria in a Petri dish. Once the algae is consumed, they devour each other until none remain. Then, the Petri dish is cleaned for a new experiment, or in disgust, it’s tossed into the trash, and the lab lights turned off.

On the third morning of 2024, while lying in bed, Naida and I decided to sing some songs from Showboat before we began our day. The dog grew bored with the noise and moved to sit by the window, awaiting the appearance of a squirrel to bark at. 

We eventually rolled out of bed by late morning, grabbed some breakfast, and settled in front of our computers. Naida was tackling her inbox, while I delved into my usual mix of factoids and opinions, diving into whatever obsessions caught my fancy for the day.

I reached out to my grandson, Anthony, and asked if he’d like to crash with us until March when he moves into his new apartment. Having an extra pair of hands around will definitely make getting our place sorted for the next phase of our lives much easier.

On New Year’s Day, I got a surprise call from Hayden, who was all the way over in Bangkok, enjoying lunch with none other than my old pal, Richard Diran, a.k.a. Burma Richard. Richard’s like a modern-day Renaissance Man. He’s an artist, adventurer, gemologist, ethnographer, explorer (and maybe even a smuggler, but we won’t dig into that), restaurateur, writer, and so much more. Some expat writers in Bangkok have even used him as inspiration for characters in their novels. He’s one of a kind, that Richard!

Hayden, his two friends with Richard Diran (Also called Burma Richard) having lunch at a restaurant on Soi 8, Bangkok Thailand.

On the fourth day of the new year, Naida and I set out for a leisurely stroll with our faithful canine companion, Booboo the Barking Dog. It was early afternoon, the sun shining down warmly with the temperature a delightful upper 60s – just perfect for an adventure. Seizing the moment, I decided it was time to jump back into my long-neglected exercise routine, now that the December plague that had knocked me out was finally retreating. Little did I know, things wouldn’t go quite as planned.

We casually strolled our way to the Nepenthe Clubhouse, where I ventured into the exercise room. With a smug grin, I assured Naida that I wouldn’t overexert myself, considering my nearly year-long break from serious exercise. I confidently hopped onto one of those intimidating machines and gave it my all for a whopping 30 seconds or so – clearly, my body had a bone to pick with me. Gasping for dear life, I surrendered and exited the torture chamber.

Desperately needing fresh air, I stumbled outside and collapsed into a chair by the pool, wheezing like an asthmatic pig attempting to impersonate a racehorse. That’s when Naida had a brilliant idea: she, too, would give this exercise thing a shot. Off she went back into the exercise room. A few minutes later, she emerged, declaring that she’d had enough of this nonsense too, promptly joining me in a neighboring chair, looking just as spent as I felt.

And so, there we sat, basking in the glorious sunshine, chatting about everything and nothing for a good hour or so. It took us that long to regain our dignity and composure after our feeble attempts at exercise. Once we’d fully recovered, we decided it was time to call it a day and retreated to the comfort of our home.

On Friday, around noon, I found myself glued to MSNBC, eagerly awaiting Biden’s speech in Pennsylvania to kickstart his re-election campaign. This election might very well be the most pivotal one in the history of our nation.

Biden delivered the best speech I’ve ever seen or heard from him. He set the tone for the upcoming presidential election by emphasizing that it represents a vote on the preservation of democracy. This message has the potential to resonate strongly with the voters, unless Trump manages to shift the focus of the press and the electorate onto other issues such as age, foreign entanglements, immigration, and the like. In the coming weeks, we’ll witness how Biden’s grand strategy unfolds in the press and the polls. If it gains traction, Trump will need to find a counter-issue.

Saturday brought gloomy weather, with steady rain. It wasn’t stormy, but it was definitely a good day to stay in bed. After breakfast, I loaded up my Kindle with a bunch of new books and returned to bed. I woke up around 5 and went downstairs. It was still dark outside. I wandered into the kitchen where Naida was busy. Still half-asleep, I gave her a peck on the cheek and stumbled my way into the studio. I pulled the computer onto my lap and read a fascinating article about wolves.

Did you know that there is no such thing as the ‘alpha’ male in wild wolf society? Only captive bred packs have a hierarchy; in the wild, packs share all responsibilities. Parents raise, teach, and care for their pups until they can go out on their own, and there are no fights in wild packs for dominance. No single wolf is in charge, so fights and challenges are usually situational. Brothers fight each other, sisters fight each other, brothers fight sisters… sounds like a typical family, doesn’t it? One overriding difference separates wolf society from ours – wolves don’t hunt for sport.

Much of our TV viewing is dedicated to news and political commentary. The growth of this type of entertainment, and the shift from news to what’s often called “infotainment,” was triggered by Reagan’s abolishing of the “Fairness Doctrine,” which paved the way for the rise of Fox News and similar media companies. Unfortunately, many of these outlets prioritize sensationalism and opinion over objective reporting, blurring the lines between news and propaganda.

Reflecting on my Sunday, I found myself pondering why my life now seems to revolve around the weather, the television programs I watch, and the books I read. Has it always been like this, or is it just a phase? Regardless, I’ve come to realize that it doesn’t matter much to me anymore. After all, I do have my memories.

As for Monday, I don’t recall much of what happened on Sunday. Shortly after waking up, I experienced an unusual bout of dizziness that persisted on and off throughout the day.

During my recent research on Aaron Burr, I became fascinated by his progressive stances in the early days of the nation. Despite his flaws, Burr vehemently opposed slavery, championed women’s equality, and supported immigrants’ rights. His legacy is complex, but it’s important to recognize his contributions to progressive causes in the midst of his personal controversies.

Tuesday was supposed to be my annual checkup, though I couldn’t help but wonder why I needed another one so soon. Nevertheless, these appointments provide some entertainment in my current routine. Despite the cancellation, I treated myself to lunch and a grocery shopping trip, followed by a well-deserved nap.

Wednesday morning brought a gray sky with a silvery hue, a somewhat poetic contrast to the darkness. While enjoying breakfast, we watched movies set in Mendocino, reminiscing about our visits to the area, adding a touch of nostalgia to the day.

I’ve been engrossed in “Country of the Blind,” a novel by Christopher Brookmyre. Despite its roots in mystery, the book delves into social commentary, criticizing the negative impact of media moguls like Rupert Murdoch. Brookmyre’s work serves as both entertainment and a thought-provoking critique of our society.

Later that afternoon, I visited my dentist, Dr. Smita Khandwala, for my annual teeth cleaning. Despite her heavy accent, I appreciate her patience and explanations during our appointments. Her office may seem dated, but her dedication to her patients is evident.

In the evening, after watching “Angela’s Ashes,” a captivating movie based on Frank McCourt’s memoir, we indulged in dinner at Lemon Grass, one of our favorite restaurants.

A few days ago, while going through a box of old family photographs sent by my daughter, I stumbled upon a forgotten picture of myself from 1971, shortly after my arrival in California. It’s amazing how such simple artifacts can evoke powerful memories and reflections on the passage of time.

Pookie in 1971 — The Hippy Years.

I couldn’t sleep last night, so I went downstairs and read for a while before returning to bed. I woke up at about noon on Thursday and went downstairs to have breakfast. Afterward, I recited to Naida the Buck Milligan introduction to James Joyce’s Ulysses, both in the Joycean original and the AI translation. She interrupted me before I was finished and went to her computer to fuss over some receipts from the sate of her books. I then read a bit more of the novel that I was engrossed in last night instead of sleeping.

I then sat for a while, staring out the window, wondering what I should do today to make getting out of bed worthwhile. I thought perhaps screaming while running naked through the streets of the Enchanted Forest would do nicely. However, when I looked up at the clock and saw it was almost 4 PM, I thought it would be better to have lunch before engaging in strenuous exercise. Given that there would be less than an hour of daylight remaining by the time I finished lunch, running naked down the dark streets in mid-winter would be ill-advised. So, I decided to shelve that idea for today and headed off to the kitchen.

Later, while watching one of the PBS shows, I received the following message from Richard Diran (Burma Richard):

“Hey Joe, so the last perfect day I had was with Hayden and his crew. The next day, my guts bloated like a Biafra watermelon. I went to the hospital for an MRI, and they said you have to check in at the emergency room.

I asked, ‘How about tomorrow?’

They replied, ‘Nope, today or you may be dead.’

I said, ‘Okay.’

So, the bladder cancer has extended to my colon. I had an operation and am currently in the hospital about to be discharged.

On January 22, the doctors will meet to decide the best way forward with treatment.

I do want to squeeze a bit more life out of this world for the sheer force of curiosity to see what madness lies ahead.

Love you!

R”

I was devastated. I spent a long time trying to put into words what I was feeling and what it all meant. Eventually, I gave up. Everything appeared inadequate. Death does not ask us when we would like for him to turn up at our door. I longed to visit Richard and spend some time with him — a last adventure, so to speak, but I am beyond the ability to sustain 20-hour plane rides. I sent him a note, expressing my concern, sorrow, and hope that he will prevail over his maladies and we would be able meet again.

When I finally went to bed, I couldn’t sleep. Thoughts about Richard swirled in my mind. In addition, I had been viciously attacked by two mosquitoes earlier in the evening, As a result, two large bumps have disfigured my forehead and itched a lot. So, at about 2 AM, I went downstairs to wrestle with my thoughts about Richard and later to finish up the novel I had been reading. I returned to bed after 4 AM and slept until 10:30 when the house cleaner arrived. Later, Naida and I, along with the dog, went to Mel’s for lunch. When we returned the housekeeper was still at work, so we waited a while for her to finish up and leave so that we could go upstairs for a late afternoon nap.

That evening, after watching a fairly awful movie, I listened awhile to Naida play the piano following which we went upstairs to bed. 

On Saturday I got out of bed at about noon as usual. I spent a few moments wondering if this late rising indicated I was suffering from deep, perhaps terminal, depression. I almost immediately dismissed it. My life has been little more than alternating episodes of unwarranted euphoria and melodramatic depression now and then punctuated by brief moments of delusionary euphoria.

It looked to be another grey and gloomy day as I stared at it through my window. As I stood there I thought “enough of this. This should be a day of new beginnings.” I recalled  Molly Trad’s poem:

I have a desperate attraction to new beginnings

Sometimes the numbers on the calendar look so beautiful

I think

Today’s the day I drink less and run more

No smoking, all veggies

Honesty, integrity, self-reliance, perseverance, creativity,

No fear, live large,

Dream big, be bright, believe in love and believe in yourself!

And I do

Today is an auspicious day

So, right then and there, I decided to sit on the sofa with Naida, watch television, and contemplate my new beginnings.

On Sunday, I woke up as usual at about noon, had breakfast, and sat down with Naida to discuss our plans for the day, if any. She mentioned that the Northern California Publishers and Authors group, an organization she founded over 20 years ago and now directed by the author M.L. Hamilton, was having an event this evening. It was being held at a place near us called the Flaming Grill, which was not far from our location. “Let’s go,” I said, “I’m up for it.” So, a bit later, after walking the dog, we headed off to the meeting.

The Flaming Grill is a well-regarded hamburger restaurant in Sacramento, located in a somewhat run-down shopping center near Alta-Arden. We sat in a section of the restaurant designated for the meeting. While perusing the menu, I noticed an item called “Gator Bite Po Boy.” I asked the owner/waiter if it was made with real alligator. “Yes,” he responded, “we order it from Louisiana. A couple of months ago, I was even able to order camel meat.” I decided to order it just to add to my list of life experiences. Surprisingly, it wasn’t bad at all.

I sat at a table with two of Naida’s friends, the authors Tom Kando (“Humanity’s Future: The Next 25,000 Years”) and Frank Luna (“Red Mars”). The meeting focused on discussing what authors need to know about publishing their books in today’s market, which I found quite interesting. We left with a copy of a cheat sheet provided to the attendees. 

Upon returning home, we watched the Sunday evening PBS lineup before returning upstairs to bed..

On Monday, I went to the Golden Hills for lunch with Hayden. He had just returned from a month-long trip to Thailand and Japan with two of his friends, Little Jake and Christian. I was eager to hear his stories. I picked him up at his house, and he gave me an amazing shirt that I loved. We decided to dine at a Mexican restaurant in Town Center. On the drive, I told him about the unfortunate news about Burma Richard. He was distressed by the news and shared several stories Richard had told them during their lunch. During lunch, we discussed some of his adventures on his trip. One interesting thing he mentioned was that they were scheduled to fly out of Honolulu on one of the Alaska Airlines planes of the same type that had its door fall off the day before, causing his flight to be delayed by almost a day.

Later, Naida, the dog, and I went for a walk. We walked up onto the levee along the American River, where 2 billion dollars had been spent to shore it up. The construction machinery had been removed, and the fencing taken down. This is what we saw:

We were surprised to see that much of the vegetation had been removed, leaving only bare dirt. A few steps further, we came across this:

 

Within about a month after the contractors left, the levee had already begun eroding into the river and needed temporary supports. This is just another example of what happens when you choose the lowest cost bidder.

Later that night we watch Antiques Road Show (of course). It was televised from Alaska.I do not know what is going on up there but those people there seemed to just have come out of the wilderness carrying the most valuable antiques we had ever seen on the show. And, yes I know only decrepits like us who have nothing better to do than watch this and what’s worse enjoy it. So what. 

 

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POOKIE’S ADVENTURES IN SOCIAL DISTANCING:

A. POOKIE’S ADVENTURES IN SOCIAL DISTANCING:

The Apotheosis (Or Rock-Bottom) of Self-Quarantine.

It is now the beginning of our fifth month of social distancing. It all began as an amusing novelty, then drifted into annoying boredom and now is becoming a way of life. True in my case, at my age, normality means slowly slipping into senescence, sitting in the dark before the television and eating fast food. On the other hand, last night I watched three Charlie Chaplin movies in a row.

It has now been about a week since I have last written here. I am not sure there was much I wanted to remember about that week. John Lewis died, an additional two hundred thousand Americans have become infected with coronavirus, Be a Dork Day came and went unnoticed, he who is not my president remains living in White House, HRM cut his hair short, Naida continues writing book two of her memoirs and I press on in my exploration of the variety and vagaries of hypochondria. Oh, I also upgraded my operating system and may have lost all the information stored on my remote disc. Now that is serious. People over 70 should not be forced to upgrade anything. It is a danger to themselves and to others.

B. POOKIE’S MORNING:

I thought I would record my morning today. I woke up at 7:30 AM with Naida nudging me because my alarm was going off and I, as usual, did not hear it. The dog began barking. I sat up grabbed my phone off the end table and turned off the alarm. I then sleepily began going through the news headlines on the phone followed by the emails that may have arrived overnight. Then, I checked the weather to find out what the temperature would be at 9AM this morning when I go swimming — 66 degrees, colder than I would like. I looked up the latest world coronavirus statistics after which I checked 49rs Webzone for the latest news about the Niners. I then reviewed Facebook. Completing that, I put the iPhone aside, put on my swimming trunks, peed, put on a white bathrobe, and then combed my hair and brushed my teeth. While brushing my teeth, I looked down into the basin and wondered why my basin is always so much dirtier than Naida’s and why my drain clogs up quicker than hers. Deciding that that is one of life’s great mysteries, I head downstairs preceded by Boo-boo the Barking Dog announcing my descent.

Naida is sitting in the recliner watching CNN. I sing a little bit of Hello! Ma Baby, kiss her on the top of her head and then go into the kitchen and make some coffee. I returned to the studio sit in my recliner and open up the computer. I checked Niner’s Nation for more niner’s news, Huffington Post, Daily Kos, Facebook (again) and my two blogs in that order. By about then, I realized it is nine o’clock and I will be late for my assigned pool time. I leaped from the recliner, put on my sunglasses, picked up my faux shillelagh cane and rushed to the pool.

At the pool, I lean my cane against a railing, insert earplugs in my ear, remove my robe and contemplate whether the water is too cold and if I should just give up and return home. I put my foot into the water. It felt warm. I decided to go in. I went in up to my waist and thought about how cold the water will feel once I submerge myself. Again the option of returning passed through my mind. I dive in.

My usual routine is five laps swimming, then ten laps running across the low end of the pool, then four swimming laps and nine runs, followed by three and eight and finally four and seven. Some may think I suffer some form of obsessive compulsive personality disorder which I most probably do have, but in this case, I simply like to count — I count my steps, sometimes my breaths and so on. Unfortunately or fortunately, the sparkling of the sunlight on the water, the movement of the branches of the trees as they wave back and forth in the breeze, the undulations of the flowers that have fallen into the pools, and the hellos and waves from the people as they walk by the pool make me forget where I may be in my count. Anyway, after about thirty to forty minutes, I finish, get out of the pool, pull on my robe, remove the ear plugs, put on my glasses, grab my cane and leave the pool.

I do not go straight back home after swimming. I usually, and did so this day, go on a walk through the Enchanted Forest. No-one but me wears a white robe and Crocs. This embarrasses me. I mean, everyone else is dressed normally or whatever it is that is considered normal. So, I wear my mask and persuade myself I am unrecognizable. I passed a group of workman digging a trench across the sidewalk. They seem to always be doing things like that in the Enchanted Forest, digging this and that, blowing leaves into the street, climbing up and down roofs, cutting branches of trees. It all drives the dog crazy. Me too. Anyway, as I passed by, a woman dressed in a hard hat and brightly colored vest accompanied me around the activity. I do not know why, but I thanked her anyway. I walked past the Nepenthe Clubhouse always trying to walk in the sun and avoid the shade in order dry off. As a result, I weave a rather crooked path through the Forest as though I am drunk or stoned. I guess with my white robe, cane, Crocs, wild hair, and wandering walk I must appear quite odd. I am reminded of the goddess Athena’s 3000 year-old pun on Odysseus’ name — “Odd I see

Joe Odyssey set to wander through the Enchanted Forest.

Arriving back at the house to the yapping joy of the dog and after a warm hello to Naida, I go upstairs to the bedroom, take off my swim trunks and throw them onto the rug to dry. I then get into the massage chair for a restful 10 minute or so massage after which I hang up my robe to dry, take a warm shower, swallow my morning pills, shave, and brush my teeth again. I then choose the Hawaiian shirt of the day, put on my pants, insert my hearing aides into my ears and, with the barking dog leading, return downstairs.

Downstairs, I usually prepare my regular breakfast of toasted Thomas’s Original Muffins slathered in butter and jam, but today I had biscotti instead. Taking the biscotti and my second cup of coffee, I returned to the study where I sat in the recliner, opened my computer and trolled again through my latest emails, Huffington Post, Daily Kos, Facebook, and my blogs, after which I resumed reading my most recent novel. This one written by someone who calls himself Howard of Warwick. It is a comic historical novel set immediately after the Battle of Hastings, where the victor, William the Conqueror sends three of his Norman knights and one Saxon north from Hastings and the Vikings beyond Lincoln in the North send three Vikings and a Saxon south because neither knew if King Harold had died during the battle. William wanted him killed if he was alive and whether he was alive or not wanted to find his treasure. The Vikings wanted Harold if he was alive to ally with the Vikings from the north of England to drive William from the Island and, of course, whether he was alive or not find his treasure. Then the fun began.

After reading for a while, it was time for lunch and/or a nap.

And that was my morning, an adventure that more or less I repeat like a recurring dream or nightmare just about every day of this our era of social distancing.

 

C. TO THE BIG ENDIVE BY THE BAY AND BACK AGAIN:

 

On Thursday morning at about 6AM, Naida and I left Sacramento and drove to San Francisco for my infusion. Traffic was heavier than it had been on my previous trips so we arrived a bit late for my CT scans. Then it began, CT scans, blood tests, Dr. Appointment, and finishing with my immunotherapy infusion. While this was all going on, Naida returned to the car parked in hospital lot and fell asleep. She woke up with a start and thinking she had left me waiting and rushed back into the hospital only to arrive back at almost the same moment my infusion finished. It all took about four hours. We left UCSF Mission Bay and drove to Noe Valley for lunch. I ate a lamb gyro washed down with ginger beer. Naida made a delightful and refreshing drink by combining her Arnold Palmer with a bit of my ginger beer.

After lunch we drove to Peter and Barrie’s home on 25th St. Peter brought out some chairs and we spent pleasant hour or so sitting in the sun in their front patio talking about those ephemeral things friends talk about when they get together. Peter showed me a copy of my friend Richard Diran’s great book, The Vanishing Tribes of Burma. I had never seen a complete copy before. It was magnificent. Peter got his copy of the book from https://www.thriftbooks.com/. Peter ordered a copy for me also.

After leaving Peter’s house we drove across the Golden Gate Bridge and the Richmond Bridge and returned home, and greeted an over-excited dog.

The next day I drove into the Golden Hills to have lunch with HRM. After lunch Hayden, Jake, and Jordan decided to wash the Mitsubishi which had gotten covered with bird poo after I had parked it for a few days under a large tree in the Enchanted Forest.

That’s all. Take care. Wear you mask. And, never forget to,

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TODAY FROM AMERICA: POOKIE’S ADVENTURES DURING THE GREAT PANDEMIC OF 2020 — May.

Of course, during confinement, adventures are hard to come by. Unless, they are in our dreams, or in books and media or whatever people can make up to keep themselves sane — or not. Actually, the “not” sounds more adventuresome. One can always, however, find adventure vicariously in someone else’s life or works.

For the last few weeks or so, I found myself rattling around in Terry Pratchett’s Discworld. A pleasant enough pastime to avoid spending my time talking to myself. Of course, I talk to Naida and yes, I talk to the dog also — sometimes fairly lengthy conversations. True, it is mostly me doing the talking, but he does look at me with those wet and very understanding eyes, especially when it is getting close to dinner or walk time.

About a week ago, I plunged back into the blogs written by my dear friend Richard Diran or as he is sometimes referred to, Burma Richard. I found things there I had not noticed before. So, for the next week or two, I expect I will become somewhat fixated on him and his works.

The weather in the Great Valley has cooled considerably in the last few days — from the sweltering mid-90s to the brisk sixties. One day, a little after one o’clock, tiring of staring at the cloudy sky, and having little to do but finish a bowl of leftover pesto gnocchi for lunch, I decided to check my Facebook posts. In response to a collage of photographs of Trumpsters haunting the White House bearing the title “When he goes, they go too” that I had shared, Neal the Fish-Man replied:

“I’d like to see Eric locked up with that guy who beat up Jeffrey Epstein in prison the day before he killed himself. Miller should be burned at the stake. The rest of them should just be thrown off cliffs.”

That made my day.

This morning I had a Zoom conference with another doctor at UCSF about the potentially cancerous nodule discovered a few weeks ago in my lung. He confirmed the opinion of my oncologist that, although it may well be cancerous, it is too small and poorly placed to be biopsied. He did add that, in his opinion, it was of the slow-growing kind and would review it again after my next CT scan in three months. Meanwhile, he said he will confer with the surgeons about the viability of an operation to remove it.

Today Naida and I spent some time in the yard examining bugs. Actually one bug in particular. Naida discovered it crawling among the roses and wanted to know if it was a good bug or a bad bug. After some research on the internet, we decided it was a good bug and so she allowed it to live. So goes another exciting day in this age of self-quarantine.

So, the days wander by, I do not remember how many. I am tired of writing about the nothing during this season of our self-quarantine. I decided to go back to reading all day. I have collected a bunch of the silliest books I could find and nestled down to read them. Outside of that, I do not remember what we did, so as far as I am concerned whatever it was it does not exist.

Ok — I will break from my self-imposed silence to mention that last night while preparing for bed a tune was going through my mind but the only words that rattled through my head were “strawberry jam,” “Casey,” and a band playing. I asked Naida, who is a walking encyclopedia of music, what the actual lyrics were. She immediately sang out:

Casey would waltz with a strawberry blonde
And the band played on.
He’d glide ‘cross the floor with the girl he adored
And the band played on.
But his brain was so loaded it nearly exploded;
The poor girl would shake with alarm.
He’d ne’er leave the girl with the strawberry curls
And the band played on.

When she finished, I asked, “Was that before or after the game or did he strike out with the strawberry blond?” (For those under 70, this no doubt means nothing to you. For those over 70 it probably leaves you with an upset stomach.)

Speaking of upset stomachs more or less, the next morning both Naida and I woke up with massive attacks of diarrhea. I reasoned that there could be three causes for this — first embarrassment over our colloquy of the previous evening; second the onset of coronavirus; and third, the most likely, the effects of the fresh elderberry pancakes we ate that evening made from the elderberry flowers we picked on our walk along the American River yesterday. I also seem to have lost my smart-phone. All in all, I am having a thoroughly horrible morning and that’s not even including the dreadful dreams that kept me awake most of the night. Sharks — they were about sharks — everywhere. Why sharks? There are no sharks in the Enchanted Forest. Perhaps elderberry flowers beside their laxative powers were also hallucinogenic. Sharks — they were all over the place — coming through the windows, up the pipes, through the new floor — ugh…

The Elderberry Flowers

Today, a few days after I wrote the previous paragraph, my telephone showed up. I had searched for it using a find-your-phone app. The app indicated the phone was in a house a few doors away from ours. After two days of leaving notes and banging on doors with no response, I decided to explore the possibility that the app had identified the wrong house. So, guessing that the phone may be located in the same area of our house as the neighbor’s, I searched that area again — first in our downstairs with great vigor — to no avail. I went upstairs to the bedroom where the app showed that the phone lay on our bed about where the dog places his nose whenever he crawls under the covers at night. We had torn the bed apart previously but apparently not this tiny spot and sure enough there it was. I decided to forgo wrestling with the many questions and recriminations that passed through my mind and be happy in a melancholy sort of way.

Today, Naida discovered a spider that eats the bug that eats the mites that eat her roses. Somewhere there is a nursery rhyme in this. In was also the morning the garbage trucks and the leaf blowers came around the neighborhood. Boo-boo the Barking Dog doing what he does best — barked.

I drove into the Golden Hills to check up on HRM and the Scooter Gang. Tyson one of the original members is moving to Roseville. Kaleb, the youngest and most troubled is much happier because his older brother who bullied him has moved out. Of course HRM and Jake seem to float about happily in their automobile obsessions. I am pleased.

Today begins the Memorial Day weekend. We have no plans. I know I will take a lot of naps. I will walk the dog several times, watch the news and several movies on TV, read at least two novels, visit HRM once, look up something odd on the internet, and fall asleep on the chair in the garden one sunny afternoon. Life is full of surprises. Like this evening. We watched cartoon fairy tales.

That night in bed, N and I hugged and sang a bit of “Yes Sir! That’s My Baby” to each other and then fell asleep.

Take care. Keep on social distancing. And don’t forget to stop and smell the flowers.

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Today’s Poem by Burma Richard.

An Untitled Poem
As you watch the sand of your life
sift through the funnel of fate,
will you turn to your mirror and ask
“Is there time still, or am I too late?”

Have I done all the things that I love,
or only those things that I hate?
Do I know the value of life,
or only the hourly rate?

Could the money I traded for time
compensate for what I had lost?
Oh, if only I’d known then, what I know now:
the sunshine not only the frost.

The rich and the poor share one fact
when the time of your life unfulfilled,
falls through the funnel to black.
Not one grain can be sucked through time’s hole, not one
grain can ever come back.
Burma Richard (Richard Diran)

(http://www.diranart.com/web/index.php)

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