About 3 month’s later, shortly before supper time, I came into the bedroom in time to see Gracie on the bed and George on the window sill to the left of the bed, chasing a fly that was caught between the sash and the storm window and I just had to write it down…

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George and Gracie

A fly buzzed around the bedroom window.

“What are you doing”, the young female asked her brother as she watched him frolicking on the window sill.

“There’s something on the curtain, “he said, “See it? It’s moving but it’s like flat or something”. He jumped at the small shadow on the curtain only to miss once again. “Ooooohhhh, what is it anyway”?

His sister turned over on the bed, stretching and yawning, rolled back over and looked patiently at her brother. “There’s a fly on the window stupid, that’s its shadow you’re chasing”.

“Is not,” he said, pouncing onto his sister and then back to the window sill before she had a chance to retaliate, “it’s right here on the curtain, I mean you can see it right”?

At this point a very large paw came down and scooped up the young male, turned him around and stuck his nose on the glass where the fly was caught in between the windows.

“Chasing shadows again George? I thought you were brighter than that.” The young male immediately knew who it was by the smell and he turned around, blinking his eyes in greeting at the very funny looking cat that had picked him up. “Hey, its Mister sis, why didn’t you tell me he was comin’ up behind me”?

“You’ve got to learn to pay more attention”, she said, lazily pawing at a piece of loose fluff on the blanket, “otherwise something other than Mister might sneak up on you some day and it might not be as nice as Mister is”

“Oh sure,” he sneered at his sister, “just like you always know when Missus is gonna scoop you off the ground and rub your fur the wrong way.” The young male turned back to the window and saw the fly. “Aw cool, open the window Mister, so I can get him”.

“He can’t understand you, you furbrain, you know that”, she scolded as she jumped over to the window sill, “they don’t talk like we do”.

“Sometimes he does,” her brother said as he was gently put back down on the sill, “it’s like they only listen only part of the time like something is kinda’ turned off that should’ve been turned on, ya know”?

“It is weird”, she said, turning to look thoughtfully at Mister, “but it’s okay, they’re both real nice and besides, momma said we were born next to Missus and momma don’t like anybody ‘cept Mister”. The young female jumped at the sound of the window as it was opened to give her brother a better chance at the fly.

“See,” her brother said, “I told you he listened sometimes.” He pounced at the fly, managing to get his head caught between the windows for a short but furious moment of time before falling to the floor.

“You’re hopeless,” she sighed as she peered over the edge of the sill, slipping off in the process and falling on her brother.

“Yeah sure”, he said rolling her over on her back and lightly chewing on her face, “and you’re the most graceful thing I’ve ever seen”.

With that they wrestled their way across the floor, through a patch of late afternoon sunlight and out the bedroom door.

Up on the window, the fly continued to buzz around contentedly until it found a slight space where the two storm windows didn’t quite come together, squirmed through and flew happily off into the early evening sky.

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This piece, purely by coincidence, is dedicated to my beloved wife who took the time to type all these old writings of mine into her PC and then surprised me with the copy. Something I could not have done myself. All my love to you my Lady.

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One Possible Explanation

Let’s start this off by taking two mammal types. Now we’re not going to take them anywhere in particular, we’re just going to look at them awhile to see what we can see. Both, although somewhat similar looking, are of different species and to be quite honest about the whole thing, don’t get along particularly well. In fact they down right despise each other and life in their particular neck of the woods would actually be much better if the other one would just decide to pack up and move somewhere far away. Any chance meeting of these two creatures usually ends up with a lot of hissing, spitting, screaming, fur munching and other such violent pastimes that I would rather not get into right now.

Now let’s bring into the picture some type of Supreme Being with a slightly perverted but good natured sense of humor and have this Supreme Being add to these two occasionally violent but innocent creatures, a deep seated attraction for each other, one hell of a sex drive, the ability to procreate and leave all the rest unchanged. Add to this confusion a little evolution, food, water, several good hard shakes, a few millennia and you eventually come up with what passes for the human race or to be more precise, men and women and the never ending soap opera that always seems to follow them around like it actually had nothing better to do.

Now the fun begins. Actually the fun could have begun at any point after His Supremeness finished with His/Her/It’s amusing form of genetic engineering and sauntered off chuckling to Him/Her/It’s-self but I believe that men and women in this age of mass confusion provides much better fodder for contemplation.

The soap opera:

• As the Stomach Chums.
• All my Children. (whoever they might be)
• The Glands of Time.
• The Who did What to Whom and How Therapy is going Show.
• Any so called “reality” show involving couple comprising of a male and a female

Go Ahead. Make up your own. I can only provide examples.

It’s finally coming down to the realization that the old saying of men not being able to understand women has had this addendum tacked onto it: Women do not understand men.

In fact we seem to spend a great deal of our time working hard at the task of not understanding each other at all even to the point of complete and utter frustration. Instead of rejoicing in one another’s differences we’re much to busy wondering why the hell can’t he leave the toilet seat down and why the hell can’t she leave the damn thing up?

So let’s look at “us” for a moment:

Men - Physically strong, emotionally closed, conquers everything in sight like some medieval warrior with a bad headache, thinks crying is a sign of terminal weakness ending in a strong desire to do needlepoint, has a tendency to punch walls and other stationary objects which usually ends up with a set of busted knuckles and not much else and can be ready for sex at any given moment in any given condition and what the hell is this foreplay thing anyway?

Women - Physically weaker and that’s about where the weaker part ends. Emotionally open, mentally stable to the point where it drives most men out for long walks to the nearest bar, has a tendency to clean up after the warrior has finished conquering, does not mind crying in the least, complains about the holes in the walls and the blood on the carpet, and can be ready for sex at any given moment but only after the man makes breakfast, grills something for lunch, takes her out for a nice dinner (with flowers) tells her how wonderful she is and what do you mean you’re not in the mood?

Now I ask you, who is the weaker sex here?

For those of you who are still in the throes of trying to understand their beloved partner let me offer you this small piece of advice–stop trying. It won’t do you any good and it tends to cause a rash. Men and women are so radically different that it is becoming rapidly apparent that the only thing we actually have in common is the ability to walk upright without falling flat on our respective faces. When you think about it we have the perfect example of our mutual differences right in front of our proverbial noses…

Cats and dogs.

Now stop laughing and use your brains people. What better way to explain all these wonderful opposites every one is so fond of quoting?

To wit:

Females and felines are quite alike when you stop to think about it. Graceful, neat, cunning, finicky, intelligent, aware, moody, demanding, unpredictable and just try telling a cat what to do and see how far you get. A cat will let you have the honor of petting it one minute, scratching you the next and coming back a few seconds later like nothing ever happened. Ever notice that most men don’t like cats all that well?

Men on the other hand tend to lean more towards the canine end of things. Clumsy, sloppy, intelligent in a stupid kind of way, easily distracted, will (lick) itch it’s crotch at any given moment and usually when it’s embarrassing, most are loyal to the point of being ridiculous, drools a lot and tends to drink out of toilet (men have most likely equated this to leaving the seat up). And by the way, you can teach a dog just about anything. Women love dogs and cats which is yet another difference we just damn well have to contend with. Below is more stuff to think about:

• If he’s Jesse James with the remote control, she isn’t.
• He likes fresh water trout because it tastes fishy and she does not like fresh water trout because it tastes fishy.
• She wants to talk. He does not want to talk because he thinks he’s in trouble.
• She remembers everything. He remembers breakfast.
• She knows damn well what he meant. He can’t remember what he said.
• He’s horny. She isn’t.
• She’s horny. He’s late for work.

And on it goes.

So maybe it’s time we stopped thinking about differences and start thinking along the lines of compatibility. His weaknesses are filled with her strengths and visa versa. Like two finely machined gears one tooth fills the other’s space and pretty soon we’re rolling right along with little or no friction at all. It’s only when we fail to let the other close enough to mesh properly or start to pull away that the gears begin slipping and all too soon it ends up chipping and wearing the teeth so badly that those two particular gears aren’t capable of doing anything that doesn’t involve a lot of crunching, slipping and grinding. And so it is with us.

There really isn’t and end to this or any moral to the story. We can tolerate it, fight it or rejoice in it. The answer is as individual as the individuals themselves and no amount of advice, suggestions, counseling or anything else for that matter will make a damn bit of difference unless the two people involved want it to work.

So here’s to the never ending soap opera and all the entertainment it provides and may “the powers that be” bless us all with just a little more insight, day by day, into our loved one’s soul. After all, it’s really kind of nice to have someone around who doesn’t wear the same kind of underwear you do isn’t it?

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Anyway, for what it’s worth…

This is dedicated to Liz Strauss and her Successful Blog and all her SOB’s who are celebrating two years tomorrow the 24th of October.  

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Conversation Lost

Four score and several years ago there were likely a whole lot more people who actually knew what a score was and how to properly apply the word into a conversation. Also, there were most likely a hell of a lot more people who knew exactly what a conversation was and moreover, how to properly apply one between two or more people for a reasonable period of time, say more than 43.067 seconds and carry on said conversation without managing to insult anyone by being politically, socially, or sexually incorrect.

Back then, the art of conversation was a way to spread the latest news, gossip, weather reports and who was actually blind enough to marry farmer Johnson’s rather "robust and full figured" daughter in the first place? This also brought the people in the local area closer together; gathering in cozy, comfortable places such as a front porch, kitchen or backyard where the world’s problems would be solved and Jed’s old, beat up guitar re-strung (again).

One of the reasons that real conversation may be lacking today may be due to the fact that nobody seems to be building front porches anymore. And modern kitchens complete with their computerized electric stoves, frost free, ice making refrigerators, and color coordinated, veneered cabinets and wallpaper, just don’t seem to have the same old rustic charm as a kitchen complete with a wood burning cook stove, a wash basin and outdoor plumbing. Also, nobody back then really had to worry about their neighbor spraining his ankle when he tripped over the hole the dog dug in the backyard and suing the holy crap out of them.

Life was less complicated back then and more importantly, people tended to keep out of other peoples business which is a quality that is sadly lacking today. Just think of it. A man could actually take his son out back to the woodshed for using his little sister’s face to scrub rocks with in the river and not have his nosy neighbor call the Department of Youth Services (or whatever) on him mainly because there was a tremendous lack of reliable phone service and the aforementioned agency obviously didn’t exist in those days. Any welfare aid available back then was called a church fund and as far as who precisely was to receive the money was decided on by the local front porch committee during the weekly Saturday night get together and bean supper jamboree. For instance, funds were once raised and given to a young farmer so he might have the local doctor scrape his daughter’s face off the rocks in the river and reattach it to the front of her head. ($4.00, an extra helping of beans and his daughter’s face is doing just fine, thank you.).

You might say that the art of conversation in that bygone era was the talk of the town.

(um…sorry about that.)

Unfortunately, conversation today seems to be limited mostly to "howyadoin?"," whazup?" and "howzitgoin?" along with the various ingenious replies such as "okay", "nahmuch", and "whythehelldonyoumindyerowndambizness!".

People of the present appear to feel much too pressured to stop and pass the time of day for fear the time of day might pass them by entirely and go off in search of a cozier, comfortable place like a front porch, kitchen, or backyard where someone, along with someone else, might actually be sitting down to enjoy each other’s company over a nice hot cup of coffee.

It could be theorized that if two people, who were only slightly acquainted, were put into a situation where they would be required to participate in a meaningful conversation, they would most likely do their utmost best to examine the cracks in the walls, the finish on the table and how it badly needs to be redone and muck about finding fascinating new ways to twiddle their fingers. At the same time the speech centers in their conversationally deprived brains lurch blindly about, searching for the connection to anything resembling vocal cords and a mouth. If they both don’t expire from terminal embarrassment, they might find out that getting to know someone new is really quite pleasant and maybe they should do it more often.

By the same token the ratio of successful marriages vs. unsuccessful marriages along with the various maladjusted offspring begotten by these failed alliances might actually begin to improve if a couple, in a moment of daring insight, decided to chuck that #$!%!#* television set out the bloody window and actually have the entire family sit down at the supper table at the same time. Talking would also be very nice but let’s not push it.

Believe or not, couples in this fast paced, two career per household and we still can’t pay the damn bills society might even find that sitting down and talking about the day’s events and how they happen to feel about said events could amazingly lead them to remembering why they married their partner in the first place which could also lead to a whole lot of badly needed snuggling under the covers which, temporarily at least, turns life back into the simple, uncomplicated thing it ought to be. This would be good, yes?

With these thoughts firmly in mind and the fact that people today are so terribly alone in a world full of potential good company… .

I believe I’ll build a porch.

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Time went on and my life continued through another marriage and yet another divorce, life teaching me all the hard lessons I needed to learn, the learning hard at times and still I was writing. Then, shortly before I moved to Vermont…I stopped. My life in the fast lane had come to an end, my folks were getting on in age and needed looking after and life was busy pushing me in that direction even though I didn’t know it at the time.

For over a half a decade I was without a PC and when I did finally have access to one the desire had fled. Responsibilities were heavy and my days were filled with exhaustion and heart ache and there was little spare time to be had as it often is in these cases, but the one thing I had kept from that previous portion of my life was a battered old manila folder with the only existing copies of those stories.

Fast forward to just a bit ago, third time’s a charm they say and in this case, they were right. The folk’s had passed on, I began to take care of my health again and within a very few years I had moved to Newport, VT with my wonderful lady and that battered old folder came with me–and she found it.

She read those stories of mine, read them again and did something that was completely unexpected; she typed all 15 of them into her computer and when she was done, she gave me the copy so I would have them once again in mine after all those years.

My father had been of the opinion that these short stories/articles should have been published long ago but of course that never happened. Who had the time? And although I haven’t written any more of these “stories”, my desire to write eventually surfaced once again and with the coming of DSL to the more remote places of Vermont, this reawakened desire to write has taken the form of this blog instead.

But it’s time I believe for these past writings of mine to see the light of day and I can’t think of a better place for them than as a new series on Just Thinkin. Give them to my readers to peruse through and enjoy or not as they may.

Now, when I say “stories” I use the term very loosely indeed. Some actually could be termed stories while others might be called articles while still others might be classified as opinions. One thing is consistent though, many of these old writings of mine are satirical in nature, poking fun not at religion or God or stereotyping anyone, not at all. I’m poking fun at people in general for if you can’t laugh at yourself then you’re certainly not living life to the fullest.

I’ll be converting these writings to posts one by one and some are actually long enough to publish in separate installments so I’ll have fun with “part 1’s” and “part 2’s” and the like. They’re not great, hardly professional, full of too long sentences and bad grammar so they won’t win any prizes but I hope they at least provide some enjoyment.

I’m working on the first one now.

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