"The Omen."

A wonderful lady of my acquaintence has been telling increasingly more fanciful tales to us about all sorts of things. Hidden amidst the fantasies are grains of truths. Sifting through the sands is too time-consuming so I just listen.
Every now and then she gets off a zinger.
This week her zinger turned out to be a portent.
An ominious omen.

It was the end of my visit, and the lady was describing some gentleman who had gained her disfavour.

"I told him, 'Bah, you're full of prunes.' "

Almost choking on my own spittle, I must have laughed for ten minutes.
What a great insult. Full of prunes.

So my day done I carry on to my private life.
I have a guest from afar staying with me for 18 days.
This guest has a language and cultural barrier but a willingness to learn and partake of family events. We went to my father's home and enjoyed a fine dinner with a few other of my family members.

Suddenly, (and without warning) my guest is in the hallway, frantically making signs my way. I did not quite understand until I realised it was the bathroom she was pointing at.

Apparantly the last person to use the facilities neglected to notice that the toilet paper was almost out. My guest decided that the kleenex box on the toilet tank was obviously meant to be used in lieu of.

It was a dreadful disaster and noone at all volunteered to help.
Strangely they all seemed to either fall asleep or be busy until my plunging mopping and disinfecting was done. ---yuk

So I was the one full of prunes.
---------------------------------------- !

(even worse, I came home, showered and cleansed myself, washed my clothes and logged on to relax in T2t and was killed in the Lothlorien Warcamp by Amearn. I did not even notice he had backstabbed me. The prunes I suppose, got in the way.)


The Big Pills.

The big pills are orange.
They are almost as big as the green calcium ones so many of our clients take, but are even denser. The big pills look to me like they could choke an oliphaunt and yet they are prescribed for a small, thin, elderly woman who must take them four times a day.

The big pills must be taken at set intervals for a prescribed length of time.
Missing a dose here or there can result in the condition for which the pills are being prescribed continuing to thrive in its host body.

The big pills are self-administered and our employees just check in on things to make sure things stay in sync. Apparantly, we have been remiss in our duties.
There were more than seven of the big pills laying about here there and everywhere.

No wonder people do not get better on demand.
Not that they ever did, but the odds are always better when it's good medicine.

----------- *


Permission to go ashore, Sir!

We all seek approval. We all need permission for things we have trouble with.
Over and over again, I see those at the brink of death hover.
The body is done, but the spirit keeps the person going.

Many times in this situation, all that is needed is for someone to give the dying person permission to leave this earth.

One such gentleman is of my acquaintence now.
He continues to defy all logic and medicine by remaining alive.
He has lost 100 pounds and a limb, his hair and most of his strength and yet, he lives on, months after his prognosis deemed it impossible.

Today I gently suggested to his wife that she should consider giving him permission to go.

"I don't know what you mean, dear."

"Many times", said I, "People seem to stay around because they are worrying about their spouses and loved ones."

"Yes", she agreed, "he always tells the Doctor he worries about me."

I will continue to suggest this to her and perhaps one day soon she will hear what I am saying. Meantimes, a frail gentle man lies quietly, worrying.

------- *


Memory Surge

Listening to a song when --suddenly--

It was a November evening. Rain, as always, made the pavement even greyer than it was. I had two tickets in my pocket. One was for the show at the Commodore. It was four Seattle bands. One was for the Pump. It was the Meat Puppets.

The crowd was sparse; the 3 piece had not yet hit the stratosphere.
Cris and Curt... long hair headbanging and that speedy guitar thing goin on.
I was seized by joy and was right up there by the stage belting out
" maybe they had a ridiculous statement to make about something they hadn't experienced, possibly sam had a different opinion that nobody'd ever considered important"

--- at least I think I was almost wrapping my lips around that.
I was laughing at how badly I was garbling things.
I heard a chuckle in my ear and looked over.
The other Kurt was right beside me doing the same.

I had forgotten that.
People had asked me before where we met. People who knew anyway.
I could never remember. I wondered if I was inebriated at the time.
But I heard "Sam" on my MP3 player and I was right back there.

oooo sometimes.


I never successfully did street drugs of any kind, (she says sadly).
It was said that many of those tunes by the Puppets were chemically enhanced musings. Listening to "Sam" again with the warp speed thing going on, it isn't hard to believe. I always had the *other* problem. Way too much adrenilin.
They had to do speeders to keep up.



Away I go with fife and drum!

And with that, she ambled off to have her (very private) shower.

Never let it be said my powers of persuasion are anything but formidable.

---------------- *


The Auctioneer

It was held in a beautiful old victorian style mansion.
Ever room held treasures; the entire contents of the home were being sold off.
The more I looked I more I saw.
The more I saw, the more I was dazzled.
Everything of such quality!

It came time for the sale to begin and I winded my way up one of the back staircases. Being naturally curious I checked out the circuitry on the wall by a servants entry. Now this isn't like the time I was touring the huge cable company and had the overwhelming compulsion to pull a switch or two cutting service to the Island South off... no no. This was more like: Let's pull this switch and see what happens.

I pulled it.
The sound of mechanical gears could be heard, even above the din of so many people and gradually they hushed and looked up. The panels were receding and a little shelf was visible almost to the ceiling. It wound all around almost every room.
Then, to my surprise, and most everyone elses I am sure, a little train came roaring out from somewhere and went zipping around room to room. I only had enough time to melt into another room before the Auctioneers helpers came bounding up to see whodunnit.

They came up all right and then, inevitably I was busted.
They walked up and I was pretty ready to plead insanity.
"When does the auction start?"

They looked at me.
"Whenever you call the first lots ma'am."

And they handed me a microphrone.
Stealth mischief?

Yes. When twilight fades and night begins, my eyes close and off I go.


Quelle Bizarre (O)

All righty. It may be Spring or Summer or whatever but...
Into the files of the bizarre comes the following.

I am ready for beddiebye-byes when suddenly the telephone rings.
As it is 22:00 hours I foolishly pick it up.
A *friend* from a few years ago calling.
This (male) friend is calling to give me a heads up that another friend is going to ask me out. But is too scared to and asked for help on how to do it.

I just am not answering the telephone, I am letting the machine take it.


These are nice Christian (screwed up divorced and royally introspective) boys.
Naturally I want nothing to do with them.
Don't want to hurt anyone's feelings though.

I thought I was the only one with a bad case of the wishful thinking.

------ *

DNTO had a great show today. Sook-Yin Lee did a reprise of "The Rejection Show."

They of course had a segment on the rejection show.
Go see it
How appropo.

What was in the box?


I watched "kiss me deadly" just now on Turner classics movie.
The second it ended, my telephone rang.
My sister asking me exactly what I was thinking:

"What was in that box?"

ok I know I am the writer of the worlds most uncommented on blog.
I know you read me but you don't write me.

But what was in the box?
Shades of repo-man.

Clutter Clutter everywhere but not a drop to clean...

Saw Patsy today with one of her gorgeous daughters.
She was in the Thrift same as I.
Her husband was having a garage sale she said.
He had had enough with the jumbo storage under the house thing....
2500 square feet of it...

Patsy has an excuse; she owns an antique store.

I, on the other hand, no longer own a shoppe.
I cleaned my room, almost, sortof, kinda, today.
Did the laundry at least.
Walked the dog twice.

But oh I have to really definitly totally clear an area in my teeny weeny living room as ____someoneinmyfamily___ wants me to get my piano back.
Its a monster.
A 1923 Heintzmann upright grande.

This means goodbye to the big comfie couch.
I can only have the sleek black leather one now.
The overstuffed chair will have to make up for it.

I do love my piano but in 954 sf it is a challenge.

------------ *


I went to bed last night determined to sleep off any lingering pharmaceuticals in my system. I was looking at a funny little deck of cards I bought at Chapters for $3.99 called Good Witch, Bad Witch, reading a Vanity Fair, and People simultaneously and sipping my cranberry juice when I fell off to sleep.

I awakened at 2am with the distinct thought I must forget my dream IMMEDIATLY.
It was one of those angels and demons thing.

Then this morning, I woke up convinced I had been in a strip bar last night watching female strippers.... from Macedonia.
Morgostas this is your fault. Telling me about those biker boy parties.
My doggie brought me back to reality. Looking around I see my covers in a complete heap, and about 14 books on the bed.


------- +


We don't get out much, you know....

This is a story; a TRUE story about my father and me in Calgary.

We don't get out much anymore, even though we are from a big city.
We live in a little city now. Very white. Very quiet. Not much ethnicity goin on around here.

We arrived at Calgary Airport mid-morning and immediatly hailed a cab.
The driver was a nice-looking man in his 40's or so with an accent that I could not quite place. He was quite chatty; telling us that Canada was in for big trouble in the future and we would see war in our lifetimes over water. My dad raised his eyebrows and then the driver said: "Don't you read your bible? You know what is coming. It is the end of the world, my friend. And we are living in it."

Now this of course is Dad's forte, being the son of a Preacher-man, he can talk apocolyse with the best of 'em. I on the other hand was not real interested in such a heavy topic in a cab so I asked the driver:
"What country are you originally from? I am trying to place your accent but I can't."

He laughed.
"LOOK AT ME. Where do you think I am from?"

I hate those kind of games. I am really bad at guessing.
"Come on", he said, "Guess."

I looked at him. He was darker than caucasian but not much.
He could be Mediterrean, he could be Jewish, he could by Egyptian....
I dont know....

"Come on," he insisted, "Guess!"

Dad asked him if he was from Africa.

"YES! Smart man!"

We guessed Nambia, South Africa, Egypt, Libya, Chad, Sudan....
finally he said: "Here is a hint. It is near the horn."

Dad, the old salt immediatly said: "Aha Ethiopia!"

They congratulated each other and then, it happened.
Dad looked him in the eye and said:
"SO what church do you attend?"

The driver smiled.
"I am Moslem. Have you heard of us?"


Now this would be a good story even if it stopped there.
But it did not.
My dad then said:
"Are you going to chop our heads off now?"


That's my dad!
Bless him for his honesty and saying what everyone else is thinking.
I am thankful we had such a good-hearted driver.
His name was Massan.
Bless you Massan.


Overcoming myself

Upon circumspection, I have concluded that I am not a hater. I simply am a person who is in the process of overcoming myself.

Recently, I flew in an airplane.
This needed to be clarified as I am a frequent night flier in my dreams.
It has been many years since I last got on a plane, by choice.
I HATE FLYING. It is so unnatural.
On the upside, a death in a plane would likely be quick and painless. You wouldn't even have time to feel it once the crash occurred. Still, the idea is painful to me.

To have flown in the company of family, and not admit to being terrified required pharmaceutical intervention. Even so, my sister who picked us up from the airport on the return flight mentioned that I looked like death warmed over slightly.
If she only knew...

Obstacle #2 was co-habiting a hotel room with MY EX.
This was a terrible mistake even if there were two bedrooms and 2 other people both of my family alongside. Never ever make that mistake. 5 days of it.....

So I am not a hater.
I am an overcomer.

Go me!!




Had a strange experience this last week.
It may well be I am turning into a hater.