The Chronicles of Kresge

Walking in the Rain

2011-09-07T10:07:00.001-04:00

Nothing brings joy
to a young dog
like rolling in wet grass.

"Cut that out!" I say.

She smiles,
rolls some more,
gets up and shakes off
water from my neighbor's lawn.

Now it's time
for spontaneous affection,
jumping on clean jeans
with muddy paws,
ready to lick my face
if I stoop to her level.

"Where's your dignity?" I ask.

Her ears perk up.
She tilts her head
and stares at me
with curious dark eyes.

"Woof," she says.

And I understand.

Flashback

2011-04-10T08:45:00.000-04:00

"I thought I saw you once
in Chinatown
before I knew you,"
she said.
"You were parked
on Mulberry Street
and when I looked at you
you gave me a horrible face."

"It couldn't have been me,"
he said,
"because I would never make
a horrible face
at a beautiful woman."

She smiled.
"You dog."

"And besides,
I never could find
parking on Mulberry,"
he said.

More photos from Mardi Gras at Village Artisans

2011-02-20T10:14:00.003-05:00

Photos by Susan Gartner

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More photos from the Short Film Fest

2011-02-07T06:09:00.003-05:00

Nicholas Rollins (“The Crazy Mind”) and Jeremy Johnson (prologue to “The State”)

Alex Mangen (“Ballet Dropout”)

Susan Gartner (“Anatomy of a Sculpture”)

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More Season's Joy photos

2010-12-06T09:30:00.005-05:00

Pictured from top: Emcee Walter Rhodes; Luke and Sally Dennis; A Yellow Springs Blog editor Virgil Hervey and his wife, Amy Lee (far left), enjoy the evening's entertainment.

Thanks to all the volunteers and performers, especially coordinator Mary Kay Clark and emcee Walter Rhodes, for their contributions to a very fun event!

Photos by Susan Gartner

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More photos from Friday night's Fling

2010-11-21T08:40:00.005-05:00

It's a Wonderful Life

Liz Zaff

Travis Tarbox Hotaling

November’s Third Weekend Fling in the Springs featured artist receptions and holiday events on Friday night.

Carolers sang in front of Eco-Mental, celebrating its 3rd Anniversary; free carriage rides were offered in front of Little Art Theatre; Urban Handmade Holiday Celebration included a free outdoor screening of “It’s A Wonderful Life”; Yellow Springs artist Liz Zaff greeted guests at her opening reception for “The Polaroid Project,” paintings on cardboard at “Would You, Could You” In A Frame; belly dancers Cami Knick (left) and Erin Wolf helped local painter Travis Tarbox Hotaling get in the spirit of the event during his opening reception at YS Arts Council Gallery. The exhibit, “Portrait of a Woman,” features the work of Hotaling and Jade Nikita McConnell.

Photos by Susan Gartner

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After the Game

2010-10-22T23:53:00.002-04:00

for Matthew Hervey

Two plays into tee ball
the irate father/coach
storms onto the field,
cursing the teenage umpire
for some perceived injustice
to his son
who, slumped over at the plate,
gazes at the scene
in tears of embarrassment and shame.

At a Little League game
a ten year old boy
tosses his helmet,
barely missing his coach
who has been ragging him
during his at-bat.
Back in the dugout
the man grabs the boy
by the shirt
and slaps his face.

Over at the Pony League
a father kicks dirt
on the parents of the visiting team
who have been belittling
his boys relentlessly,
sparking a brawl on the field.
They are stock brokers, lawyers, dentists
and even judges
who, in their youths,
never gripped a bat
or caught a ball
or cried when their father
berated them
for dropping the fly
or taking the called third strike.

The mother complains,
he's not playing her kid enough.
The coach complains,
he has to play the fat kid
at least one inning,
league rules.
The kid complains,
he doesn't want
to play this stupid game
at all, anymore.
He'd rather practice
the piano.

Outside the stadium,
before the game,
a full, unopened can of beer
drops from the third deck
and narrowly misses
the family with the picnic basket
on its annual outing
to watch the millionaire big boys
play the child's game,
before a packed house
of 50,000 cursing drunks.

The out-of-town booster
in the jersey of the visiting team
is pelted from behind
with nickels, tossed
by a guy in a suit and tie
who is so offended
by the nerve of this guy
to trespass in his arena,
that by the third period
he can no longer confine himself
to the launching of small change
and he goes to the guy's seat
and punches his face,
before his wife and kids
who had come to see
their home town heroes
fight the good fight
play the sporting game
and entertain the aficionados
with displays of teamwork,
daring and skill.

The surly superstar spits on a fan.
The reporters flee the manager's office
as he rants and raves
and throws things from his desk.
The over-the-hill tight end
exposes himself to a female reporter
in the locker room
and the team's owner jokes
on about it, endlessly,
just not getting it.
The teenage girl tennis star
is stabbed in the back
between sets.
The Lady Bing candidate
lies lifeless on the ice,
having been cross-checked
after scoring the winning goal.
Backboards, telephones, water coolers
are the smashed trophies
of egos gone awry.

Between innings
the husband goes to the fridge
and opens another beer.
The wife, meanwhile,
slips into his recliner
and switches channels
to the Home Shopping Network.
When he returns
he blows out her brains
with the revolver
he always kept for burglars.
After the game
he phones for an ambulance.

The championship having been won
the supporters of the victors
riot in the streets,
burning cars and stores,
destroying the businesses
in their hometown, downtown,
where they once worked.
So what if there is nothing left
after the game?
They partook in the event.
Their champions, however,
return to their own home towns.
Season having ended,
they flee the lunacy
of their adoring fans.

I'm taking my son
to his first game at the Stadium,
the "House that Ruth built"
where Gherig, DiMaggio and Mantle inspired
the myth of the American pastime.
At the souvenir stand,
just outside the subway,
I buy the little guy
a batting helmet.
I tell him to wear it always,
lest the errant can of beer,
the well placed nickel,
or some other unforeseen danger
cause him harm.
He turns it over
and fills it with popcorn.

(This poem was previously published in the Vincent Brother's Review under the title "He'd Rather Practice the Piano")

More Art Stroll photos

2010-10-20T10:02:00.004-04:00

“It’s All About Art” was the theme for this past 3rd Weekend Fling in the Springs. The semi-annual Art Stroll on Friday, Oct. 15, was held in memory of long-time Yellow Springs business owner and artist Eddie Eckenrode who died in May. Eddie’s wife, Sam, and daughter, Miriam, held a Grand Opening for the Eddie Eckenrode Gallery at Sam & Eddie’s Open Books with an exhibition of Eddie’s artwork.

Village Artisans of Yellow Springs presented a Gallery Opening of
"Dare 2B Square," featuring the work (all on 12" x 12" canvas) of over 30 artists. The work will be displayed through October 31st.

“Would you, could you” In a Frame hosted an artist reception for Jafa-girl (“Just Another Flippin’ Artist”) Corrine Bayraktaroglu (pictured) and her mixed-media exhibition “Stitch Gasp.”

Photos by Susan Gartner

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More Artist Studio Tour photos

2010-10-18T09:25:00.001-04:00

Cynthia McDonald of Wild Gourd Studio was a guest artist in the home of host artist Kathy Verner Moulton of KaVoooM Productions. Cynthia is pictured with her hand-carved gourds, talking with Hays Moulton.

Miami Valley Pottery owner and host artist Naysan McIllhargey reaches for one of his wood-fired pots.

Artist Studio Tour participants joke with guest artist Alice Young-Basora (right) of Nina Carina. Alice displays her jewelry featuring hand-painted canvas, fabric, and beads made from recycled paper.

Photos by Susan Gartner

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More Street Fair photos

2010-10-10T22:41:00.004-04:00

From the top: Benches, curbs, stoops, and stairs made for makeshift eating areas all through downtown as fest-goers enjoyed the wide variety of food; the Coots Repertory Company (featuring Ron Siemer, Jerry Buck, and Walter Rhodes) performed Virgil Hervey’s 10-minute play (and recent 10-Minute Play Fest “Crowd Favorite”) "Parking Spaces" at the Corner Cone followed by Bettina Solas who played her mountain dulcimer; villager Elizabeth Price danced and played percussion for The Piano Peddler, Eugene Beer.

Photos by Susan Gartner

More Friday Fling photos

2010-09-18T08:43:00.004-04:00

A steel drum musician performed in front of Brenda Stone Browder’s newly-opened Rolling Pen Book Café.

The First Presbyterian Church of Yellow Springs hosted A Shower of Stoles.

Martin Harold Benedict Borchers made his public debut at 108 Dayton Street (second floor).

Photos by Susan Gartner.

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More Mothman musings in advance of our trip

2010-09-17T08:44:00.000-04:00

On the Ohio, December 15, 1967

Nights were darker then,
objects in the sky
strangely brighter,
intensified
by isolation.
Red eyes peering
in the dark,
imaginations
swirling
like brightly wrapped
Christmas presents
caught in whirlpools
beneath a derelict bridge
then pulled under.
Common sense
bobbing to the surface
on a cold December eve.

More Women's Park Photos

2010-09-14T20:22:00.002-04:00

Ruth Paige (L) and Amy Lee look for their tiles.

Photos by Virgil Hervey

More Pollock photos

2010-08-24T08:05:00.003-04:00

Photos by Tom Osborne and Susan Gartner

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More Friday Fling Photos

2010-08-21T14:18:00.003-04:00

On August 20, the Yellow Springs arts community was in full swing for Third Friday Fling. Various galleries and shops extended their hours into the evening and exhibited works from local artists.

Village Artisans Gallery, 100 Corry Street, presented the show "Extending Our Boundaries," featuring Beavercreek artist Leah Grommon, who works with oils, acrylics, and knits, and longtime villager and water color artist Sue Brezine (explaining water color technique to guests).

Cincinnati photographer Matt Vant, stands by his work, "Bird's Eye View," at the artist reception for the group exhibit, "People, Places and Things," at Yellow Springs Arts Council's new gallery and meeting space, 309 Xenia Avenue. The exhibit also features ceramic boxes by fellow Cincinnati artist John Mason, vintage dress designs by Dayton artist Tracy McElfresh, and paintings by Dayton artist Patrick Mauk.

Photos by Susan Gartner

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More 10-Minute Play Photos

2010-08-15T08:59:00.002-04:00

10-Minute Play Fest emcee Rani Crowe interviews a young audience member in between plays.

College student Allie Persinger chastises fellow student Kenny Ruth for texting during class as professor Phil Duffy looks on in Persinger's play "More Vibrancy."

J. Gary Thompson (left) and Troy Lindsey struggle to find topics to talk about in Matthew Haldeman's "Two Person Conversation."

Jane Mowder (left) and Kristina Kopf play two ostracized office workers in "People Like Us" by Chris Shaw Swanson.

Photos by Susan Gartner

More 10-Minute Play Photos

2010-08-15T08:54:00.004-04:00

Elderly couple Jennifer Bryant and Jeff Lucas are baffled by an unexpected guest played by Jason Sine in Dean Bevan's "Grim Reaper," directed by Jennifer Bateman Gilchrist.

Arthur Jolly's "The Four Senses of Love" is performed in a reading with Max McConnel and Jill Summerville.

Richard Payton (left) and director Bailey Boudreau clash over wording in "The New Sign" by K. Biadaszkiewicz.

Photos by Susan Gartner

More photos from the Cirque de YS

2010-07-17T07:55:00.003-04:00

Photos by Susan Gartner

More YS Experience photos

2010-07-10T08:05:00.004-04:00

Hardy Ballantine talking to Sarah Leavens and Nancy Mellon

Buck Truitt and Keri Speck

Jamie Henderson leaving festivities at 309 Xenia to head to 108 Dayton Street art opening

Photos by Susan Gartner

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More 4th of July Parade Photos

2010-07-05T07:55:00.003-04:00

Photos by Susan Gartner

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More photos from "Clooney at the Movies"

2010-06-28T08:18:00.001-04:00

Photos by Susan Gartner

More Street Fair Photos

2010-06-14T07:38:00.003-04:00

Egyptian Breeze Belly Dancing

4+ 1 (-1) Jazz Quintet

Yellow Springs Cornfield Orchestra

Grace Adele & The Grand Band

Photos by Susan Gartner

More OperaCadabra photos

2010-04-19T08:22:00.003-04:00

Sleight-of-hand magician and comic David Williamson displayed his magical way with children (and adults) during the matinee performance of OperaCadabra 2010 at the Cedarville Opera House on Saturday, April 17. Special guests included Charlie Frye & Company and musical performance by Williamson's son, Ben, and Whitney Soares. Proceeds from the benefit will go to the Cedarville Opera House and the Riding Centre of Yellow Springs.

Photos by Susan Gartner

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More photos of The Community Foundation retreat at Birch House

2010-04-18T08:21:00.005-04:00

Fred Bartenstien covers the wall with ideas as Financial Assistant Rachel McKinley and President Bruce Bradtmiller look on.

Trustees Orlando Brown and Maureen Lynch listen as trustee emeritus Dorothy O. Scott has the floor.

Fred Bartenstein, master facilitator.

Photos by Virgil Hervey

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More Flower Power Photos

2010-04-13T08:52:00.002-04:00

Photos by Susan Gartner

More photos of the animals at Stutzmans

2010-04-08T10:59:00.002-04:00

Some of the dozen-or-so hungry cats.

The chickens look good.

The pigs are dragging their bellies.

More Clothes Swap photos

2010-03-31T21:50:00.006-04:00

On March 27th, Molly Turner had her YSHS senior project Clothes Swap at the John Bryan Community Center.

Photos by Susan Gartner

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Yellow Springs Passive House (more photos)

2010-03-30T16:09:00.003-04:00

14" thick solid Styrofoam walls.

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Daffodils

2010-03-30T05:37:00.002-04:00

More photos of dogs at the library

2010-03-14T09:04:00.005-04:00

mvPTa Therapy Pet Lacey listens dreamily as Sarah Gansz concentrates on reading aloud.

Photos by Susan Gartner

Jazz at the Herndon (more photos)

2010-03-01T09:10:00.002-05:00

Photos by Susan Gartner

Green egg

2010-02-23T16:39:00.003-05:00

More Birds in Winter

2010-02-16T09:55:00.004-05:00

Red Bellied Woodpecker

Downy and Chickadee

Cardinal

Photos by Richard Simons

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More photos from the Vagina Monologues

2010-02-16T09:16:00.003-05:00

Dayton area actresses (left to right) Rani Deighe Crowe, Annie Branning, Corrine Bayraktaroglu, Ginger Hubbs, Erica Woods, and Phyllis Turner are entertained by Marva Williams performing "My Angry Vagina."

Former Yellow Springs resident Phyllis Turner performs the monologue, "I Was There In the Room," as Rani Deighe Crowe looks on.

Director Rani Deighe Crowe and Erica Woods hold candles while Adrienne Chesire performs "The Memory of Her Face."

Photos by Susan Gartner

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More Sock Hop Photos

2010-02-15T08:55:00.001-05:00

A Valentine's Hop took place on Saturday night, February 13, at the Bryan Center gym. The event was a benefit for The Antioch School and music was provided by The Hoppers, a local 50's and 60's rock 'n roll band.

Photos by Susan Gartner

More Artist Trading Cards

2010-02-12T08:46:00.003-05:00

Photographed by Susan Gartner

More Tie-Dyed Socks Photos

2010-02-07T11:20:00.005-05:00

More photos of the Haiti fundraiser at the Presbyterian Church on Saturday by Susan Gartner.

More Nonstop Photography Photos

2010-02-03T14:57:00.001-05:00

Nonstop photography instructor Dennie Eagleson explains the various camera functions to students Nancy Noonan and Priscilla Janney-Pace while Marianne Whelchel experiments with a new camera setting. The first in a series of three Intro to Digital Photography classes was held Tuesday, February 2, at the Nonstop workspace located in Millworks Business Center. For more information about upcoming classes, go to the Nonstop website workshop page at http://nonstopinstitute.org/workshops/

photos by Susan Gartner

Sweet Tweets: Workshop by Jennifer Float

2010-02-02T06:32:00.004-05:00

Photos by Susan Gartner

Mabel Weiss Interview Dec. 2005

2010-01-30T10:53:00.003-05:00

MEMORIES OF GROWING UP AROUND HERE

An Interview With Mabel Weiss for the Presbyterian Church newsletter (Mabel was well into her nineties at the time.)

Mabel Weiss was reluctant to be interviewed for Presby Notes because she felt she had nothing interesting to say, as if a gunpowder factory that blew itself and it's workers to high-heavens on a regular basis, during her childhood, was something that wouldn't grab our attention. - Interview by Virgil Hervey

PN: So tell me, have you lived in Yellow Springs all your life?

MW: All but one year. I won't tell you where I was born.

PN: Why not?

MW: Goes...

PN: Pardon me?

MW: Goes! Goes Station. Right here! (She points down Route 68.)

PN: You didn't grow up there...

MW: No! You know at that time there was a big powder mill in Goes. Big!

PN: What kind of powder?

MW: Gunpowder. Dynamite. It would blow up every once in awhile, too.

PN: What would happen when it would blow up?

MW: A lot of people would be injured or killed. If you were in Yellow Springs, you would know. You could hear it. I was born in 1910 and I remember the mill. A lot of German people came over from Germany to work in it. My grandparents came. My mother's parents, in fact her whole family came, I mean her immediate family. Except she wasn't born there, she was born in the United States, but her brothers and sisters were born in Germany. My mother's father was born in Germany and my father's father was born in Germany, but his mother was born here. Anyway, they came over to work in the mill. We lived in Yellow Springs after I was born. But I can remember going down there and visiting people, good friends of my parents, and they were Irish, Irish Catholics, their name was Figgins. Anyway, he worked in the powder mill. I used to go down to the Figgins. Mr. Figgins had a great big mustache and at the time we left the house, he kissed everybody. I thought, oooh, I wonder what that's like, but he'd kiss me like just like he would his wife and children. But I think he thought, you never know... We never left that house that he didn't kiss everybody. My mother and father would put me on what they called the traction, some people called it the trolley, it ran from Springfield to Xenia, and tell them where to let me off. They'd let you off anyplace.

PN: Where did the trolley run? Was that where the bike path is now?

MW: No that was the train. The traction ran along 68.

PN: Do you remember the train, too?

MW: Sure! We'd be up in Springfield, we didn't have a car then, and we'd take the nine o'clock train home. And another thing, this was a little bit later, when that train came in at nine o'clock, everybody'd go down to the station to pick up mail, and the thing I don't remember is how they distributed the mail. But a lot of people went down to the nine o'clock train. That was a long time ago. Anyway, the traction ran right though Yellow Springs, kinda along 68. And I had an aunt an uncle that lived, the house is still there off of 68, you went down a lane and across a bridge and the traction ran right by their house and I would go down there, too, and stay overnight. My aunt an uncle lived there. I did the same thing. They put me on the traction and they'd just say to the motorman, "Let her off at Sam Geiger's."

PN: Did your sisters go with you?

MW: No, I seemed to do that more than they did. My one sister is six years younger, but Mary didn't seem to do that. I don't think she liked it as well as I did. Oh and my uncle had a player piano! I think that's the reason I liked to go. After the powder mill closed, my one grandfather stayed in Goes. They had a boarding house where the workers lived if they didn't have a family. My grandfather stayed in that boarding house. Anyway, we'd go down on the traction and get off at the booster. When we got on we'd say, we want to get off at the booster.

PN: What was that, like a power station for the trolley?

MW: It boosted the energy for the trolley. They called it the booster. We would go visit my grandfather in this boarding house, down this long dreary hall... When the traction came back from Xenia, we'd be out there to get on it. The boarding house was between the train track, which is the bike path, and the traction.

PN: What is your first recollection of this church?

MW: (She laughs) Oh, let's see... I hate to tell you this story. But I can remember that, when I was a little girl, they didn't have a bathroom, like they have now. They had an outside privy. One Sunday, we came to Sunday school, and after Sunday school I had to go to the toilet, so I went out, came back, hurried to get back, came down the center aisle and my dress was stuck in my pants. My sister kept pointing to me and I can remember that just as well as... I was five years old. Isn't that a crazy thing to remember? There my dress was! At least panties covered you at that time, not like these bikinis they wear now. But I remember always coming to Sunday school. We'd come to church at 9:30. They rang the bell both for Sunday school and church. They rang the first bell and the second bell for church. When we heard the bell, we'd say, oh we have to hurry, there's the first bell. Now they're trying to ring the bell again, but over the years, sometimes people don't know how to ring it and it goes over. Then it won't come back. There was one man in the church that would say," I have to go up there and turn the bell over." He did it a lot. We would go to Sunday school, but we wouldn't always stay for church. My parents did, but we would go home. We were old enough to stay by ourselves. I was confirmed when I was eleven years old. My mother was raised Catholic. My grandfather went to the Catholic church right down the street on Phillips Street. He spoke German. He spoke some English, but he preferred to speak German. I think he went to confession about once a year. He always got up and went to early mass. When my mother married my father, she became a Presbyterian. But in Goes, the school built a schoolhouse right where the Unitarian Fellowship is. That's where my mother and father went to school and on Sunday, mostly from Xenia, I think, there'd be a minister from some church. They'd come out to Goes and they'd have a church service in the afternoon in the school building. So Mother, I think, even though she was Catholic, she had to go to Protestant services, so it wasn't hard for her to change. My father joined the church in 1900, my mother in 1902 and so we've been part of the church since then. And also his family, his two sisters. They were long time members. Charlotte Drake's mother was a long time member. And my other aunt joined, I think, the same year as my father and the man she married had joined in 1895. So we've been part of the church for a long time.

More photos from the Chamber Dinner

2010-01-22T09:01:00.005-05:00

[L-R] Lisa Goldberg, Sherryl Kostic and Jenny Cowperthwaite chat with the village's new Economic Sustainability Coordinator Sarah Wildman.

The Community Children's Center was represented by Marlin Newell and Lindsey Hardiman.

Friends Care Director Karl Zalar walked off with a door prize.

More photos from the Presby show

2009-12-06T00:48:00.003-05:00

The good, good Presbies, sing "Bad, Bad Leroy Brown."

The crowd from behind the bar.

Gartner turns the camera on the crowd.

Photos of Best Hometown celebration and Friday Fling Nov. 20

2009-11-20T20:40:00.004-05:00

Lauren Heaton shooting the scene for the News.

The Mellow Yellow dancers entertained in front of Open Books.

Carriage rides for the Friday Fling.

Waiting for a carriage ride in front of the Little Art.

Town at night. That's a fingernail moon at the upper right.

More photos of the "Springs" sculpture

2009-10-20T08:37:00.002-04:00

Photos by Virgil Hervey.

More photos of the "Flock of Hands"

2009-10-17T09:31:00.006-04:00

Olga puts the finishing touches on her work.

The hands are ready for raising.

Villagers volunteered to have their hands cast for the project.

The village crew assisted in the installation.

The village crew celebrates after everything is in place.

Reaching for the sky...

The artist surveys her work.

(L-R) Karen Wintrow, Macy Reynolds, Jenny Cowperthwaite Ruka, Lara Carlson, Olga Ziemska, Roger Reynolds and Virgil Hervey. Villagers who participated were asked to step forward and raise their hands at the unveiling.

More photos of the Paula Womacks exhibit

2009-10-17T09:14:00.002-04:00

The artist (R) talks about her work.

Womacks has been a painter and worked with ceramics. Her works in fabric seem to reflect the qualities of both.

Street Fair - Oct. 10, 2009

2009-10-11T09:05:00.002-04:00

The Mothman Festival, Point Pleasant, WV

2009-09-21T08:45:00.004-04:00

This ranks right up there with the world's largest ball of twine.

Gone Fishin'

2009-09-18T11:39:00.004-04:00

No longer needs a license...

Saturday morning soccer on the newly renovated fields

2009-09-13T08:13:00.001-04:00

When a free sandwich costs five bucks and is worth it

2009-08-31T16:29:00.003-04:00

I've been working on this $20 gift certificate to the Emporium for awhile now. First it was misplaced, then after it was found, I had to remember to use it. I alternate between this one and another I have to Current Cuisine. I usually only carry one with me at a time. So today, while I was waiting for the office computer to boot up (this usually takes about a half-hour), I decided to walk over to the emporium and get a sandwich. It was about ten minutes till noon when I got there, but there were no sandwiches in the case.

"They're not ready yet," the gal at the register said. "She's in the back making them now. Try back in about ten minutes."

I didn't have my Current Cuisine certificate with me and I had vowed not to spend any more money on lunch until I had used up the two of them, so I wandered over to Dark Star to pick up a paper back. On Wednesday, I am driving a friend to Miami Valley Hospital for out-patient surgery, so I thought I would pick up a used book to read while I wait for her.

Back in the paperback literature section, I was having trouble finding anything interesting until I picked up a collection of pieces by Mike Royko. The name struck a chord - a newspaper man, I thought. I was right.

The book was in a special celluloid wrapper and the price tag read $5.00. A used paperback for five bucks..? The original price was $1.75. Must be something special I thought.

I asked the girl in the store, "Why so expensive?"

"Must be a first edition," she said.

I thought it rather odd that a first edition paperback would have any value. After perusing the cover, I decided to buy it anyway.

It was now a few minutes after noon. I went back to the Emporium, but there were still no sandwiches in the case.

"She's still making them," the girl at the register said.

"It's already after twelve," I said. "Could you go back there and get one for me."

"Okay, what kind do you want."

"Turkey and Swiss with a little mayo."

She went into the back and came out a few minutes later. She was not carrying a sandwich.

"She'll bring it out when it's ready," she said.

I used the gift certificate to pay for it and waited. One of the guys that works there offered to go back and "bring it out as soon as it's ready." He came back a couple minutes later with no sandwich.

"It takes awhile," he said. "She has to wash the lettuce and all that. But she's working on your sandwich now."

A few minutes later the guy who is always on the bench in front of the Emporium emerged from the back with my sandwich.

"No wonder," someone groaned. "He was back there with her."

Eating the sandwich in my office, I read through a couple of Royko's stories. Then I realized where I must have heard the name. When I was a kid, I used to listen to Jean Shepherd on the radio late at night. Shepherd was cut from the same mold and probably was about the same age as Royko, maybe a little younger. Shepherd had to have paid homage to him at one time or another, either on the radio or in one of his many short story collections.

The title of the book is Slats Grobnik and some other friends. It is a collection of short pieces from the Chicago newpapers he worked for (there were three of them) as a syndicated coumnist. It is far from a first edition, but it is in good condition and it is a little gem.

MTFR Controlled Burn - more photos

2009-08-31T08:36:00.003-04:00

Photos by Lisa Goldberg

More photos from the controlled burn out at Lisa Goldberg's place on Meredith Road, Sunday morning.

More photos from the hand-casting

2009-08-28T15:54:00.002-04:00

Susan Miller - in it up to her forearm.

Roger Reynolds getting ready.

Corrine Bayraktaroglu thinks there's something in there with her.

Blog editor may be typing with one hand from now on.

More photos of Tom's new wheels

2009-08-26T13:52:00.004-04:00

Cathy Price makes like a model on "The Price Is Right," but I doubt this prize is up for grabs!

Pedicab photos

2009-08-19T10:29:00.004-04:00

Beijing - Pedicab ride throug the hutongs

Beijing - Street cleaner version of a pedicab

Malacca, Malaysia - Business is slow, so why not take a nap?

Wherefore art thou, Jerry Holt?

2009-08-12T09:22:00.000-04:00

Larry was fixing the light in the kitchen.
You like beer? he asked.

Yeah, I like beer, I said
wondering where he was coming from.

Some of the boys and I
go to the Tavern
every first, third and fifth Thursday nights.
Maybe you'd like to join us.

Sounds like a possibility, I said, honored.
It isn't every day one's electrician
invites him to join his beer-drinking club.

You know Jerry Holt? I asked.

Why is that name familiar? he said.

He used to be a Dean
at Antioch McGregor.
We would meet in Peach's
on Thursday afternoons.
Then he moved away.
Yeah, I'll have a beer
with you guys.

I especially liked that part
about fifth Thursdays.
These are guys
who love what they do.

Nicky

2009-08-07T12:35:00.001-04:00

Love bird, heh! This is one bad dude.

I'd been famous, but didn't know it or else I just forgot

2009-08-07T12:31:00.003-04:00

Walter gave me The Outlaw Bible of American Poetry
for my birthday a year or two ago
I can't remember anymore.

I remember when it was first published
some of my friends were in it
I wasn't
I was disappointed
but who am I?

I was happy to have the book
my friends are famous
I told myself
I'm not
so it goes
who cares, anyway.

I've read from it
from time to time
A.D. Wynans
d.a. levy
Jim Chandler
Kerouac
Ferlinghetti
Ginsberg.

When I was a kid
I wanted to be a beat
On the Road ruined my life.

Today, I was looking through The Bible
while I was getting my brakes fixed.

Chandler is a pal of mine
published me
with lots of other pals
from the poetry underground
of the late eighties
and early nineties.

I looked at his bio
Thunder Sandwich published
"some of the best poets
of the last two deacades,"
it read, "including
Gerald Locklin
Lyn Lifshin
Virgil Harvey
and Cheryl Townsend.

I called Walter
from the Brake Pros waiting room
my name is in the book
I said
all this time
and I never knew
or did we have this conversation
before?

I wish they'd spelled my name right.

Lost in the woods

2009-07-28T06:38:00.003-04:00

It's 4 a.m.
My friend from college is dead.

A professor and department head
at a large university,
married 45 years,
three children
two grandchildren,
widely published
in financial journals,
it said in the obit
in the Boston Globe.
There was a photo of him
at the helm of his yacht.

My ex and I were godparents
to one of his daugthers,
back when I was normal.
It's been so long,
I can't remember her name.

We started at the same place,
Jon and I,
fishing from a dam
upstream from the campus.
He stayed on the pavement,
I wandered down
to a path obscured
by twigs and leaves.

Special order

2009-07-25T10:00:00.001-04:00

A lady calls up.
I’d like a special order
of white fried rice
for my son, she says.
The cook will know what it is.

Pardon me. I have
to put you on hold for a minute,
I tell her, trying to handle
three things at once.

Don’t leave me hanging too long,
she says, I’m on my cell phone
in my car and I’m about to
lose my signal.

She’s a regular customer.
Every week, it’s the same thing,
a five dollar order demanding
twenty dollars worth of service.

I put the phone on the counter.
The man I’m waiting on
picks it up.

This is a customer, he says.
Be patient. This food is so good,
it’s worth waiting for.
He sets it down again.

I’m glad he added that part
about being a fellow customer.
It lends a certain credibility
that I don’t have.

Man in Sandals

2009-07-15T13:09:00.006-04:00

In two months
he will explore his options
under Medicare Part B.

For thirty years
he wore a suit and tie
and wing-tipped brogans.

He commuted three hours-a-day
round trip
and wrestled with judges
and DAs for eight hours
in between.

He drank three martinis
and a six pack
every night,
but he never drank before five.

He raised two kids
with one wife
and two more
with another.

He paid income tax,
social security tax,
real estate tax,
school tax,
sales tax,
commercial rent tax,
commuter tax,
medical insurance,
car insurance,
homeowners insurance,
life insurance,
malpractice insurance,
office rent,
two mortgages,
gas, electric and telephone,
car loans,
credit cards,
student loans
and medical bills up to his
…$5,000 annual deductible.

Six figures wasn’t always enough.
And there wasn’t always
the six. Sometimes it was five,
sometimes a low five.

All the while, late at night,
he wrote the kind of hard poetry
that other guys
would understand.
They’d nod
and say, “Amen, brother.”

Amen.

He doesn’t tuck his shirt in anymore.
He rarely wears long pants.
It’s not anything
he thinks about.

On the trip from New York
to Yellow Springs,
“600 miles and a lot of shit,”
he says,
he picked up
an extra thirty pounds,
thinning gray hair,
bad eyes, ears and teeth,
a slouch,
and a shuffle when he walks
down Xenia Avenue
in his knock-off Birkenstocks.

“I’ve paid for these sandals,”
he tells the boys on the bench
in front of Tom’s Market.

Washington Square Park

2009-07-10T17:35:00.000-04:00

Independence Day

2009-07-04T09:54:00.006-04:00

I saw Lucy today.
I am sure of it.
It wasn’t just
the flash of yellow
as she flew upward
in front of the bay window;
it was the long tail,
and that she looked in
on Baby and Nicky
in their cage.

I went outside and called her,
but she wouldn’t come down
or reveal herself in the tree,
where I knew
she was hiding.

This was a cool day
for a parakeet, after all.
If she wanted to,
she could have lit
on my shoulder
and I would gladly
have brought her inside.

But she chose not
to do so.

Therefore, she must be
alright.

I am sure she is
alright.

Scenes from around here

2009-07-02T17:04:00.002-04:00

I was out in the field today.

Photos From an Exhibition

2009-06-28T08:18:00.003-04:00

Frank Lloyd Wright's Westcott House, home of the exhibit of the wood fired pottery of Naysan McLihargey from June 26 - August 30.

Seattle & Vancouver [C] 6/14/09 - 6/20/09

2009-06-22T09:03:00.003-04:00

Scenes from Seattle

Seattle from Puget Sound

Ancient trolley stop in Pioneer Square

A waterfront restaurant

The Ballard Locks

A highlight from the underground city

Seattle & Vancouver [B] 6/14/09 - 6/20/09

2009-06-22T08:45:00.004-04:00

Side trip to Victoria, B.C.

The ferry we took holds over 400 cars, trucks & buses and over 2,000 passengers

The inner harbor

The Parliament

Inside the Parliament

Butchart Gardens

Seattle & Vancouver [A] 6/14/09 - 6/20/09

2009-06-22T08:27:00.005-04:00

Scenes from Vancouver

Chinatown sidewalk

The Steam Clock

The pier from Gastown

Carnival Lines cruise ship tied to downtown pier

The observation deck

Busted!

2009-05-30T09:21:00.002-04:00

We found this bandit in with the chicks yesterday, chasing them all over the place. Fortunately, they escaped through the hole he dug under the fence. We also found him in with the big girls on three separate prior occasions. But all he was doing was stealing their food. We got him last night. Guilty as sin and with a long rap sheet to boot!

Daredevil Chicks

2009-05-22T23:23:00.002-04:00

Chick Flick

2009-05-16T11:04:00.000-04:00

Week-old chicks first glimpse of the world

2009-05-09T14:31:00.002-04:00

Man with chicken

2009-05-05T15:17:00.002-04:00

The Magnificent Magnolias

2009-04-11T08:44:00.002-04:00

Too bad the blossoms don't last longer. It seems that every year, right after they bloom, they are doomed to a day of high winds and heavy rains. This year..? So far, so good.

Who's yer mommy?

2009-04-03T08:41:00.002-04:00

On the left is a normal size chicken egg. On the right is one we found in one of our coops a couple days ago. We have several bantam chickens, none of which was laying until just recently when the eggs started to trickle in. Then this. Is this the first attempt of a young banty; or did some wild bird decide to make a deposit in our egg bank?

Life is hell

2009-03-25T23:56:00.003-04:00

Life is hell

I need a receipt,
the customer said.

You need a receipt
for a single order
of General Tso's chicken?
I asked.

My wife is an accountant,
he said. My life is hell!

You see that extra ten cents?
I pointed at the register tape.
That's the one-percent for green space,
just in case she asks.

That's alright, he said,
as long as I have a receipt.

I could smell the booze.

Everybody thinks their life is hell.
And maybe it is.

But I live with two Chinese women,
each of whom thinks
she knows what's best for me.

If you'd ever lived
with just one Chinese woman
you would marvel
at my dilemma.

Leonard Cohen with sweet & sour sauce

2009-03-25T12:56:00.001-04:00

In the kitchen Jimi Hedrix
is stir-frying chords
on the radio.
Out front it's Chinese
love songs piped in
through the stereo.

Jenny's busy in the back,
so I hook up my MP3.

She catches me.

Chinese retaurant supposed
to have Chinese music,
she says. Need atmosphere
for the customers.

Right now, there are no customers,
I say. Besides,
a little Leonard goes good
with Moo Goo Gai Pan.

My teeth chatter

2009-02-21T09:31:00.003-05:00

How's this
for modern dentistry?
Stem cells injected
into the gums,
tooth buds that grew
into teeth
that learned to talk
at the age of two.

They keep me up at night
like girls
at a sleepover.
Titter, titter, titter
all night long.

And complain..?
Talk about a toothache...
One doesn't like hot,
another hates cold.
Tylenol, ibuprophin, aspirin
don't do a thing.

Harry, I'm hungry,
left bottom molar says.
Harry, I'm thirsty,
right upper canine begs.
No soda pop! no candy!
the wisdom teeth advise.

I thought this would be
better than dentures,
better than implants,
better than root canals.

But I'm headed back
to the dentist.
It's time
to get them pulled.
Last night they told Mona,
they didn't like her curry.
Too spicy, one said.
Too mild, another chimed in.
Make up your mind, Harry,
Mona complained.

I have a small wooden box.
When they are removed
I will keep them there.
I'll call it my chatterbox.
If ever I want to be reminded
that I should have listened
to my parents,
should have brushed
three times a day
and flossed after every meal,
I will crack open the lid and listen
to my teeth complain.

Scenes from an office

2009-02-13T17:23:00.004-05:00

Where's Walter?

2009-02-10T12:10:00.005-05:00

His car was spotted on Dayton Street. Wait a minute, isn't that the laundromat across the street?

There he is!

Been there!

2009-02-10T12:07:00.001-05:00

Existentialist Dreaming

2009-02-05T09:50:00.006-05:00

When I told Mona that my dreams seem to be broken lately, she accused me of malingering.

“Don’t start acting crazy on me, Harry.” she said. “It’s not going to work.”

“Why does it always have to be about you?” I replied.

“Of course it’s not about me. It can’t be. You never dream about me.”

“Please, just listen for once,” I begged. “Last night I dreamed I went out in the snow to feed the chickens. When I opened the door to the coop, there was another door inside. It wasn’t connected to anything, like a floating plane, half in – half out. In the dream I became confused. I thought to myself, this isn’t right. It defies the laws of physics. But then I realized I was only dreaming. I told myself to get rid of the door and it vaporized. But I wasn’t satisfied. The dream is spoiled for me now, I thought. So I woke up and told myself, you have to remember this, so you can tell Mona about it in the morning. This isn’t the only one I have had like that. There have been others, but I can’t remember them. You know me, I hardly ever remember my dreams. But I know this, remember them or not, they have been unsatisfactory, lately. I don’t know what to do. My dreams are broken.”

“So, you are telling me that your dreams are broken,” she huffed. “This just proves that you don’t love me anymore. You’re so damn selfish.”

Whenever she says this, and she says it a lot, I always scoff at the idea of it. But I am coming to think there may be something to it. So I have resolved to love her more. Maybe she’s right. As absurd as it may seem, there may be a link between these fragmented dreams and the way I go through life.

“I don’t mean ‘broken dreams’ like in some sappy love song,” I said. “I mean my dreams, my actual night time dreams, aren’t working right. Like a broken television, or when the projectionist gets the reels mixed up in the movie theater, things are happening out of context.”

“You don’t love me as much as I love you,” she said.

This is probably true. I don’t love her has much as she wants me to, but I love her enough for me. Is there something wrong with me? Do other people think like this? I don’t like talking about our relationship all the time, like she does. I think it should just happen, without any special engineering. But I have to admit, when I just let it happen, there is an element of selfishness that seeps in from my end. I’m always trying to impose my will on her. That’s okay, it never works anyway.

“I would take a bullet for you,” I said. “I would jump in front of a train to protect you.”

“Really?” she cooed and hugged me.

This always works. Sometimes I feel guilty about using it. But I mean it. I would make that choice. I would give up my life for her. There are a million reasons and they have little to do with love.

“If I were drowning, would you save me?” she asked.

“Of course I would.”

“If I was drowning and one of your children was drowning at the same time, who would you save?

“Not a problem. Both my kids can swim.”

“Don’t try to wiggle out of this,” she said. “If you won the 10 million dollar lottery this week, how much would you give me?”

“I’d give it all to you,” I said.

“That’s better.”

“But what about my dreams?” I asked.

“Just love me more and everything will be alright,” she said.

Lottery by Camper Van Beethoven

in dreams

She was dressing for work.
I was just laying there
watching, listening
to her early morning
bird song.

"I dreamed again
last night," she said.

"Another bad dream?"
I asked.

"No. You were in it
again. So many times
you've been in my dreams.
Do you dream about me?"

"Sometimes," I lied,
since I never dream.

"How do I look?"
she was curious.

"I can't remember,"
I lied some more.
"How do I look
in your dreams?"
I asked.

"Younger," she said.

Tracks in the snow

2009-02-01T09:34:00.003-05:00

The wide path is mine, from the steps leading down from my deck to the entrance to Chicken Land. I trek through the snow daily to bring the girls food and water. But those other tracks. They were made last night or early this morning. They go from under my deck to the fence around the chicken run, then stitch a crazy quilt through the snow in the yard. Could it have been Allen Street Al? Did he see his shadow and go back into that huge hole he has dug under my deck? Stay tuned! I will be looking for him early tomorrow morning, camera in hand.

Ice art photos by Susan Gartner

2009-02-01T08:43:00.002-05:00

Susan Gartner found this ice sculpture in the yard of Moya Shea's house on High Street, near the corner of Dayton.

Icicles at the Humanist Center

2009-01-31T09:59:00.008-05:00

The sun glistened

in the quiet of the morning.

Only the stove was crackling

and the eaves creaking,

hopefully, not cracking.

It's here

2009-01-28T12:11:00.002-05:00

More on the way

2009-01-27T16:10:00.001-05:00

First day out in a long time

2009-01-23T10:56:00.003-05:00

Talk about being cooped up... My girls haven't been out in a couple weeks. Surprisingly, most of them opted to stay in and wait for more snow to melt when I openend up this morning. But a brave handful came out and lingered on the few patches of bare ground, soaking up the rays. I expect most of the snow will be gone in Chicken Land by late this afternoon. They better enjoy it, I hear there is more on the way.

Is it okay for a grown man cry over the death of a chicken?

2008-12-12T11:42:00.008-05:00

I'm hoping it's too early to be writing Rocky's obituary, but things are not looking good for the Grande Dame of Chicken Land. Yesterday, she was balled up on the floor of Unit A when I opened up. And she stayed that way most of the day. I actually considered bringing her inside the house, but I figured Mona would pitch a fit. Last night Mona said she would be okay with that. But this morning Rocky looked a bit better. Somehow, she had made her way up onto the roost (about 2 feet off the floor) and stayed there when I opened up this morning. I locked her in and am counting on the sunshine to keep her warm.

In a touching scene, yesterday, three of her friends came back into the coop after having been let out, and spent the rest of the day keeping watch over her. While they can be moody and especially viscious when maintaining their position in the pecking order, they can also be remakably empathetic. I have seen them mourn the loss of one of the flock on more than one occasion.

Mona says that when she was a kid growing up in Malaysia, they used to disolve an aspirin in water and give it to a sick chicken. I don't know... We are due for some warm weather. I'm keeping my fingers crossed.

Addendum: I tried the aspirin in water, but she didn't even open her eyes when I tried to give it to her. She wouldn't take any. Her comb feels dry and cold. I don't think she is going to make it through the day. I have brought her in the house. She is so limp, I thought she died while I was carrying her across the yard. The warmth seems to have had an immediate effect. She is breathing more steadily.

Post mortem: Rocky passed at 9:10 this evening after rallying valiantly during the day. She had a seizure while I was trying to get her to take some water. We will bury her tomorrow under the bamboo in a peaceful corner of the yard.

Building inspectors approve construction of new residence

2008-11-30T08:47:00.002-05:00

Kalson's senior project is coming along nicely. This jealous bunch, who will continue to live in the older and shabbier Unit A, have chased the Unit B residents out so they can have a look around.

Harry's simple turkey recipe

2008-11-28T09:16:00.002-05:00

(Based on Thanksgiving 2008)

12 lb. Turkey at 325 degs. for 3.5 hours

Wash turkey, clean cavity with salt. Stuff cavity with apples and onions. Add a cup of water to bottom of roasting pan. Use a pan that will keep the turkey raised.

Baste with mixture of melted butter, basil, and white wine, then cover turkey with aluminum foil for first 2 hours. Brown for last 1 ½ hours.

Baste every 20 mins. Use fresh mixture for first hour, then baste with drippings from pan. Add water if needed.

Basting Mixture: Melt ¼ lb of butter and add dried basil flakes and a couple dashes of dry white wine.

Substitute freely. Adjust cooking times for size of turkey approximately 20 min. per lb.

The rest:
Dice giblets, brown in butter and add to two jars of Heinz turkey gravy.
Stove Top Turkey Dressing (follow directions on box)
Instant mashed potatoes (ditto)
Wrap sweet potatoes in aluminum foil and place on rack with turkey for last 1 ½ hours.
Get someone else to make the green beans.

The Ohio Vote

2008-10-17T09:47:00.002-04:00

If this truck could talk...

2008-10-11T10:28:00.005-04:00

I spotted this antique tow truck parked on Short Street next to Deaton's and whipped out my camera. With that, the owner came out the side door, scowled at me, got in and drove off almost before I could get a shot of it.

I did not get a closeup look at it and have not been able to identify its make on the Web. I'd guess it is mid-late 30's vintage. Beyond that, your guess is as good as mine. Obviously, it has not been restored, but looks like it is still in working condition. I'll bet it has pulled a lot of people out of tough spots over the years.

I wish I'd had time to get it from some different angles.

Backyard Whimsey

2008-10-04T08:39:00.003-04:00

I still like 35mm.

The Horsey Set

2008-09-09T09:30:00.004-04:00

Messages from Chicken Land

2008-09-03T14:08:00.001-04:00

Somebody gets on somebody's nerves -
somebody gets pecked.
The squawk reaches the house.
You learn to tell them apart,
the ouch from the warning
that the hawk
is hanging around again
or the announcement,
“I have just laid an egg.”
And then there's the Anvil Chorus,
a joint effort so disturbing
I am moved to go out there
to that patch of earth
they have laid bare
and silence them
for their own good.
They usually comply
for a small bribe.

As with all my pets
I wonder,
who has trained whom.

What train is this, anyway?

2008-09-02T09:02:00.008-04:00

Harry Kresge had started to rise as the subway train was pulling into the Canal Street station, when he was jerked sharply back into his seat by the belt on his greasy trench coat. He was trapped. The buckle had become lodged between the edge of the seat and the chrome handrail. As he struggled frantically to free himself, his mind was racing; what train was he on; what was the next stop? When he finally remembered that he was on the number six and that City Hall was up next, he relaxed a bit. He could walk from City Hall. He was able to dislodge the buckle, but only after the doors had closed.

Harry looked sheepishly around the car to see if any of the dozen-or-so other passengers had been watching this little bit of morning rush hour slap-stick. They all seemed to be looking off in different directions. Now he was sure they had. An uncharacteristic anger started to build within him. He muttered several curse words, almost audible to the other riders, slammed his briefcase around a bit as he made his way from the very front of the first car to the rear door in time for the City Hall stop. He would now have to walk several extra blocks, including the entire length of the train, to get to his office.

Kresge decided that this must be some kind of omen. It either meant that he was embarking on what would be a very bad day, or that he was being taken out of his way so that some unbelievably good luck would befall him. He decided to look for signs along his detour. He mustn't miss the signs.

Before he had descended into the subway in Queens, it seemed as if the day had been photographed in technicolor. Now, as he climbed the stairs to the street in Manhattan, he noticed that the sky was an abstract of threatening clouds, all sketched in charcoal. Was this a sign? If it was, then his first inclination, that this would be a bad day, was surely the correct one.

As he started up Lafayette Street past the Federal Building, Harry noticed that they were erecting some kind of sculpture in the park across the street, in front of the famous courthouse where they had filmed Somebody Up There Likes Me and numerous other movies. There was a crane lifting a big piece into place. A man, the sculptor, perhaps, was waiving his arms, directing the movement like an orchestra conductor. "What can this mean?" Harry wondered. Surely he had been routed past this scene for a reason.

***
Kresge was settling in behind his desk when the phone rang. It was a woman who claimed to be an old client. Harry didn't recognize her right away. After a few questions, he remembered that many years before he had gotten her son off on a gun charge in the Bronx. It was a dead case, but the jury had acquitted him anyway. They didn't like the cops. They never like the cops in the Bronx.

The son was a huge good-natured man, whom Harry had trusted enough to let the case go to trial with him still owing him a grand in attorney's fees. When the jury rendered its verdict, the man turned and hugged Harry and told him, "Don't worry about your money, I'll give it to you as soon as I get my tax refund." That was twenty years ago. About nineteen years ago, Kresge tired of chasing his money and wrote it off. Maybe this was payoff time. Maybe that's what all this omen stuff was about. Harry reminded the woman that her son still owed him the money.

She replied, "Oh Shawn...? He don't pay none of his bills. Why, he been in jail a few times since you was his lawyer. He even done four years in state prison. I ain't calling about him, I'm calling about my grandson. He just got arrested for drugs and then a parole violation was dropped on him. You think you can help me?"

"Come down to my office with five hundred cash as soon as you can," Harry told her, hopefully.

"Okay. How about tomorrow? You open on Saturday?" she asked.

"Tell me what time you're coming, I'll be here," Harry responded. He had two bucks in his pocket. He had been wondering how he was going to get through the weekend. He set it up for 1:30 the next afternoon. It was all set. He was giving her directions.

"You know what..., I'm changing my mind," she said. "The weekend is just too much for me. I'll come down to your office on Monday, after work."

There was nothing he could do. He had to maintain some pretense of dignity. "Okay, Monday, 4:00 p.m. Tell Shawn to give me a call! Maybe he'd like to get that old debt off his mind," Harry suggested without any real hope.

***
Kresge was alone in the office. The rent was two months past due. Nothing would settle. His clients were dropping like flies or else they were in the wind. Even a wisp of a promise of money ended up getting postponed.

He started working on a will for a client who was in the hospital with cancer. He wasn't expected to make it through the weekend. Harry had been trying to settle the guy's car accident case, had actually gotten pretty close, when he got this bad news late the night before. If he died, the case would be worth a lot less and it would end up mired down in the Surrogate Court even after it was finally settled.

The phone rang. It was Donald, calling in on Harry's 800 number from Bellevue. "Harry, did you ever call that guy I asked you to call?" came the manic voice.

"No, I didn't. In fact, I've never called anyone you've ever asked me to call. Haven't you noticed?"

"Hmmm... I guess you're right. Why's that, Harry?"

"I never call anyone. I never even call my clients."

"What about your friends? Don't you ever call your friends."

"I don't have any friends. Well, except for you... You're my only friend, and I can't call you at the bug house. You have to call me - on my 800 number."

Donald laughed, "Why don't you have any friends?"

"Because I never call anyone," he said. Then the obvious occurred to Harry. "I should give this number to more people."

Donald laughed again. "I better let you go, Harry. I'm running up your phone bill."

***
Harry put his feet up on his desk and began to dream. In the dream he had fallen asleep on the subway. He awoke to the sound of the subway doors opening. He was about to miss his stop. Startled awake, Harry jumped up. He wasn't sure where he was. The dream had seemed so real, he could almost feel the breeze from the doors slamming shut in his face.

(6/9/2000)

The Grande Dame of Chicken Land

2008-08-28T09:43:00.005-04:00

This is Rocky, one of my two oldest girls. She is about four years old and still lays every other day.

Rocky may seem like an odd name for a chicken. It's short for Rocket Girl. She was the first in her run of six to learn how to fly - weeks before the others. She would fly in and out of the chicken run and sometimes just sit on top of the fence as the other chicks marveled at her accomplishment. She is a Barred Plymouth Rock, so the name also fits her in another way.

She is my favorite girl. I often carry her about under one arm and bring her out front or over to Bob and Virda Womacks' house to eat the bugs out of the garden. When I put her out in the front yard, people walking and driving by stop and tell me how beautiful she is. She is a classic Barred Rock and if I ever took her to a fair, I'm sure she'd win a prize.

Carrying her around is a job, though. She must weigh about ten pounds!

Here she is with her best friend Pee Wee. They are the same age. Pee Wee, a Rhode Island Red, got her name because she was the runt of the run. Look at her now - another classic beauty. Pee Wee lays the most beautiful light brown eggs.

Toronto

2008-08-25T11:44:00.001-04:00

July, 2005

Getting the check

We don’t travel
like other folks.
We tour the world,
from one Chinatown
to the next.

Today, we’re upstairs
in a dim sum joint in Toronto,
eating the parts of animals
no one else will eat.
Trolleys rumble
in the street below.

The corner of Dundas and Spadina,
once the Glasgow of the New World,
is a Hong Kong so crowded,
sometimes you are forced to stop
and let life stream around you.

From the restaurant window,
I can see the world’s tallest
freestanding structure,
eighteen hundred fifteen feet
of poured concrete
rising above the squalor.

We ask for our check.
There is nothing left
on the table before us,
but empty plates
and piles of bones.

Remember this

2008-08-25T11:23:00.004-04:00

April, 2007