Matthew Vance (F)

Matt Vance with hands on hips watched the snow falling under the parking lot lights. The neon OPEN sign next to him hummed. 

Without turning he spoke to his waitress. "Tess, you need to get on home. Wind is starting to pick up."

"What about the condiments and the napkin holders?"

"Don't worry about that. And take all the counter tips out of the jar."

"Thanks, Matt. Merry Christmas! Tell Ginny too."

"I will. Merry Christmas to you."

"Don't forget." Tess dumped the tip jar's change into her purse and pulled on her coat. "Good night, Luis! Merry Christmas!"

Luis called back from the kitchen. "Merry Christmas, Tess!"

Tess pulled her coat around her and jogged out to her van. Matt turned off the OPEN sign but left the cafe front lights on. Just in case.

"Boss man, everything's back in the cooler. What do you want me to do with the chili and the stew?"

Matt walked around the counter. "Just let them sit there on low. Did you secure the trash cans?"

"Yes, all tight."

"Okay, Luis. Head on home. Hug the kids and Marie for me."

Luis came out of the kitchen. "Merry Christmas, Boss. How long you staying?"

"I don't know. Might be a truck or two coming by from the east. But with the pass closed, might all just stay where they are."

"Okay." Luis pulled on his coat and wrapped a scarf close around his neck. "Good night, Boss."

As he went out the door, Matt called after him, "Good night."

Matt walked into the kitchen and went over to the stove. He lifted the lid on each pot and stirred them with the ladles next to them on the counter. Next he picked up a rag and looked over the cooking area. Nothing to wipe up. Luis left everything spotless. 

In the refrigerator, everything was sealed tight. Matt thought about taking out a couple of eggs to scramble, but decided to wait for a bit. 

Just as Matt settled himself on a stool next to the register, he saw two figures just across the road standing shoulder to shoulder, one a bit taller than the other. Reflexively Matt adjusted the revolver under the register.

After a few minutes they crossed the road. Matt could see under the parking lot lights they had blankets over their heads and wrapped around their shoulders. 

He stood. The pair stepped into the cafe. They were dusted with snow from legs to chest and the tops of their heads. The smaller figure kept close to the other one, head down. 

"Folks. What are you doing out there?"

The taller one, a young man, answered. "Truck broke down."

"Where?"

"At the bridge."

"You walked here?"

"Yes."

"That's five miles."

The young man shrugged. His partner glanced up, a young woman. 

"You have someone to call?"

"In Santa Rosa."

"Well, nothing is going to be moving in either direction tonight. You two sit at the counter."

The couple glanced at each other.

"Sit. I've got warm chili and stew."

The man opened his blanket and unbuttoned his coat and took out a small bundle. The bundle moved. A small face looked out.

"We have nothing to pay--"

"Just sit. It will be all right."

The woman took the baby into her arms. She whispered to her partner. He nodded.

"Stew would be good."

"Okay. Maybe a booth would be better. Take one by this wall, will be warmer there. Get yourself settled. I'll put on some coffee. It's going to be a long night."

Lyman 2023

An Index (21)

State                     # of counties            Area rank

Texas                            254                             2

Georgia                         159                            24

Virginia                         133                            35

Kentucky                      120                             37

Missouri                        115                             21

Kansas                          105                            15

Illinois                           102                            25

North Carolina               100                             28

Iowa                               99                             26

Tennessee                   95                         36                                                    

County                                Pop

Loving, TX                            57

Kalawao, HI                          82

King, TX                              258

Kennedy, TX                        340

McPherson, NE                     379

Arthur, NE                            439

Blaine, NE                            461

Petroleum, MT                      519

Grant, NE                             579

Loup, NE                              604  

 

Nostrapotamus: 2050

North Dakota, South Dakota, and Montana each lose one senator. Florida, Texas, and California are now with three each.

Vladimir Putin is dead.

All Starbucks locations around the world are staffed by robots. Except in Greenland.

Benjamin Netanyahu is dead. 

The Seoul Stingers win the International American Football League's Super Bowl.

The last public library in US shuts down in Concord, Massachusetts.

Sixty-four hurricanes strike the Gulf Coast. Florida moves its state capital northward to Macon. Macon, Georgia. Georgia files for an injunction against the move with the US Supreme Court.

Joe Biden is dead.

Shiloh Jolie-Pitt declares run for President of the United States.  

Alabama, Georgia, Michigan, and Texas are the semi-finalists for college football championship.

Ebrahim Raisi is dead.

Walmart locates all of its warehouses to Nebraska. 

The average plumber makes $225,000 annually. The average teacher, $42,000.

Tourists returning from Mars bemoan 30-minute storm delay before liftoff.

Kim Jong Un is dead. However, he is still supreme leader of North Korea.

Taylor Swift releases a whispered version of her debut album from 2006. Sales will be brisk.

Jeff Bezos applies for UN recognition of his 1,600' yacht, Lucy as a nation-state. Also claims he has the body of a 13-year-old.

Donald Trump is dead.

All Italian men under 45 live at home with their mothers.

Xi Jinping is dead.

Amazon now employs 34% of the world's workforce.

Nearly 86% of first year college students are female.  

China will build only 6 coal-fired power plants this year.

Unemployment in Louisiana hits 47%. Governor declares state a natural disaster area.

Ronnie Wood is dead, and I might not be feeling so hot myself.

Lorrie and Corrie (F)

I slip my foot into Lorrie's right golf shoe. A perfect fit. Another disease I didn't come down with. I look around the room. Golfing, I mean. The upstairs t.v. room she calls it. Called it. Her trophies. The photos.

Jack told me he couldn't come up yet. Just not ready. "It's okay. I understand," I told him. "I'll do it."

Two consecutive junior state-am golf championships. Three senior state-am championships.

Three junior club championships in tennis, two in golf. Two senior club championships in tennis.

The doubles tournament we won our junior year. "Come on," she said. "It will be fun." "Just this time." "It will be fun, promise." It was sort of fun. And we won. Of course we won. Lorrie lose? Please.

"Be sweet to your baby sister," Mom said. "Mom, it was only 28 minutes." "I don't care, young lady, be sweet."

And the swimming. Meet after meet, summer after summer, until she got bored. Ten, no eleven. At least I had that for another three years. 

Maid of honor at her wedding. Those photos are downstairs in the den.

"Your sister is what she is, you are what you are," Mom said. "But you two have a different kind of bond. You don't have to like it, but you two do. Be kind to your baby sister." 

I slip off the shoe. "Help Jack as much as you can. He's going to be a mess. Please." She patted my hand as she spoke.

Yes, Jack's a mess. I don't think Diane really understands. Little D I call her. Aunt C she calls me. She sat on my lap during the service. I brought her back here to spare her the burial. 

I sigh. Oh, Lorrie, what now? 

Bill calls up the stairs. "Honey, are you all right?" "Yes! Yes, I'm okay." 

I'm okay? Okay. Not okay. Numb maybe. I don't know what to think. Like I am here and not here. 

"He's a nice man. A really good guy," Lorrie said. "You guys getting married? What is going on with you?" I don't know what is going on. 

"He is obviously sweet and kind."

Yes, sweet and kind. Sweet and kind. Sweet. Kind. Sweet. Kind. Sweet and kind. Sweet and kind. Sweet and kind. The whole damn world is sweet and kind.

Yes, Lorrie was sweet.

Lorrie was kind.

Lyman 2023

An Index (20)

Country                     US Immigrant Visas Issued (2021)

Mexico                              40,597

China                                18,501 

Dominican Republic            17,941

Philippines                         15,862

Afghanistan                       10,784

Vietnam                            10,458

India                                   9,275

El Salvador                          7,813

Pakistan                              7,213

Bangladesh                         5,503

Nepal                                 5,342

Ecuador                              5,061

Nigeria                               4,990

Colombia                            4,785

Yemen                                4,770

Jamaica                              4,375

Haiti                                   3,799

Morocco                             3,585

Cuba                                  3,232

Nicaragua                           3,216 

 

Junk Drawer (4)

"Give me a grain of truth and I will mix it up with a great mass of falsehood so that no chemist will be able to separate them."   John Wilkes (1725-1797): Journalist, politician, essayist, magistrate, soldier, Mayor of London, and Member of Parliament

Maybe Cindy Crawford is right and at 70 I do need  more hyaluronic acid face serum in my life. 

The Homestead Act of 1862 allowed adult citizens or those who wished to become citizens to claim up to 160 acres of surveyed government land provided they lived on and improved the land. In 1974, Vietnam War vet Kenneth Deardorff, who was from California, homesteaded 50 acres on the Stony River in southwestern Alaska. Deardorff is considered to be the last homesteader in the US.

Or maybe I need Cindy's youth activating melon serum. 

The National Wildlife Federation has declared October as Leave the Leaves Month. Finally! Yes, let them fall, swirl around, decay, and feed your trees and plants. Too much for your orderly mind? Mow over them to mulch your yard. Or rake up and take them to a mulching center. Do not bag and send to the dump. Do not rake them into your roadside gutters or ditches. Your HOA would have a meltdown? Handout Feed Your Trees buttons to each member of the ruling neighborhood junta. Okay, junta is an overreach. But just barely.

Apparently, although I can offer no personal insight, colorful glassware sales are surging. Paul Kinnen at IKEA says, "Customers are daring to introduce new energy and shades into their table settings." Ah, the courage, the bravery, the chutzpah! Color me, nonplussed.

"Start writing, no matter what. The water does not flow until the faucet is turned on."  Louis L'Amour (1908-1988) 

FSBO: $719,900

 

Windy Hill for Sale!

9 Br, 6 full baths, 6-car garage, 3956 sq ft, over 1900 acres, old growth trees, and hilltop vistas

Call +7 496 608 34 05

True Love (F)

"I was thinking--"

"We should forget the picnic--"

"No. We--"

"Might go see Oppenheimer--"

"Ought to--"

"Figure out Teri's gift--"

"No, not--"

"Worry about choosing a paint color for--"

"Just--"

"Switch to Spectrum--"

"Hey--"

"Vancouver would be a nice change--"

"Seriously--"

"Okay, not Vancouver--"

"Why can't--"

"We let the kids decide whether--"

"Not what--"

"We need to worry about until--"

"Not even--"

"Close to the top of your--"

"We might go with--"

"Gift cards--"

"Really--"

"Well if you would just say--"

"How--"

"We complete each other's sentences--"

"Spaghetti."

"Spaghetti?"

"Yes, I was thinking spaghetti tonight."

"Oh."

Lyman 2023

 

An Index (19)

El Alto, Bolivia        13,615'

Potosi, Bolivia         13,419'

Shigatse, Tibet       12,585'

Juliaca, Peru           12,549'

Puno, Peru              12,530'

Oruro, Bolivia          12,159'

Lhasa, Tibet            12,001'

La Paz, Bolivia         11,942'

Leh, India               11, 562'

Cusco, Peru             11,152'

Huancayo, Peru        10,013'

Huarez, Peru            10,007'

Tulcan, Ecuador          9,511'

Ipiales, Colombia        9,508'

Quito, Ecuador            9,350'

Debre Berhan, Ethiopia 9,318'

Mexico City, Mexico       7,349'

Santa Fe, US                7,198'

Flagstaff, US                 6,910'

Denver, US                   5,276'

Life Spans

The task at hand, mundane. Topping off the air in my car's tires via a portable air pump. (Get one.) And while I waited, a glance down at the ground. 

A butterfly. Resting? I waited, looked closer, then gently rocked it back and forth with my index finger.  No, not resting. I wondered, had it dropped from some great height? Had it landed first and then died? A short life? A couple of weeks perhaps as an adult butterfly?

I remember being a bit unnerved by turning 35. Felt like a sort of midway point. But I changed my mind when I figured I wasn't halfway through my adult years. That would be around my mid-forties I calculated. Would I care? As I recall, I didn't.

Some weeks before my 70th birthday, I did some simple arithmetic. On the date I was born in 1953, someone turning 70 that day was born in 1883. Someone born this year on my birthday will be 70 in 2093. Maybe all that is a goofy notion--certainly not my goofiest. But, I find the span of several lives when put that way eye-opening. 

And, dear reader, if you are under, oh let's say 50, just roll your eyes and get on with whatever strikes you as a better use of your time. Or consider your life, the span of it to date. 

Have you loved and been loved? Have you laughed? Have you cried? Have you been surprised? Shocked? Amused? Learned some stuff? Seen new things? Been to new places?

Yes? Congratulations. Fifteen or 30. Ten or 50. Or 5 even. You have lived a full life. 

 

At 70

Might be a case of hubris, but I'm anticipating celebrating--very, very quietly--my 70th birthday tomorrow. Should I wake. But, so far, so good right up to the cusp of 70 years. We shall see. Or maybe I won't.

In my early to mid-fifties, I started using the phrase "Upright is all right" to signify my sense of how waking to another day, bed covers tossed aside, feet on the floor, marked a victory of a sort. Hey, look, still alive, and now on with the day. 

I did trot out the phrase occasionally when asked how I was doing by my students. Sometimes some were put off a bit by what they judged to be a cavalier dismissal of life's grandest possibilities. Some chuckled. Well, few, actually very few were amused. Probably just as well. 

Certainly I didn't intend to be dismissive of life, just trying to suggest life is not to be taken for granted. Perhaps too glibly for the subject matter. 

But, in fact, I am for want of a better term a life-ist. How incredible to be alive, to be an individual on this planet, this tilt-a-world that we think of as a home. Amazing. And then the solar system, the galaxy, and certainly even more preposterous, the universe.

And there may be soon 8 billion of us. Each one so highly improbable, and yet so very many of us--that notion, too, preposterous.

Now I am not going to stake any claim to living each day fully. I am not on any grand mission. Even as time hurtles forward, and I without much that demands being hurried. Even as I know--I can feel it--time, my days ahead, dwindle. True for all, but I do not remember making much of this notion in my teens or thirties or for that matter in my fifties. Despite my clever little aphorism.

Life-ism, I propose, is a head-shaking incredulity at us all. Our foibles, our triumphs, our cruelties, our passions, our disasters, our very being. How strange and marvelous to be alive.

Perhaps for a few more breaths, a last run of heartbeats. Or 20 years more. Now how could that possibly be?

Perhaps, time for a bucket list.

How about whatever the day should bring, should it come.

An Index (18)

           Largest Counties in US by Area

San Bernardino, California     20,105+ sq miles

Coconino, Arizona      18,661

Nye, Nevada     18,158

Elko, Nevada     17, 202

Mohave, Arizona     13,469

(Maryland     12,405)

Apache, Arizona     11,218

(Hawaii     10,931)

Lincoln, Nevada     10,636

(Massachusetts     10,554)

Sweetwater, Wyoming     10,491

Inyo, California     10,226

Harney, Oregon     10,226

(Vermont     9,616)

Vaughn Cort (F)

“Add to the account?”

“Yep, Pete. Thanks.”

The store proprietor wrote out the receipt. “Road crew from Kenora says they’re ready to run the plows this weekend if the forecast holds.”

“I heard the forecast.”

“Not ready to call it a season?”

“Not yet. Just think I can get in another week, maybe two.”

“Must be awfully cold in that old cabin.”

“Damn cold, truthfully. But just another week or so.”

“Okay, Vaughn. Maybe this week is the big one for you. Take care out there.”

Vaughn nodded and picked up a full sack in each arm. The walk down to the boat was short but steep. The gray cloud cover was low and the air hung heavy.

The ride out through the small passes between tiny islands, some not much more than rock outcroppings, took less than an hour. There were no gulls about, no loons, no geese. No sound other than his own motor. Vaughn was grateful for the lack of wind and the rain holding off.

Back at the dock, he tied off the boat and toted the groceries up the steps to the tiny prospector’s cabin. Vaughn set the bags on the counter and took off his coat and hat and tossed them on the small dining table. He lit the small gas stove to heat water for coffee, and as he put away his food for the week, he heard the wind come up.

He grabbed two of his 2-gallon jugs and jogged down to the pump. At least the lake water was still clean, and as always would be cold. Vaughn set the jugs down and began to pump. The line would take about 2 dozen pumps to get the water flowing.

Just as the water began to run, a chilly rain started to fall.  Vaughn slid a jug under the spigot. As the jug filled the wind blew a little harder and the rain intensified. He finished with the first jug and rubbed his wet bare hands on his jeans.

As he pushed the second jug into place, the first snowflakes appeared. He kept pumping as he felt the wind push harder against his back and legs soaked from the rain. Then the rain was gone, now all snow. Steadily he pumped, his hands turning red in the cold.

Vaughn gave his head a little shake. “What the hell am I doing out here?”

Lyman 2023

 

Junk Drawer (3)

Thanks to the US Geological Survey for confusing me about pronouncing the word subsidence while I was watching a YouTube video on recent activity at Geyser Hill in Yellowstone NP.  For some reason the spokesperson chose not to use the preferred long i, stress-on-the-second- syllable pronunciation. As for me watching such a video, cast your aspersions elsewhere.

I see Wendy's is promoting a late-night run for the Baconator, a double patty with 6 strips of bacon, and 2 slices of cheese for a 1010-calorie punch that certainly suggests sweet dreams. If you have the stomach for it. Hold the fries?

My cucumber plants in pots are suffering from heat stress this summer.  Never had this problem before and the temps haven't been unusually hot around here. Makes the skin and even the fruit bitter as in spit-out-immediately-bitter. Makes me appreciate a ripe, good-tasting cuke even more.

Over the last month or so, headlines proclaimed a stadium-sized asteroid approaching, or at least a container-sized asteroid, or one around 590 or 570 feet, depending on the news source. Last month one was the size of the Brooklyn Bridge. One, blue-whale-sized. Maybe 98 Scott Kaples would suffice for context. Or not.

An adult male grizzly bear may have a home range up to 600 sq. miles. Think a bit more than 13 miles in every direction from where you are reading this little tidbit.

A Chinese restaurant offered a free meal and other prizes to customers who could eat 108 spicy wonton dumplings. Why 108, I could not say. Regardless, authorities blocked the contest over the issue of food waste. Apparently, no Chinese version of our great patriot Joey Chestnut in the offing.

Last month my little effort here garnered a little over 2200 views out of Singapore. Why--well, why not? And if the translator gets it right, terima kasih!

Ebb Tide (F)

“Hey, hon.”

The waitress, early 20s I guessed, smiled.

“Coffee?”

“Yes. And 2 eggs fried hard, 2 pieces of bacon, and grits.”

“Add toast and that’s a number 6.”

“Whole wheat.”

She delivered the order to the cook and came back with the coffee.

“That’s a different looking jewelry box.”

“Oh, not for jewelry.”

“Is that a fish?”

“Yes, a salmon. The box was used to deliver salmon from British Columbia.”

She looked uncertain.

“In Canada.”

“Nice looking.”

She didn’t ask what I’m carrying in it if anything. I’m not sure if I would have said since I’m unsure of the protocol for something like this. My younger brother’s ashes. I didn’t think it was right to keep it—him—the ashes out in the car while I had breakfast.

His will said ashes scattered at Copper Inlet. He told me himself the last time I saw him. Near the end. Very near. We fished there a lot when we only had an hour or less.

So I’m brought him—the ashes—down from Raleigh. To catch an outgoing tide.

Our older brother thought it perverse.

“We’ve got a damn family plot. Same graveyard, same plot, over a hundred years. Ashes in the ocean. Whatever for?”

“He wanted it that way.”

“He couldn’t just go along with—“

“Not your call. End of story.”

“Well, there’s going to be a headstone.”

“Fine.”

I knew why Mark wanted a final connection to the water—to the fishing. The fishing we talked about during his final month. Talked about a lot.

Breakfast was set down in front of me. I put the box next to me on the seat.

He managed to laugh—actually laugh—when we talked out getting ourselves into a school of small bonefish when we were boys. It was early afternoon and the Florida sun was searing and our little boat rocked at anchor and bam!, the frenzy started.

We both were using John silver spoons and both had strikes at the same time. The fish were easily hauled in and released, and bam!, we had fish on. Over and over and over again.

Within minutes we were casting only 10-feet or so. In the shallow water we could see the fish streaking about wildly. Mark soon tired and just set his rod on the gunnel and let his lure drop. Bam!

He tried to shake the fish off, but to no avail. He laid down on the bottom of the boat while the fish thrashed about.

“Mark! Mark! You need to get that fish in. Mark!”

I had to take his rod and release the fish gulping for its life.

When I reminded Mark how he just quit and left that fish floundering, we both laughed.

He got so tired looking last year. The fatigue showed in his eyes, the droop of his mouth, the slump in his shoulders. A lot of times when sitting with me, he just let his head drop toward his chest.

Soon enough he would be bedridden.

I paid my bill and took the box with me to the car. I figured about 20 or so minutes to the inlet.

Traffic was light enough, my mind kept looping back to his last days.

“I won that dolphin tournament out of Edisto.” Mark nodded toward a plaque on the living room wall.

“Under 20 pounds. Weak.”

“It was big enough.”

“Well, yes, but still weak.”

I cringed after repeating the word. He could barely lift his head to nod.

I parked on the island side and grabbed the box. It occurred to me that maybe there was a law against throwing ashes off the bridge.

About a third of the way out on the bridge—the tide clearly ebbing—I turned toward the ocean. There was a light sea breeze. I took the top off the box and set it by my feet.

Maybe I should have said something about his life, offered words to capture his spirit, but I couldn’t think it through in the moment.

“Here you go, Mark.”

I shook the box out over the railing and the ashes on the breeze were pushed back under the bridge and out of sight on the tide.

Greenville 2023 

Sopapillas (F)

“So, you and Hal went down to Tijuana for the evening?”

Teddy’s on a break after a set with his quintet at the Holiday Inn near the airport in San Diego.

“Yep, he wanted a taste of Mexico.”

I laughed.

“I know a girl down there.”

I laughed again.

“She ever see you play? Especially the matching jackets. Pretty cool.”

“Leave it alone.”

“All right. So this girl?”

“Maria.”

“Stop it. A girl across the border named Maria. Just stop, man.”

“How it is.” He took a drag off a Camel. “She’s a dancer.”

“Oh, no doubt.” I laughed. “Stripper?”

He took another drag and shrugged. “Ballet.”

“Okay, so you’re taking Hal across the border to meet Maria, a ballerina.”

“Yep, that’s the story. Hal’s from Milwaukee. You know he wants exotic.”

“Jeez, Teddy.”

“Hey, I know. So I had a night off—a Monday night. We crossed the border around eight or so, just before sunset. Maria’s uses a small apartment over by the beach. Belongs to an aunt.”

“Maria ever come see you play?”

“Nope.”

“Afraid she’d never leave if she heard the stylings of Teddy Street?”

“We got to her place and she wanted to eat and listen to some music.”

“How did Hal act?”

“Quiet, you know how he gets. He just stood there, but he kept his eyes on her.”

“Let me guess, dark hair, dark eyes—raven-haired beauty?”

“Be a smartass. It’s okay.”

“You ever stay down there with her?”

“We go to a local bar that has an American trio—I worked with the drummer back in the day at North Texas State. Hal is all gentleman with Maria, opening her car door, the bar door, pulling out her chair. He kept calling her mademoiselle. Maria giggled when he pulled out the chair.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Maria and I get beers, Hal goes for a large margarita—some godawful strawberry thing.”

“No. Not a chance.”

“Yep. Maria kept making eye contact with me and raised an eyebrow as if to ask—“

“What is this guy all about?”

“Probably thinking worse. When we start a second beer, Hal is on another margarita. Maria grabs my forearm and nods toward a small dance floor in front of the band. We get up and Hal asks if we are leaving. Just going to dance, I tell him.”

“Is this story one without hope for Hal?”

“You knew the answer as soon as you asked about the evening.”

I laughed.

“So Hal turned around in his chair and watched us dancing—“

“Tune?”

“So What.”

“Nice.”

“He’s tapping out the time and turning around and sucking down that margarita. After our dance, we go sit down and Hal’s ordering a third.”

“Let me skip to the finale. He gets drunk. Hal is drunk in Mexico.”

“The way they poured, he was hammered.”

“Worst moment, when he went for suave and made a pass at Maria?”

“No, not the worst.”

“Not the worst?”

“Yep, not the worst. Never got that far.”

“Damn.”

“He ordered sopapillas for everyone in the bar.”

I took a long look at Teddy. “Damn, I would never been able to make up something like that.”

“No one would.”

Lyman 2023

 

 

  

Oh, That Flying Fickle Finger of Fate!

Passing several miles south of the Frying Pan Shoals Tower, roughly 34 miles off Bald Head Island, around midnight, the July air hot and thick--thick like I remember from my childhood in Florida--a light breeze out of the southeast, we were making around 5 or 6 knots.

The call came from a fellow crew member when I raced on a Pearson 33 out of Charleston. Hamp told me a friend of his from his workplace built a 28' trimaran and was taking his family on a trip up the coast to Beaufort, NC. (Pronounced Bo-firt, by the way. Bew-fird is in SC.)

The rub, he didn't have time to get his boat back to Charleston. So, Hamp asked, was I interested in sailing the boat back down the coast. Absolutely. 

I was on the helm, Hamp below fixing a sandwich. Seas were 1-2 feet, sometimes ship lights were seen at some distance. We were on a close reach, pressure on the wheel light.

Wap! Something struck the headsail. 

Wap! Something struck the mailsail. Hamp stuck his head up from below.

Thump! Something hit me on the left side of my chest. What the hell!

Flying fish! 

Hamp ducked back down the companionway. I scrunched down behind the wheel.

More strikes on the sails. Another one soared by me.

I hear one thrash around on the cabin top before getting itself overboard.

Wap! Another and another. Wap! Wap! Wap!

How many strikes, I don't know for sure. How long the barrage, I don't know that either.

What I do know is the school passed. 

What I do know is we were a very, very, very small target nearly 3 dozen miles offshore. 

What were the odds? Well, I don't know, but I can say I know how it feels to take a flying fish in the chest. 

Now about that barracuda brought into a small cockpit when fishing offshore on another boat--well, it was a special moment, too.

Kristen Barrow (F)

Kristen Barrow pulled her chair close to her husband’s hospital bed. She set her brown paper bag on her lap.

“It’s Kris, Ben. Time to have us some lunch. I see, looks like, you have meatloaf and a baked potato and some carrots. I think that’s apple spice cake. Maybe.”

Ben, knees bent to his chest, thin arms wrapped around his legs, stared at the ceiling.

“I’m having tuna fish. I know, I know, always tuna fish. And some cottage cheese. No, no yogurt today.”

Kristen set her sandwich on a napkin on her lap.

“I guess that coffee is for me. Yes, I see the two creams. The girls here are so nice. Did I tell you Bill called?”

A low groan came from Ben, and he seemed to be gulping air, one, two, three gulps and then his mouth closed.

“Yes, Bill called. Benny is going to Carolina. Of course, he knows you will be pleased. Of course, going up to Knoxville was going to be too expensive. Much too much if you ask me.”

Kristen looked out the window. Spring flowers were potted around the central courtyard. One of the workers was watering one of the larger pots.

“Oh those geraniums look really pretty. Remember how we lined the back patio with geraniums that one year?”

Ben leaned away from her, his head and shoulder touching the wall. Again, a low groan.

“I started the tomatoes and cucumbers yesterday. I don’t think I am going to bother with squash this season. Of course, local squash will be in soon enough, so no reason to be concerned with that.

“Susan called. She’s taking the twins to Carowinds for their 12^th birthday. Ed is going to be in Memphis. Some kind of presentation. I don’t know what really. Of course, his work is important.”

Kristen set her sandwich down. She took up the cake and his fork.

“Yes, I was right, right on the mark. Apple spice. Pretty good, if I do say so myself. Pretty good, Ben.”

She too another bite and then set the small dish down.

“I got my lunch at Chick-fil-A yesterday. You know how I love that sandwich. Of course, not with a pickle. You know how I—I don’t want to say the word hate—how I dislike pickles.

“Haven’t heard much from Sandy. Of course, you know how she is. Not a chatterbox. You know she is a reader like you. Rather have a book in front of her rather than another person. But she’s a good person. She really is.

“I think all our children are good people, Ben. Of course, as you know, there were some challenges. But that’s to be expected, isn’t it?”

Ben turned his head back to the ceiling and gulped, once, twice.

“Life is going to provide some challenges. Lots of people have challenges."

“I’m not sure I like this cottage cheese. They didn’t have my usual brand. Ben, you would be surprised at how many things are in short supply. Some things have just gone completely missing. I don’t know why we can’t get those little mint cookies we liked to have in the evenings.

“Well, we just make do, don’t we? That’s what we have always done, haven’t we?"

“Oh, the Cordes asked about you the other day. I told them you were doing okay.”

Ben groaned.

“Yes, Ben, I know. That’s what I’ve been saying. We just make do.”

Greer 2023

 

  

I Could Do Worse

I could do worse—you know—than to push

kids on swings

 

in the evening as the sun eases behind

the trees

 

significantly worse

dramatically worse

terribly worse

horribly worse

 

catastrophically worse

 

the smallest hands

finger the chains—trust—drowsy, 

more a rocking than a swinging,

mostly hushed,

nearly, a trance

 

cataclysmically worse

 

the older kids clamor for new heights—toes skyward,

legs pumping—I, grounded, merely push,

they climb, their squeals pitch higher

 

flyovers

two geese

a passenger jet

 

apocalyptically worse

 

higher still, a veil of thinning clouds

a waning crescent moon

Mars ascending

tragically, worse

Lyman 2023