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Archives for April 2022

Round and Round

April 28, 2022 By admin

shuttle bus in desertShe doesn’t have much pick-up but she gets everyone where they need to go. Round and round she goes, from the portico out front of the hotel down to the strip and back. Between the two vans, there’s a shuttle coming through every eight minutes.

You would think that would be enough to satisfy most guests. You never have to wait more than eight minutes to get underway. But people on vacation don’t seem to know how to relax. They board the shuttle van and make nervous chitchat for a few minutes and then get borderline belligerent if we don’t get moving right away. In a hurry to get down to the casino and lose their money, their sense of time, and in some cases, their minds.

“Just waiting for a few more guests before we head out. Want to give everyone a chance to get down to the strip.” What I really wanted to say is “Pipe down, asshole. We’ll get there when we get there.”

But semi-retired geezers can’t afford to be rude to the tourists. In our laughable three hours of training, they stressed to us how the shuttle drivers are just as representative of the hotel as the desk clerk or the concierge. “You’re the face of the hotel as much as any other employee,” were the exact words. If that’s true, the hotel is looking mighty tired.

We don’t earn tips like the airport shuttle drivers often do when they assist passengers with luggage. Just our ten bucks an hour and no real bennies to speak of. The choice of hefting heavy luggage or just doing the driving was easy for me. Why throw your back out for a few dollars in tips. I’ll just be polite and helpful to the guests and take my check.

I do have a reoccurring fantasy while I’m driving. I just keep driving past the strip and none of the passengers say anything. Mile after mile out into the desert I drive until you can no longer see the tall buildings or the bright lights at night. Finally I stop along a stretch of highway that is completely desolate. I open the door. “Okay folks, this is your stop. Remember, the shuttle runs every thirty days, so be sure you come back to this stop when you’re ready to return. Good luck and I hope everyone’s a winner.”

It’s not much, but this fantasy can keep a man happy for hour after hour of going round and round, and that means a lot when you’re semi-retired.

Jay Harrison is a writer and creative consultant for DesignConcept. You can also visit his author page here. His newest mystery novel, Rio Puerco Demise is available on Amazon here. His first mystery novel, Head Above Water, is available on Amazon.

 

Filed Under: FICTION

Whassup, Doc?

April 28, 2022 By admin

doctor taking blood pressureAfter seventy it was clear to me that there would no longer be such a thing as a “routine” checkup.

“Well now, hello there, Dr. Harold H. Stuart, MD? How are you, my esteemed personal physician and long-time friend?”

“Great, really great, thanks for asking. You look good, Jack. Let’s see, this chart says the last time you were in the office was August. Are you and the new girlfriend still playing golf?”

“All the time. She’s getting really good, drives the ball a few yards past me and putts like Lexi Thompson.”

“Sounds serious. Here, take off the jacket, please, and let me check your blood pressure.”

“Oh, sure. We’re not serious serious. It doesn’t really feel like love or anything. I’d say we have lots of fun being together, most of the time. Both of us are twice burned, you know. Wasn’t her first ex one of your patients?”

“Right. Benjamin Reed. Moved up to Denver, I think, after they split up. Your BP is 136 over 82, Jack- which is just about right for your age. Good to see you keeping the weight off.”

“Yeah, it’s a struggle, but I feel better when my jeans aren’t so tight in the waist.”

“Are you still taking the Prozac? And that’s it for your medications?”

“Yeah, just 25 milligrams once a day. “I don’t really feel the difference, but Janice says I’m a lot easier to be around when I take it. So I take it.”

“I hear that from a lot of patients. How did it go with the dermatologist? You saw Dr. Lee I believe?”

“Yeah. She’s good. There are some spots up here on the top of my head that she called “suspicious.” She did a biopsy and sent it off to the lab. I haven’t heard anything, so I guess no news is good news, don’t you think?”

“I have a note to return a call from her that came in today. Before you go, let me just take a quick look at your scalp. Well, there appears to be a little inflammation up here. Is it sensitive to the touch?”

“No, not too much. I notice it sometimes when I shampoo.”

“Okay, let me give Dr. Lee a call this afternoon and I’ll be in touch with you first thing tomorrow. Always good to see you, my friend. Stay well.”

And I’m supposed to sleep tonight?

Harpeth Rivers is a New Mexico transplant from all over who has written songs about isosceles triangles, played bass guitar in a band, and declared himself “Retro-eclectic.” His novel-in-progress is entitled Last Year.

 

Filed Under: FICTION

Evil Bacon

April 28, 2022 By admin

bacon cookingMom knew Dad loved bacon. It was why she hated it. To hate something your husband loved, that was her way to apply thumb screws.

I wondered: Why bacon? I would understand hating the smell of shit. But bacon? Is there anything better? Garlic, maybe, but bacon is tops.

As she aged, Mom began to focus on hate. “Can you believe that guy?” she said one day, after their neighbor poked his head over the fence and said “Hi.”

Mom died a few years back. Every time I make bacon, I think of how she hated it and Dad loved it. He always ordered it, with breakfast at Denny’s (“Always consistent”). He loved the smell. The crunch. The way it would bathe like a robin in a birdbath full of runny yolk. The way the bacon and yolk would sit like chatty friends on the lip of his toast (“Dry”) as it rose toward his mouth.

It was a small thing that made life worth living.

It was a small thing that drove Mom nuts.

Anyone who didn’t order pancakes, like her, was suspect. She and Dad were together forever, but something ate at the heart of them. Dad never cooked. Late in their lives, when they spent their days dying, I would go over early before she awoke, and make Dad bacon and eggs.

So as not to wake her, I would gently remove the pan from the cupboard, set it softly on the burner, turn on the flame. I needed the fan, to evict the smell, but it was noisy. I just hoped it didn’t wake Mom.
I peeled the bacon from its package and set three strips in the pan. And waited. Waited for the sizzle, the fat bubbles, the aroma, for it to be done, I hoped, before Mom would appear.

“What’re you doin’?” she growled one time, suddenly in the doorway to the hall, from the depths of her housecoat and slept-in hair. “Why’re you using that pan?”

Dad just stood there, waiting for me to finish. I would greet my mother, break eggs into the pan, and wait in silence before sliding the Evil Bacon and eggs onto Dad’s plate. He always smiled as he thanked me and took it to the table. It was all I could do.

Stuart Watson lives in Hood River, OR

Filed Under: ESSAY

He Makes His Marx

April 8, 2022 By admin

Groucho MarxYou may be as surprised as I was that once again, I ran into someone that everyone presumed was dead. And what a pleasure it was to see Groucho Marx, even if it was a little disorienting to see him exiting a lingerie store.

Groucho, how are you?

I never forget a face, but in your case, I’ll be glad to make an exception.

What a kidder. Not sure you know this, but lots of folks think you’re dead.

I intend to live forever, or die trying.

That’s great but it’s still hard to believe.

Who are you going to believe, me or your own eyes?

What’s your secret then?

The secret of life is honesty and fair dealing. If you can fake that, you’ve got it made.

But you always seem to be so cheerful, if not ecstatic.

I, not events, have the power to make me happy or unhappy today. I can choose which it shall be. Yesterday is dead, tomorrow hasn’t arrived yet. I have just one day, today, and I’m going to be happy in it.

That’s a great philosophy for this crazy real world we live in.

I’m not crazy about reality, but it’s still the only place to get a decent meal.

And getting a decent meal is not so cheap these days.

Money frees you from doing things you dislike. Since I dislike doing nearly everything, money is handy.

You could get back on TV again with You Bet Your Life. Netflix would jump on that!

Television is where you watch people in your living room that you would not want near your house.

You could be right about that. It’s an interesting philosophy.

Those are my principles, and if you don’t like them… well, I have others.

Say, before I let you go, do you have an advice or wise words for posterity?

Why should I do anything for posterity? What has posterity ever done for me?

Point taken. I’m glad you’re still sharp

Next time I see you, remind me not to talk to you.

Jay Harrison is a writer and creative consultant for DesignConcept. You can also visit his author page here. His newest mystery novel, Rio Puerco Demise is available on Amazon here. His first mystery novel, Head Above Water, is available on Amazon.

Filed Under: FICTION

Undies?

April 8, 2022 By admin

sheer pink laceAs I’ve muddled my way through retirement, I’ve pretty much let go of the idea that I need to accomplish anything. Just hanging out, enjoying simple pleasures. Trying not to worry but worrying anyway about Riley, our cat, and why he likes Dale better. It can’t just be about the food.

However, sometimes I get this idea – I can’t quite reach it – but it feels like something might be pulling me in a new direction. As per usual, I have few clues as to what that might be.

My prediction is that I’ll discover something special to write about, I’ll do some sort of long-distance walk or I’ll find a new focus for my cooking obsession. As I reflect on these speculations, it occurs to me all are a search for a singular passion, which I don’t appear to have. Always the dabbler, we’ll just have to wait and see what comes of my magical thinking.

I’m trying not to stress out about anything. Maybe retirement doesn’t need to be orchestrated. Just live it and do your best to stay healthy and happy. Or maybe it’s a cycle, and you just have to ride out each phase until the next one appears. I don’t know, but I’m open to endless possibilities.

I do these deep breathing exercises in bed before I even get up. It’s almost a form of meditation, and I think that’s when all will be revealed. Until then, I continue to putz around, taking care of things that perhaps don’t matter in the big picture but seem to provide a sense of steady comfort.

This might be the vaccine microchip talking, but I’ve actually had an urge to go shopping. Like not online and for real. It’s hard to imagine I could need anything beyond what’s delivered to my doorstep, but going to the mall seems like such a quaint thing to do.

Although we didn’t have much money, my mother loved clothes and was always good for a trip to The Broadway. It’s gone now. I vividly remember waiting outside with great anticipation for the doors to open before a big sale and was always enthralled with the lingerie section upstairs, where there was a big glass case of fancy peignoir sets. Oh my!

The peignoirs were gone, too, by the time I got old enough to wear them. I do like fancy undies and may splurge if I should make it to said mall. Although I remember the owner of a lingerie store telling me, “If you wait until you can afford it, you’ll look like hell in it.”

Donna Pekar is an aging badass (for real) who lives in California and writes Retirement Confidential.

 

 

Filed Under: ESSAY

Walking Boot

April 8, 2022 By admin

X-ray normal human's foot lateralYou’ve heard the expression, ‘shot himself in the foot.’ I wonder where it comes from. Maybe it goes back to WWI trench warfare where a self-inflicted wound meant a ticket home paid for with a permanent limp. Now, it more broadly refers to a tactless act or remark in a social context. Anyhow, when I saw my mechanic friend, Todd, outside a drug store wearing a walking boot, I tried to joke about it. But I actually shot myself in the foot by asking if he had shot himself in the foot.

Todd smirked and shrugged. Oh shoot, I thought. Now I stepped in it. There goes my preferred customer service and best-buddy discounts. He can’t really have shot himself in the foot, can he? Trying to back-pedal, I asked if he had been in a car accident. He shook his head. Next, noticing the shiny metal ‘safety plate’ peeking out of the torn leather of his left boot, I tried to blame something heavy like a transmission landing on his foot. Never a man of extra words, he shook his head again. Damn. Could he have actually shot himself in the foot?

“On accident,” he finally offered, “with a 9mm hollow point.”

What do you say to that? I surely did not want a blow-by-blow account of what was probably embarrassing for him and kind of nauseating to contemplate in detail. And besides, I had to get home with my wife’s pain medication. Todd seemed in no rush and when he shifted his weight to his good leg and blinked a few times and blinked, I realized he actually welcomed his chance to tell a story and wallow in some omigod reactions. This was probably the most excitement he had encountered in twenty years of tune ups, oil changes and greasy skinned knuckles. Here he stood like an unknown comedian enjoying his first break on a late-night show. He finally had a story to tell after having to endure my yarns and jokes every time I entered his shop.

It was my turn to play audience to medical chart notes, surgery progressions, recovery predictions and the long-term effects of losing feeling in two toes. I ‘uh-huhed’ and shook my head with compassion while foregoing the pressing question…what were you doing with the gun in the first place?

Sometimes, I guess, you just have to let a guy have his moment in the sun. He paid a lot for his patter even if he had to provide it himself.

Retired trainer, and writing instructor, Joe Novara and his wife live in Kalamazoo, Michigan. Writings include novels, short stories, a memoir and various poems, plays, anthologies and articles. Read more at https://freefloatingstories.wordpress.com/

Filed Under: ESSAY

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