Don’t know who came up with this list, so I just have to hope it’s in the public domain. It’s definitely in the funny domain.

1. When one door closes and another door opens, you are probably in prison.

2. To me, “drink responsibly” means don’t spill it.

3. Age 60 might be the new 40, but 9:00 pm is the new midnight.

4. It’s the start of a brand new day, and I’m off like a herd of turtles.

5. The older I get, the earlier it gets late.

6. When I say, “The other day,” I could be referring to any time between yesterday and 15 years ago.

7. I remember being able to get up without making sound effects.

8. I had my patience tested. I’m negative.

9. Remember, if you lose a sock in the dryer, it comes back as a Tupperware lid that doesn’t fit any of your containers.

10. If you’re sitting in public and a stranger takes the seat next to you, just stare straight ahead and say, “Did you bring the money?”

11. When you ask me what I am doing today, and I say “nothing,” it does not mean I am free. It means I am doing nothing.

12. I finally got eight hours of sleep. It took me three days, but whatever.

13. I run like the winded.

14. I hate when a couple argues in public, and I missed the beginning and don’t know whose side I’m on.

15. When someone asks what I did over the weekend, I squint and ask, “Why, what did you hear?”

16. When you do squats, are your knees supposed to sound like a goat chewing on an aluminum can stuffed with celery?

17. I don’t mean to interrupt people. I just randomly remember things and get really excited.

18. When I ask for directions, please don’t use words like “east.”

19. Don’t bother walking a mile in my shoes. That would be boring. Spend 30 seconds in my head. That’ll freak you right out.

20. Sometimes, someone unexpected comes into your life out of nowhere, makes your heart race, and changes you forever. We call those people cops.

21. My luck is like a bald guy who just won a comb.

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

 

I fill my mouth with summer, lips purple from the juice of tart blueberries I pluck from the bushes. Just past the ripening tomatoes my mother bends down to harvest a perfect cantaloupe. The smell of green is heavy in muggy August air as we amble from our garden toward the modest split level we call home. I follow my mother through the screen door and into the kitchen, where the mustard yellow linoleum cools my small bare feet.

My mother places the melon in a fruit bowl and smooths black bangs off her serious face. Sensing movement outside the window she peers through the glass.

“Don’t you dare,” she whispers to them, to herself.

On tiptoe I can see above the sill and watch as two sandy-haired teenagers, maybe twins, sun-blessed and confident, stride across our yard and past our garden. On long legs they easily vault our split rail fence and land in the farmer’s field. They will ramble past the rooster, hens, and haystacks, past the old red barn to the creek, where clear cold water rushes over rocks like laughter from boys’ mouths.

My mother jolts into action and grabs her weapons: a basting brush from a drawer and a jar of Sue Bee Clover Honey from a cupboard, where it resides next to her bottle of nerve pills. Armed with brush and honey, my mother pushes hard against the whining screen door and marches outside. I follow this aproned warrior, two steps of mine to each one of hers. I follow her through our yard and past our garden to our fence, where we stop under the cloudless sky.

I sit cross-legged in the grass and watch my mother briskly paint the grey wooden slats with golden honey. She paints and paints until the honey is gone and the fence glistens in the sun. A sickly sweet scent rises in the afternoon heat.

My mother steps back to survey the work and breathes deeply, arms folded over her chest. Beads of sweat wander down her flushed cheeks. I stand up and tug on her thin cotton dress.

“Mom,” I say, “why did you put all that honey on our fence?”

Through a tight smile she tells me the sandy-haired boys will be sorry they ever cut through our yard. “When they come back,” she says, “those boys will stick to it like flies.”

Tess Kelly lives and writes in Portland, Oregon.

 

 

So, we’re on a game drive in the Tarangire National Park, Tanzania. Three of us couples in a typical van…the kind you’ve seen in a hundred documentaries and Wild Kingdom episodes. We’ve been circling the preserve for hours, our guide and driver, Lucas, short-waves with fellow guides on the same mission…turning the concept of a zoo on its head. Instead of bored animals stuck in cages ignoring us bipeds on the move, we sit in mobile cages while they move about, ignoring us. Every so often the radio squawks followed by a burst of Swahili exchange and we hare off in another direction to form an impromptu gathering, like outdoor concert fans at a rock fest, to gape at—a herd of elephants, or a leopard stalking a waterbuck or hyenas fighting and feasting on a wildebeest. Since two of us guys are of a ‘certain age’ and have been advised to keep hydrated we’re subject to frequent quick pit stops…made all the quicker for possible hostile fauna in the surrounding bush.

Anyway, Lucas just got another ‘heads up’ and we tore off to join a semi-circle of safari vans horseshoed around a pair of, what we soon came to realize were mating lions. The male slowly rose to all fours, stretched, eased over to the female laid out before him, yawned, climbed onto her back, assumed the position, twitched twice. The lioness viciously snarled and snapped at him. He got up, walked a few steps away and settled back down for a nap. Ten minutes later, he roused himself and repeated.

This time when the female nipped and growled, I said, “Honey, reminds me of us.”

“Ha! Not anymore it doesn’t,” she replied.

Everyone in the van laughed.

“No, No, I mean the snapping and snarling, part.” I counted five pairs of eyes on me. “Time was, we would aggravate each other over some damn thing or another. Have words. Sit and stew over hurt feelings forever until we eventually decided to make up. But now, when we annoy each other, we just let it out, doesn’t matter where we are or who’s watching. Slam. Bam. Then we get back to shopping, dining, or whatever else we were doing. Much better. Don’t you think?”

Lucas turned to look at me and stared—like a strange animal had just broached his rolling cage.

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/

 

Dear LouAnn

I received the poem you emailed me this morning, and while I have never before responded to what some would call spam mail, the power of your words has compelled me to react.

Of course, the title blew me away and is responsible for me opening your message in the first place.

steam execrate munificent knifelike perturbation

It’s almost erotic in its jangled phonetic alliteration and who uses pertubation these days? Fantastic, just spellbinding.

And then with no preamble, you catapult into the cavity of your cathartic calvacade of free verse:

catheter execrate capacity catheter
consultative particular perdition fixate vulcan sara
propos installation steam ann
fixate declamatory particular celery propos bracken particular nakayama celery bracken
vulcan celery hawkins swedish
tennessee rockbound va bracken abstain particular makeup mckay
gustav papery letitia uproot va bellicose va celery rockbound

I’ll admit that the back and forth emphasis on assonance and consonance was a bit off-putting at first, but then it just grows on you. The allegorical references to sara, ann, hawkins, mckay, gustav and letitia were inspired. As symbols of repressed ids, it conveys perfectly the pent up sexual desire they feel for one another.

The reference to nakayama was a little bit obscure for me, but upon Googling the word, I learned that they are Japanese wheels and that helped the whole celery metaphor to fall into place.

Unfortunately, bracken remains a mystery. I know that it’s a type of fern, but it seems so antithetical to the importance of the celery and it’s rarely found in Sweden, so I could use some help in understanding this element.

The repetition of rockbound did not go unnoticed either. It seemed to me to be an ideal way to anchor the verse to the hard, unyielding firmament, and the emotional cold shoulder given to the poem by those who do not understand it.

Once again, I compliment you on your work and look forward to reading more of your poems in the very near future.

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

I’ve known the family for what?…thirty years? Neighbors down the street. A shout and wave when the guy walked by and some fried chicken at the annual block party. Nice that he—and what’s his wife’s name again?—invited me to their 50th anniversary party. I probably won’t know anybody unless they included some of our other neighbors.

Man, they really did it up right with a huge white tent and caterers. Food looks good and tons of people. I’ll just drop off my anniversary card and stand over here for a while.

“Hi, coach.”

I don’t know this young woman. Apparently, she thinks she knows me. What is she, maybe 35ish. Trim. Looks like she works out.

“I’ve always appreciated that you got me into running. Still do three miles a day and a marathon once.”

I smile.

“I can still hear your voice on the last lap at State finals, “Reel her in. Pick up the pace. Can do. Can do, Sarah.”

So, her name is Sarah. Would’ve liked her for a daughter. I might have had to teach her to identify people better before engaging them in conversation. Still. She seems bright. Self-assured. Someone did a good job raising her.

“How do you like the party? All us sisters pitched in. I bought the beer. Want me to get you some?”

I shake my head, hold up my hand. Oh, so she’s one of the family. Do I remember a kid walking a dog? A beagle. Could have been her.

“Sarah!” another young woman calls. “Come say hi to coach Mack.”

Sarah looks over to a gathering of three more women about her age surrounding a pale, gray-haired man, washed-blue eyes, hunched. She looks back at me. Checks me out. My blond-gray hair, blue eyes, standing taller than the other guy. Tanned. She looks at the coach one more time then back at me. She hunches her shoulders in a ‘oops’ gesture.

I reach out, touch her shoulder. “Were you the sister who used to run with your dad? Go past my house every so often?” Sarah nodded. “Well, I suppose you wouldn’t know this, but the sight of you two jogging got me off the couch. Been running regular ever since. So, thanks coach.”

She bowed her head at me, a confused expression between pleased and embarrassed flitting across her face, and left to join her sister.

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/

 

Another in a series of chance meetings with local celebs.

Coming out of the Cerrillos Road Sherwin Williams store (you know, the people with the Cover the Earth with paint logo), and who should I almost knock over but Leonardo.

Leo! Come va? I see you got your hands full with 2 gallons there. Fawn and burgundy is it? Working on something new?

Art is never finished, only abandoned.

Don’t I know it. I hope you’re doing something easier than a ceiling.

Simplicity is the ultimate sophistication.

True dat. Hey, are you still seeing that babe with the great smile? I thought you two would make a great couple.

Marriage is like putting your hand into a bag of snakes in the hope of pulling out an eel.

Sheesh, man, you’re making me cry.

Tears come from the heart and not from the brain.

Well, in my opinion, Mona was a real looker.

The greatest deception men suffer is from their own opinions.

Hey, I was just saying she seemed like someone you could spend some quality time with.

Blinding ignorance does mislead us. O! Wretched mortals, open your eyes!

Harsh, but I hear you. Just looking out for you. You feel me?

The noblest pleasure is the joy of understanding.

That’s what I’m talking about. And people still respect your art. You’re still considered one of the greatest of all time.

Nothing should be so greatly feared as empty fame.

Gotcha. Well, I don’t want to hold you up, what with a gallon in each hand, I’m guessing you need to get to work.

As a well spent day brings happy sleep, so a life well spent brings happy death.

A little too dark for me man, but it was good to see you again and know that you’re still painting. Arrivederci, ciao, ciao.

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