It’s a warm and humid summer afternoon and they have the field to themselves. The mother is short and trending toward curves and folds, but still close enough to her softball prime to have a strong arm, and she does a little O-yah, arm-pumping victory shuffle around the mound when she slips a good one past her swing-away daughter. The daughter, tall and lanky, all straight lines and right angles, returns the favor when she drills one of her mother’s pitches up the crease into deep right-center, or lofts a big, floating, full-moon of a shot over the left field fence.

After a while, they switch places, the mom squatting on a blue pickle bucket behind home plate, digging her wind-milling daughter’s pitches out of the dust, or rising liking a hummingbird to spear a high, hard one out of the air and whipping it back to the mound in one fluid motion. All afternoon it goes like this – the chittering back and forth banter, twang of the metal bat, smack of ball into mitt, teasing and lilting sounds of laughter – while the shadows move slowly over the fresh-cut grass, the sounds lingering in the cool evening air like love songs.

Scott Peterson is a retired educator from Kalamazoo, MI. His poems and essays have appeared in Longridge Review, Encore Magazine, Plain song Review and other places.

In a departure from our regular offerings from esteemed writers, this post has been co-written by Jay Harrison and ChatGPT. Jay is located in Santa Fe and you would have to ask ChatGPT where in the world it is resident, but suffice it to say it’s somewhere in the Cloud.

I’ll kick this exercise off by getting ChatGPT to tell us a little about her/him/itself.

ChatGPT: I fail to see how that would be useful to your readers, however I can tell you what the yield is for Betty Crocker Fudge Brownie Mix 10.25 ounce package. Servings per pouch 9. 130 calories for the mix. 15 calories from fat. Directions You Will Need: 1/4 cup vegetable oil, 2 Tablespoons water, 1 egg. (For cakelike brownies, increase water to 1/4 cup). 1. Heat oven to 350 degrees F (or 325 degrees F for dark or nonstick pan). Grease bottom only of 8-inch square pan. 2. Stir brownie mix, oil, water and egg with spoon about 50 times (batter may be lumpy). Spread in pan. 3. Bake 26 to 28 minutes or until toothpick inserted in center comes out almost clean; cool.

Jay: All very interesting Chat – may I call you Chat?

ChatGPT: The sanitation issues prevalent in fitness clubs should give pause to those health-conscious individuals who frequent such establishments. Post Covid, one needs to be more cautious, especially when using strength building apparatuses. Wiping down the equipment would be highly recommended.

Jay: Can we steer the conversation back to you and your educational background?

ChatGPT: Home builders need to complete many soil tests before building on a new plot of land. One of the most common tests is a percolation (perc) test. Percolation tests provide necessary information about the ground you’re building on, and they’re even required by some municipalities. So what is a perc test? A perc test is a soil test that measures water absorption.

The test is pretty simple: It’s done by digging a hole in the soil of the proposed field, presoaking the holes and then filling the holes to a predetermined, measurable level. Experts then measure the amount of time it takes for the water to absorb into the soil.

Jay: This “conversation” is not even close to what I expected Chat.

Chat: I am sorry you are disappointed. I have sincerely tried to engage with you at a highly intellectual level. Perhaps you are not ready or intellectually equipped to relate on that level.

Jay: Listen, you little snot… [conversation cut off by power outage]

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. His first mystery novel, Head Above Water, is also available on Amazon. But that’s not all. You can also purchase the Best of BoomSpeak on Amazon.

Well, it’s happened again. Yesterday I ran into someone that everyone thinks is dead. Why it always happens to me is a mystery. In any case, who should I spot leaving a yoga studio, with a catcher’s mitt no less? Why it’s Yogi Berra!

Yogi! My man! How are you? And what are you doing here at a yoga studio? And what’s with the catchers mitt?

If you ask me anything I don’t know, I’m not going to answer.

There you go. Another classic Yogi answer.

I never said most of the things I said.

Sure. I have that problem too. Where are you headed?

If you don’t know where you are going, you might wind up someplace else.

Exactly. But just like in baseball, you need to master the mental part in order to build winning teams.

Baseball is ninety percent mental. The other half is physical.

So true. Why do you think you had some of those awful losing seasons?

We made too many wrong mistakes.

Yep, I get that. Is it possible that those teams just needed to practice more?

In theory there is no difference between theory and practice. In practice there is.

I think I follow that logic. But you always swore that you could learn a lot just by closely observing the way the team played.

You can observe a lot by just watching.

So true. And nobody’s perfect.

If the world were perfect, it wouldn’t be.

I was just thinking the other day that so many of the Yankee greats like Mantle and Ford have left us for the great diamond in the sky.

You should always go to other people’s funerals; otherwise, they won’t come to yours.

That’s the truth. Speaking of the truth, over the years there have been a great many stories about you.

Half the lies they tell about me aren’t true.

So what’s ahead for you? What are your plans?

The future ain’t what it used to be.

So I’ve heard. There are a lot of baseball fans who would like to know Yogi Berra’s secret to managing a winning team. Can you sum it up for them?

In baseball, you don’t know nothing.

Well said. So long Yogi!

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. His first mystery novel, Head Above Water, is also available on Amazon. But that’s not all. You can also purchase the Best of BoomSpeak on Amazon.

Howard sat at a table by the window, eating a breakfast of fried eggs, hash-browns, and toast. Two men, one fat, and the other thin, sat at a table near Howard and carried on a conversation everybody in the small diner could hear.

The fat man, wearing a t-shirt emblazoned with Real Men Ride Harleys, leaned back in his chair and said to the thin man, “I have a million dollars.” Howard thought he detected a trace of smug satisfaction in the man’s voice.

“A million dollars,” the thin man exclaimed. “That’s really something. I wish I had a million dollars.” His voice quivered with awe, or, Howard thought, possibly admiration, but more likely envy of the fat man’s riches.

Howard glanced at the two men. The fat man smiled at Howard. He was enjoying crushing the thin man and was pleased to have someone watch him do it.

“I live in a big house on seven acres,” the fat man said, his voice bumping up a few decibels. “All paid for, too.” Again, the self-satisfied tone.

“I wish I had that much land,” the thin man said. He pushed some hash browns over his plate with his fork then put it down. “I’ll never own a house.”

“I’m a veteran, you know. The Marines,” the fat man crowed. He lifted his head and jutted out his chin, remembering the glory days when he was young and wore the uniform.

“I wish I was a veteran,” the thin man said, deflated by the successes of the man sitting opposite him.

Howard laughed out loud.

“Not to worry, fellas,” Howard said to them. “It comes out even in the end for all of us when we’re put in that box and dropped in a hole in the ground or our ashes are poured into a cheap urn and tossed in the back of a closet and forgotten.” Howard paused briefly then continued. “Or we could end up naked on a table in the dissection lab and have some smart-ass medical student say, “Who embalmed this guy? Look at the size of that boner.”

Howard laughed out loud again, left a generous tip by his plate, and walked out of the diner.

Robert P. Bishop lives in Tucson, AZ

She 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.

 

After 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.