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A Glitch in the Matrix

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  On school days, my job is to pick up my grandchildren at our community school bus turnaround, a scant quarter mile from my house. I like to get there early — I wouldn’t want my little darlings to get wet or cold. On this random Thursday, I’m parked at the bus stop on a misty afternoon, both dogs asleep in the backseat, awaiting the bus. I listen to a podcast as the heater blows toasty warm. Movement catches my eye, and I spot a bright yellow jeep when it passes, typically just ahead of the bus. Sure enough, I hear the crunch of gravel, and I spot the approaching school bus. I clear off the front seat, then roll down my window and unlock the doors in anticipation. I glance up, ready to greet the children, expecting the bus parked in the turnaround. There is nothing there. It is absolutely quiet. Except for a bird calling in the distance. I look all around. Confused. There is nowhere for the bus to go. The lane narrows just beyond me before climbing a steep hill. Maybe there is a n...
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Heathen Child

  Sunday school and the smell of felt boards linger in my nose I learn about heaven, of angels singing hosannas in a celestial choir Of peace and joy eternal As a child I think it sounds very dull As a child I figure I'll end up there But not just yet.
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Bowling Blues

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  I took Henry bowling yesterday.  He’s been a few times while I haven’t bowled in likely 25 years.  You may be thinking I’m building up a defense on how my 11-year-old grandson beat me in all three games, and you’d be right.  It’s particularly galling since I’d bragged to him about consistently beating my mother who bowled on a league team for decades.   Back in the 1940s era there was a bowling alley in the Wendling/Marcola area, a popular activity which provided a little pin money (ha) to my MIL who’d work as a pin setter whenever she could.  Before the advent of electronic pin resets, bowling was more labor intensive as each pin was hand set.  Pin setters waited at the end of each lane for the first ball then they rushed to hand remove any fallen pins.  After the second ball all pins were reset for the next bowler.  Repeat until the game was over.     Now lanes boast digital scor...
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Lady in the Pink Dress

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  Mom was walking in downtown Myrtle Point and heard some commotion ahead.  She got closer and realized her young nieces were the culprits.  Aunt Carol left them in the car while she did some business (you could do that in those days,) and Gayle, Jeanne, and Betsy had rolled down the windows and were popping up to shout at passersby then ducking down to hide amid loud giggles.   Mom heard, “Look at the fat lady in the pink dress” and this is where she lost control of the story because at this precise point one of us would ask “Were you the fat lady in the pink dress?”  That really got her goat.  Kids.
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Good Gravy

She invited Neil to Sunday dinner,  a bold move considering she couldn’t be absolutely sure  we’d behave ourselves,  Michael, Bruce, me and Jim.   She’d prepared her usual company meal:   exceedingly dry roast beef, mashed potatoes and gravy,  green salad, various veg,  and some scrumptious home baked dessert for later.   We sat at the dining room table and served ourselves family style.     Conversation flowed smoothly,  nobody asked,  “Ah Neil, exactly what are your intentions with our mother?)     We were behaving!   One of us broke out a favored refrain,  “Mom, Neil doesn’t like your roast.”  Neil bit to our delight.  He, stammering, “that no, he really liked the roast.”     The gravy boat was dry  Mom refilled it in the kitchen  and offered  “more gravy?” to Neil.     Walking around the table she stumbled,  lost co...
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Copper Canyon Bound

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  Travelling in Mexico US Hwy 18 Mex 15 - Copper Canyon Bound Tucson to Los Mochis via bus is a long ride.  Gone are the rickety busses so stuffed with passengers they’re hanging out the windows as live chickens squawk in the aisles portrayed in old western movies. This bus has air conditioning, comfortable seats, and drivers professional in crisply ironed white shirts and dark blue slacks.  A video screen plays American movies voiced-over in Spanish, the audio lingering a few beats after the lips stop.  Crossing the border proved easy.  Everybody got off the bus, lined up with their bags and punched a metal button on a pole hooked to a stop light.   We foreigners were directed to a Customs counter where we filled out a form, bought a tourist visa ($200p), then back on the bus.   Mexico Hwy 15 stretches narrowly across flat desert, oncoming traffic rushes by with a suction of wind shear.  My travelling companion ...
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Living in Honolulu

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  Jim and I moved into Honolulu proper to a 10 th  floor apartment with a lanai overlooking city to ocean. I don’t know quite why we moved there as Jim always took care of relocating, (and I loved that about him.) So he chose the place, maybe forgetting his fear of heights.  That lanai was a source of torture for the man. It was large enough to hold a table, several chairs, a hibachi, and plants. Jim always sat in the chair nearest the sliding door.  Always.  He would not join at the table whenever our portly friend Dick Royes was over for dinner. Maybe he worried about the tensile strength of the rebar supports.   Dick’s theory on the fear of height, one of his many interesting and often outrageous ideas, was that it wasn’t so much the height that people were afraid of, but that they wanted to jump off - and feared they would.   One night I was shooting photos from the lanai during a lightning storm over the ocean when Jim not...
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