May 24, 2011, Into The Great Wide Open

 That year I rented some big sedan.

My Navigator and my grandson comprised the rest of the crew.

He's her nephew.

It was May, and we headed down through Washington and Oregon,

bound for the Southwest.

The photo was taken by my daughter.

Ridiculously enough, I couldn't get that close to the Canyon.

The effect was visceral and permanent.

I tried.

We hit all the places.

Death Valley.

Bonneville Salt Flats.

Zion.

There were ruins and petroglyphs! 

Given my choice, I would live somewhere in that wide open land.

To place a hand on a rock and feel its living heat, is not nothing.

To see so far, that the curve of Earth is almost discernable, 

is likewise something.

Have a wonderful day!

🤍

 

Millie Still Writes For the Paper

            It had been a while. Seemed like months had gone by since a reader had sent in a question to ask Ralph. This one was a poser. I kept drinking my coffee, thinking about it.
            I knew very little about this reader. She did’t introduce herself like so many of them had. All I had was a name. Lisa. T. Probably a female, right? No idea of her age.
What she said was: “Ask him, since he is so magnificently wise and serene, and can see through time and the forest, to explain what he knows about forgiveness.”
            This sounded to me like a bare question, stripped of all its supporting context. I wondered if she would take the answer back to someone and say, “See, it says right here...” Etc.
            I could but take the question to himself, and see what he made of it and report back to Lisa T. and anyone else who happened to read my column. His advise is usually well received. We shall see.
When Maeve hit my window ledge with her familiar soft thump, I asked her to ask Ralph if I could meet him somewhere or take him for a drive and pick his brain about a reader’s question.
            The next day was a Saturday, so I suggested tomorrow.
            “I’m pretty sure you can assume that’s fine,” said Maeve. “I’ll come back if it’s not. I’ll tell him you’ll be at the parking spot tomorrow morning. Then I’ll fly over and let him know you’re there.”
            “Thanks, Ma’am, I’ll be there unless I hear differently,” I told her.
I didn’t hear differently.
            So, first thing that Saturday morning I dressed for the woods, smooched Colin, and headed out to get some treats for the family. But, when I got to the store, I thought that the last thing they really needed were some of the goofy fruits of human commercial culture.
            It occurred to me that Ramona might rather have some useful practical supplies. With that thought in mind, I gathered up a couple dozen eggs, 4 lbs of butter, salt, sugar, pepper, onions, a 20lb sack of flour, and raisins. I knew they all loved raisins. You can’t pick those off bushes in the meadow!
            The sun had been up for an hour when I arrived at the wide spot on 20. Mist was still rising, and things were drying off.
            Maeve swooped by and then headed back into the forest. In a couple of minutes Ralph appeared.
            “Hey, Millie! Where’ve you been! Good to see you!” he said happily.
            “Oh, you know, working for the local rag, keeping house, and not going anywhere, I guess. You look well! Ramona takes good care of you!” I said.
            And he did look well! No matter how many times I saw Ralph, it was always kind of a shock how massive he was, how darkly shiny, and how he seemed to have an atmospherere of joy surrounding him. He grins a lot too.
            “I brought some things for Ramona. In the back seat there. I’ll wait, if you want to run them down to her, and tell her love from me!” I said.
            “Good idea!” Ralph said.
I sat and watched a few cars drive by, heading east or west. In about ten minutes,
he was back.
            “Mona was very glad to see those things! She sends her love back. Cherry says “Hi!’” he said, while carefully arranging himself in the passenger seat of the Escalade. He fastened the seat belt, but he thinks it’s funny to be tied in like that.
            “Help, help! I’m a test monkey,” he cried.
            “Me too,” I laughed.
            “Where do you want to go?” I said.
            “Let’s just go park up the forest road where we can look out over the land,” said Ralph
            “OK. Sounds nice,”
            I got back out on 20 and took the corner northward onto the nearest forest road. It was a familiar short trip to some pretty fancy scenery. Up there in a certain spot you could see just a bit of Puget Sound on the horizon.
            Parked, I said, “One of my readers asked me to ask you what you think about foregiveness. She didn’t say why she wanted your take. I feel almost like she has a point to make with someone, maybe.”
            “Huh, yeah. I see what you mean. Why ask me? She has all the facilities of mankind to refer to, and yet she wants to know what I think,” mused Ralph.
            He looked out over the landscape silently for a few minutes.
            “I have two main ideas about forgiving. Humans have a tough time with this, so maybe it makes sence to ask me, since I’m related to you guys, but not just the same.
            “First thing. Forgiving is constructive. It repairs a broken place. It makes it possible to continue. So the town is big enough fer the two of you.
            “There’s also something about authority. To not forgive is to assume authority over a situation yourself. You have to know who’s in charge. Is it you, or the Maker of All? He says you’re not the boss, give over. Let it be, right?
            “There is such a thing as being in authority under a higher authority, but maybe that’s not what she needs to hear about right now. I have the feeling that she is very angry at someone and needs to know what to do with that anger,” he said.
            “I think you’re right about that,” I agreed.
            “It’s hard to explain in English what I mean sometimes. Not my first language. Saslingua, is less mechanical, more about internal states. But, anyhow, I’ll try. This isn’t really big deal stuff. It’s everyday level.
            “Tell her that when she looks at the face of someone who has offended her, perhaps for years and very badly, that she has a choice. She can say to herself, “Whatever there is, there, is all there is, and it’s enough. I don’t require more. The question is over. I’ve drawn a line under it.
            “Then she might have another choice, to hang around or not, but at least the wound can close. She might have to forgive the same thing over and over until her own heart believes it,” he said at last.
            “You know what I think, Ralph? I think Lisa’s beef must be with one of your fans!” I said.
            “I bet you’re right! That would explain why she wants my words!” He laughed softly. “It’s odd to have fans, Millie.”
            We looked across the land from our vantage point for a while. Then I remembered that I had a big unopened bag of Gummi Bears in the pocket behind his seat.
            I pulled them out and showed him. “Remember?”
            “I sure do, Millie. I sure do!” Ralph said.
            “You should take them home to Cherry and Mona,” I said, starting the engine up.
            I drove him back home.

            Like a living dream, I watched him walk back into the forest.
            “I’ll tell her what you said, Ralph,” I whispered to the spot where he had been. “You bet I will!”
            Then, I drove back down 20, turned onto 530 and went home.
            Monday, I wrote it up. I hoped she could hear it.

🍀

The Voice From Under the Monitor

  

            Four of them live here. Lions, tigers, no bears. Now, who could be lurking behind the monitor? I knew it couldn’t be Mr. Baby Sir. He wouldn’t fit.
            Someone had slipped in behind there when I was out in the kitchen getting coffee or something.
            “What are you doing back there?” I said.
            “Nothing,” said the voice. OK, it wasn’t Suzie either. She mainly walks on the keyboard anyhow.
            “That’s impossible,” I said to the voice. “Are you breathing? Awake? Purring?”
            “Yes, but those things are automatic. I don’t do them myself on purpose,” argued the little debater.
            “You must have a purpose of some kind,” I advanced.
            “Purrr-pose? Porpoise? You’re funny, New Ma,” said the same voice. “I’m lurking and doing research. It’s what we do.”
            “A strange place to do research and lurking. What can you learn back there?” I said.
            “Well, of course I don’t know, until I do it. That’s logical, is it not?” the same debater said.
            “I’ll give you that point,” said I.
            “I love you,” said the hidden voice. A strong gambit!
            I could see paws and a tail, but it’s hard to tell them apart by their paws and tails.
            “I love you too. But, I can’t tell who you are!” I said.
            “I’m me!” mewed the voice, with absolute confidence.
            “Are you the same me who jumped into the fridge and wouldn’t come out this morning?” I inquired.
            A lot of muffled giggling issued forth.
            “He did it! Not me!” said the voice.
            “He would say the same, you know?” said I. “Both of you got into the fridge!”
            I could hear satisfied purring.
            Just then Booker strolled by, elegant, reserved, long bodied and slender, with his tail held straight up. He was heading out to the porch where the One Fast Cat wheel waited for him.
            “It’s you, Sweetie, isn’t it? I should have known,” I said.
            “Mew!” said the now identified voice.
            “Learn anything back there, Sweetie?” I asked him.
            “You have a lot of different stuff in baskets back here,” he said.
            “That stuff is my stuff, dude,” I said quickly.
            “I know,” he said complacently.
            I couldn’t see his paws anymore, but I could hear sinister stealthy little rattling noises.....

😻🧡😸

Catfurday Open Thread, May 16th! Incredible!

             I felt like talking about knitting again, while being lazy and not writing anything.

            Sure, it keeps your hands busy, and you, hopefully, get something useful out of all the fiddling. But what I find interesting is the language of the patterning. A pattern such as that doesn't need a chart. You can read it as you knit it. 

            It becomes as it is becoming. Like many other things.

            I think that's why so many of the old knitters made these types of fabric patterns. You could keep track of it and do the shaping all at once. It's a neat trick.

            Practical math, which teaches awareness and foresight.

🧶

Wanna Take A Ride?

 

 
            A soft cool rain was falling. It was almost like slightly particulate mist, somewhere in between, but heavy enough to fall. It was a dark, moonless night. The only light source was a single yard light like a streetlight. The light was almost orange, so sodium probably, Maurice thought.
            He was several miles north of town, and a couple of miles from the freeway. It was night and raining. He was tired, really burnt out from bumping along old style like a hobo. He didn’t feel much like howling at the moment.
            Howlers can fast, but it had been a long time since the last layover. The tacos were a fond memory. Thirst had his attention too. He dropped to hands and knees and lapped some rainwater from a puddle. It tasted just a little of diesel.
            When Maurice stood and stretched, he looked around himself more carefully. He had quite a way to go, and he wasn’t sure how he was going to get to the forest. Sure, he could walk, but Maurice was way out of his element. He didn’t know which way to go even if he did start walking.
            The place was mostly deserted, but there was something in the shadow of an office building. It picked up and reflected some of that orange light. Someone was parked there in a 76 year old Buick, as black as the night around it except for the grille. It shone in the dark like great chrome teeth, a smile.

            “No way,” said Marice, to no one in particular.
            A ridge of rough gray hair rose up along his spine. A chill passed through his body. But a True Howler is brave, and very snoopy, so he padded quietly over to the dark corner where the old car waited.
            At first it appeared to be empty, but in a moment he saw that someone sat in the driver's seat with her head bowed. It was Mable, as sure as the world. And she was having a little nap.
            He padded, barefoot you remember, over to the passenger’s side and tried the door. It was already unlocked. So, he opened it carefully and looked in. The driver’s seat was empty. For the second time in ten minutes, the gray hair on his spine rose up. He stood there holding the door handle, dumbfounded.
            “You’re not the only one who knows that little vanishing spell, Maurice!” she said. Then just as before, there sat Mable. “I wondered if it would work on you too!”
            Maurice later swore he saw a little dusty stuff like fairy dust blow away and vanish as she materialized.
            “Get in and shut the door, Pilgrim,” she said. “It’s damp out there, ya know!”
            “Hello, Ma’am! I am surprised to see you here!” Maurice managed to say, though his mouth felt dry again, and his tongue felt sticky. In spite of that, he got in and sat, closing the door behind himself.
            “Like to take a ride, Pilgrim?” She was grinning. He wasn’t sure that she was entirely real, but she looked friendly, and really what else was he going to do right then.
            “Yes, Ma’am, I would like to take a ride. Do you know where I’m going?” said Maurice. Maurice was making an attempt to determine where the floor was in this picture.
            “Oh, you’ll tell me won’t cha,” said Mable. She started the engine. It sounded like something from on old black and white film. The heater started to blow some cold air, so she had been parked there long enough for the Buick to cool down.
            “There’s a sack in the back seat. Just reach around and it’s right there. I brought you a little midnight snack,” she said, as the Buick started to roll dead slow out of its parking spot and head for the exit from this place.
            Maurice threw his arm over the back of the seat and reached around, and he found a brown paper sack just within his reach. He pulled it up front, and opened it. Inside were two heavy roast beef and horseradish sandwiches on homemade bread, and a bottle of chocolate milk. Even if it was some kind of crazy hoodoo picnic, Maurice was too hungry to worry about it.
            “Aw, thanks, Mable. Say, I didn’t see you by a lake in Kansas City, did I?” he asked between wolfish bites.
            “Never been to Kansas City. You like it there?” she said.
            “Yeah, sure. I wasn’t there very long,” he said. In the comfort of that deeply cushioned bench seat, he was getting sleepy again. This whole trip felt dreamlike. Looking outside he saw only darkness, and the rain splattering the windshield.
            He sat forward and looked downward. There were a few streetlights and houses way down below the Buick. He could see what looked like a great dim body of water off in the distance. ‘Surely this is a dream he thought,’ as he went soundly to sleep.
            And just like the boat in the nursery rhyme, all during the rest of the night until sunrise the old Buick captained by the old lady sailed the skies over the forests, hills, rivers, and towns until it came to rest at a parking place at a wide spot on Highway 20.
            “Wake up, Pilgrim, you’re home,” said Mable.
            Blinking, and nodding for a moment, Maurice woke suddenly. “How did you know?” he said wonderingly.
            “Oh, you told me,” said Mable, with a wink.
            “Home?” said Maurice.
            “I think so, don’t you?” said Mable Green.
            Mable rolled down her window, just as the sun came up, lighting the forest and the highway. And with a great flashing of black wings, Maeve drifted down out of the firs to sit on the door beside Mable.
            “Thanks, Mable. Good morning to you!” said Maeve.
            “And a good morning to yourself, Maeve,” said Mable. “I see a fine day coming up!”
            “Indeed,” nodded Maeve.
            “Maybe I’ll see you later sometime, Maurice. It was good to meet you!” said Mable as Maurice climbed out of the old car.
            The forest floor, so cool and damp and springy felt so good on his feet, the air smelled so clean and wild and free, the sun made everything sparkle so brilliantly that Maurice just couldn’t help himself. He howled as he had never howled before in all of his life. It rang and rang over the land, and even into the Great Forest. All the ears for miles around heard and noted that a True Howler was among them.
            When he turned back to speak to Mable, she and the Buick were as gone as if they had never been there. He turned his big gray head one way, looking up the highway and then the other way, looking down towards the town, but it was utterly empty. He sighed a big sigh, and lifted his eyebrows, amazed.
            “Come on, Maurice. He’s waiting,” said Maeve from a branch at about eye level for a Howler. “You know he heard all of that!”
            Maeve floated into the forest and Maurice followed her in.

🌲🐺🌲

What Happens Next

       

Toots

Suzie

🤎

            “That’s always the question, isn’t it?” said Suzie.

            “Who decides what happens next is the real question,” said Toots. “Look at it this way,” she said, turning her head sideways. “It’s always a matter of perspective!”
            “Very funny, mrrrt!, Toots, but I quite see what you mean in actuality,” said Suzie.
            “Let’s imagine asking Sweetie what Maurice will do next!” said Toots.
            “Well, OK, if you want to posit a horrid talking dog thing and then ask that infant with no experience, but only instinct, what it would do next. Hm. I live with the infant. Let’s see. He would likely say that Maurice would pounce on the old lady and maybe steal her Buick!” Suzie suggested. “Then Maurice would drive all the way to the Great Forest, even though he’s never driven a car before!”
            “It’s all go go go, and pounce with him, huh?” said Toots. “Brrrt!”
            “How about the Fluffbag?” giggled Toots.
            “His Maurice would be all suave and agreeable. He’d probably ask Mable about her family and how she liked to make a certain casserole, something like that,” said Suzie. “He’d purr his tail off. Probably put her to sleep right out in that freight yard!”
            “Well, that doesn’t advance the plot very much, does it? Pick somebody else,” said Toots.
            “How about you! What do you think happens next, Dear?” said Suzie, after a long pause and some purring.
            “If I were Maurice, perish the very idea, I would hide from that sneaky old woman! Before she saw me, I’d take off like a streak. Naturally. I wouldn’t want to play her weird hide and seek game! You better believe!” announced Toots, with some heat.
            “Hm, I can’t say that I would choose any different, Toots,” said Suzy. “What does the old babe want anyhow? Is it all a huge mysterious altruistic urge, or what? I don’t trust her!”
            “Of course, we must remember that a talking dog thing deserves whatever it gets, but for the sake of argument, I agree,” said Toots.
            “He was pretty kind to that waitress, even if his manners were not perfect,” said Suzie.
            “You have to give him a point there,” agreed Toots. “How about the other infant, Booker?”
            “It is true that he is observant and mostly quiet, but it hasn’t gotten him very far yet. I’m afraid that if you asked him what a character like Maurice should do next, it would be something like taking a long nap in the back seat of the Buick and waiting to see where Mable took him. He’s awfully cuddly for a Warrior Scout, you know?” Suzie sighed and shrugged.
            “How about that engineer?” asked Toots, with a sly little grin.
            “Pffft! He’d probably ask Mable to elucidate exactly what she was up to and what her plans for Maurice were,” said Suzie.
            Toots laughed, and said, “How about herself, the writer? Do you have any idea of what she thinks will happen next?”
            “Could be anything Toots! She likes to imagine friendly ETs and instantaneous Yogic travel! Or that the Buick is empty..or goodness knows what! I don’t,” said Suzie. “Maybe there is no old lady. Maybe the Buick is sentient. Maybe Mable is on a different wavelength than the posited talking Howler dog thing?”
            “Maybe Ralph is in the driver’s seat!” yowled Toots.
            Both girls had to break for a giggle fit.
            “OK, we’re just being silly now,” said Toots, “And after all, this is just another doggone Open Thread, isn’t it?”
            “Yup!” said Suzie. “But, like we said, you really have to wonder what could happen next!”
            “The question is wide open!” agreed Toots.

😹😸

This Is What Maurice Wrote

     

             This is about my trip from Kansas City to the west coast of Washington. 

             A lot has changed since that angel or whoever left this book on the bench. I’ve carried it in my pocket or put it somewhere kind of secret every day since they gave it to me. I mean Sneaky and Joe. They said it must be mine.
            I have changed in some ways. I’m older. I talk better. I learned to read and write, my ma would probably never believe it, but it’s still true, Ma! I know how to cook and wash clothes, and everything too.
The trip to Smith Island took about two days from Kansas City. It seems like it was night the whole way, but maybe I was asleep during the day. It was a lot like the first trip when we were so poor, but this time I was just pretending to be poor for fun or for tradition. Knowing that I had two hundred bucks changed everything, even though I tried to make it the same. It wasn’t the same. Real hunger and thirst have a presence, and it wasn’t there.
            One morning out in the middle of the country, somewhere I got out of the car, said “I’m neither here nor there, etc.,” and took a look around at the dusty sunbaked town. It was a lot like the place where my book turned up.
            Finding food when the spell is working didn’t seem likely, so I let it go.
There was a tiny Mexican restaurant in that town, one block over from the train station, such as it was. I figured they might not mind a Howler too much, and if they did, I would scram out of the place.
            This little place had a dining room about 15 feet square, with four tables. There was some dusty Mexican decor on the walls and a potted cactus in the window. The kitchen smelled good.
            It must have been before or after lunch, because I was the only customer. I took a seat away from the window and waited.
            In a couple of minutes a girl came out of the kitchen with a little printed menu. They made tacos and burritos and a couple of other things. She looked exhausted and very young, pretty like a Mexican girl is sometimes and she spoke not at all. I ordered six pork tacos and a fruity pop of some kind.
            I laid one of the hundreds on the tabletop, and when she came to collect, she said, “I can’t break that!”
            I said, “Keep the change, Honey.” What’s a Howler to do? I had another one and she looked like she could use the change. When I was leaving, I heard some whispered words in Spanish behind me.
            I spent the rest of the daylight hours lying doggo or snooping around this place. It looked like a real good place to be from.
            When it got dark, I snuck into the car again and got ready for another long ride.
            Sometime in the middle of the night, we pulled into Everett and then Smith Island, where we stopped. It had been so long that I still felt like I was swaying and bumping like I had all night.
            In the distance I could hear a police siren. It was raining when I slipped out of the freight car.
            Well, my hand is getting tired, but I wanted to say one more thing. I need a new pen, but that’s not it.
            I was standing there in the rain and the dark looking around, wondering how I was going to get out to Ralph’s forest when I noticed something I had a very hard time believing. In a shadow, tucked nearly out a sight, I saw the grille of a black 1950 Buick shining just a little bit in the yard lights.
            

🍃🐺🌿