The Voice From Inside The Fridge

 

For display purposes only!

            “Why?” I said. He was in there again. Only takes a second’s lapse in vigilance. It was Sweetie, of course. Though, I have seen Booker follow him in before.
            “What’s the compelling attraction, Mr. Cat?” says I.
            The voice answers, “Prrrrrr..”
            “Not talking? Nobody, not even a young cat does things for no reason.” I urged.
            “You can’t see me now!” he said, with satisfaction. “Nothing will ever make me come out! I rule here, on the steaks.”
            “That’s called 'hubris,' Youngster,” says I. 
            “It will take more than name calling to get me to come out, Ma,” the voice continued.
            “Exaggerated pride, or self-confidence. IOW arrogance! How does that sound? Do you want to be like that?” I said, pedantically.
            “All hidey-holes are mine, by right of conquest,” said the voice.
            “You’re sitting on my steaks,” I said, “Good thing they’re shrink-wrapped, eh?”
            “Right of conquest!” he chortled.
            “Baloney!” I yelped.
            “Do you have some?” he asked, looking up through the shelves. There was a lot of purring and fidgeting around. (Shrink-wrap is really a good thing, you know?)
            “I hear your brother calling you!” I said.
            “Nuh-uh!” and he crept further back. “I’m making room for him.”
            What could I do, but get out the big guns, the sound no cat can withstand? Yes. The Temptations container. I rattled it.
            He popped right out. Booker came running. Mr. Baby swarmed aboard too. Soon we were having a great old time with cat treats. What do they put in that stuff, that is so desirable? It looks pretty much like cat kibble. (I need to look up the etymology of ‘kibble.’) Suzie doesn’t like Temptations. She says they make her rhumatize kick up. Doubtful.
            They all wish all the other cats a Merry Tootsday, most of all Toots, herself!

🐈‍⬛

kibble(n.)

"ground-up meat used as dog food, etc.," 1957, apparently from the verb meaning "to bruise or grind coarsely," which is attested from 1790, first in milling; a word of unknown origin. The same or an identical word was used in the coal trade in the late 19c. and in mining from the 1670s for "bucket used to haul up ore or waste."

A Message In The Great Forest

 

 

            Cherry was getting to be a bigger girl. She was growing in wisdom and knowledge, and was a great observer of all about herself. She was taller than a human child, of course. and was still platinum blond all over with icy, pale blue eyes. When grown, she would be a beauty of the Forest Folk.
            Ramona had been doing a good job with her, helping her to remember the Firekeeper’s songs, which were essentially practical recipes set to a tune, to help memory. In fact, she had to have a very good memory, and she did. They don’t make books in the Great Forest. They remember, and pass it down.
            In addition, Cherry was very good with her hands. When she wasn’t assisting her mother, she was making things. Naturally, the materials she had to work with were natural things from her home environment. Sticks, rocks, vines, leaves, flowers, feathers, fur, even small bones, berries in season, that sort of stuff.
            This particular year she was making crowns or necklaces of vines, with flowers, woven and maybe some extra leaves to fill them out. She used salal a lot because it’s strong and doesn’t wilt. She liked fireweed when it was in season because it  had a good long stalk and was colorful. Later in the year there would be colored leaves, and she was looking forward to them.
            She made leafy crowns for her mother, and a big wreath for Ralph who obediently wore it around his neck. She wove them for Blue, and the Puma Bros, and wore one herself too. Hers had a big white daisy right in the middle above her eyes.
            She made a small house of sapling branches, and hoped the B’s would use it, but though some of the B’s good-naturedly visited it, just to make her happy, they couldn’t really use it.
            “It’s very pretty,” said a Bertha. “Thank you for thinking of us, Twigg’s Sister!”
            Then she gathered some small sticks about the size of pencils. She laid them out on the ground and looked at them, trying to think of something interesting to do with them. She began arranging them where they lay in various patterns. She was one of the Forest Folk, after all.
            Cherry kept coming back to a simple cross of two sticks. She wondered what could be done with that, even just to make it more stable. Maybe winding a vine through it, weaving around each of the four spokes, so to speak. So, that’s what she did, using a blackberry vine. The small thorns worked to keep it very sturdy. When she held it up, it was diamond shaped, which was surprising to her, she had sort of expected it to look square.
            Cherry was so pleased with her construction, that she took it to Ramona.
            “Look, Mama, I made this for you!” said Cherry.
            “Oh, Sweet Baby, it’s beautiful,” said Ramona. But it reminded her of something, something she had heard about long ago when she was a girl with her mother.
            “I’ve seen something like that a long time ago. But the winding was done with colored yarn. I’d like to show you, but we need Thaga’s help. Let’s just go see if she has some leftover yarn that we can use,” said Ramona.
            It was a pleasant summer stroll up and over the meadow and down the old path to the stone cabin, home of Thaga and Ooog. Ramona knocked, and Thaga asked them in, naturally.
            Ramona showed Thaga the interesting thing which Cherry had made.
            “Nice!” said Thaga.
            “I’ve seen something like this, but made with colored yarn. My mother had one. It was a gift passed down from her mother. I wonder if you have some bits of leftover yarn. The colors don’t matter except that we need some blue, for the eye!” said Ramona.
            Thaga went to her fabric closet and brought out her basket of leftover yarns.
            “Cherry, you may have them all!” said Thaga.
            There was a nice little ball of the blue that Thaga had used to knit her own blue sweater which she wore all the time. She put the leftover yarn in a cloth shopping bag, but kept her basket for when she had bits of leftover yarn again.
            Cherry said, “Thank you, Thaga. It’s all so pretty!”
            “It couldn’t go to a better person,” said Thaga happily.
            At home, near the Fire Circle, all during the afternoon, Ramona and Cherry worked. First Ramona showed her how to wind the yarn starting with the blue at the center, around each crossbar. Then she added other colors in stripes until most of the length of the crossbars was filled up with colored yarn in diamond shaped stripes.
            “My mother said that her mother said that the Native woman who gave to her said that the blue in the middle was supposed to make you think of the Maker of All and that he is watching all we do. This lady also said they put them in places where they would be seen, all along the paths that people walked on every day,” Ramona said to Cherry.
            “Now, you do one,” she said.
            Cherry did, and it was almost as tight and neat as Ramona’s. There was a lot of yarn in the bag, so she gathered more straight little sticks and over that day and evening and the next morning, Cherry made a couple dozen more of the Eyes. She made sure that there was a nice little loop on each one so that she could hang them on bushes at eye level.
            That next afternoon, Cherry hung them all over the area, near the Home Clearing, out on the meadow, and along the river.
            As she was finishing up, Maeve drifted down out of the sky, silently. She had noticed the unusual activity, and the colorful objects themselves.
            “Cherry, Sweetie, whatever are you up to?” said Maeve. She had plopped down beside Cherry on the riverbank.
            “These are reminders. I made them,” said the child.
            “They are very pretty. What should they remind us of,” said Maeve, though she had an idea.
            “They mean that the Maker of All is watching. Mama showed me how to do them, and Thaga gave me her yarn!” said Cherry.
            “Ah, very good, Little One. To be watched over by Love is a very fine thing!” said the wise old Raven.
            “Love?” said Cherry.
            “Yes, dear, Love,” said Maeve. “Now, let’s go on down to the Clearing. It’s time.”

💮

He Had Been A Little Evasive

 

On location.

            “You know, the other day I didn’t quite tell the whole story,” said Ralph one day to his friend, counselor, and confidant, Maeve.
            “You surprise me, Boss!” said Maeve. “I’m sure you had a good reason.”
            “I like to think so, Black Leg," Ralph sighed.
            “What story was it?” said she.
            “Oh, you know, I was chatting with my biographer the other day, and she asked me a complicated question. She wanted to know if I really do that thing with bent and twisted branches and repositioned trees, like they show on the videos,” said he.
            “Why is it complicated?” asked Maeve, seated comfortably on his shoulder.
            “Because I, we Forest Keepers, do that, yes, but the investigators always get it wrong.”
            “I’ve seen you do it. You talked a bunch of alder trees into making a house of themselves,” said Maeve.
            “Yeah, but see, there was a good practical reason for that. It wasn’t woo in the slightest,” said Ralph.
            “Some of them do have woo on the brain. Some of them wouldn’t know a woo if it smacked them upside the head,” said Maeve. She was kind of sorting through her feathers at the same time. The talk of fleas had made her itch if she thought about them at all.
            “They don’t know a thing about the songs. That’s one of their weak spots. If you don’t sing those things into place, they just break or die,” continued Ralph. “So when I said it was like a kid’s game, or a competition, well it just wasn’t the whole story. It’s a language done in a song. The bending and twisting are only part of it.”
            A little breeze came through, pausing to listen to Ralph and Maeve for a moment. Then it blew on down toward the Sound.
            “That feels nice, on these hot days,” remarked Maeve, settling her feathers.
            They happened to be sitting by the silver river. Ralph was going to gather some fish for Ramona in a little while. He had her five gallon bucket handy.
            “See, in my case, it was a game, or maybe a prank. But to explain that prank would have turned the whole subject into a joke,” said Ralph.
            “What did you do!” said Maeve.
            “I’m sure you know that Bob and I are cousins, right? Our mothers were sisters. We were raised like brothers, in the same family. Pod, clan, whatever. Bob is younger, so he followed me around doing whatever I said to do.”
            “Ah,” said Maeve.
            “One day I got a grand idea. We were like maybe ten years old. Not babies, little kids, or quite young adults. An inventive age.
            “You wouldn’t be trying something out on the adults, of course,” said Maeve.
            “Actually, that’s exactly it,” said Ralph.
            “I got Bob to help me make about two hundred twig location glyphs. That’s the word the investigators use. I may as well use it. Then we went all through the forest installing these things where everyone would see them. We knew where the families lived of course. We covered valleys and mountain sides.
            “This is what they don’t know, we sang the song of You Must Come over them, with the added message You Must Bring Something Eat. That was a lot of singing, and it had to include when.”
            “Where was this party?” said Maeve.
            “It was more like a calling of the clans, serious business, except it wasn’t. It was monkey business. It did turn into a party, after nobody could figure out who was in charge,” giggled Ralph.
            “Where?” said Maeve.
            “Oso. On that hillside that slid into the river years later. Maeve, I think half the Forest Keepers, kids, moms, grampas and all, in Snohomish County showed up that night. Bob and I came with the rest of them, with our parents and sibs, just as good and sweet as little lambs,” said Ralph.             “No one ever knew, officially, who had called the meeting which turned out to be the biggest gathering of Forest Keepers ever known.
            “However, my father, who had no sense of humor in his whole body, caught up with me the next day. He said my fingerprints were all over this, and not to mock the people ever again. Well, ouch. I didn’t think of it that way, but it was kinda that way.”
            “Do you think Bob tattled on you?” said Maeve.
            “No. Bob wasn’t made that way. My father just untied the knot on his own,” sighed Ralph.
            “You were born to be a leader, Boss,” chuckled Maeve.
            “I guess so,” said Ralph.
            Then he waded out about waist deep into the river with the bucket. He held it down under the surface, so it was convenient for the trout to jump in the bucket. When a couple of dozen had shoved their way into the bucket, he waded back out of the river carrying it.
            “Let’s take these fish to Mona, Maeve,” he said.
            It was going to be a fish night.

🐟

Thinking of Thousands of Miles of Dirt Roads

 

            F'lineday was one of those days when the story box didn't even get opened to check on crumbs. I spent several hours on the not too mean, but very busy, streets of Seattle. I drove 99 both ways because I didn't feel like stop and go on the freeway.

            I was thinking about Sasha's article all day. The things she mentioned are things I think about too. I observe the working of my mind, and I do wonder what went into the making of it. I have also wondered where it is. I don't feel like it's living in my brain. Kind of funny. So where is it? 

            Of course I was thinking of consciousness being one. Hmmm.

            I snapped the photo somewhere in the American west. We didn't take proper notes, so I'm never sure. But it's one of those lonely dirt roads I love. Nobody out there but God, and maybe some cows, and of course us. 

            It seems to me that driving these long distances rewards the driver with a depth of perception that doesn't happen just puddling around town. I love it, the mighty sweep of the American continent!

            I wish you a profoundly great and peaceful day!

💚

            

Joyous Configuration! Open Thread for June 12, 2026

 I have nothing to add, really!

Happiest of F'linedays to you!

Love, P

💮

It Was A Hot Summer Day in The Great Forest

 

Uncle Bob's dream house. Still a dream!

            Strangely, there are some very hot days in the summer in the Great Forest. It sounds hot, before it feels hot. It’s like you can hear the forest floor baking. Insects make lazy little doppler effects, as they come near, then fade away. There is a resinous odor in the air, once the sun is up.
            Maurice had been doing some of the heavier jobs for Ooog, learning how a True Howler could also be a gardener. It was all new to him, this plant-based life. But he got into the slow pace of it, learning what garden plants needed, and he learned how to supply those needs.
            While Maurice and Ooog gardened, Thaga got out some materials. She knew the outside of Maurice’s bag would have to be tough. It was going to be worn by Maurice, after all, and he was likely to be hard on it, if his history was anything to go by.
            She chose a piece of heavy tent fabric which had been lurking in her sewing closet for years. It was made to be used a lot and very tough. For lining she picked a piece of heavy red and black plaid flannel.
            At first she had been thinking of a cross-body bag, such as used by urban hikers, students and such. But then she started imagining Maurice getting it hung up on things as he went about his life in the forest, things like brush and branches. She realized that it needed to be closer to his body. So she designed one similar to what we could call a fanny pack, to be anchored to a belt at the waist. She decided to put some copper rivets at the stress points.
            In combination with her other duties in the house, building the Howler’s bag took three days. Finally, it was done. She showed him how it worked, cutting the belt to his size so there wouldn’t be any long hanging strap.
            His book, pen, and harmonica fit it perfectly.
            “It’s like a pocket, without the pants!” he told Thaga, prancing about.
            Maurice liked to wear the bag in front like a Scotsman’s sporran, so he had instant access to his treasures and could keep an eye on them.
            Thaga and Ooog had learned to love Maurice, and he them. Ooog said, “You can stay if you like, Maurice.” Thaga agreed.
            “Thanks,” he said. “That’s just about the best thing anyone ever said to me. I might be back. I like the garden. I didn’t know anything about plants before!”
            But he wanted to see Ralph, after all, that’s why he had returned to the Northwest. So, on that very hot bug-singing day, he trotted back down into the forest, heading for the Home Clearing.
            As Maurice trotted along, the sun beat down on his shaggy head, his tongue lolled and he panted, but he was really enjoying the secure feeling of having his things with him in their own pocket sans pants. There was a pleasant rhythmic flopping sound as he ran.
            “Look at you!” Ramona called when she saw Maurice. She was busy teaching Cherry the names of her ancestors as far back as she remembered them.
            “Pretty cool, huh? Is Ralph in the cave or up on his log, Firekeeper?” said Maurice. He unsnapped the bag to demonstrate its wonders, and snapped it back up.
            “Ralph isn’t here; he’s up in the meadow with Uncle Bob at the Stump House. You know Bob don’t you? I’m sure you’ve met. Why don’t you run up there and show off your new bag? They’d love it!” said Ramona. “It’s just perfect for you, Maurice!”
            “I’ll find them!” he said. Even if he hadn’t known where the Stump House was he could  have sniffed it out. Howlers have a tremendous sense of smell.
            But, to help himself along, he pulled out his harmonica and began composing a searching tune. It was quite audible for some distance.
            Up at the Stump, Uncle Bob heard the searching tune coming closer and closer.
            “Ralphie, do you hear the music? Is it magic, or is it real?” said Uncle Bob.
            “I bet that’s Maurice!” said Ralph, because he could hear the music too. “You remember Maurice? Of course you do, he’s been here before.”
            “It can be magic and real at the same time,” said Ralph.
            The music filled the air. Even Aunt Suzie was listening as it grew closer and louder.
            “It’s perfect!” whispered Uncle Bob, gazing into the middle distance. He sang in his light husky tenor.
           

When I saw you,

My heart just fell.

Like an apple dropped,

In a wishin' well.

 
            “Hey, everybody, Lookie what I’ve got!” sang Maurice in his growly Howler voice.
            “Thaga does great work!” said Ralph.
            “Neat tune!” said Uncle Bob, all starry eyed.
            “Thanks!” said Maurice, “I’m just now inventing it!”
            “I’m just now working on some words!” said Uncle Bob.
            “Maybe you two should get together!” said Ralph.
            “Yeah!” said Uncle Bob.
            “Let’s do it!” howled Maurice.
            “Just perfect!” sang Ralph is his soft massive basso voice.
            And so it was!

🎼

Fair Enough

 

            His mothername is unpronounceable for we humans, so we call him Ralph. He inherited the name from a certain raffish old dog. Dog was loved, so is he.
            Recently, he and I got together for a little interview over a cup of verbiage, served as it always is, right here. Both of us had a couple of questions to air.
            “Say hey, P, what are the rule here?” said Ralph.
            “No holds barred,” I said. “I just have a few technical questions. I have no idea what kind of questions you have!”
            “I’m not very technical. You know that,” said Ralph. “Do you mean practical?”
            “Maybe that’s better. I compare what I know about you and your life with the alleged Sasquatch doings on video. It brings up questions. Like, do you twist and break branches as a form of communication, or at all? I’ve never seen that mentioned in your activities.”
            “I used to. We all did. It started out as a game in the woods when we were kids, to see if we could like, um, reform branches and small trees without breaking them off. We wanted to change living trees. It was like an art form.
            “Eventually, it became a sort of contest between families to see whose trees looked the best. I think the video makers over interpret it. It’s mostly just fun or art,” said Ralph.
            “OK, makes sense. My younger brother and at least one of the sisters used to do a similar thing when we were kids.”
            “No kidding? That’s kinda sweet,” he said. “Did I know you when you were a kid? I remember some kids like that.”
            “You might have known me, but I didn’t know you. You know darn well I didn’t see you, if you were there,” said I.
            “Fair enough!” said Ralph, laughing one of his big deep laughs.
            “Now a question for you, how did you find out about me then,” he asked.
            “That’s hard to answer. Long ago when all the world was young, we heard of the Yeti. Thought it was folklore. Then there were rumors of a creature said to roam the forest, we and some Indians said ‘Skookum’ for this creature. Still thought it was probably Indian stories. Their form of literature, you see?
            “Years went by. We lived on the Res up north and heard a few things, but not much. More about Stick Indians than you guys. The locals did not relish the thought of Stick Indians. I think they were a sort of Wendigo or shapeshifter.
            “Long after that, I started putting down word, sputtering at first, rough stories. Then one day, you came to visit me in these words. You began to reveal yourself, and then you had a family and a whole life in the forests of the mountains which you called the Great Forest,” I said, finally.
            “Interesting. Maybe I was sorry for being so elusive back then when we were both kids,” he said. He crossed his legs, twiddled his toes, and reflected on them solemnly.
            I laughed. “No harm done, my dear friend!”
            “OK, another question. In the long run, do you think it was a good thing that Ramona cooks your food now, and how about learning to speak American English? Ralph, do you wish things had not changed that way for you? Would you like to go back if you could?” I asked him.
            “No, no! Even a Forest Keeper knows that learning is a good thing. It’s a matte of poise, keeping in balance. I mean we use some human skills to enhance our lives, but we don’t put on pants and go live in town. See the difference? We stay in the Forest. We are the Forest and the Forest is us! But you know that!” he said.
            “What is essential about you and yours?” I said.
            “We live in the present.”
            “That was quick!” I said. “Hard to do, for humans. We long for the past, or hate it, or we long for something coming that will be better, or we fear it. Interesting. I’m trying to imagine what it would be like to live utterly in the present.”
            “Ya gotta love it, “ he laughed. “Gratitude helps.”
            “So, Compiler, why haven’t you written much about Twigg and his family lately?”
            “Yeah, well, they haven’t revealed themselves to me very much,” I said, not too happily.
            “I get it, you don’t want to fake it,” he said.
            “That’s right. I’m just waiting,” I said.
            “Here’s a question for you,” I said. “Are you, as a species, from Earth? Or did you come from somewhere else?”
            “From Earth. We’re not fallen angels, or demons, or whatever they dream up. We’re a lot like you, but different. Aw, P, I don’t know everything about our source. Just the same as you. You have the old Book; we have our stories too. I think we’ve been here as long  as mankind, or maybe longer.
            “I’ll tell you another thing. Forest Giants, Squatches, whatever name they call us, have sinners among us. Just like you. Some are kind. Some do evil,” Ralph sighed. “Another thing, we have the same Maker.”
            “I believe that,” I said.
            “Before we break up this tete-a-tete, do you have any words of wisdom for humans?”
            “How about just chill out! Take care of each other like you mean it. Form follow function you know. Fake it until you make it? For pity’s sake stop throwing everything away for stupid imaginations! Money isn’t life! Life is life!” he said.
            “Personally, I think we, as a species, are awfully short-sighted for people who are always looking back or forward,” we both laughed.
            “Any word you’d like me to take back to the Forest?” he asked.
            “Hm. Carry on? Look out for poachers? Be wise? Let it be? I think you mostly have it covered,” I said. “But, really, just give my love to Ramona and Cherry, and the wolf and the cats.”
            “Will do,” he said.
            I heard his big soft laugh and then he was gone, and I was sitting here with my keyboard and a cup of coffee. 

            “Fair enough,” I thought.

💚