Ralph vs The Stick Indian

 

            Ralph has been known to roam around. He’s a curious fellow. He likes to see how things are going in the forests outside of the Great Forest itself. For one thing, it’s a kind of reconnaissance. It’s part of his duty as a king.
            He decided one day to go way out to the west to see the salt water and the Reservation there. He felt a little bit of a calling for some reason. So, Ralph kissed Ramona and his children goodbye, saying that he would most likely be back in a day or so. He told Maeve and the cats to stick around while he was gone.
            He felt that he had been taking it a little too easy, getting lazy, so he decided to run down SR530. Of course he wasn’t going to do it visibly. No need to get people all excited and solve one of the greatest puzzles of all time for them that easily. No, he ran like one who was not there.
            SR530 goes southwest until it meets I-5. At that point, he left the road and continued to the Res through the trees and fields and sometimes people’s backyards.
            It was pretty easy going. This forest was much tamer than his own, he observed with satisfaction. There were more alders and maples and other bushes of various kinds. There were firs, and always the cedars. Tribal types think a great deal of cedars.
            This was all very pleasant. Some dogs barked at him, but he shushed them easily. He kept walking until he got to Marine Drive, crossed it in fine Sasquatch style, taking three steps. Then he continued downhill, coming at last to the water at Warm Beach. It’s called Warm Beach, which is quite out of character for PNW beaches, because the slope is so gradual that the water coming in is so shallow that it actually warms in the sunlight. A lot of people have built houses in a cluster there.
            He waded way out in the water to where it was deeper. Then he swam to Tulalip Bay, which was not a difficult swim for Ralph, just around the corner as it were.
            So far, everything looked pretty good. It was like he was on a vacation tour. The water was lovely, briskly chilly. The sun was bright. He grabbed a salmon and ate it Sashimi style as he paddled along. He greeted a couple of seals who were also fishing. He threw his fish scraps up in the air to a couple of gulls, who then had something to squabble about.
            There were quite a few houses right there at the beach, so he decided to cross Marine Drive again, to go up into the less developed area to the north. There the forest began in earnest. The mood was entirely different there, from that at the sunny beach. Ancient firs stood silently. Cedars, shaggy and remote, stood among the firs. The light was dim, the air almost misty, and it was cooler here. It was almost like another world. A crow called to another. They spoke back and forth watching Ralph where he stood, just listening and watching. His hairs might have stood up a little. He thought of Maeve, but he had instructed her to stay with Ramona and the family.
            “No wonder,” he thought to himself. “Something is here.”
            A ripple of madness chattered between the trees. The crows fled. He heard a discordant whistling. Strange images visited his mind, with pursed lips and staring eyes, like a mask.
            As you know, Ralph doesn’t scare easy. He looked straight up where he could see the same blue sky that he saw above the trees at home, and he was strengthened.
            “Who are you,” said Ralph, in a tone no one at home had ever heard. A voice of command.
            “********!” A sound like an owl’s death cry emerged. It was a name no one speaks, neither Indian, nor Forest Man. To say is to summon, they say. Pity the White man who attempts it.
            “I command you, say what you do here,” said Ralph then.
            “I bring self-destruction! I come to madden, confuse, and lead astray!” the gulping voice continued. “None may withstand me!” Laughter ran through the trees. No bird spoke.

             “Who are you?” it bellowed.
            “The Maker of All withstands you, and I am his servant,” said Ralph, joyously. “Come out before me!”
            And it did. Before Ralph stood the ancient fright of Indian children, and in fact, parents. It was a sorry sight. Sometimes bearlike, shaggy and pouchy. Sometimes thin and tall, like a living being made of sticks and dirt. Sometimes a grey translucent thing, long and shifting.
            Ralph laughed. “Is that all?”
            It searched for a weakness in him. Ralph allowed the thing to see his soul. There was no breath of fear there.
            Ralph understood then why he had come here.
            “You are bound. Mute, you will wait for Reckoning, as long as earth remains,” said Ralph. “Your day is done.”
            A final scream died away, echoing off into the distance.
            Ralph looked around down by his feet and found a small rock about the size of an orange. He held it up before the thing and said, “Get into this rock.” All the disguises fell away and a little grey whisp of a thing did enter the rock because it had no way left to do otherwise.
            Ralph hefted the rock in his hand a couple of times while he was thinking. He decided that even though the thing was powerless, he had better hide it. So he carried it out into the forest. He grabbed a fallen branch and with the branch and his big foot he dug a pretty good hole. He buried the rock and tamped the earth back down firmly. He piled some rocks and sticks over the area too.
            The forest lightened up, even though it was still a forest and they are shady. But it was a normal kind of shady. It seemed warmer too.
            Ralph did some whistling himself. He was pretty happy but thought he would like to go home now. He was sure his work here was done. He figured it was about dinner time at home and that raw salmon was the last thing he had eaten.
            Ralph decided to go home the fast way. You know a portal is just a literary convention. Ralph just thought of home, and sent himself there, and there he was! Back in time for dinner.
            There they all were, gathered around the fire, like any other day. Ramona was serving slices of roast venison. She had made a pot of coffee too. It was just perfect.
            He kissed Ramona, took a deep breath, and sat down on one of those convenient logs.
            Maeve flew up to his shoulder, giving him a very sharp look.
            “Yes, Birdie,” he said. “All in good time.”
            He smiled like he knew a really good secret.

Kind of a Mutual Three Way Interview

 

            So, it was just a normal morning. I was tearing open a package of something, using my hands, like we do. I looked over and saw that Willie was watching me closely. I wondered what in the world he made of that, because there is no way he could do the same with even one of those wrapped tea bags. I wasn’t using my teeth. He could do that maybe and make a big mess of it. I wasn’t holding it down with a foot and ripping it open with my teeth. I suppose he could do that and make a big mess of it.

            So, I asked him.
            Hey, Willfred, I notice you are staring at me while I get into this package. What do you think about that?
            Well, I was wondering why your paws are so different from mine. Mine don’t work like that.
            I was born this way. In a way it doesn’t seem fair, does it?
            I was thinking that it would be really handy if I could open packages, or pull tabs on cans, or open bottle lids.
            Yeah. First we made tools, then we used them. In a way your claws are tools though! It’s almost like you were made with everything a cat needs onboard. Of course this goes back to what is the meaning and manner of a cat? What say you?
            This gets a little awkward. A cat living out of doors lives a cat life. We are apex predators in the sense that we hunt and eat the largest variety of creatures on earth. We small lions just do it on a small scale.
            But indoor cats are stuck in a bit of a quandary. We are still hunters, but we mostly have nothing to hunt. Oh, if a mouse manages to get in, we get him, or some big dumb bug. As you can see, it would be advantageous to us if we could open packages, or doors….as a matter of fact.
            You make it sound like a crazy mixed up world, Willie. We make you live indoors, but you’re not entirely equipped for it. And yet, we keep you from living where you are equipped for. But you know why, don’t you?
            Yeah. I do. You don’t want us to get eaten or smashed. It’s a tough room out there.
            OH! Hi, Suzy! Have you been back there all along?
            For a little while. I’m not sure it’s really your hands doing all that fancy stuff. I think it’s magic. You do lots of magic, all of the time. You make light come, and then you make light go! It’s actually creepy. You bring forth water from a pipe! Gotta be magic!
            You don’t hunt! I know you don’t. Food comes to the house. Magic!
            I wish you would teach me to do magic…
            I don’t know what to say, Suzy. It doesn’t seem very magical to me. I think it’s because we have thumbs and long fingers. Which are also tools, if you think about it. Just tools built for adaptability, apparently.
            Fancy talk, Lady! I think you’re holding out on me! And I know why! You don’t want me to be able to open that door! I rest my case.
            Well, Suze, you’re right about that much. I don’t want you to open that door! But I love you!
            I know. We love you too.
            I guess it’s just the way it is, huh? I don’t think you do magic, but you sure have fancy paws! And yeah, we love you too!
            God made you guys to be clever little hunters, and he put us in charge of welfare I guess. We needed thumbs for that. If you think about it, it works, guys. I do love you so!
 
 
            It came down to one of those affectionate stalemates you get into when discussing matters with cats. Sometimes you just have to reason with them a little bit.
 

 
Bold is me.
Italic is Willie
Plain is Suzy

😺🤍😸

Ralph's Dream

 

            Ralph doesn’t have bad dreams, but he sure has some busy ones. And when Ralph has a busy dream, why, it shakes his whole world. He mutters in his sleep, asking questions that he can’t quite get out right. He thrashes. He throws off the heavy quilt, gasps and sits up.
            Looking at him sitting there, Ramona pulled the quilt more tightly around her throat, shut her eyes again, and said, “You may as well go figure it out. You’ve been working on it all night, Baby.”
            Ralph put his hands on his knees, and took a big breath, still waking. He could see light creeping in around the door built into the cave opening. He wasn’t sure if it was daylight, very early, or moonlight. It was just a little dim line around the door. Just following the line with his eyes started to put him back into dream mode.
            Half remembered questions tugged at him.
            So, he stood up. It’s hard to sleep standing up. He looked around the cave at his sleeping world. There was nothing but even breathing. Ramona’s, the kids’, and two cat’s light breaths.
            He slipped outside, closing the door very carefully. It had been early daylight leaking around the door. Soon it would be dawn.
            If Ralph’s dream had a title, it might be “Visitors From Elsewhere.”
            So, what was the big question, the big bothersome deal?
            It’s not like Ralph didn’t know of any visitors from elsewhere. There was Mak, of course, whom he took a very instructive ride with one time. Time, indeed, being the essence of that trip.
            Still musing, Ralph stepped over to the fire circle. He saw some coals still red among the ashes. He threw in a couple of small pieces of windfall which were stacked nearby. Some smoke began to drift toward the sky. He took a seat on one of those logs, still feeling like what he had been dreaming didn’t make sense in daytime language. He couldn’t seem to say it to himself.
            Suddenly, as he sat, Maeve dropped down out of the sky, silently for once. She held something in her beak. She set it down on the ground in front of his feet. It was a golden coin.
            “Hey, Boss. Look! That kid missed one, or dropped one,” she said, in a Raven whisper.
            “What in the world, Maeve? You show up with a coin before dawn? What have you been up to?” said Ralph.
            “Oh, just flying around. I passed over the river and I saw it shining,” said Maeve. “I had to dive for it too!”
            “How could it be shining? It’s practically dark. Weird,” said Ralph.
            “I don’t know! It looked shiny to me! Ralph why are you up so early?” said Maeve.
            Since neither one of them had a pocket, they just left the golden coin lying on the ground.
            “A dream woke me up, so I came out here to think,” he told her.
            “Mhm. Evermore,” she said, regarding him with one sharp black eye. “What was the dream about?”
            “Size had something to do with it. But it just didn’t seem to work. There were machines. Not human. And they had people in them, but they were too small for anybody!” he said.
            “Do dreams have to make sense, Boss?” she said.
            “No. Some are just silly. But this one hung around all night,” said Ralph.
            “You’ll figure it out. You always do,” said Maeve.
            They both listened as Ramona stepped out of the cave and shut the door gently behind herself. She sat down beside Ralph.
            “What are you two up to?” said Ramona. “Secrets? Mysteries?”
            “You could say that,” said Ralph. Maeve giggled. Ravens do giggle.
            “OK,” she said, and began building up  her fire. She often made soup for breakfast. Everybody liked it, and it was easy. She made fish soup, and a pot of coffee while they were all sitting around waiting for the sun to rise. Ramona and Ralph and Maeve had breakfast. The kids would show up with the cats later, and that was fine.
            The sun did rise. And as shafts of light came down near the fire, Ralph was watching dust motes move in the air, following currents caused by the heat of the fire, mixed with cool air, and then the heat of the sun.
            As he focused on the dust motes, he saw that each one had a rainbow shining on it. He realized that he had never seen this before, though it happens all the time, if one is looking carefully.
            He saw that each one could be a world, a ship, a person, a star, that size didn’t matter, as size was purely a local matter. And it was adjustable!
            His brown eyes sparkled with pure happiness. He got it.
            As he watched, one of the tiny specks shone with a blue light. This caught his eye, as it was different. It seemed to be somewhat larger than the others also. Yes! It was larger! And it kept growing.
            Before his eyes, it grew to the size of a turkey egg. It was actually shaped like a turkey egg. It was shiny blue, suspended in the air before Ralph’s face. It stayed in position. Then it grew larger.
            It looked like a shiny light blue ovoid, but more complicated than it had looked before. Finally, Ramona and Maeve noticed it there. They watched silently, to see what Ralph would do.
            The thing was getting pretty big, maybe like a river boulder, one of those big erratic ones. Still it hung there in the air. There was a little subliminal buzz to it now.
            “What do you need,” said Ralph. He said it aloud, but he was thinking it pretty hard too. He could see that someone had worked hard to come and see them there that morning and that they probably had a good reason to do so.
            “Gold.” The thought came to Ralph. “We need gold. The ship is hungry. Do you have gold? We must find some gold.”
            “Yes,” said Ralph. “We have some gold here. Not much. Just one old human coin, stolen, lost and then found. But you can have it. How shall I give it to you?” asked Ralph.
            A small hatch slid open on the said facing Ralph.
            “We shall be in your debt. Put it in the space which has opened. The ship will live now, and we will return home,” said the occupant of the shiny blue ship. “May the Maker of All grant you peace.”
            So Ralph picked up the old human coin and gave it to the Visitors from Elsewhere.
            As all three watched the ship shrank by stages again, until it was just a blue dust mote. Then it was entirely gone.
            All three looked at each other without a word to say. Even Maeve was silent. This would take some time and consideration.
            Finally, Twigg and Cherry came out with Berry and Bob, and they were all four hungry. So they had bowls of fish soup too, and some wild blackberries, which were in season.
            Ralph was just pleased at how well the whole thing had gone, and that his dream made perfect sense now.

🛸

Oh How I Wish!

 

            Wouldn’t it be fine if we could all meet at Lorenzo's in Luminous for coffee, cokes, tacos, whatever. Everybody know where Lorenzo’s is. Right? On the main street through town?
            Maybe LoneStar could drive old Blue. John M could cruise there on his bike somehow by means of a mysterious tunnel that starts in California and ends in Luminous. I could borrow Raven from Jenae or just get her to fly me there. Neithan could drive his big truck. In dreams it’s easily done to start in Oregon and end up in Luminous.
            Maybe Prof Farns and Nana and PK could dream it also.
            Pointman shouldn’t have any trouble. He’s already in Texas.
            Mysterious lurkers are welcome too!
            If we were lucky, Mike Flores might appear and hook a chair over with his booted foot. Or that sardonic farmer’s wife and her grandson could join us.
            Fortunately, Lorenzo’s is bigger on the inside than it appears to be from the outside, and Maria is a dream of a cook. We wouldn’t mind waiting while she covered all the orders. I bet we could talk until midnight, if she didn’t throw us out first!
            After dark we could all go outside of town to gaze upon the Luminous lights on the far hillside. We could watch them ripple and shift colors as they moved, and marvel. Some of us might have to ride in the back of old Blue, or with NH.
            We could drive the highways until dawn, just because. Then head back drowsy and wind whipped into Luminous and then if anyone was too tired to go home right away they could go see Toni at the Desert Rose motel and rent a cabin until they were rested.
            Only a dream, but a good one!

As True As I Can Make It

 

            She always had to take her little brother along and keep him alive too. She was maybe 12, if that old. He was 6, maybe. A totally useless age, in his case. The second child, a girl, didn’t go on these expeditions. The baby stayed home too. So, it was older sister and little brother.
            The family ate a lot of jam. Why go out into the wilds to pick blackberries for jam when there were perfectly good raspberries at home? Well, blackberry jam is better, according to this family. Then there are the pies and so forth. The mother was a whiz-bang pie maker, and she wanted blackberries.
            Oh, it helps to give characters names. Let’s call big sister Polly, eh? Little brother shall be called Dirk.
            Polly carried her mother’s biggest soup pot, the one with the bale type handle. Dirk carried a re-purposed Easter basket. This didn’t suit his own sense of personal dignity as a man.
            It was late July, and it was hot. But the kids didn’t take particular notice of it. Summer was hot. Winter was cold, and in between it rained. So, anyhow the best place to pick was down the road half a mile and then into the bush. This steep hillside had been logged twice. Once long ago. The huge stumps remained. And then the second growth had been taken maybe in the late 50s. It was ideal for dewberries. They hadn’t ever heard this name. They called them blackberries. The kind that grow low to the ground and can be quite a tangled challenge to get at.
            They didn’t carry food or drink; they figured on being home for lunch at some time. Besides, berries are food and drink together.
            The morning went on. Polly soldiered away to fill  her mother’s soup pot. Looking around, she saw plenty of berries, so she figured on filling the pot in a couple of hours. Dirk sat down in various little shady spots picking and eating most of what he could reach while sitting. Sometimes they would find a ripe huckleberry bush closer to the tree line. Huckleberries like shade. They would throw some of the tiny orange fruits in with the blackberries. That combo looked good in a pie or in jam.
            Dirk carried his most prized possession in his jeans. Front, right side pocket. It was his folding pocket knife. Well, he had been fooling around with it, and he lost track of it. But he didn’t know where he had been sitting when he lost it. Then he dumped the two cups of berries he had in his Easter basket.
            The truth of the matter is that big boys of 6 years do cry when they lose their best thing of all, and then dump the fruits of their labor. He was hot and tired and tired of eating blackberries, and he had to stay there with his sister while she worked, and it was all too much. He wept. He cried like a toddler almost. He cried until he was all cried out. He sat there glumly and then the sun, and weariness got to him, and he lay down in a little bit of shade next to one of those grampa stumps and he went to sleep. Polly was grateful. She was getting close to done.
            The sun had moved, changing the shadows. Trees loomed near the berry patch. Polly stood up and looked all around because something had changed and she wasn’t able to put her finger on it right away. Then she noticed that all the bird chatter that they had been hearing was silent. This had never happened before. It felt strange and she experienced a whisper of fear.
              But everything looked OK, so she bent to get a few more berries. Something moved in her peripheral vision. Something tawny, just barely moving.
            In those days, there were still cougars in the woods, though most had never seen one. Polly knew what it was when she looked carefully. She had no idea what to do. Her brother was out cold, she had nothing to protect them with, and the cat came on, slowly, low to the ground, carefully. This cat must have been very hungry, or have kittens to feed, to make her so bold as to approach even immature human beings. Polly stared open mouthed.
            Finally, Polly said out loud, “help us, please!” The cat continued on for a few steps, then she stopped. Her focus changed to something besides Dirk or Polly. She was looking behind Polly, and now stood upright, not crouched. She sniffed the air, shut her eyes and bowed her head. Then she turned and walked back under the cover of the alders and firs further downhill.
            Polly had no idea what had turned the cat around. She even looked behind herself, searching for anything to explain it. Nothing. She saw no one. It was a mystery that Polly couldn’t solve for many years.
            “Wake up, Dirk,” she said. “We have to go home now.”
            The boy sat up and rubbed his eyes, taking a minute to realize where he was.
            “Bring your basket, it’s okay,” Polly told him.
            They started back uphill, going through places where they had been before. Once more, motion caught Polly’s eye. From out of nowhere a small pebble hit the ground to the right of her feet. Where it hit, she saw something colored yellow, with metal bits. It was Dirk’s pocket knife of course. She almost laughed. None of this made any sense.
            “Did you throw that little rock,” she asked  her brother.
            “What rock? I didn’t throw anything!” he said.
            “Well, Dirk. It landed on your knife, so pick it up,” she indicated with her toe. “I think it’s time to get out of here.”
            Up the hill, through the scrub and stumps went Polly and Dirk. She carried the soup pot of berries. He carried his basket, but kept his hand on his knife in his pocket lest it fall out again. When they got to the dirt road it was easier going and they were home in just a few minutes.
            She didn’t try to explain to her mother and father. She didn’t want to frighten them. Plus it would have been hard to explain. And the bit with the pebble landing on Dirk’s pocket knife was totally impossible to explain.
            Many years later Polly began to understand.

🤎

Being Seen In All The Right Places

 

            Maybe it had something to do with not “looking.” I wasn’t looking for Bigfoot. I was barely aware that something like a Yeti might exist somewhere else. Actually I wasn’t thinking of the Abominable Snowman at all. Who did? Not kids.
            I was certainly in the right places in the early years. We literally made camps and hovels next door in the trees before the lot was cleared. We lived on a dead end dirt and gravel road surrounded by trees and a few other houses. There were clearings full of black berries around this time of year. The way we lived would give modern parents hives. We were out of contact with parents, usually mom, for many hours per day, when not in school of course.
            If the Boogerman had wanted to get us, he could have had us any day, and no one would have known. How’s that for 411, Dave? An empty forest tells no tales.
            I grew, sort of, up. Went to college. Here. Right here. My buddy, Carole, and I used to range around the area. Gas was cheap and the thing I drove got about 40 mpg. We certainly would have been seen in many of the right places. It was a heck of a lot woodsier around here in the 60s. We never did see anything unusual on the beach, in the woods, or up on a mountain.
            Once I talked Carold into coming with me on one of my cross country hikes. It took all day, and she never went hiking with me again for some reason. We crossed swamps, meadows, pushed our way through vines and brush, all sorts of interesting places. Surely, surely, we should have seen a Forest Dude? I mean, where do they hang out if not by swamps, etc.
            This went on at each stage of life. Many adventures, no sightings. But I wasn’t looking. Sometimes I really do think one such as Ralph might have a sort of obliviousness wavelength that he projects.
            Maybe we project something when we are looking, or needing to see?
            Maybe it alerts them somehow. We light up, or something. Or we emit subsonic beeps.
            Having gotten my mind changed on the subject, I wonder how it would be to just sit around among the trees now. I have been busy and haven’t done it. I would be looking and listening now!
            My theory is that they saw me but let me be. The Watchers watched and that’s all. Maybe if they had needed to expose their existence they would have. Maybe that Mama I dreamed up for Nance was there in some sense when I was all alone with a bucket of blackberries. No one ever harmed me, and I always got home alive, if somewhat scratched up by the vines. I never stumbled into a dimensional interface, thank goodness!
            But Ralph was right the other day when he said to get out of the car, go into the woods and hang out. He doesn’t make guest appearances to cars, though some do! Those appearances are probably accidental.
            I must have been in the right places, at all the wrong times. We’ll see how it goes from now on.
            What was it R. Frost said: “The woods are lovely, dark and deep?”
            Ralph says, “Check it out! You might be surprised!”

🌸

Ralph Taking Up The Slack

             Ralph here. What can I tell you? She ran out of day again.

So, I made this cool kaleidoscope for you. You might recognize some of it. 

            In the meantime, I wondered if any of you have any questions for me. You know, something about anything, from my special point of view?

            You've heard some of the stuff Millicent's readers asked. Really nothing is off the table, that I can think of.

            Ramona sends her love. Twigg thumped his chest at you. Cherry hid behind her mom and giggled. No talkie, that one.

            You know what Maeve said. I can't help it. She still gets a bang out of it.

            Consider yourselves firmly bunted by Bob and/or Berry.

            Uncle Bob wants you to know that everything is really far out these days, and to never give up. Well!

            I, for myself, gladly take this opportunity to send you all the very best blessing I can dream up. I will sing it when I get done writing this note.

            Happy Tootsday. All the best to all the cats represented here.

            Love, Ralph 

💚

             

The Booger Awareness Channel

 

Transmitting from a box somewhere.

Today’s program is brought to you by KittyComm™, the latest word in getting kitties together!
 
    I’m your host, Willie. If you have any Booger sightings to report, no matter how improbable, contact me at BoogerAwareness@gmail.com. It would be my pleasure to air them here.
    Tonight I have the privilege of talking to two witnesses. Toots is in Texas, and Suzy is in Washington State. Both have fur raising experiences to report.
First, I have a question for Toots. Since this is a new channel and we don’t get many listeners, yet, can you explain to the listeners just exactly what is meant by the term “Booger?”
        “Sure, Willie. I’m pretty surprised to have you being the host, but OK, I’ll go with it. A Booger is a creature who may or may not exist but probably shouldn’t. They come in different forms. They’re schitzy too. You never know!”
    How about you, Suzy. Anything to add?
        “Do I have to? I guess if Toots is doing it, I will. Booger is the word people us in crazy places far away from me! Usually it refers to what more enlightened people, or cats, call a Sasquatch. I guess they don’t know any Indigenous people, so they don’t use the right word.”
    Yes, Toots?
        “The word started in England in the form of bugger, where it meant an animal, usually a farm animal. Brits brought the word with them, and it morphed a little in sound and meaning. I could go on but should leave it at that.”
    That’s great Toots. But today we want to hear about your experiences with these, um, Boogers, or whatever. How did this start for you?
        “Well, it was a gradually dawning awareness. A few years ago I started to sense that something was not right outside my window. It was an intangible uneasiness. I began to feel like the situation required research. Hence, the window.”
    What happens at the window, Toots?
        “I keep watch! Whaddaya think, Willie?”
    See anything interesting, Toots?
        “I haven’t seen the big one, yet. But I know he’s out there. He transmits a pretty darn loud signal. I think we get our waves crossed sometimes. I’m not sure if I’m afraid of him or not!”
    Tell me more, Ms. Toots!
        “OK, Willie, I will! I was at my usual post the other night, once the water had started to recede, just keeping watch, when suddenly a little gray tomcat appeared at my window. He and I were having a lively discussion, when something even worse showed up. I think it was hunting the young fool!”
    What did that look like?
        “I could hardly bear to look! It was twice the cat’s size. It had a great big boogly head with enormous yellow eyes with those goat pupils you know? Ewww! He had a long gray pigtail hanging to his feet, which were huge and flat as pancakes. To make things even worse, he was in a tight little spandex romper suit printed in a snakeskin pattern. He had a wooden flute which he played as if to hypnotize the big dumb kitten. Did I mention that his mouth was impossibly wide and full of sharp teeth?”
    Nasty, Ms. Toots!
        “Yeah, Willie! I screamed like a Banshee with Scorpion sauce up her nose until he beat it! I scared the little stinker away. The gray kitten took off in the other direction. Well, that woke my gentleman too, but he was able to go outside with a light and make sure nothing was wrong. I feel that I did my duty!”
    I should say so! We are all proud of you! Now, Suzy, what would you like to report?
        “Um, I just saw a green dog get out of a spaceship out in the alley one night. I really hadn’t expected that. He wasn’t scary. Just weird. I never could figure out what he wanted.”
    Yeah, I remember that…. Anything else Ms. Suzy?
        “Jaja! I’ve seen shape shifters all over the backyard! In broad daylight! They look like crows, but, man, they’re shapeshifters! I know it. They will eat anything! I know because the Boss here feeds them! Then there are shapeshifters who look just like squirrels. But I know the ravening beasts are not really squirrels!”
    Are you sure, Suzy? Maybe they really are crows and squirrels!
        “Nope, and the Bush Tits are no better. They travel in packs! Packs, I tell you! Horrible!”
    Whoah! Intriguing! Unusual! For sure, Suzy!
        “But I have more! The best or worst of all, depending. Some chick writes for the local paper about a Sasquatch character that she calls Ralph, as if he’s real but maybe not. There is some wink-wink, nudge-nudge in her style. You know?
        “Now, I happen to know he’s out there when he’s out there. This place isn’t very far from the woods, and he does come to town.”
    Ms. Suzy, how can you know that? Come on!
        “Because when he sneaks down our alley I freeze up! I can’t move, and I lose time! It must be infrasound!”
    That sounds a lot like being asleep, Suzy! But very interesting anyhow…
        “You’re just jealous because you don’t have an empathetic bone in your chonkiness !”
    Maybe this program has gone on long enough! Toots, I want to be sure that you had time to tell anything you had to tell. Anything else?
        “Um, if I could just get outside, there would be a lot more! I’d go down to the creek and find out who the heck is yelling down there. I’d show her a thing or two about yelling! That’s about all. Unless you want to hear about the Dogthing?”
    Dogthing?
        “Dogthing. Yes.”
    What can you tell us about the Dogthing?
        “Looks like a wolf hybrid. Walks like a man. Twice as tall as a man. Drools a lot. I’ve seen him, but I guess he was on his good behavior. He just walked on down the road. Your guess is as good as mine, Willie. What does he want? Dunno.”
    If you think of anything else, Toots, be sure to contact me!
        “You bet! But that’s all until next time, when there will be more!”
    Thank you, Ms. Toots, and Ms. Suzy! I’m sure our listeners will never be the same after all of that! Keep a sharp eye out for Boogers of all kinds and be sure to keep me up to date on all sightings!
    Willie signing off! But stay tuned for more later!

Post Shabbat Post

             What can I say? I decided to take it seriously. It’s easier in ways not to. In a way it’s easier to keep pushing, trying, beavering away.

            I guess the idea is to take the blinkers off and look around for one day anyhow. A day devoted to not striving, to observe the eternal and immutable. So, that’s the plan.

            Didn’t write anything. Well, except for this note.

            I hope you also had a great yesterday, always assuming you didn’t have an ox in a ditch or anything like that! 

            Much love, Priscilla

    

Hard to resist posting red roses, though I have posted them before.

MEOW!

        

          

Once There Was A Boy

 

The Stillaguamish River near Mt. Baker. 

            Now, as it happens, there was a grownup boy from way up in the Skagit valley. His name was Peterson Helseth. This made sense to his father when Peterson was born, because his dad’s name was Peter. Ah well. Naturally, the boy was at pains to be called Pete.
            His parents worked on a large dairy farm owned by the Swanson family. Old Peter milked cows for a living. Pete’s mom, Livia, worked in the big house, cooking and such. The Helseth family lived on this farm in their own much smaller house. They had no extra money.
            Pete was not employed by the Swansons. He was a student. Well, he had been, but he had just graduated from the local high school. Pete didn’t even want to be employed by the Swansons. In fact, it was the last thing he wanted.
            He decided to go out into the world and seek his fortune. But, oddly for these days, he had no vehicle, not even a beater or a bike. He had feet.
            He looked like a Norski, because he was one. Just around six feet tall, light brown hair, kept moderately long, not quite shoulder length. Grey eyes. He wore 32x32 jeans, a large size shirt, and size 12 sneakers. People said he looked thoughtful, and he was.
            He told old Peter what was up, and old Peter nodded. Livia cried later in the kitchen. He was her one and only.
            Livia helped Pete fill his back pack with durable snacks, such as nuts, dried fruit, jerky, and she gave him four bottles of water. He didn’t take a phone because he didn’t have one. He took a tightly rolled sleeping bag. His total monetary worth was $98.57, in his wallet in his jeans.
            Pete walked south on the Pioneer Highway. By evening he was in and through Stanwood. He didn’t stop there. He bought a burger and kept going.
            To the east the land was hilly and covered in trees. This direction called to him, so he started walking uphill. Just as the sun was setting over Puget Sound far off to the west he came upon a congenial looking wooded area. It was summer, a dry summer, so sleeping in the woods was no problem for Pete. He slept well until the sun returned.
            He woke listening to crows and squirrels. When he opened his eyes he was looking up through tree branches. Then he remembered where he was. He smiled. He still felt called to the east. So he ate some of Livia’s durable snacks, drank some water, rolled up his bag, put it all back together and kept going eastward all during the morning.
            At last there was a moderately sized river. The river seemed to say, “come down this way.” So he stepped over the guard rail, leaving the roadway and walking down a steep few feet to the riverbank. One always walks downstream, and so did Pete.
            It was a lot of fun, but walking down a riverbank in the PNW is hard going. There are a lot of big rocks, not much in the way of sandy beaches, and then there are fallen trees and all sorts of river driftwood. There was a lot of climbing over involved.
            Finally Pete found himself in an area that seemed deeply remote. He could hear no noise of traffic or anything else. He spent the second night there. He made a small fire and drank river water to save his bottled water. All night the river sighed and rustled. It seemed to be saying something, but Pete was too sleepy to decipher it.
            He felt a little damp and chilly when he woke, so he got up quickly, had some jerky and fruit, and kept following this river downstream.
            The river grew as he went further.
            At last he came to an area that looked like people had been there.  It was hard to say why, maybe it was the few footprints in the earth above the rocky bottom. Someone had been there quite recently. Maybe several someones and they were barefoot. He didn’t think much of it. He took off his sneakers too.
            The water looked so inviting. It ran smoothly, looking almost muscular.
            Pete stashed his shoes, socks, and backpack together by a large rock and rolled up his jeans.
            When he stepped into the water it was shockingly cold, as is usually the case. He giggled like a kid and shivered. It was a little painful walking on the gravel and pebbles on the bottom. The rocks glinted up through the water almost like gems of some lesser variety.
            But, wait! There was something else down there. It looked like a coin. Looking again he saw more than a few, colored like gold. Pete reached into the water and took one up to examine it. It was unlike any coin he had ever seen, of course. Pete hadn’t come upon many ancient golden coins up in the Skagit. It was most shiny and about the size of a half collar coin.
            He looked around himself, up and down the river, for signs of habitation. There were none. He was alone here in the deep forest by a river where he had found this amazing thing. So, he gathered them out of the cold water. There were 25 coins of differing design. Each one had some slight damage in a couple areas as if they had all been soldered together for some reason. They were heavy too, so he didn’t put them in his pockets. He had them wadded together in the front of his shirt to carry them.
            He was heading to his backpack to put them away when the biggest raven he had ever seen landed on the largest boulder and watched him. She said nothing, just watching. Pete said, “wow,” and proceeded to zip the coins into an inner pocket in the bag. He put his shoes and socks on and just sat there thinking. He was thinking about laws regarding treasure. He had to conclude that lost treasure found belongs to the finder. How could it be otherwise. It wouldn’t be possible to discover how this treasure had gotten there.
            About then the raven took off, flying directly into the trees as if on a mission. She seemed to shout something as she took off, but he was never able to say what it was later when he told the story.
            So, that is how Pete found a fortune, but his greater fortune is for him to discover as he lives it.
            That is also how Wolvrin Farsikkel’s crown made of stolen golden coins passed from the hands of the fey into the hands of man, by way of the foot of Ralph. A far-fetched tale indeed.
            You may be sure that Pete went directly to Milltown’s library to learn online there how to go about selling such a find. It would take a while and had to be done right. I suppose that’s part of the trouble with fortunes of all kinds. They require attention.
            Pete was pleased.
            Ralph was also pleased, once Maeve filled him in on what had happened. He had to laugh thinking about the story those coins could tell, if only they could talk.

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