Jul 102020
 

It’s been months since I’ve had anything resembling a social life and years since anything I did extended much past 10pm. These days, what with the excessive heat/humidity and Covid-19, I’m in bed by nine to read for an hour and up before six a.m.

I know, boring. But I’ve read somewhere that people like me have the best imaginations.

I’ve been thinking about animals lately. Not the ones who resort to whining or harassing their fellow citizens. Truth is, I’m feeling less enthused about the human variety of beast these days, although I’ve witnessed incredible acts of kindness and generosity, often after the fact but still.

I was a little afraid of animals as a kid, notwithstanding I learned to ride horses at a young age. When I was ten, we got a regal Labrador-Spaniel we unimaginatively named Cocoa. I don’t remember getting all cuddly with the dog, who seemed closest to my parents, probably because they walked him.

That was then. These days, I am all about non-human beings. I watch the videos—who doesn’t? I’ve been making note of the huge numbers of new canines in our neighborhood. Quarantine puppies, you could say.

My real interest is in the non-domesticated creatures. Quarantine has brought them out in force. They seem to confuse themselves with pets. Maybe they’re tired of living paw or hoof to mouth. More than likely, they’re opportunists.

The relative absence of people has emboldened them. This is mostly wonderful and also a bit unsettling. I’m not afraid of deer, really. On the other hand, encountering three or four of them at your front door if you happen to be out for a late-night stroll with your pooch is a heart-pounding experience. It’s like answering the door at Halloween and seeing a pack of fully-grown teenagers in masks with their hands outstretched.

I live in a suburban development hard by a major thoroughfare. My house backs up against five acres of old growth trees and wetlands. You can get quite a bit of wildlife into five acres. During the day, I walk around the neighborhood with my phone to try and capture whichever creatures have decided to hang out in the hood. So far, no bear sightings, though we had one last year. The foxes are too fast, the possums too clever, the eagles too rare. The other night, I chased away a racoon the size of my dog who’d come up on the porch, so no picture. He’ll be back; he lives under my neighbor’s deck. The bird that built a nest over my front door fixture has eluded the camera, but I hear her. She has let me know in no uncertain terms that my presence is an irritant to her family’s well-being.

I’ve caught a few decent pictures, though, which I’d like to share with you. Enjoy. Who knows? Next year, these may be your new neighbors.

Dec 042016
 

burned out villageThere was a single moment of eerie calm, a soundless void over which the world was suspended between the before of what had happened—what he had caused to happen—and the after, when the trajectory of history was forever altered, at least for that place. In the space of stillness before the first screams escaped the smoldering ruins and the spiraling debris, Smith turned on his heel. With some effort, he limped away from what had been just another morning in the outdoor market.

The gravel shifting under his boots made a disproportionately loud crunch, piercing the silence and rebounding off the buildings at the edge of the town. The reverberation seemed to kick-start time itself. Then the after took over completely; an orchestrated cacophony that rose in intensity, consisting of equal parts shock, confusion, fear, and despair. Later would come anger.

He couldn’t believe he still lived. Not that his death had been part of the plan. On the other hand, no one guaranteed his survival. It was his first such assignment, after all. Older, more experienced combatants had failed in their attempts. Smith had accepted several possible outcomes with the fatalism that had accompanied him throughout other missions he’d carried out in an earlier life.

Yet here he was, heart pounding, ears ringing, arms pumping, and legs bearing him away. He was most definitely still a part of this world. The realization made him feel unexpectedly buoyant, though he was covered in brick and mortar and a thousand bits of flotsam and jetsam he would never be able to identify—and never want to.

Alive! And intact. Was it possible? It was. Smith willed himself to breathe slowly, to act dazed, which wasn’t hard to do. His adrenaline high began to fade, replaced by a sense of displacement. For a moment he allowed himself to be pushed and pulled by the flood of humanity. Some ran away from the devastation and some ran toward it. Others remained still, rendered inert by their disbelief or their injuries. He kept moving in a straight line, seeking distance.

The disaster vehicles descended on the shattered scene. Their unrelenting mechanical alarms combined with scattered cries for help to form an inhuman wailing wall of noise. The music of suffering.

Smith risked a backward glance and slowed. Falling ash blanketed the burned-out stalls and scattered detritus as survivors climbed frantically out from under, shouting for those missing, keening for those discovered dead: men, women, children, the old, the strong, the infirm, the guilty, and the innocent.

He tried to purge his mind of thoughts of death, loss, injury, and grief. It wouldn’t do to lose focus. Yet a memory surfaced, unbidden. He recalled a beautiful home reduced to rubble, the stench of something unnamable, the taste of acrid smoke, and the cries of a small child whose security had been ripped from him. He tasted bile and felt the familiar pain in his stomach.

As hurtful as his recollection was, it served to bring him back to the present turmoil and the task at hand. He’d been given a plan. Get away clean and report to the rendezvous point. He set off again at a brisk pace, swallowing repeatedly as if by doing so he could manage to digest the volatile mixture of pride and pain that clogged his throat.

Keeping his head down, Smith broke free of the crowd and moved into the shadow of an intact structure in order to catch his breath. Immediately, he sensed he was not alone. When his eyes adjusted to the shade, he saw a young boy, perhaps six or seven, his eyes tracking Smith’s every move.

He’d seen the child earlier, just before the explosion. Which means the boy must have seen Smith head into the town center with his parcel and leave again without it, his right leg dragging just a bit behind him. These were details an observant little boy might remember and be able to describe to interested adults.

Smith’s hand drifted to the weapon at his belt. He could kill the youngster. The enemy came in all sizes. Sometimes they even looked like you, although he knew that to be less and less true. He’d seen the changes reflected in the culture that had entertained him for years until he learned to despise its insistent “otherness.”

He smiled. “Hey, buddy.”

“Hello.”

“What are you doing here?”

The child looked down and kicked at the dirt. “Nothing. Watching.”

“Watching what?

The boy pointed at the ruins without raising his eyes.

“A lot to take in. What do you remember?” Smith hoped he sounded more relaxed than he felt.

“People shopping. Then there was a blast that tore everything apart.” He threw his arms out. “After that, everyone was screaming and crying.” He looked up, suddenly defiant. “I saw you walk in and walk out.”

“You have good eyes. Do you know who I am?” Smith kept his voice neutral and fought to quiet the warring voices in his head.

The boy met his gaze. There was no fear, only curiosity.

“A terrorist?”

“What? No!” Smith felt as if he’d been punched in the stomach. This is what the boy saw? Not the features that so closely mirrored the boy’s own. Not his devotion to God or love of country, at least the country he used to know. No, he saw the enemy, the very thing Smith fought.

Struggling to stay calm, he squatted in front of the boy and put his hands on the child’s shoulders.

“I’ll tell you who I am. I’m a soldier. A patriot. A hero.”

The boy looked blank. “You are? Then why did you leave? Why didn’t you help those people?”

Smith flinched. How could he make this child understand? He cast around for a reference and came back to his own childhood and the pop culture he loved and loathed. “I’m a special soldier. Like Soap MacTavish in ‘Call of Duty.’ ”

The boy’s eyes lit up. “Wow. Captain MacTavish. He was a real bad-ass.”

Smith didn’t know whether to laugh or weep. Could it be that easy? Could he lead a young mind to believe as completely as he did? Or was he taking the easy way out by gluing his truth to a video game that glorified battle for its own sake? In that moment, it didn’t matter.

“Exactly like that. Dedicated. Strong. Ready to do whatever is necessary to complete what my assignment. Does that make sense?”

“You’re a special soldier, just like Captain MacTavish.”

“Exactly,” Smith stood and smiled down at the boy.

“I need to leave now. Another job. Top secret, so let’s not mention it to anyone, okay?”

“Okay.”

Smith pulled something from his pocket. “Tell you what. Hang on to this for me until we meet again, okay?” He pressed a small sharp object into the boy’s hand and closed his fingers around it. “Protect that at all costs, soldier. Can you do that?”

“Yes, sir.” The boy clutched the gift in his hand.

Smith took off without a backward glance, filled with gratitude as well as purpose. He’d completed a difficult task without hesitation. His life had been spared. He, in turn, had spared a life. If that wasn’t God’s will, he didn’t know what was.

The boy waited until the man disappeared over the knoll. Then he unfolded his fingers and stared at the tiny American flag pin in his hand.

Jul 052016
 

Never mind that the June 21st solstice marks the change of seasons. Everyone around these parts knows summer “officially” starts on July 4th (July 1st if you’re Canadian). Shorter workweeks, longer days, summer movies (blech) and summer television (much better). Sure you could binge-watch the conventions (and I know you will, despite any warnings I could issue. Go ahead. Democracy at work and all that). There are other, simpler pleasures I’d like to recommend. Below, a small and highly personal list of things that can happily occupy your time.

READ THIS:

Charcoal Joe coverCHARCOAL JOE by Walter Mosley: I can’t think of a more consummate storyteller than Mosley. His Easy Rawlins books are studies in craftsmanship: suspenseful, well-paced, long on detail and short on excess. His ruminations on the black experience in America are unmatched among fiction writers and his evocation of particular time and place unparalleled. Even if you don’t care about any of that, you will still be entertained. Read them all or just this one.

WATCH THIS (television division):

Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt logoI started watching “Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt” on Netflix and I can’t think of a comedy I’ve enjoyed more. It’s a valentine to  resilience and to New York. Not all the  jokes land, but the wit is prodigious and adorned with flashes of brilliance. Ellie Kemper is so darned likable, Tituss Burgess is the eighth wonder of the world and watching pros like Jane Krakowski and Carol Kane will make your heart sing.

WATCH THIS (movie division):

Eye in the Sky logoRent “Eye in the Sky” starring Helen Mirren, the late, great Alan Rickman, Aaron Paul and many other fine actors.  The movie defines suspense thriller; in the silent spaces between the action, my stomach ached from the tension. Underrated, IMHO, it’s a superb if deeply disturbing exploration of the politics and the personal involved in conducting long-distance, drone-operated warfare.

WATCH THIS (advertising division):

Check Molson Beer’s heartfelt tribute to being Canadian in 2016. No wonder everyone wants to move there.

LISTEN TO THIS:

I know “Hallelujah” is overdone but have you heard it sung by a chorus of 1500 backing the sublime Rufus Wainwright?

In a recent interview, master songwriter Paul Simon, 74, claimed to need fifteen hours of sleep these days. He’s clearly packed a lot in during his waking hours, given his tour schedule and his smart his new album, “Stranger to Stranger”.

DRINK THIS:

cucumber lime drinkCucumber Cooler: Combine mint, lime, gin and sugar to a shaker or closed container and shake vigorously. Then throw in cucumber slices and repeat. Leave out the gin, it’s just as refreshing. Other fun ideas are here.

EAT THIS:

taboulehTabouleh is a great summer dish and tastes great the day it’s made. On the other hand, it tastes even better the next day. As a side or main course, for breakfast or dinner, it’s healthy and truly satisfying. Just click on the link and you’re on your way to a simple, no cook tabouleh recipe.

DO THIS:

Sit outside with a book, take a walk without your phone, talk to strangers, talk to animals, think, breath, enjoy.

We’re off for the summer to read, relax and create some art of our own. Feel free to check out the rest of the site. See you in September.