My poetic efforts pale before those gifted historic writers, Shakespeare, Keats, Wordsworth, Hopkins, Dante, Petrarch and Frost. I’ll never belong to this long list of greats. My sonnets of dogs, cranes, mountains and snow? As remote and unsung as the valley they praise. A lady at her laptop tapping out poems, Fencing events in ordinary days. I think the best art is the true display, Images of spring sparrows eating seeds From last year’s black-eyed Susans in hungry May. Writing our worlds, the simple things we see. I’ll keep writing ’til my final “fuck it” The mortal coil falls and I kick the bucket.
“Lamont, seriously. What are you going to do while I’m working all day in a shipping container?”
“What do I ever do? Observe the passing parade. That kind of thing.”
“Wouldn’t you be happier back at the beach?”
“I can go back any time. We albatross can fly miles and miles with little or no effort, and pretty fast, too.”
“But the tar pit…”
“Been there. Done that.”
“True.”
“You just go on about your work. I’m going to go talk to the fellows outside. Nothing like trash to bring in the gulls, am I right?”
“You usually are. Awright. Just stay OUT of the water. You KNOW what happens.”
“Are you going to be dressing up later in your Smilodon suit? I always wanted to see that.”
“I don’t know. Depends.”
“On what?”
“If there’s a school group coming. I don’t know yet and I’m late. You…. OH never mind.”
“I made you angry. Oh, Dude, I just have this feeling that I need to stick close to you.”
“I know.”
“No good deed, etc.”
“I know. Just stay out of the tar.”
“I’m a lot more acquadynamic than I was as mastodon, you know.”
“Yeah, well, be that as it may, don’t test it. I’m not going in there to save you.”
“Been there, done that too, right Dude?”
“Shut up. I have work to do.”
Lamont and Dude are characters I came up with several years ago. They have the uncanny ability to remember many of their past incarnations which gives them a unique perspective on life, the universe, and everything.
I woke up this morning laughing and I’m still laughing. It’s not that dreams never come true but…
Here’s what made me laugh. My friend Michael has long dreamed of going to the Grand Canyon and one thing after another has stopped him — sometimes literally, like the time he and Lois were ALMOST THERE and their little RV broke down and they were truly stuck on the side of the road. Once rescued from THAT by a tow truck, they holed up in a little motel in an obscure desert town until they could drive home. No Grand Canyon. There were a couple other misadventures on other attempts. We were all going one December but when we finally priced the whole trip we were planning — which included a train ride and a nice hotel — we were all priced out. THAT was Karma. We were trying to run away from Christmas. Anyone knows you can never run away from Christmas. Well, Michael finally made it to the Grand Canyon, but not before he had lost his vision. Somehow he was still happy about it. ❤️
Lois just bought the most beautiful horse in the world, a life’s dream, really. But how she got there involved the death of the great friend of her youth with whom she used to ride horses. It’s a long story, and not mine to tell, except the upshot was that when her friend died almost a decade ago Lois decided to get back on the horse. Since then she’s taken an inspiring journey to becoming a real horsewoman. I have been acquainted with Lois’ horse since the horse was little more than a colt, and she’s not just beautiful, she’s friendly, intelligent, and bonded to Lois. Not all that prone to spooking, either. 🐎
And me. My one of my life’s dreams was to be an international news correspondent. It looks like the magazine is paying for me to go to Del Norte to cover the fancy benefit dinner for the restoration of the log cabin that was the Barlow and Sanderson Stagecoach Station. And I’m thrilled. 😀
That’s how things go in this best of all possible worlds.
Today’s Facebook memories brought me something from the goodle days of teaching. Too good not to share.
One Saturday morning, after he’d surfed a couple of perfect sets, Dude sat on the beach looking off into infinity collecting his thoughts before he headed to LA for work. As he sat there, minding his own business, fantasizing informally about mermaids and whether he should turn his house into an Air BNB, or sell it and move to LA and be closer to work, he felt a gentle poke on his lower back. He turned to see an albatross chick. “What?” was his first thought, then he remembered the bright red birthmark on his back. “Ah. I’m not mom, little guy. I don’t have anything. Where are your parents?”
The albatross cocked his head and lifted its tiny wings. It knew it should maybe fly away but it couldn’t. Dude sat beside it for a while and realized there was no mom and no dad for the little guy, not like Albatross parents were very interested in their chicks. They weren’t, but they did feed them. Dude stood up and took a few steps toward a pile of seaweed. The chick followed. “Looks like I have a family,” he sighed, wondering how to make a home for an albatross. “You guys are pretty independent,” he said to the bird. “Maybe you don’t really need me.” This albatross seemed unusually needy.
“Listen, little guy, I don’t think I can chew up some rotten fish and puke it into your mouth to keep you going. You need your parents.” But he went into the house and smashed up some sardines and fed them to the bird as well as he could given the bird’s instincts and Dude’s abilities.
After that, every morning, when he went out to surf, the albatross would be waiting. On his next trip to Costco, Dude stocked up on sardines. After all, his chick was growing.
Lamont (RIP) and Dude are characters I came up with a few years ago. They have (had) the unusual ability to remember many of their earlier incarnations which gives (gave) them a unique perspective on life, the universe and everything.
The sun had barely broken the horizon, but Dude was already out there, waiting, ready. Since Lamont’s death he’d done a LOT more surfing. The museum at the Tar Pits had also opened since Covid had shut things down. Dude was getting out at dawn for a few rides before he had to drive to LA to sort bones and don his Smilodon costume for the kids.
Why Lamont had wanted to go down to Puerto Peñasco when they could have gone anywhere — and, for that matter, they lived on the beach! — was still a mystery to Dude. In a MOTORHOME for the love of God? A rented motorhome, “See America.”
“We’ve SEEN America, wouldn’t you say, Dude?” laughed Lamont as they took the keys from the rental agent. “In four dimensions.”
The next morning, as he was walking on Playa Bonita, pondering life, the universe and everything, Lamont was flattened by a dune buggy. The driver never stopped. Lamont’s last words? “Watch out, Dude. The Reaper’s driving a dune buggy. Well, see you later.” That was it. His life left his body, the vapor of the soul sped toward its next life.
Dude missed Lamont. After all, they’d been through a lot of lifetimes together, a fact that was a consolation but also, in its way, a curse. Who knew if Lamont would be back or when or, worse, as WHAT? Dude thought about that almost every day as he sorted bones. As he was all too aware, it was kill-or-be-killed out there in reality and one day’s dinner was the next day’s diner.
He looked to the west and saw a perfect swell heading his way.
Lamont (RIP) and Dude are characters I came up with a few years ago. They have (had) the uncanny ability to remember many of their previous incarnations which gives them an unusual perspective on life, the universe and everything.
“OH! Does that mean your second iteration as a Smilodon — albeit this time only a costume — is about the recommence?”
“Could be. I don’t know. I just hate that they have meetings on Saturdays. I don’t see why. The museum is busy as hell on Saturdays.”
“You keep expecting rationality from this particular group of humans.”
“You’re thinking that’s irrational?”
“Yeah, but you know, we’re part of this groups so…”
“Good point. And strangely tolerant from you.”
“I’ve had the last year or so to think about this species of which we find ourselves.”
“Do you think humans have ever been more rational?”
“No. I was reading about the Black Death. They did everything they could to make it go away, but they didn’t know HOW to make it go away. But, to their credit, they did what they knew. And they didn’t know shit, Dude. There were painters back then who painted against the Black Death. What’s a painting going to do?”
“Ah. You’re humbled, Lamont. I never imagined.”
“Take it from me, Dude. 99% of what people do they do just to get from day to day. That’s it. Like this Black Friday business. What’s that about?”
“Oh stores think they might finally make some money.”
“Consumerism is a way of getting through the day. That’s all it is and then there’s that brief moment when they have gotten something and they have a kind of buyer’s high — you know what that is, Dude? Think back to the good old days.”
“Sure I know what that is. It’s how I felt when my family and I drove you into the tar pits.”
“I’m sure you did but then? Then? Tell me what happened Dude.”
“I don’t really feel like it. I gotta’ go.”
“C’mon.”
“OK. I landed in the tar pits.”
“Heh heh heh. What goes around comes around.”
“Lamont, that wasn’t just whimsical killing. You were going to feed us for MONTHS. Smilodons starve too.”
Lamont and Dude are characters I came up with a few years ago. They have the uncanny ability to remember many of their past incarnations which gives them a unique perspective on life, the universe and everything.
“Amazing how everyone and everything goes right back to where it was in that tide pool of prehistory.”
“That’s pretty poetic for a Smilodon.”
“No Smilodon, Lamont. Some programs are still suspended. It’s just me, a bunch of bones, a lot of dried tar, some solvent, some brushes and a container.”
“You sound a little down, Dude, for a guy who’s again gainfully employed.”
“Basically, Lamont, it’s like spending a day in a hot trailer washing dishes. Seems like last year…”
“You want to go catch some waves? Will that cheer you up?”
“Maybe. What I was about to say was that last year kind of showed things for what they really are. I mean we all work all the time for that SOMEDAY, like the someday we assemble another mastodon, or we find a baby Smilodon, or this or that, but then we do and then we’re back in the container washing more bones.”
“Human life is like the ocean, Dude. How many times have you told ME that? But the tide comes in, the tide goes out, we wait for a good set, we surf it or we wipe out, we come in, we go out, we wait. If things go sideways we have to be rescued and pay for THAT or we die. That’s it. You’ve said that a million times. Life is anticipation. We humans LOVE anticipation.
“I don’t know, Lamont. I like the swimming out and waiting, too.”
“Would you just SWIM out and hang out beyond the swells and never catch a wave and be totally happy?”
“I have.”
“Yeah, but you think — I think, we all think, — ‘Maybe the next one!’ What I think is that during the Viral Times we had to suspend anticipation except for the one BIG anticipation which was the return to so-called ‘normal’ which was never anything more than a life of constant anticipation.”
“You think people who are finally able to see their family again feel this way about THAT?”
“No, of course not, but even there the honeymoon is going to end at some point. Daily life is where we live, Dude. Anticipation keeps it from being a burden on the spirit. It’s why humans love shopping so much. Even just that little, ‘I wonder what’s on sale at Walmart today’ and the turning the corner at the end of an aisle gives humans a little lift.”
“C’mon, Lamont, do YOU like washing dishes?”
“It’s OK. Has to be done.”
“Lamont, maybe you think too much.”
“Well, Dude, you may be right, but I think a lot of people are going to feel just like you as they return to whatever it was they missed. I wonder if people will look at their striving and wonder ‘Why?’ I hope people write about it.”
“You could.”
“Naw.”
Lamont and Dude are characters I came up with a few years ago. They have the uncanny ability to recall many of their previous incarnations which gives them a unique perspective on life, the universe and everything.
“The seeds of destiny are sown in mysterious realms.“
“What does that MEAN???”
“It means that destiny is, well, OK, it’s like this. The seeds of destiny are sown in strange places.”
“Yeah but what are ‘seeds of destiny’?”
“Sperm.”
“Huh??”
“Yeah.”
“So the whole vagina uterus thing is a ‘mysterious realm’?”
“Well, yeah.”
“Tom and Trevor, have you got an interpretation of that line of poetry to share with the class or are you giggling over something else?”
“Sorry Mr. Schmidt.”
“So, have you interpreted that line?”
“Trevor did, but I think he’s wrong.”
“Tom, there are no ‘wrong’ interpretations of poetry. The poet just wants you to think about what he’s said. Trevor can’t be ‘wrong’. There is no ‘wrong’. We don’t use that word in my class. Go ahead and tell us what you think. Stand up so we can hear you.”
Trevor stood, sure in his interpretation.
“Well, like ‘destiny’ is our future, right? And the seed comes from our dad and goes into our mom. And all that stuff inside women is pretty weird and mysterious. Realms are places. That’s what it means, ‘the seeds of destiny are sown in mysterious realms’.”
Mr. Schmidt’s face went pale and he held his lips tightly together.
“Dude,” Tom whispered, shaking his head, “I told you.”
Sharon, Shannon and Sherry turned bright red. Janine, Jerome, Janelle, Jessica, and Jim laughed so hard tears streamed down their cheeks. Ramona, Robbie, and Rex sat stunned, afraid to laugh because maybe Trevor was right and they hated this poetry shit. Others sat wide-eyed, staring at Mr. Schmidt, waiting for a cue.
“Did you see this? I think the National Geographic has it in for us.”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t remember skipping through a meadow with a flower between my teeth chasing butterflies.”
“I’ve thought about that dumb illustration and I think they’re just trying to hit home the point that we were not, you know, thunder lizards.”
“We could have told them.”
“Dude, who would believe we were there?”
“True. We’re just a couple of dudes.”
“That’s certainly true of you.”
“Ha ha, real funny. But I was thinking. What if we wrote a book that satirizes humans’ bizarre qualities?”
“Besides the fact that the book would be infinitely long, what would you satirize?”
“The way they don’t believe in germs even when they get sick. The way they make vows to stay married forever but it only last through the photo shoot. The way they elect political leaders BECAUSE those leaders have NO experience in governing. Oh, oh oh, and my favorite. Their elected official has a soft-porn model for his wife and people call her ‘classy’.”
“Says more about them than her, don’t you think?”
“True, but think about it. Lots of really funny stuff has happened in the past few years. Stuff like that. It would be easy to satirize.”
“I get where you’re going, Dude, but I think if we write about that, humans won’t see the satire. They’ll just think it’s news reporting. They won’t get it any more than they get that we were once velociraptors.”
~~~
Lamont and Dude are characters I came up with a few years ago. They have the uncanny ability to remember many of their previous incarnations which gives them a unique perspective on life, the universe and everything.
“Summer is the season of inferior sledding” - Inuit proverb 
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