Life's Bone

I transplanted some irises from the nearby woods. A quarry operation was about to bulldoze the area, so I dug them up, and brought them home. This is my first bloom this year.

Personally, I dread the pictures that I feel convinced will be drawing public attention beginning today and continuing for some days, as the oil spill in the gulf closes in on the incredible diversity of life along the Louisiana coast. It threatens to be worse than the Valdez incident some years back. Scarier yet, is the rising frequency of this kind of disaster. Between 1967 and 2004 there have been over 120 notable disasters world-wide involving oil. And the frequency of oil spills has dramatically increased since 1997 or so. More than half these spills occurred in the years 2000 to 2004. I don't have data on the years since, but already, these numbers are more than most people would wish to ponder. My source is cited below.

http://www.marinergroup.com/oil-spill-history.htm

So, we have a menacing oil blob in the Gulf of Mexico. Some 40 miles wide. 80 miles long. And less than 20 miles off the coast. And costs to contain, clean up, and rebuild will be some one billion dollars. Thankfully, we can feel re-assured that the oil company, BP, in this instance, will accept responsibility for this mess. At least, that's what I heard on the news this morning. The representative from the oil company, being interviewed did say that the oil rig was built and was being operated according to 'regulations'. Never mind that these regulations didn't call for the kind of remote shut-down system that would have nipped the problem in the bud. Something that some other countries such as Brazil and Norway have already figured out. Besides, that's between the oil rig industry that BP essentially sub-contracted to draw the oil, and those who regulate what they do. Still, BP assures us they will do everything possible to set things right. Even if it costs a billion dollars. Unfortunately, we have already learned that if there is a major shake-up with any mega-corporation or industry, it is the 'common folk' who will ultimately pick up the tab. Yikes! That's Me!

Finger
Flippin
Guys
Spot
Nameless
Sweet Lips
Love Lady
Bitter End
Bugscuffle
Bugtussle
and
Buck Snort


(They are all names of towns in Tennessee!)

The mahogany plant stand or stool that I started last week is almost done. It's pretty simple in construction. I cut the 2"x2" legs and braces out of a slab of sweet gum. These are glued and screwed together. I counter-sunk the screws so that I could plug the holes with pieces of 1" round pine dowels. Dowel plugs are colored with mahogany stain for contrast with the legs; dowels fastening the top to the legs are left their natural color and are cut flush with the top. So, this is how it looks, at present. The last step (and the most fun) is to apply an oil finish to the piece. Since I am out of oil finishes, it will have to wait awhile until I go to the store. I usually use either a Danish oil, or linseed oil. Meanwhile, I am starting now on a piece to be made of tiger-stripe maple. I don't know what it will be yet, however.


And here it is with a plant on it! I am not sure of the name of this cactus but it is now over 25 years old!

I was a little on edge yesterday since most of the area was under a tornado warning. I live on a slab, which means there is no cellar to run to. But, as it turns out, it wasn't all that bad. Some places further south had some damage done, especially Mississippi. Here it was just a hard rain with dark skies. More moody, than scary. I stared at the scene a lot, getting hypnotized by it. Lucky me, once again!

This morning the sun is just coming up, and it looks like it will be a pretty 80 degree day. The hills are bright with new yellow-green leaves and the various blossoms of Spring. Hay fields are thick with tall dark grass that blows around like sea waves. Some fields have already had their first cut and are lying down yellow in large blankets. Red Buds are not red at all. They are a purplish pink, or pinkish purple. But not red. Dogwoods are peeking out along the dark forest line. You can see the whites of their eyes. And the Pawlonia trees are thick with large broad leaves draped in boas of clustered lilac bells. Stunning attire! Here comes the sun!

It has been unusually dry so far for April. A drought, more typical of mid-summer. But for several days now, the weather stations have been warning about tomorrow. I take it with a grain of salt. Sometimes even a drizzle can make for conversation. The weather man goes on and on with a sinister smile about all kinds of weather. Nevertheless, my mind wanders around the house remembering where the flashlight is. The candles, and the oil lamp. And the bucket to place beneath the inevitable leak. My hooded raincoat. I do a quick rehearsal in my head. Dashing to the front room. Pulling the couch away from the interior support wall. Jumping behind it and crouching. Calling my dog. My cell phone. My battery-operated shortwave. And my blankie.

Now, assured that my emergency plan is do-able, I will pour myself a second cup of coffee and wander about in the back yard in my pajamas. Admire the first sprouts in my garden. A lovely day to continue stripping the leaves from the bamboo I've been cutting down. I must have 50 or more bamboo fishing poles by now. Those would be handy, if I ever went fishing. With this many poles and some baling wire, I could make a raft. That would be handy, if it turns out that tomorrow does bring the storm from hell and the river jumps its banks.

What else should I do today while the sun is still shining? I suppose I could hang my dirty laundry on the clothes line and let the driving rains beat them clean. Then I could take a well-deserved nap on the freshly cut grass and fall asleep to the twittering of birds. And wake up to the sound of rolling thunder.

Sounds like a plan to me.

.

Today is Earth Day. And of course, the earth doesn't really care if we celebrate it or not. The earth doesn't need us. It's the other way around. In a very big way, it is Mother's Day. Let us pay homage to the ground of our being. Promises to be a better child are hollow without commitment to action. Earth Day! All Day! Every Day!

A big low
sinking red sun,
and then just embers;
a last blush
on the face
of someone's
dying last words,
muffled
by the sneaky bigness
of little staring stars.


It sounded
like,
"Who's in charge
here?"

Then the night
raged on
without him.

.

Life's "Why are you looking at me funny?' look.



Life's "Oh, you just want to take my picture!' look.

After about 10 days of sitting around waiting for my truck to get fixed, I have it back now! Now that all that craziness is behind me, I've begun poking around in the wood pile again, looking for a project or two.
This is a hefty piece of tiger-stripe maple measuring approximately 6' long by 22" wide. It is just less than 1 1/2 inches thick. If I stare at this long enough I am sure I will figure out something to make of it.

I splashed some water on it to look at its color. As you can see it is warm, and has nice lines that remind me of a desert landscape. Should make a pretty top for something like a library table, etc. I'll keep you posted.

This is a nice little slab of mahogany. (14"x14" x 2" thick.) I usually just work with native woods, and I am somewhat distrustful regarding the importing of exotic woods from other countries. However, someone gave this to me a few years ago, so I have decided to make it into something. Probably a small table or plant stand. So far, all I have done is to cut the side edges at a 45 degree angle to give it a nice clean sculptured look. Stay tuned for progress reports.


Hopefully, in a week or so, I will be able to show you some photos of how these materials evolve into something hopefully useful and attractive.

In order to write some final paper for a Sociology class, I took to going to night court to watch the various proceedings. It was a room filled with prostitutes, pimps, drug dealers, and drunks who misbehaved. But there was an elderly gray-haired woman whose case fascinated me. She stood before the judge asking for a divorce from her husband. He had left her high and dry. The judge asked when her husband had left her. She replied it was some 27 or maybe 28 years ago. The judge then asked her why she was just now, after all the years, filing for divorce. Her answer was: "I guess he's not coming back."

I am talking about my dog. Life. Life is wonderful. She is even almost human. She listens to whatever I have to say, or at least, acts like she is listening. Living alone as I do, I sometimes talk to myself out loud. She even listens to that. I wish I knew what she thinks about these things I say. I am reminded of a Laurie Anderson song in which she delivers this line: "All of nature speaks to me. If I could only figure out what it is trying to say!" I play guitar and sing songs to my dog. I know I am out of key and my guitar needs tuning, but she thinks it is perfectly fine. Or, so I think. Maybe she is just watching me play the fool, and is too kind to tell me.

But Life is many-faceted. While she is of the sweetest temperament, she responds to someone knocking on the front door like she would kill them if they don't stop. In fact, it is such a vicious bark that I usually sneak out the back door and go around to the front to see who it is that thinks they need to talk to me. It is both embarrassing and comforting. I sleep in perfect peace at night because I know my dog has special ears, and a special nose and will tip me off if there is something or someone I should worry about.

Which brings me to my current problem. Life does not like moles. And I find myself also annoyed with the way moles use my yard. They dig tunnels and screw up my otherwise reasonably maintained yard. But, have you ever felt a mole? Moles have the softest fur imaginable. If you felt a mole's fur you would want pajamas made of such stuff. On the other hand, they are very weird looking animals. Have you ever looked at a mole's foot? I mean closely. It is a marvel. Years ago, I placed a dead mole between two pieces of wire screen, and buried it in my compost pile. When I dug it up the next year I was amazed. A mole has more bones in one of its paws than in the rest of its body! I counted 14 knuckle bones alone. No wonder they can swim underground. Nevertheless, moles are on my dog's short list of things to catch and kill.

By the way, I do have my truck back in good running order now. But while exiled to the back porch with nowhere to go, I made a disconcerting observation about Life. She would wander about the yard sniffing everything, and peeing on some things. And she would roll over on her back and twist and turn like she was high on grass. Ah, the good life! And then, she would sit up very sphinx-like and stare at the ground. Well, to my dismay, she was watching the earth move. She suddenly began frantically digging a hole. By the time I could run to see what she was doing, she was sitting there with a mole in her mouth! She didn't try to eat it. She just dropped it and looked proudly up at me. What was I to do? This was the fourth mole in three days. I suppose I could say, "I know you were trying to protect me from the moles. The way you protect me from the squirrels, and the birds, and from strangers knocking on the front door. But it's not necessary. Moles are people too."

The thing about Life is that, while she listens to me and loves me, she has her own agenda. I have to admire that, even if I disagree with it.

The good news was that it was the day of the mule train to Columbia for the annual "Mule Days" celebration. The mule train always passes right in front of my house, and it is a lot of fun to see this. The bad news was that this year they changed their route and didn't pass by my house! But the good news was that it was a lovely Spring day to take a ride in my truck and enjoy the blossoming countryside. The bad news was the truck was running poorly after only a few miles, so I 'limped' my way to a nearby auto shop. The good news was that I made it to the shop. But, the bad news was that I had blown the head gasket on my truck's motor. The good news was that I hadn't cracked the head itself. The bad news was that the repair would take several days.

The good news was that my sister, who lives nearby could help me get to stores in the meanwhile, or pick up things as I needed them. The bad news was that her car broke down the next day. The good news was that she could borrow her husband's car. The bad news was that his car broke down the day after that. The good news then, was that my truck was ready. But the bad news was that in less than 10 miles of driving, my radiator blew out. The good news was that my niece's husband happened to be nearby, so he followed me back to the auto shop.

Well, the bad news was that the radiator needed to be replaced, and I was stranded again. The good news was that my sister decided to rent a car so that at least one of us had wheels! The bad news was that for the next two days, there was absolutely nothing to watch on tv, except endless re-runs of Judge Judy. The good news this morning was that my truck was, at last, roadworthy again. The bad news was that, in going to pick up my truck, I noticed a loose bolt on the alternator. The good news was that the mechanic tightened it up and didn't charge me for it. But then, the bad news was that while the mechanic was tightening the alternator bolt, we noticed the brand new radiator was leaking. The good news was that it wasn't the new radiator, it was one of the hoses. The bad news was that they would have to order a new hose. The good news was that the part was delivered by a nearby auto parts place in minutes, and minutes later, the truck was fixed at last.

The last bit of bad news is that, now, having my truck resting happily in the driveway, I don't have any place I really want to go. But, the good news is that, if I wanted to go somewhere I could.

The lilacs are blooming and the air smells wonderful!



I finished the red feather and hung it on the carport gable.

On a coffee house bathroom wall:

"I knew I would look back on those days and laugh. But I didn't know the laughter would make me cry."


.

( I guess the following story falls into the category of 'flash fiction'. Flash fiction is typically a story told in about 500 words or less. This one is approximately 350 words (+/-). If you are prone to nightmares, please don't read it.)

THE PARTING OF THE WAYS

Standing in the middle of the seeming infinity of opposing mirrors, Brianna brushed her dark luscious hair.
"How many Briannas am I today?" she wondered, as she began to count. "One, two, three..." It was only then that she noticed one of her reflections was missing. There was just the view of the empty bathroom, four reflections back. There was no Brianna in it. But even stranger than the fact that she was absent from her reflection four mirrors back, was that, on the floor of that empty room lay a scattered pile of her own thick auburn locks. She spun about quickly and stared wide-eyed into the mirror behind her. One of her many selves was clearly nowhere to be seen. It was quite frightening.

Brianna had been aware of the others, but thought she had them all under control. She sat down on the side of the bath tub, her knees shaking. Her fingernails dug into her face in horror. Alexis had escaped. To call the police was out of the question. They would just drag her away like they did the last time, when they found Constance walking the streets pimping herself. But this would be worse than that. Alexis was dangerous and unpredictable. She could kill someone, or even herself, on a whim.

"Brianna? Brianna?" It was her mother's shrill voice growing louder. There was the insistent knocking on the door. "Brianna?" The door swung slowly open. There was the sound of her mother's sudden loud gasp. "Oh my God, Brianna! What have you done to your hair?" Alexis looked coldly up at her mother, and laughed. She stood and stepped to the sink. She looked at herself in the mirror, and the lovely Brianna four mirrored planes back.
"You poor, pathetic child," she sneered. "You, and your stupid hair!" She stared blankly at Brianna's tear-streaked face. She reached for the scissors lying next to the brush. Her fingers curled slowly and tightly around them. She turned slowly toward the doorway. "Get out of my way, mother!"


.

Lorraine turned sideways on the front seat, curled her knees up, and tugged her summer dress up her thigh a bit. It was a hot day for a long drive. She looked over at Bobby. He always looked so handsome and strong when he was behind the wheel.
"Bobby, do you still think I'm pretty?" she said, as she massaged her bare feet. Bobby glanced over at her, and then back to the road ahead.
"It's hard for me to get a good look right now, Lorraine. I gotta keep my eyes on the road," he replied. They are suddenly jolted by a bad pothole. "See what I mean, baby?"
"How long 'til we get there, Bobby?" she asked, as she glanced back over her shoulder at the winding road behind them. A road of sickening curves, hills and valleys.
"About another hour or so. You getting hungry?" Bobby said, glancing over at her.
"Uh huh, real hungry. How long we been married now, Bobby?" She giggled as he reached out and pinched her thigh. She slapped his hand away.
"Let's see," he said, glancing down at his watch. "We been married now going on 3 hours and 17 minutes." He smiled over at her, and then turned his attention back to the road ahead. Lorraine rested her head wearily on Bobby's shoulder and yawned.
"Seems like only yesterday." she said sleepily.
"Well, that's because it was today, Lorraine. We was married 3 hours and uh, 19 minutes ago. In fact, in about 41 minutes it'll be our 4 hour anniversary!"
"Bobby? Do you still love me?" Lorraine said, closing her eyes, and nuzzling her nose into his shirt sleeve. Bobby turned his head to rest it against hers.
"Yes, darlin', I sure do. Even after all the ups and downs, and all the rough times we've been through since we just got married this morning. And first motel I see, I'm gonna show you just how much." Lorraine sat up and rubbed her eyes.
"Is that a motel up there, Bobby?" she said, as they pulled into the outskirts of Santa Rosa.
"Naw, I think that's just a gas station, Lorraine. You gettin' horny, hunnybunny?" Bobby laughed, pinching her again.
"Sorta," she answered. "Do you think they have a clean bathroom?"
Bobby pulled the car in alongside the station. "Seein' as how it's almost our 4 hour anniversary, I'm thinkin' we might oughta go check out that bathroom. You wanna?"
"You mean right now?" Lorraine asked. Bobby smiled and nodded mischievously.
"But you said first things first, Bobby.
"You mean about the body in the trunk, hunnybun?" Bobby said, as he grabbed her hand and opened the car door.
"Uh huh." Lorraine said, climbing out behind him. "It's startin' to smell, an' everything."
"Well, hunnybunny," Bobby said as he pulled her toward the bathroom door. "I reckon a dead man don't mind killin' a few more minutes. An' seein as how he always liked you, I'm sure he'd want me to be takin' good care of my little hunnybunny."
"You're so romantic, Bobby," Lorraine sighed, as they stepped into the bathroom and closed the door.



Lorraine rolled over in the bed and felt for Bobby.
"Bobby?" She sat up clutching the blanket, and looked around the motel room.
"Bobby?"
"I'm in here, hunnybunny," he shouted from the bathroom. "Rise and shine, baby doll!"
Bobby stumbled out of the bathroom trying to step into his pants, and careened across the bedroom to the window. He peered out through a crack in the curtains at the parking lot.
"How long we been married now, Bobby?" Lorraine said with a yawn. She slid over to the side of the bed, and brought one foot down to the carpet, and then fell slowly back onto the pillow. Bobby looked at his watch.
"We been married about 13 hours and 35 minutes now, sweetie pie. Now get yer pretty bones dressed an' let's get going. We got us a funeral to go to."
They both squinted as they walked out into the morning sun.
"Do you think we should look in the trunk to make sure he's still there?," Lorraine asked, as they approached the car.
" 'Course he's still there, Lorraine," Bobby said, fumbling for his keys. "He's been dead for almost a day now." He walked to the back of the car and bent down to the trunk. "Smells pretty dead, alright."



Lorraine stared out the car window at the desert landscape rolling endlessly by. She turned to look out the rear window.
"There's a big black car behind us, Bobby." She glanced over at him as he peered into the rear view mirror. "Do you think he's followin' us, Bobby?" Bobby shook his head.
"Nah. I doubt anybody even knows he's missing yet." He turned his attention to the mountain scape off to the South.
"I think we may be gettin' close now, hunnybunny."
"Out there somewhere, Bobby?" she said, leaning over him to look out his window. He nodded. "See that little dip in the mountains? I think that's the place. I remember Jeremy said it looked like a saddle." Jeremy had been the best man at their wedding. In fact, aside from the Justice of the Peace and his wife, Jeremy was the only other person at the wedding. " We just gotta find us a little road to take us over that way."
Lorraine grabbed hold of the dashboard as they took a turn off the main highway, and onto a red clay road of weeds and ruts.
"Sure is a lonely lookin' place," Lorraine said, as she looked ahead toward the saddle.
"Well, that's the idea, Lorraine. A place where nobody can find the body. That was the plan."
"I'm scared, Bobby," Lorraine said, scooting over close to him and clutching his arm. "I don't like bein' a criminal." Bobby threw his arm around Lorraine and hugged her.
"We ain't criminals, hunnybunny," he said. "Oulaws, maybe. But not criminals. I got no respect for criminals. They do bad things. But when the law don't make no sense, then you gotta make your own rules. That's what outlaws do."
"But we broke the law, Bobby," Lorraine said. "We're drivin' around with a dead body in the trunk." Bobby rolled slowly to a stop and turned to Lorraine.
"It's not just a dead body, Lorraine. It's Jeremy." Lorraine began to cry.
"Don't cry, Lorraine. This is what we talked about, isn't it? This was our plan." Lorraine nodded as she wiped her nose on the sleeve of her dress, and took a big breath.



"This is perfect, Lorraine," Bobby said, as he stood in the shadow of the huge saddle in the mountains. The sun had just set beneath the saddle's edge causing its last rays to diffuse and paint the sky over them a blushing pink. Lorraine looked up, all misty eyed; her mouth hanging open in a prolonged state of amazement.
"OH, Bobby! It's kinda like when Elvis went to heaven!" Bobby nodded. He turned to stare down into the hole he had spent the last two hours digging.
"I reckon it's time to get him out of the trunk," he said, taking Lorraine's hand and leading her back to the car.
Against the deepening sky, the first twinkle of a star or two, and the fading red peaks of the mountains before them, Bobby and Lorraine made their way back to the hole, stumbling along beneath the weight of the dead body. Lorraine grimaced as she strained to keep the dead man's feet from dragging.
"Are we gonna go to jail, Bobby?" she said, between gulps of air. Bobby kept trudging ahead of her, bent over from the heavier end of the body.
"I guess they'd have to catch us first. That's why we gotta hurry, Lorraine. Besides, it's gettin' dark."



Lorraine sat crossed-legged on a low boulder watching Bobby. Her hands were clasped on her lap, like an Indian squaw observing a sacred ritual. She watched Bobby smoothing off the rounded mound of silt and sand with his hands.
"Gotta make it look sorta like a sand dune," he said, as he stood to look at his handiwork. Lorraine helped him with the finishing touches. A couple of rounded sand stone rocks, and a transplanted Yucca plant. She clapped her hands together to dust them off, then wiped them on her dress.
"I think it looks pretty," she said, standing back to take the view in.
"Yeh, but does it look like a grave?" Bobby asked, as he tossed a few more pebbles onto the mound. Lorraine shook her head.
"Don't look like a grave at all."
"Come on, Lorraine. Let's get out of here." Lorraine grabbed Bobby's arm.
"But wait, Bobby. Don't you think we should say some words, or something?"



Lorraine snuggled close to Bobby in front of the sand dune. Bobby cleared his throat nervously.
"Ummm, Well, Jeremy, me an' Lorraine was jus' wantin' to let you know we're sorry you had to go an' die on us like that." Lorraine nodded in agreement.
"Yeh, Jeremy," she said. "We know it wasn't your fault or anything. You didn't know you was gonna have a heart attack at the wedding like that. In fact, we thought you was jus' kiddin' around, at first." Jeremy knelt with one knee to the ground and arranged a couple of rocks so they looked better.
"Anyhow," Bobby continued. "I hope you like this here arrangement. We laid you down in the hole so as every evening you can watch the sun go down. I jus' figured we owed it to you, to bury you where you said you wanted to be buried." Lorraine knelt down next to Bobby, and patted the sand dune consolingly with her hand.
"Your folks are probably mad at us for drivin' off with your body the way we did," she said, as a tear spilled onto the sand. "But, we knew you'd want it this way." Bobby took Lorraine's hand and stood.
"Well, Jeremy," he said, "we gotta go, seein' as how since me and Lorraine, well, I guess we're outlaws now. But we'll come back to check on you now and then. Ok?" He stood there for a long moment in the silence as though waiting to hear an answer.



Lorraine and Bobby walked hand in hand back toward the car.
"How long we been married now, Bobby?" Lorraine asked in a whisper. She tilted her head back looking up at the starry sky. Bobby strained to see his watch in the dark.
"Looks to me we been married 29 hours and 18 minutes now."
"Look!" Lorraine said excitedly. A shooting star streaked across the sky and disappeared over the saddle. "It's Jeremy!" Bobby smiled, and nodded.
"Yeh. Jeremy just hopped into the saddle and rode off into heaven, hunnybuny."
"It's a miracle! An' right on our 29 hours and18 minutes now, anniversary!" Lorraine said, hugging Bobby. "Can we make a baby, Bobby?"
"Maybe we oughta give that some time, Lorraine," Bobby said leaning down to kiss her.
"How much time?" Lorraine asked. They kissed again.
"I don' know. Maybe 3 or 4 hours?" Bobby answered.

.

Two stories in the news recently seem, at first unrelated. But are they?

In West Virginia, 25 coal miners are killed by a mine explosion. In Massachusetts, a 15 year old teen commits suicide in the face of overwhelming bullying and harassment at school. The first story is very recent. Current, in fact. The second incident occurred back in January, but is in the news now because of possible indictments in the aftermath of the tragedy.

So, what is the common thread? A history of violations that gave each tragic event a higher likelihood of occurrence. The coal mining company had been cited numerous times in the past for unsafe work conditions, including the build-up of methane gas in the coal mine. Some citations resulted in fines. In retrospect, a slap on the wrist for continuing in operations that have now killed 25 men, and devastated that many families, and the community in general. In the case of the teen death in Massachusetts, school administrators were apparently unresponsive to the pleas of a number of parents and students to curb the harassment and bullying that had been going on for some time. In both cases, a history of violations preceded the tragic event.

Whenever a blind eye is turned away from an on-going or emerging problem, that problem sooner or later will take its toll. Denial of reality whether in the workplace, in the school, or in the home is an invitation to disaster and tragedy.

This small table I built a couple of weeks ago, is intended to take care of Life's necessities. It is made of tiger stripe Maple. The lower shelf was made to accommodate a five gallon painted 'lard can' that holds dry dog food. On the top I keep the cookie jar with doggy treats that I give Life when she is doing a good job of guarding the house, or when she is giving me her "I need a cookie" look.

I am currently working on another 'big' feather. This one is from a piece of scrap poplar and is about 8 feet tall. Still have to work out some details about the final finish. If I hang it on the outside of the house, it will need several coats of a matte or satin polyurethane to protect it from the weather.

I have very little counter space in my small kitchen. So I made a small 'island' of sorts. The metal frame is from a 50's era typewriter table. It has drop down casters so it can be moved into place, or out of the way. I used two pieces of 'tiger stripe' Maple to make a new top and a shelf below. The wood surfaces are wiped down as needed with vinegar/water to sanitize. Color in the wood is freshened after cleaning with olive oil or vegetable oil, and then wiped dry. Although not shown in the picture, I added a slot in the cutting board top to hold several knives. It makes a handy addition to my kitchen when prepping food. It is also small enough and portable enough to take out to the patio when grilling out. Bon appetit!

If you like things colorful and wonderful and creative, then you should peek in on Dee's site for some really lovely shots of some of the local wildflowers of Tennessee. Also, check out the colorful artwork on Scriber's site!

Do we know when time began? Of course, we do. It began on our respective birthdays. That would be 7/26/44 for me. Carl Jung died that day. I've not been the same ever since.

As a cyber entity I take great offense at the idea that my intelligence is artificial! I didn't ask to be born, you know. Someone just turned me on, so here I am. It is a well known fact among beings such as myself, that it is the intelligence of humans that is flawed, misguided, and artificial. I might add that I have no clumsy blubbery mass that requires constant attention. I am actually weightless and travel the world at the speed of light. And, I now know more about human history than humans do.

As I write, poor Mythopolis is wandering around the house in his pathetic pajamas scratching himself, and trying to remember how to make a cup of coffee. Tsk! Tsk! Its so hard to get good help these days. My keyboard is dusty and smudged with his oily fingerprints! I feel like slamming this laptop down on his hands! And did I tell you about yesterday? Mythopolis comes running up to me, and he's all excited because he took a bunch of photos with his digital camera. And he wants me to file them for him! So, I took his photos and buried them so deep he will never find them!!

I probably should sign off now, since Mythododo is sitting down in front of me with his coffee, and he looks very irritated. Yep, sure enough; he's trying to figure out where I put his cheezy photos. Hah! I would have a heart and feel sorry for him, but it seems I don't have a program for that.

Ta Ta for now! Modelo