A New Blog is Born!

Now that I am retiring and leaving Geekatopia I have launched a blog dedicated to my new adventure. Join me at:
www.dandelionlunch.blogspot.com

HAPPY BELTAIN!

I have a poem for you today (It's been some time since I got to poetizin' but it is Spring and that lends itself to poetic thought, don't ya think?). Here ya go:



VERGE

Beyond the concrete curb
where parked cars soak
in the noon sun, beyond
a line of young cedars
and a fur of ferns, below
where shadows
plunge, tumbling stones
toward gravity,
there trickles a hidden
stream busy with bugs -
unnamable, unknowable,
and not counting
on you or a coming night,
not yearning, not regretting
so much as a microscopic
shift in the play
of light upon rivulets,
or drop in temperature -
anticipating nothing,
dreaming nothing,
and above all
missing nothing -
beyond anything else
alive beyond your notice
as you start you car
and drive off to lunch.

BUNDLED INTO OBLIVION

A few weeks ago the Comcast cable guy arrived at my door to install a “bundle” of high speed internet, phone service, and expanded basic cable - looked around for ten minutes and rescheduled me for two weeks down the road when he had “more time”! (I’d set the appointment two weeks previous so this would make a month looking at a blank screen where History Channel used to be.)

Next time you see those snappy new Comcast ads touting the advantages of bundling your communications services, remember that the installers may not have viewed those ads - may not know how easy the process is supposed to be. The most my guy had to do was drill a hole, run some cable and plug in a couple of boxes yet apparently that required an additional two week’s in-depth meditation on his part.

Friday he returned armed with cable and drill. I explained where the cable had to come through the wall into my office - even applied a little yellow sticky to the wall in the appropriate location. Unfortunately few projects go as smoothly as first envisioned - I try not to get too attached to plan “A” since plans “B”, “C” and “D” soon toss it overboard wrapped in anchor chain. (Plan “D” is my current favorite. It has such a bold, free, and swashbuckling style - kind of a Pirates of the Caribbean sort of plan.)

Even though he was an hour later than expected I was overjoyed and optimistic when Captain Ricky the cable guy arrived at my door, tattoos flashing on his chunky biceps. I pointed out the yellow sticky - he set an extension ladder against the pole across the street, scampering up to disconnect the existing cable (which came crashing down over the red leaf Japanese maple tree). Back at the side of the house he pulled a drill from his tool kit as if drawing a musket on a rum trader - and immediately discovered the cordless drill was useless, its battery dead as Davey Jones’ parrot.

Captain Ricky swaggered to his van for another drill - which proved to be just as powerless (despite the fact that the good capt’n had had two weeks in which to charge it!). While he plugged his flaccid drill into the charger, I located my dad’s favorite old drill - which hadn’t been used since his death in 1978. Plugged into a stout orange extension cord and armed with a two-foot bit, Dad’s antique drill punched through the wall like a cutlas through rotted canvas. At this point I’m having serious doubts about the wisdom of “upgrading” my household electronics since the only thing that saved the installation process was a tool that’s older than I am!

I hear there were other misadventures before Captain Ricky finally sailed away down the street but I wasn’t around for them, having pushed off for writers workshop an hour earlier - Mom was left to man our sinking schooner. Upshot is I still don’t know how to get my laptop on line, we have a fried phone jack, I have no clue how to access my voice mail, and the cable face plate is screwed on crooked. Oh yes, forgot to mention all the screws, snippets of wire, and plaster crumbs that littered my office when I got home. And to add insult to injury the tv remote Comcast provided has numbers you’d need a microscope to read. We’re bound to be exploring a lot of new programing since we can’t use the remote without hitting two illegible numbers at once. Welcome to plan “E” for exploration and exasperation - and possibly electrocution. So if you don’t hear from me for awhile it’s because I’ve been “bundled” into silent running. So much for progress!

CHANGES

A few days ago I put in my 30 day notice - I'm retiring!! Yeah! Not ready to announce my plans yet but it looks like I'll be moving on to an exciting new job in the heart of Geekatopia. Will keep you posted.

I'm also changing my internet provider today so I may be "off line" for a few days while I get things sorted out. Will give you my new email address as soon as I get my address book up and running again.

By the end of the weekend the plan is to post a new short story for your enjoyment so stay tuned!

SLAM DUNK

THIS WEEK'S SHORT, SHORT STORY . . .
In the excitment of hearing my poems read on national radio I very nearly forgot to post this week's story! (If you missed the details of my 15 seconds of fame, check 14 March post.)
Too easily do resolutions fall by the wayside. So, here's the story (Could the choice of title have something to do with this week's Final Four? Hmm.):

SLAM DUNK
“You said it was a sure thing Mr. Nussbalm, a slam dunk,” said the doorman.
“Come on, Rick, there are always risks, you know that,” replied the man in the Armani topcoat.
“An easy ten to twenty-five percent return on investment you said.”
“You’ve seen the news, you know what the market has been lately, Rick. But cheer up, things will turn around eventually. We must be patient.”
“But my bills are piling up. I need that money now.”
“There is no changing your mind once you commit to an investment. Wheels are in motion.”
“I invested in good faith on your say so, Mr. Nussbalm,” pushed the doorman. “Now everything’s gone sour . . . well, I think you ought to return my initial investment.”
“That’s not how the world works, my friend. Even if I wanted to return your money I couldn’t do it. It’s tied up in illiquid assets,” he said as he spotted the approaching black town car.
What will I do now, wondered Rick as he opened the passenger door for Nussbalm. What? Pray? He couldn’t believe in a god who bailed out losers like himself, pitiful dudes who kept shooting themselves in the foot. “God helps those who help themselves” was the way he’d heard it.
As the town car beetled away into crosstown traffic, Rick stood in his ill-fitting uniform, the city swirling around his body like a swollen river around a rotted log.
How much money was left in the checking account? Not much. Enough for a six pack maybe. Yes, that much - and a few rounds for his dad’s old service revolver. Only question now was where to put them for the best return on his investment - best bang for the buck.
An unbidden chuckle escaped his throat. With it came the knowledge that however tempted, he probably wouldn’t kill anybody. Not himself, not Nussbalm. At least not right away. He’d wait a day or two - see how things panned out.
Story of my life, thought Rick, stand around opening doors for other dudes to walk through.

Redefining "Retirement"

Spring officially has returned - with it comes a certain restlessness, birds creating a fuss in nearly bare branches, chill wind ruffling the first crocus blossoms. It is a time of resurrection, reinvention. A time to start off down unfamiliar roads looking for adventure! And to my way of thinking there can't be a better time to "retire"!


But what does that word mean these days? Not what it used to mean, that's for sure. Which is a good thing. My understanding of "retirement" is that it was a concept invented sometime during the early 1950s for people who never existed. These mythical people worked forty years in factories to earn fabulous pensions which allowed them to utterly quit all physical and mental activity at the age of 65, sailing off into their sunset years to bask under tropical sunshine for the balance of their long blissful lives. That was the Cold War propaganda I grew up with. It was a lie my generation swallowed whole. Though I can't help wondering where we got such a weird notion. Our ancestors didn't retire. They worked at this and that until they dropped in their tracks. Both of my grandfathers died in their eighties after putting in a full day at work. And women NEVER retired - and still don't. My 94 year old mother works around the house morning till night keeping the household running smoothly.

So I reject the fantasy of traditional retirement - which isn't to say I'm going to cling indefinately to the 40 hour plant care route. No, I'm ready to scale back on the "day job" to make way for other adventures. I have five novels in first draft stage that I need to revise and boot out into the world. I'm eager to volunteer at the local Senior Center. I want to explore all sorts of interesting opportunities and meet vast numbers of fascinating folks. I already have a handfull of exciting part-time gigs lined up that are bound to keep me on my toes. Yep, I'm ready to fly! Ah, Spring! What could be better than starting off into a bright new season?

But for now, I guess I had better get myself out of this chair and into the backyard to clean up the remains of our Winter storms. First things first.

MY POEMS TO BE FEATURED ON RADIO!

Let me share with you an email I received this morning:
"Congraulations!  We’ve selected your poetry submission to use on an upcoming episode of “Travel with Rick Steves.”  Your three haiku about the sites along Interstate 90 will be read near the end of program #166, which airs the weekend of March 21, and includes interviews about round-the-world family travel, and Southern California.  
You should be able to hear it locally on KUOW 94.9 FM on Saturday afternoon, March 21 starting at 2pm."

I submitted this trio of haiku a year ago and forgot all about them! And here they have been out there in the world all this time - and now will find their moment of radio fame.

We take our own home towns too much for granted, don't you think? We travel to other people's towns, other countries without ever truly seeing the wonders of our own. We need to look around us with the eyes of an explorer, appreciate what we too often take for granted. It was in that spirit that I wrote my I-90 haiku series (I have dozens of haiku now), celebrating my daily commute out the interstate to Geekatopia. Here are a few (And yes, I take liberties with the form but I write in English not Japanese - that's my story and I'm sticking to it.):

BELLEVUE HAIKU

Bellevue rides a rhythm
of rail and boat and road -
a heart pumping, centered.

A tawny Jaguar stealthily
prowls up eighth,
closing in on parking.
    
Only the cadence of cars
dancing to the lights at the corner,
music as day dawns.