Michael: It's the Little Things

 

Deer in the meadow

Disappears in the tall grass

From the eager dogs. 

 Saturday, June 27, 2020 

For the second straight week we volunteered to help Bill, a trail maintenance organizer, and his crew from the Sierra Club, work on the trails. 

Last week I discovered Bill and I worked at the same elementary school in L.A. though not at the same time. We talked about certain teachers that we recalled from those years to see how much overlap there was in staffing. And it turns out we knew a decent amount to the same teachers and administrators.  

But I was never much of a social butterfly and kept even more to myself while on the job, so although many of the names rang a bell, what the people were like as teachers or individuals didn’t mean much to me then so I wasn’t able to add much to our conversation outside of acknowledging that I remembered their names.  

Except for Mrs. Johnson. I remember her distinctly because she was a babe who knew it and was very flirtatious as well. Now she and I were both married and I only dreamed that her occasional attentions meant anything as she flirted with many of the male staff there. I don’t think she ever meant anything by it. She was just having fun with the great assets that her genetics provided her with. Who doesn’t or wouldn’t? 

So when yesterday Bill mentioned that he had talked to her and she remembered that I rode my bike to work, I was thrilled. Wow! Thirty years later she remembered that I was some skinny white dude that rode my bike to a 99% African American school probably isn’t all that surprising, but it sure does tickle my fancy. Thanks Mrs. J.  

Michael: The Sense of an Animal

Friday, June 26, 2020

The Sense of an Animal 

Our dog 

Rolls  

On her back, 

Spreads 

Her legs 

And enjoys 

The whispers 

Of the moon 

And smile 

Of the sun. 

Now  

And again 

I close  

My eyes 

And  

Am content  

To be  

An animal  

With her.  

Michael: Looking For...

The deer family 

Scattered nervously between 

The bridge and our dog. 

Tuesday, June 23, 2020 

Nearly twelve years ago when I was single I used several dating sites. It didn’t pan out and it still haunts me...both literally and figuratively. 

Almost every day in my span folder I get messages that start with a woman’s name then a header describing themselves, what they want, and what they’re looking for. That’s a pretty succinct trick that I give them credit for. I’ve never opened any of these as I’m sure there some kind of bug or scam, oh, and also I’m married. And I bounce back and forth over whether receiving these are amusing or sad. 

Just for the heck of it I decided to make note of all the messages I received  in last week’s spam folder.  

The names were; Anniston, Mercy, Giana, Blakely, Loisa, Zaria, Yasmin, Thea, Allyson, Lauryn, Juliana, Kaylee, Angelina, Ana, Rory and Phoebe. 

They were young, mature, lovely, youthful moms, discreet, bored and fortunately for me, nearby. 

They were looking for one night of passion, an honest, respectable guy, someone youthful and someone mature.  

Although it would seem highly unlikely for these women to coordinate their efforts, often on the same day different women would describe themselves and their desires with either identical or very similar wording. 

Generally, I find all of this a little titillating, but every now and then it hits me as sad, particularly now when I know so many older men are isolated and lonely and instead of providing comfort people are out there trying to take advantage of people’s pain.     

Michael: Waivers

It isn’t a touch. 

It isn’t an angel’s kiss. 

It's simply the wind. 

Friday, June 19, 2020 

Fortunately for me I’ve been averse to large crowds for as long as I can remember. 

The one exception I made to this turned out to be a huge disappointment that only served to reinforce my discomfort with rubbing elbows with other creatures be they human or not. That exception was a Police concert held over 40 years ago at Hollywood Park. My then girlfriend and I felt lucky enough to get a good line position in the random drawing only to be let down by only being allowed to choose upper deck seating once we got up to the event kiosk.  

Watching the Police bounce around like three electrified raisins in front of a huge bad home screen T.V. just wasn’t my cup of tea. And their spirited rendition of Every Breath You Take left my girlfriend in tears, and not in a good way. She thought the song was dark and should’ve been sung that way. And that’s what happens when you’re in your twenties.  

And that’s the last time I was ever in a crowd of over 20,000 people and I don’t foresee any event which could induce me to voluntarily consent, waiver or not, to participate in any such affair in the future. 

And speaking of waivers...What seems odd to me about Trump’s upcoming rallies outside the puzzle of why anyone would go, is the waiver.  I could care less about you’re assuming liability for your own risks. I’m inclined to lean libertarian as far as that goes. Jump off a cliff; fine by me. But signing a waiver doesn’t give you the right to assess your risk of hitting me and taking me out on your way down. I’d like to have a say in that, and that’s just what the waiver at these large gatherings don’t take into account.  

I know Trump isn’t smart enough to figure that out. But he’s also rich enough to have lawyers surround him. If some dufus gives someone else the virus from contact after one of his rallies, why couldn’t Trump be held liable?