Michael: Hierarchy

Thursday, July

9, 2020

Hierarchy 

Childless 

But with a dog. 

Equivalency? 

Of course not. 

But why the need 

For hierarchy? 

It’s just  

That sort of trash 

That makes us human. 

Michael: Precarious

 The glistening threads 

Woven between the branches 

Catch the morning mist. 

 Sunday, July 20, 2020 

Today I go back to work at a high-end wellness center (is there any other kind?).  

In March, when I last worked, we were the worry. The guests were isolated on our property and the workers were coming in from the outside every day. Now, like much of the rest of the country, it’s a bit more chaotic. They’ll be coming in from all over the place and so will we.  

It’ll be a miracle if none of us gets sick or test positive even with all the precautions we’re taking. And if we stay open through the summer I’ll be shocked.  

But I hope we do. I enjoy my job and I could use the money. I’ve gotten used to being home though with Kimme and Luna and that’s not so bad either. 

 I never thought at this stage of the game, less than 5 years from a decent retirement, I’d be confronting so much chaos and literally living so close to day by day as opposed to just using that expression to make casual conversation. But that’s the way it is right now. And that’s the thing about these stressful times, no one has any idea how long that attitude’s going to linger with us.  

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.