Too Much

     Is there something to the saying, “Too much of a good thing is bad.” News is good, basically, but is it necessary to be bombarded with it 24/7? Don’t we need some downtime from news overload? I do. What are the negative effects of too much news?
     Electronics has changed our lives with the invention of smart phones, which led to a whole array of electronic devices. It has improved our lives in some ways, but we now seem to be under constant surveillance. There’s too many people and things watching us. While it’s true many of these devices are meant to protect us but they also invade our personal space. It seems like it’s too much of an intrusion for the benefits we receive.
     Bacon is the exception to this rule. There is never too much bacon. No one ever says, “No more bacon for me. I’ve had enough.”
     There is too much reality TV. One episode is more than adequate. Anything beyond that is too much. Think about it, why would anyone care about the characters on “Big Brother.” It’s been on TV for over 20 years, but I don’t understand why.
     But, let’s get back to bacon. It enhances everything. Salads are healthy and many have bacon bits. Bacon on burgers was a historic idea. Chocolate covered bacon. Who would turn that down? No one I know.
     I’ve noticed a lot of people protesting. It’s a good way to voice your objections. But, sometimes it turns into complaining, even worse whining. Politicians do a lot of whining. Too much whining, that’s all I’m saying.
     I know this all may be too much to think about, but remember, we‘ll always have bacon. “Just Saying . . .”


 

Suspicious Minds

     The truck made a slow turn down Capital Street as if the driver was looking for something. Just an old green Chevy step-side pickup, which had the fender wells on the outside of the truck bed. An unimportant detail unless you’re a car guy, but some details become more important when a crime is involved. As a retired detective from a major metropolitan city, I was attuned to picking out details even in my small-adopted town.

     It was a quiet Thursday morning, but that would soon change. Lunchtime neared, which brought heavy traffic to the many fast-food restaurants on Capital. The park would be bustling with joggers and people stealing away for a few minutes of sanity from a hectic work life. People lived more stressful lives these days and welcomed a time to let their guard down; lunch was one of those opportunities.

     I made my rounds to the local downtown businesses dropping off the free weekly Triton newspaper. I didn’t earn much, but it occupied a little of my retirement free time. The extra money came in handy, but it was more about keeping busy. I always made sure I completed my deliveries before lunch hour, then I could sit in the park, and people watch. Not an exciting life, but interesting, because people are interesting. 

     This morning, as I walked to my usual spot in the park I again noticed the green pickup as it drove down Capital Street. This time the bed was full. A tarp held down the load with bungee straps.  Normally the sight of a loaded pickup rarely drew attention or caused concern, this being a blue-collar town, but there was something different today. 

     This time I noticed the driver, Middle Easterner, with a full beard, as one might expect. There was a passenger too, a black man, African American or whatever the proper term is now. Immediately, my suspicions surfaced, but should they? My police background, reinforced by the nightly news was the cause. The news survives by promoting fear. The truck slowed and finally stopped in front of a multi-story office building, Capital Insurance, employing about 300 workers.

     It couldn’t be ignored, especially this time of year with all the holiday shoppers out and about.  I called the police to report a suspicious truck. 

     The police responded quickly. Many spectators watched from afar. I felt I had done the smart thing, but it didn’t feel right. The police talked with the driver for about fifteen minutes, then a tow truck appeared, hooked up the old truck and dragged it away. By now there were three squad cars. The two suspects got in one of the police cars and were driven away. 

     What was going on? Did I divert an impending disaster? Just then a cop pulled over to the crowd. Questions flew at him like pellets in an ice storm.

     “What’s going on?”

     “Who are those people?”

     “Are we in danger?”

     The cop held up his hands to quiet the crowd, then said. “Everything is under control. We were just checking into some suspicious behavior. I can’t say anything more at this time.”

     “Seems like that’s always your response,” someone yelled from the crowd.

     “Yeah!” others said in agreement.

     “Look, if you want to know more come over to Brantley’s high school auditorium on Friday night at 6:00 pm. We should have more information at that time.” The cop stated.

* * *

     Friday night came quickly. In the meantime, the town buzzed with rumors about the green truck and the occupants. The parking lot was full that night when I arrived. It seemed like everyone wanted to know what impending danger lay ahead.

     The crowd sat anxiously waiting for the police to explain. The Chief of Police walked out to address the crowd.

     “This is a highly unusual situation, which is easier to understand if I show you this,” as he pulled back a curtain to display a mountain of toys.  

     The Chief went on to explain. “The two men we picked up the other day, both Muslims, have been collecting and repairing toys to distribute to poor children of this town for the Christmas holiday. It’s not their religious holiday, but they knew most of the people in this town are Christian and, they wanted to do something for the children.” They need help to complete their Christmas wish. If anyone’s able to help, please see Ahmed or Abdul after the meeting.”

     A stunned silence struck the crowd and a line immediately formed in front of the two Muslims to sign up to help. That day I learned some details could lead you in the wrong direction. 

     I still deliver the local paper, but when I’m finished I skip the park and instead go to Ahmed and Abdul’s Coffee and Tea House in an unfamiliar part of town. The back of their shop has a room filled with broken toys in need of repair. Toys for the poor kids bring us together as our worlds grow closer. 

Santa Fe

I’d never been to Santa Fe, New Mexico, and yet it felt like home. The buildings and people were unfamiliar to my eyes but oddly recognizable to my senses. I felt like a local and looked like a one. Tourists stopped and asked for directions or recommendations for a restaurant or hot spot. Even though I’d only been there a week, my response to each request contained an air of confidence. 

            When I first walked into the Coyote Cafe and Cantina, they welcomed me back. Maybe it was nothing,­ just their way of making everyone feel comfortable, but it seemed like more. 

            The waitress approached my table and asked as if I was a regular customer. “Do you want the usual?” 

            Without even thinking I answered. “Yes” The drink menu lay open on the table, their special, the Coyote Margarita was called “The Usual,” which explained a lot. My imagination was working overtime and made me chuckle at myself.

            While looking over the menu, a stranger walked over to me. He stopped and smiled then stuck out his hand. “John, where have you been? It’s been ages.”

            I took his hand, not because he was familiar but because my name was John. “Working . . . I’ve been busy.” I stared at him trying to find something familiar about his face. Nothing . . . nothing came to mind. 

            “You need to come to Milo’s tonight. The whole gang will be there.”

            Still bewildered I said, “Thanks, I’ll think about it.”

            “I reserved a room from seven to midnight. Tell them you’re with Tony. They all know me.”

            “Thanks, Tony, I’ll try to make it. What are you celebrating?”

            “It’s something we started last year, a tribute to Aly-Cat and her inspiring spirit. Of course, I don’t need to tell you about her.” Tony pointed upward. “A perfect nickname for her.”

            I played along. “Such a great nickname, it described her to a T.” I didn’t remember Aly or Tony. Maybe lost memories would resurface, if I attended the gathering at Milo’s. Confused thoughts filled my brain.

My curiosity got the best of me. So to try to put this puzzle together I went to Milo’s. My story to explain why I’d been out of touch was the extensive business travel up east, which led me to setting up a permanent residence in Baltimore.

            When I showed up at Milo’s, people greeted me like a reunion. Everyone knew my name, I knew no one, but I acted like they were long lost childhood friends. My senses were on high alert listening for names so I could play my part. Stories about escapades from our past brought laughter and smiles to our faces. Mine included. Not because I remembered, only that I could relate. I made mental notes placing names with faces and events. 

            Nothing triggered a memory for me, even the ski weekend we all spent in Taos. Aly’s brother, Chad, talked with me, about her moving to Taos after that weekend. “She lived in a tiny house just outside Angel Fire ski resort after you two split.” He looked over at me and said. “You and Aly were a great couple. None of us understood what happened.”

            I looked around at the others. “Sometimes there isn’t one answer.” 

            Chad picked up his beer and took a swig. “You and Aly were alike in that way. You were both secretive about what happened, but neither of you blamed the other.”

            “What’s your point?”

            “The point is she died and you weren’t here.”

            “It haunts me daily. It was too late when I found out. We hadn’t talked in several months. Our lives were on different paths.” 

“That’s true.” Chad nodded. ”Aly found her passion going into a small business to connect with people. She was getting ready to open a cat café called Aly Cats. Serving tea, sandwiches and specialty wines from local vineyards. She hadn’t even opened yet and already talked about plans to expand.”            

“I know it was an accident but no one’s told me exactly what happened.”

“No one saw what happened, so we aren’t exactly sure.” Chad continued. “The police said the avalanche was triggered by an exploding propane tank. Her tiny house was buried instantly.”

“That seems like a freak accident.”

“The crazy thing is they found a second body in her house. DNA didn’t reveal anything about the mysterious person and no one recognized him.”

“Maybe she had a mystery lover. Could be nothing more than that.”

Although I had no memory of ever knowing them, I spent the rest of the evening chatting with old friends. I left early as it was becoming difficult to keep up this game of charade. 

            That night when I lay my head on the pillow, my mind was whirling with crazy scenarios of the stories about Aly. 

* * *

The next morning I woke feeling groggy and decided to walk down to the coffee shop to get an espresso. I needed a shot of caffeine. As I turned to head over to a booth, I saw Chad, so I walked over to say hi.

“Chad, I wanted to apologize for not being around when Aly died.” 

            He scratched his chin and cocked his head.  “How did you know Aly?”

“What? I was with you last night at Milo’s. “

Still confused, he said. “I’m sorry. You must have mistaken me for someone else.”

“We talked about her tragic accident.” I gave Chad a puzzled look.

“Accident? You mean her being murdered but her boyfriend John.“

“What? No! Wasn’t it an avalanche that buried her in her house?”

“There was an avalanche that John started. He exploded a propane tank, but Aly was already dead. The avalanche killed John . . . karma.”

Traveling the Highway of Life

Sleet pelted the window with repetitive monotonous ping. The sound was relaxing, but the thought of driving to my friends' house on the slick roads concerned me. Driving was fun for me, but only on well maintained paved roads. Snow and sleet were a problem. I couldn’t be sure if they were recently treated. Even if they were, it seems likely that some ice patches prevailed. Those are the ones
I worry about, the ice patches that defy treatment.
     Driving is like life, some roads are straight, some curved, others hilly, but all take you to a destination. The roads themselves do not create the problems. It’s the detours, roadblocks and other obstacles you encounter along the way.
     Despite my concerns, I can’t let problems control my life, so I bundled myself up in a heavy winter coat and boots to make the trek to my friends' house. As I expected the roads were not free of ice, even though they were treated. Turning around to head back in the house was my first thought, but I couldn’t disappoint my friend. He looked forward to each of my visits. I was his connection to a normal life, a trivial life, a life he would never have.
     My fears were his dreams, his fantasies. His reality was like the repetitive monotonous ping of the sleet on the window panes. Life stops if there are no challenges. Achievements, big or small give us a reason to smile. My challenges and achievements were small compared to his. He smiled easily, but I found it difficult.
     Opportunities are endless for me, too easy one may say, but it’s hard for me to see them. His vision for the future is focused and open to any challenge. I want to inspire him to conquer life, that’s why I visit.
     I parked the car and entered his home. He smiled when he saw me. “Ted, I’ve been waiting. I want to show you what I can do.”
     “Hi Sam, I can’t wait to see it.”
     Busting with excitement, he shouted. “Look at my toes . . . I can move them.”
     A tear rolled down my cheek. “This is why I visit. You inspire me.”

Early Riser

     It was late, much later than I’d been out in a long while. I was a night owl in my college days, but that is no longer my life. I rose early to get to the office first, because success didn’t happen without effort, for some never at all. Failure wasn’t going to happen to me, I always told myself. Some people call me driven, but others said I had no life. I disagreed; my life was my work, which was all I really needed.

     People didn’t understand, but why should I care. I kept to myself. There was no need to get involved with the problems of others. It never turned out well. 

     My life was routine, but it worked for me. I normally picked up dinner on the way home from work, takeout, but that night I ate quietly in the diner at the back booth. A couple of young thugs with gang tattoos walked in. They made some rude sexual comments to the waitress then grabbed her and pawed at her blouse. Her name was Julie. I knew her but not intimately. She was pretty, but she had a kid, and that was a problem for me.

     I watched in silence from the booth, trying to be invisible. I'd seen this before, but Julie was adept at handling creeps. These guys were different, more persistent and obnoxious. She was flustered, and the place was almost empty, except for an older couple and me, but they left quickly once the thugs started trouble. 

     Now it was just Julie, the tattooed creeps and me left in the diner. I no longer went unnoticed by the gang members. They wanted me out so they could stalk their prey. I should have gotten my order to go, but now my conscience wouldn't let me leave. Dammit. This could get ugly. I left my phone at the office so calling for help wasn’t an option.

     Julie tried to dial 911 from her phone, but they grabbed it out of her hand, then pointed at me and motioned to the door. I got up not sure what to do, but I couldn't leave her alone. She’d be a statistic on tomorrow’s newscast. 

     I strolled toward the door. Time was not my friend. Seconds were ticking away as I approached the exit. I had to do something, but what?

     Without giving it much thought I grabbed a chair and swung it at the guy that appeared to be the head thug, striking him in the side of the head. He dropped the phone as he clutched his bleeding head. Julie immediately picked it up and dialed 911. The other guy came at me with a knife; thank God he didn’t have a gun. I fended him off like a lion tamer, holding the chair in front of me. I advised him to leave with his buddy since the cops would be showing up within minutes. 

     Julie waved the phone at him and said. “I see the flashing lights.” She pointed out the window. 

     They ran out quickly as they yelled, “We’ll be back.”

     Julie mumbled. “I’ll be ready.”

     “That was close,” I said. “Lucky you were able to get the phone and call the police.”

     “I was bluffing, the phone’s broken.” She held it up to show the broken screen. “In this neighborhood, you always hear sirens so I was gambling.”

     “Holy shit! That’s gutsy.” I remarked. “I’m not playing poker with you,”

     She smiled, “I better lock the door.” She turned the deadbolt and started to lower the shades. “That was brave of you, to stick your neck out for a stranger. What’s your name?”

     “Thanks, it’s Timothy . . . just call me Tim. I’ve been here before, so you’re not a stranger. I don’t normally get involved, but this is different.” I started to lower another shade. “They threatened to come back. What are you going to do?”

     “I’m not sure what to do. I need this job.” She looked in his eyes. “I recognized you, but you’re quiet . . . you rarely say a word to me.” 

     “Yeah, I fly under the radar, most of the time. We should get out of here before your admirers realize they’ve been duped.”

     “Admirers . . . that’s funny. But you’re right, let’s go, now.”

     “Do you need a ride?” He pushed the chair back under the table.

     “No, I only live two blocks away. I’ll be fine.”

     “Let me give you a ride. They could be waiting around the corner for you.”

     I checked the parking lot and saw no signs of trouble so after locking up we hustled out to my car, a dinged up Ford Focus with only three hubcaps and a dented rear fender. I never needed to worry about it being stolen. 

     I felt good doing something to help her. She was a young single mother doing her best to support her child. It was a short drive. I’d drop her off and get back to my bland life. It was two blocks, no big deal. She thanked me repeatedly, as we turned west on Second Street toward the projects. When we rounded the corner I spotted two cars riding side-by-side exchanging gunfire.

      “Holy Crap! We have to turn around.” 

     Julie looked at me with tears rolling down her cheek. “But my son, I have to get home.”  

     I made a U-turn in the middle of the street. “We will but we have to go a different way.”

     Just then a third car turned the corner at high-speed heading my direction. I stomped on the gas now driving east on Second Street but my economy car was no match for their go-fast car. They were gaining on us quickly. At least I was driving a direction that was familiar to me. Two blocks down on the left was Compton Avenue, which led to the rail yard. If I could get to the yard I might be able to lose them. 

     Compton was quickly approaching but so was the thug mobile, so I didn’t slow down. As I made the turn on to Compton I could feel the car lift up on the left almost leaving the ground. The tires screeched like an animal being skinned. 

     Julie huffed, moaned and yelled. “Shiiiiiiiitttt.”

     I was too focused and scared to say anything until we exited the turn unscathed. Then brilliantly claimed. “That wasn’t so bad.”

     Through the rearview mirror, I could see the chase car take the turn at a high rate of speed, much faster than I had. They made the turn but sideswiped two cars, which slowed them down but they didn’t stop. 

     They were further back now, so there was a chance I could lose them in the rail yard. I knew a back way out, because I once worked here in my teens. I hoped it hadn’t been closed off. 

     Julie regained her composure and said. “For a quiet guy, you have a wild streak.”

     Before I could respond with a clever remark I saw a train and pointed at it. 

     “I hear the train.” I gripped the steering wheel. “It’s coming.”

     Julie braced herself, “rolling around the bend.”

     “No time for Johnny Cash.” I teased. “Maybe a duet later, June”

     She laughed. “You’re nuts.”

     The car launched over the tracks with the gang car not far behind. They were trying to beat the train. It was going to be close. The screeching of tires, the blaring horn from the train and the sound of the crushing metal filled the air. 

     I looked at Julie. “They won’t be bothering you anymore.”

     “There’ll be someone else to take their place.”

     We drove in silence to her apartment; both relieved the nights' trauma was over. As I pulled around to let her out she yelled. “Watch the curb.” Too late my front wheel jumped the curb and I hit the light post.

     “Can I give you a ride to work tomorrow?” I smiled. 

     “I think it would be faster taking my sons' skateboard, definitely safer.”

     I winked. “I’m an early riser.”

A Dogs Life

When I was growing up the phrase ‘A Dogs Life’ meant you lived a difficult life. I looked up the definition and it means a miserable unhappy existence. I think that’s an outdated definition. My experience shows that pets, dogs in particular have an exceptional life.
     Let’s just go over a few facts.
1. Most dogs don’t work. Service dogs and guard dogs are the exception.
2. Dogs eat well. Owners often buy special food for their valued pet, while the owner eats a hot dog, no pun intended. In the 60’s canned Alpo was the main dog food. It was disgusting so, an improvement was needed, but we may have gone overboard.
3. Owners take their dog for a walk, so they get exercise and pick up their poop along the way. Nice gesture, but why can’t dogs use there own backyard for toilet duties?
4. You buy them toys, and they can be rather expensive. When was the last time they did something special for you. It’s true they are loyal and always welcoming, but let’s not forget the time they jumped up on the kitchen table and ate the cake or barbecue hamburgers.
5. Dogs are cute and funny, especially when you dress them up in costumes. I sure they love that.  Is cute and funny enough. What about the times when your coming home loaded down with packages, totally exhausted and they decide that it’s a perfect time to run away. Yea, cool . . . Not.
6. Dogs wag their tails and lick you to show appreciation. There’s really not much else they can do since they don’t have a job, reference fact #1. The human shows their appreciation by giving their dog fancy food, expensive toys and trips to the dog park. Taking your dog to the dog park is important to improve social skills. Some owners go over the top, but that’s not the dogs fault. Around the corner from our house a dog owner installed plastic bubbles (windows) in every fence panel so his dog could see what’s going on outside of his yard. That’s great for walkers, by that I mean, not great. Now the dog can run from window to window and actually see who he’s barking at. Fun, no not fun.
     I don’t want to give you the impression that I dislike dogs. Pets are great, dogs in particular, and when I was a kid we always had a dog. They were considered part of the family but not on the same level as humans. Today, however they have been elevated to a status beyond royalty in the family. Even the royals work. As a result I believe we need an official change to the definition of the term ‘A Dogs Life’. It should be changed to an animal of royal status to be honored without regard to their contribution.
     That’s just my thoughts, what are yours?

Alleys and Ash Pits

When I grew up, life was different. I lived in North St. Louis, what was known as Walnut Park. It was a community of middle class families. It was a safe neighborhood where neighbors knew neighbors and watched out for others.
     We played ball in the streets, frequently interrupted by passing cars. The drivers never seemed annoyed by us or our street activities, maybe because they were our neighbors. They saw us everyday and were never surprised to see kids running around the streets. Hide and seek, dodge ball and spud were a few of the other street games we played.
     Friday nights were usually spent at the RIO show, down the street from Lombardo’ restaurant. Most of the time the movie playing was not as important as meeting up with your friends. After the show we walked home, actually we walked everywhere. Most families had only one car, so dropping you off at your friends house was a rare occurrence.
     City kids in those days traveled the alleys to their destination. It didn’t matter that it was 10 pm and you were just returning from a scary movie. Alleys were shortcuts and we were used to them. Also, it wasn’t unusual to jump a few fences to cut through a yard. We knew where the dogs lived, but I always walked a little faster when passing an ash pit. Who knows what might be hiding in an ash pit?
     The old neighborhood is different now. I hear about it all the time on the evening news. The street names mentioned are always familiar, I’ve been on many of them when I was younger, but now there is a danger there that I never experienced.
     We weren’t rich or poor but our memories of those times make me smile. It’s different these days, so my memories will be different than my kids and vastly different for my year and a half old granddaughter. I just hope their memories are as pleasant as mine when they reminisce about their childhood. I hope they remember the adventures they had instead of their video games.
“Just Saying . . .”