Places to go, people to see

I guess you can go home again...in a way.

People who spend any time around me are probably sick of hearing me wax rhaphsodic about my home state of Michigan. I think it's a very special place, and unfortunately it often gets painted with the same large brush that passes over Detroit (another place people know nothing about other than the "decay porn" that shows up on the evening news).

I'm traveling back this week for my High School class reunion (let's just say it's divisible by 10 and leave it at that). But really, it's an excuse for me to cruise the state and visit some people I haven't seen in a very long time.

One of those people was my friend Susan, whom I haven't seen since we graduated from Journalism school over 20 years ago. Sue was one of my best friends during a particularly challenging time in my life; I counted on her for professional and personal advice. I probably leaned on her a lot more than she knew at the time. We fell out of touch over the years, but recently reconnected on facebook; when I knew I was going to be traveling to Michigan, I asked if I could stop by and say hi.

Such "reunions" are often difficult and awkward. I'm generally a fan of leaving the past in the past where it belongs, but this friendship was (and is) more important to me than some, so I thought it was worth the risk.

As it turns out, it was. Susan and her family were very gracious in accepting me into their home, showing me around town, and even helping arrange for a mechanic when my vehicle started to make a horrible scraping sound that, I'm sure, terrified dogs and young children miles away with its incessant screeching. We chatted away into the wee hours of the morning over some wine I brought from New York (well, to be honest, I did most of the drinking), caught up on old times, shared some new memories, and renewed a friendship that now spans several decades.

During the tour Susan gave me of her new hometown, the conversation turned to author E.B. White, best known for his books "Charlotte's Web" and "Stuart Little", as well as the indispensable writer's reference, "The Elements of Style." Turns out, White used to hang around the area, and we remarked at how few authors could capture the imagination of both children and adults. It's another relationship that spans decades; the bond between author and reader. And I was reminded of one of my favorite EB White quotes, this one from "Charlotte's Web":

"It's not every day that someone comes along who is a good friend AND a good writer. Charlotte was both."

So is Susan. I'm blessed and lucky to have good friends like her in my life.

Memo to Corporate Management

Dear Corporate Management:

It has come to my attention that your firm may be experiencing some temporal displacement issues; to wit, you may not be aware that the rest of the world has "moved on" and we are no longer experiencing life in 1954. I realize that this revelation may bring with it some serious cognitive dissonance, therefore I would like to assist you in whatever way possible with forging forward into the brave new world you will encounter when you remove the blinders from your eyes and update your aging calendars.

First, the year is now 2011, and America now has a President of African descent. I mention this at the beginning, because when you see that dark face staring back at you from the White House, it's important that you know you are not looking at the housekeeping staff. This realization may come as a shock to you, but getting the "big news" out of the way first will help you cope with the rest of this memo. You may notice many "dark" faces in your company, and some of them may even work in areas outside the janitorial realm (although none are probably on your management team).

Second, women are now fully-functioning members in all areas of society. As you look around your workplace, you will now see females of all varieties performing tasks on every level. Some of them even have the title "Manager" in your organization (it's true...check the org chart). Instead of asking yourself how they managed to "sneak in", you are encouraged to take advantage of their unique skill sets, and may even want to consider moving them into positions beyond those of marketing and accounting. In many businesses, women now serve as Directors, Vice-Presidents and even CEOs. I realize this may shock your 1950's sensibilities, but rest assured, women are now seen as not only capable, but—brace yourself—competent.

In 2011, it is permitted for corporate management to seek the advice and counsel of those people outside the management team. Further, you are encouraged to foster an environment of camaraderie and collaboration whereby company team members (you probably know them as "employees" or "bodies") actually suggest ideas and help implement them outside of the management structure. This will take some getting used to, but you will find that many of them actually have good ideas based on their years of experience with your company and its operations.

You will find that many of your team members (there's that pesky phrase again!) work in three-sided boxes known as "cubicles". These are a fairly recent corporate development, designed to encourage ownership of one's own "space" while allowing for collaboration with other team members through what is commonly known as "walking around". Rest assured that if your team members are seen exiting their cubicle and engaging in conversation with another team member, it does not necessarily mean that they are not contributing to the bottom line of the corporation.

A few other brief things to remember (these are also known as "bullet items", to use the popular vernacular):

• Women now wear pants. Blouses are also lower-cut than you remember, and staring is highly discouraged.
• Do not refer to female team members as "honey", "baby", "sweetheart", "cookie" or "darling". In most cases, referring to them by their name is preferred.
• Those hard things that look like donuts are called "bagels", and are basically inedible after about 2PM
• "facebook" is not really a book, "The Net" is not really a net, and mail is now delivered instantly through a "computer". You will receive separate guidance on these issues.

I hope this will help you in your transition to this exciting new era.

Sincerely,

William Shatner
Director of Temporal Placement Services

Tell Me A Story

Per Übermilf:

For those unfamiliar, here's a recap:

"Here's what I would like to do. I want to create a story that branches out in a variety of different, unexpected ways. I don't know how realistic it is, but that's what I'm aiming for. Hopefully, at least one thread of the story can make a decent number of hops before it dies out.

If you are one of the carriers of this story virus (i.e. you have been tagged and choose to contribute to it), you will have one responsibility, in addition to contributing your own piece of the story: you will have to tag at least one person that continues your story thread. So, say you tag five people. If four people decide to not participate, it's okay, as long as the fifth one does. And if all five participate, well that's five interesting threads the story spins off into.

Not a requirement, but something your readers would appreciate: to help people trace your own particular thread of the narrative, it will be helpful if you include links to the chapters preceding yours." -Splotches

There always has to be a start of a story, so here it is...

The ground crunched beneath my feet. Besides my noisy footsteps, I heard only the sound of the gentle crackling fire behind me. Its faint orange light lazily revealed my immediate surroundings. Beyond the glow, there was total blackness. I whistled. I took the small rock I had been carrying and whipped it away from me, expecting a thud, crack or plop -- but a soft yelp of a cry answered. (Splotchy)

"Crap! I forgot all about Monster," I realized. "I must be drunker than I thought," I spoke aloud to no one in particular, though an owl answered my drunken slur. Ever since my neighbors have been giving me grief for the way Monster chases their cats and poops in their lawn, I haven't felt comfortable staying in my house. I'm pretty sure my landlady is thinking about evicting me, so I've decided to lay low for a while.

To the surprise of no one... (Freida Bee)

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Übermilf's contribution:

...but myself, Monster has become increasingly unstable and unpredictable. I thought I could keep him under control, that through love and perseverance and the training techniques I learned at the institute I could introduce him into human society after just a bit of effort.

I was wrong, of course. We were all wrong.

Our colossal blunder began as most colossal blunders begin -- with the best of intentions. We wanted to end disease and human suffering. Our experiments in genetics, fueled by the endless possibilities we foresaw once the human genome was mapped, led us down a garden path of scientific achievement and biological conquest. We imagined only positive outcomes, and ignored the negative possibilities to our peril.

That's how we -- I -- wound up with a drooling, hirsute, gruesome Monster living under my porch.

Of course, it didn't start out badly. At first, Monster...

-----------


...was a cute, cuddly little bundle of joy. We welcomed her (did I say "he" earlier? We've never been able to accurately determine a gender) into the world with open arms. Delivered by a bovine host who gave her life so that Monster could live, we never suspected that this fuzzy bouncing little bundle of love could ever do anyone harm. I should have known. We all should have known. The signs were there from the start.

First, there was the strange disappearance of Mr. Cuddles.

Mr. Cuddles was our cat, a 10-year-old Persian with a foul face and an equally foul disposition. He gained his ironic moniker after destroying the kitty bed we bought for him in a catnip-fueled burst of frightening energy. We enjoy dichotomy like that around here.

But I digress. Mr. Cuddles went missing about a week after the arrival of Monster. At first we thought he was baiting our jealous nature by hiding out somewhere in the laundry room under the copious piles of dirty shirts and jeans that always seemed to be stacking up. It wasn't until we found a tuft of hair attached to a sharpened claw under Monster's pillow that we got suspicious.

It was all downhill after that.

Odd little things started to happen. Fish would disappear from the tank. Shoelaces would be tied to the wrong shoes. All the Compact Flourescent lamps in the house were replaced overnight with 100-watt energy-burners. And oddest of all, the Cap'n Crunch would be missing its Crunchberries. That's when we realized that...

As Bill Cosby Would Say, "Riiiiiight..."

One year for Christmas, I got a copy of "Charlotte's Web" and a pad of light blue 3-hole punched paper. I proceeded to copy the first chapter of "Charlotte's Web" on the paper. Thus began a long love affair with words (or for the cynical, plagiarism) that continues to this day.

I've wanted to be a writer as long as I can remember. I had other childhood career aspirations, including veterinarian, fireman, teacher...but the writing thing just stuck. Eventually, I learned that being a writer isn't something you become. It's something you ARE.

Today, I own a photo/video studio, and I create images for a living. I love what I do. I love my clients. It brings me great joy and satisfaction to start with a blank photographic canvas and create something memorable that people will enjoy for the rest of their lives. I will do this until I can no longer press a shutter with arthritic fingers or view the image through a lens with failing eyesight. Even then, I'll probably find a way.

What I've given up to follow this passion is my desire to write. Lately, the itch has come back. I was able to find a couple outlets and was published for the first time in years, even if it was just in the local paper. But now, with the newspaper downsizing and production being taken out of town, that outlet is gone. Opportunities are few and far between in a small town and frankly, I haven't had (or taken) the time to investigate new markets.

But I keep writing anyway. Because as Billy Crystal intoned in the otherwise horrible "Throw Mama From The Train", a writer writes. Always.

A couple weeks ago, I misplaced my glasses. Once necessary only to keep horrific eyestrain headaches at bay, they've become essential for close reading. Briefly, my love affair with the printed word suffered while I was unable to read the small print in the books I love so much. It friggin' sucks to get old. Last night, I found the elusive spectacles (they were behind the couch the whole time! That's where EVERYTHING hides!), and I took a deep dive back in my books the way a starving person attacks a plate of hamburgers.

I loves me some words, folks. I realize more and more that I have a lot to say, a lot I want to share, and a lot to contribute. The pictures pay the bills, and in a way they communicate in ways words never can. But I miss the written word, and I think it's time to rekindle that love affair.

Anyway. That's what's on my mind. Hope y'all are doing well. Thanks for reading.