Head-dibs

The sign clearly said (and I quote), “No smoking,” yet here was this guy standing right beside me in the restaurant smoking a cigarette! I was fuming. “Excuse me, but the sign says, “No Smoking.” Do you mind?” I asked, turning and pointing to the sign over my shoulder. He turned to me taking a long drag on his butt, blew a billow of smoke. “Sure do mind,” he growled. I glanced around the restaurant hoping that one of the employees would notice and come to my rescue by enforcing policy. I turned again to the sign,”The sign says . . .” “I don’t give flying backward flip through a rolling donut what the sign says,” He cut me off taking an even bigger drag from his cigarette, the pungent vapor made more acidic by his odorous breath. His teeth wore sweaters. “Sweetheart, just leave him alone. He’s waiting to pick up his order and will be leaving soon,” my wife whispered in my ear, tugging on my sleeve. “Why should anyone have to tolerate this? This . . . this . . . t...

and it's loaded with vitamins! Take: 1 Apple 1 Mango (peeled, pitted) or Peach 2 cups Spinach 1 Tray Ice Blend until liquified, serve over ice. Feel a bit more adventurous and substitute strawberries or other kinds of berries. If blackberries are still growing in your area, add in a cup of those, too! Best if you freeze them first. Should you not be a fan of "pulp," push these through your juicer, or spoon the pulp through a strainer. Looks very green, but tastes wonderful!

The plane lifted off the runway and into the air, the rushing blast sucking the life out of every other noise. Except for the baby three rows ahead who because of inability to gnaw a stick of Wrigley’s, fought against her mother’s advances to take the bottle. The plane’s climb tilted into a bank and the blessed little one decided to take the nipple. The cabin pressurized emotionally, seat backs adjusted and settled against the cushions. Neck pillows appeared from stowage and braced heavy heads against inevitable strain. I found the sweet spot in the head rest and closed my eyes, sighing, resisting the urge to peek at my watch one more time. “I’m supposed to keep this a secret, but I absolutely must tell someone.” Hot breath slid across my cheek as the words materialized in my ear over the muted wind-gust. My shoulder brushed my ear against the intrusion. I dug into my pocket for a handkerchief to wipe my cheek against stray spittle, turning with wild surprise to clear...

The tooth fairy visits my house. The madness must stop. This all started when I lost my first tooth. I was at first crazy with the blood and the drama of having the thing pulled then I could not lose them fast enough. When I was in grade school I went through a streak of losing teeth and grew quite concerned. English class was always disrupted by my sucking sounds on those awful brown paper towels--the Big Chief writing paper kind, with the visible wood chunks still in them—to keep from bleeding all over the desk. Good thing those were molars because there almost nothing left for a while and I got scared; but oh, how my piggy bank grew! T hen I stopped losing teeth. I was going to have to find another source of income but could think of no other kind of fairy that would pay for offerings such as hair trimmings from the barber shop or nail clippings or boogers. “What good is a Boogy man if he won’t pay for boogers?” I wondered. The money stopped and I was left to find c...

sweet smells breezed in from the woods . . . sunshine and the joy of shade . . . spiders laying out welcome mats . . .  wild flowers, sweet berries . . .  a new perspective . . .  sassafrass and prickly pears . . .  the sound of silence . . .  how sweet cold water really tastes . . .

Shaking hands held the envelope open before his eyes as his insides gushed with wrenching warmth making him want to vomit and crawl under the desk with shame or embarrassment; yet he sat motionless, staring, hating himself for the senseless raging fight inside his head and in his soul not wanting to do wrong but do right as his Sunday School teacher always encouraged him to do when nobody was looking because this is the moment of true integrity (who you are is who you are when no one is looking) -- to be true to his conscience or convince himself to rectify the situation with a solemn promise to pay everything back in full restitution as he had promised to do so many times in the past when faced with this very same situation as it happened every year, year after year with envelopes exactly like this on days like today; but, why should he fail if all he had to do was close the drawer, stand up, walk out of the office, turn left, go down the hall and kill temptation right t...

I once met a man on the street who in the course of our conversation made a point to say that words have no meaning and are without power. I told him I did not understand. He explained, completely missing his point. Martin Luther knew the power of words. His famous “Mighty Fortress” contains one little word that we to this day still strive to grasp exactly that which fells the prince of darkness grim. Regardless, whatever the word is, it abides above all earthly pow’rs (no thanks to them). Yes, one word sends us reeling. Consider “on” and “off” or “hot” and “cold.” Indeed, words are powerful, meaningful. Have you ever pondered the most dangerous word? Martin Luther’s word is the word of victory, the word that leads to life. Our word is the opposite. It is the most perilous. Some words can kill a conversation, or suck the breath right out of someone’s chest. Present discussions center on “Bullying” and “President.” What about “Death” or “Poverty” or “Revenge?” Deceitfulness? ...

Landmarks. Marks in the land that help us navigate or show us where we’ve been. Hard to imagine being a child traveling by wagon on a weekly or monthly foray into town asking, “are we there yet?” when all one has to do is survey the scenery for that old oak tree or that rock formation. Davey Crockett was a familiar face on the way to Zuni from Gallup. His profile (Coon skin cap and all) could be clearly seen in a rock outcropping along a bluff just off the roadside. His nose pointed the way, a clear indicator you were on the right road. If you pass Shiprock and see Sleeping Ute Mountain, you are heading north from New Mexico into Colorado. We have landmarks in our lives, too. We personify one the moment of our birth. Our parents mark this significant time of their lives by remembering our birthday. The paths of our own lives become clearly identifiable by landmarks, significant and personal moments that stand out in our memories when we look back. Did you know groups of people who r...

The bus-stop sign, no further. The man petrified in the middle of the sidewalk. People pushed by until some command from the bridge of his mind turned his head. Unseeing eyes found the bench against the coffee shop wall. Another command shuffled his feet, rotated his body, bent his legs at the knees then floated him down onto the icy concrete. His son once imagined tiny people living inside his body, moving all the parts . . . His son. Ache consumed his body under the ribs, across his chest and arrested any swallowing. Winter waited impatiently outside his jacket, jealous of the affliction that squatted into his bones. Open-mouthed breath vaporized into the frigid air, the only sign of life. Unliving. The bus slid to the curb, spilling black exhaust across the sidewalk. Passengers disembarked covering their noses. The man gazed through the cloud, through the open doors, through the building on the opposite side and clear across the world. He did not see the bus wait then pull away...

10. Italian Steak; 9. Authentic Mexican Food (ala "Real Mexico" or "La Barracca"); 8. Navajo Tacos ( Yá'át'ééh!) 7. Authentic Chinese food ( not the kind that’s been sitting out in the buffet ); 6. Sushi; 5. Super Supreme Deep-dish Pizza ( I think I just drolled a little ); 4. The Green Chili Cheeseburger at Earl’s Restaurant in Gallup, New Mexico; 3. My wife’s homemade chicken soup; 2. My wife’s Thanksgiving and/or Christmas feast; 1. The Gyro Platter at Zorba's in Irmo, SC.

Until one reaches the age of 6 or 8, one is not aware there is such a thing as Summer Break. Somewhere between 8 to 10 years, Summer Break becomes the second greatest event of the calendar. The Summer Breaks of late teen years look back into the Summer Break of pre-teen years with a sense of longing (nearly mourning) and Adulthood Summer Breaks give us movies like “The Sandlot.” Not sure when it developed, but since I was a boy I always thought of the “year” as a wheel, like a clock, though very different. The “twelve o’clock” position is on the bottom, starting with “January” and as one progresses around the wheel clock-wise, each month falls into its own section with a corresponding color (January is white, February is icy-blue, March is a light green, April is yellow, etc.). To this day when I think of October, I see brown in the last quarter of the wheel. May through August (for me) are the colors of mowed grass, swimming pools, burned hot dogs, shady woods and the light of ...

I am so much enjoying gardening again this year. We did not start one last year and we really missed out in so many ways. Certainly we started late, but at least we have the joy of the spiritual exercise of gardening. Yes, gardening is a spiritual exercise for me. When I first started, it was solely for the pleasure of waiting impatiently for weeks and months for something to eat--if the bugs did not get it first. My first garden I had little tools. I had a hand-tiller, a hoe, a shovel and a garden hose. A hand tiller is a short-handled device, much like a rock-pick, only instead of a spike on one end, there are three long thick tines. The other end is equipped with a long, thick blade. The device is used for breaking up the ground. Once I got started on my patch that year, I had a much deeper appreciation for all those who blazed the gardening trail before us.  Then one year I read Pearl S. Buck‘s “The Good Earth” and felt I could sincerely understand each time she wrote of hoe...