when it’s not that being told what to do that bothers you
what bothers you is being told how to get there
how you should look, the clothes you should wear, the expression on your face modified for mass consumption.
There are some days when I just want to keep moving
and the only sound I want to hear
is the wind in my ears
until I reach that City In The Sky
where it rains when it wants to rain and it snows when it can and none of the houses look the same and the lawns are a little overgrown and dogs bark and cats chase birds and Werewolves dance with Zombies in wild abandon in the streets at sunrise and your Pizza Delivery is always on time.
Boys don’t fart more then girls- which is bull because I raised three boys and they are Fart factories. I don’t care what science or Google say. It’s also a fact that girl farts smell like posies. I can say that because when girls fart we say so and given that guys seem to like Farts so much they agree. Also, they seem to enjoy it when we toot them out and pretty much give you a standing ovation-
Especially if it’s loud.
People write poems about Farts- but they stink. So I’m not posting them here.
Now here is a song that comes as close to explaining gas in the human body- actually it’s about bacteria but I love this song so I’m going to post it.
Wouldn’t want to hold it- doing that kind of thing can really hurt you.
is in front of a used bookstore called ” Mabel’s “
Mabel’s has a cat that likes to lounge in the window on top of a fuzzy, dusty set of Encyclopedia Britannica’s that smells like catnip and cat pee and you get a nose full of it when you open the door.
Mabel’s customers are too polite to point this out.
Because Maybel’s customers are cat people.
Maybel’s bookshelves are packed with books about cooking and romance and how to travel to France on a shoestring budget. There are even books about how to train dogs and collect butterflies and there are books about poetry- how to write it, how to read it and how to understand it too.
Those books smell like catnip and cat pee too, but Mabel’s customers ignore it because Mabel’s customers are cat people so when the occasional cat ( sometimes it’s a black cat, there’s a few Tabby’s and couple of Siamese cats too ) strolls along the top of the shelf and wants to jump down, Mabel’s customers will politely step aside and let them pass because
Mabel’s customers are cat people.
After years and years of standing in front of Mabel’s and getting a noseful of cat pee and catnip and sometimes cat fur too, I decided to go into Mabel’s and shop around.
Because I like books.
I strolled around shelves of books about fairy tales and books about Dungeons and Dragons and books with covers where the Vampires strapped in corsets and there is even a few spinner racks full of bookmarks and another with bookplates jammed into corners where the light switches are, which must make it a chore to switch the lights off and on- on the other hand I can’t seem to remember a time when the lights were ever off at Mabel’s.
I heard a meow and I looked up and then I heard another meow and I looked behind me.
A chubby little Tabby was sitting on a table next to a chair where Mabel’s customers sometimes sat and thumbed through a volume or too that smelled like cat pee and sometimes catnip.
” Hello Mabel’s Cat. ” I said stepping back because, to be honest I’m not a cat person. I think I might be allergic because my nose always tingles when I’m around them and my eyes water a little bit too.
Mabel’s cat jumped off of the table and when it hit the floor, it sent up a poof of cat fur from the floor and when it’s paws where firmly grounded it streatched up and up and in it’s place was a small chubby man with salt and pepper hair.
” You’re not a cat person I see. ” he said.
I crouched and fell gently forwards and when my front paws touched the dusty floorboards I shook my head from side to side, sneezed a little and said, ” Not even a little around the edges.”
I may have barked that and I may have barked it a little to loud but Mabel’s customers would not have pointed that out because even though the customers at Mabel’s are cat people, they’re very polite.
One of these days we’re going to have to explain this world we’re living in now and this is how I think it will go for me:
” Where did Murder Hornets come from? ” I imagine my Granddaughter asking me one day. ” Did you ever see one? What’s it like to be stung by one? Do they really sound like hummingbirds when they fly?”
” I saw a bunch of them try to carry off one cat and then they carried off another. It was pretty awful. “
” No you did not ” my Granddaughter will say.
” Yes I did. Don’t you ever wonder why you never see any cats around here?”
” I thought it was because you’re allergic”
” Murder Hornets ” I will say darkly.
” Lola,” my Grandaughter will ask me one day ” Was there really a sandstorm that circled the world? Did it really start in the Sahara Desert? Did it really dump sand in Texas? Did you see that? Did it dump sand in Washington too?
My Grandaughter, whose name is Jemma will roll her eyes up into her head. ” Lola that is the biggest pile of baloney you’ve ever stacked. “
” It’s true. Ask the internet-“
” Internet ” Jemma will snort ” Nobody calls it that Lola.”
” Okay, I’ll tell you the truth. It was a curse. One day someone in the Cairo Museum accidently damaged a mummy and the next thing you know…womp. What can I say, one of those Curses was bound to be real and it was bound to pay off and boy did it.”
Jemma will look at me and say, ” I knew it.”
And then one day Jemma will ask me about the Virus that swept the world when she was two years old and she will ask me if I had it and did I know anyone who died and what was it like to not be able to go to the movies or to concerts or parties and what did we do all day?
I will remember the times that I rode the train with “Fever Boy.” he was the guy who coughed and hacked and sneezed and finally he started to wear a mask- but he only wore it when he was waiting for the train. He took it off when he got on.
And then there was Crazy Cooter- he was the guy who only wore his mask over his mouth and when he was reading he would flip it on the top of his head, the way you do with your glasses when you don’t need them. Anyway, he would read quietly, out loud to himself.
He used to sneeze a lot.
The streets and trains were full of people like Fever Boy and Crazy Cooter. They made a lot of people sick. Lots and lots of people. It should have been a crime.
” Well, when we were under stay at home orders I started a new hobby.”
” What was your new hobby?”
” Head hunting. “
” Oh Lola! ” Jemma will laugh. ” That’s so silly. Everyone knows you didn’t head hunt.’
My Son will join in at this point, ” Come on Mom. Tell her the truth. You didn’t hunt for heads.”
I will look down modestly and then I will admit, ” I took up sewing again so I made-“
” Masks?” Jeamma will guess.
” Voodoo dolls. ” I will tell her.
” Best dang Voodoo Dolls in the entire state of Washington.” My son will say proudly. ” Those things really worked. But that was at the end of the pandemic when you started to make them, right?” my Son will say with a wink over his daughter’s head.
” Yeah. At the end” I will tell her.
And my son will try to laugh so that Jemma will know we we’re only kidding around.
“Dance Around In Your Bones” was one of those songs that I grew up singing- my grandparents probably taught it to me and it probably appealed to me because I was an imaginative little kid with a dark streak running through my imagination a mile wide.
All I can tell you about the history of the song is that the songwriters have an impressive body of work and you’ve probably heard more of their music then you realize.
So what is it about this song that caught my fancy over 50 years ago?
I would have to say that what appealed to me was the idea of dancing skeletons and ice cream cones and peeling of your skin to boot.
Still, I wondered then and I wonder now what exactly the writers were thinking when they created this little gem- but I don’t mind if I never find out.
Sometimes the fun is in the wondering, don’t you think?
I ride in a car where I’m not alone, even if I’m the only person sitting in it because
I am sitting with the ghosts of people I used to ride with everyday and I do sort of miss now, even though they used to step on my feet and gave me dirty looks because I took ‘their seat’.
I commute to work on the endless railway where my fellow travelers fill the air and have taken the seats and cling to the handrails where people used to sit and stand and fret over their cell carriers and gossiped about
that lady with the cacophonic laugh and the guy who talked about how many guns he owned