writing: The Tiger Trap
- 01/28/13 01:53 PM
I knew that if I didn’t pull over and take a leak, I would surely break something. It was not hard to find a place to pull over on this rural back road in Northern Pennsylvania. I had only seen one car, and what was probably once a pickup truck, in the last two hours. I slowed the car to a stop on the shoulder, mostly off the road, and quickly got out of the car. I went to the other side and opened the passenger door. Using the door as a “blind” I peed into the thistle and Rosa
writing: What if you take that one piece with you when you go?
- 06/21/12 07:03 AM
Life is not merely puzzling.
It is beyond puzzling.
It is certainly more than a puzzle.
One can only wish it was just a puzzle.
Life is more like a scroll,
yet more than a scroll.
Like an endless scroll,
with the “now” of our lives,
laid out flat between the rolls.
The scrolls of our lives,
are entangled with---
---and supported from,
the scrolls of others in our lives
sometimes in the rolls,
cryptic pieces spilling out on the other side,
waiting to be sorted.
Our past, rolls-up
writing: Chicken Noodle Soup
- 04/26/12 06:18 AM
Chicken Noodle Soup
The problem with writing about feeling like crap is that I usually do not feel like writing when I feel like crap.
When the head pounds and the words only come out between pulses and sneezes, it is hard to imagine that things will ever be right again.
Of course, over the course of my life, I have been to this sorry place before and I know that this too shall pass. However when I feel like crap it is pretty easy to convince myself that somehow this time is different---that this will be the time
writing: I never was!
- 04/04/12 06:07 AM
Here I am.
Anything I know
about the past,
is either based on hearsay
Given the excruciating inadequacy of memory,
it is hard to conclude that anything remembered actually happened
or happened exactly as remembered.
Given the disappointing inadequacy of hearsay,
knowing that people will both lie and tell you the truth,
it is hard to conclude
that what we have heard about ourselves
is entirely accurate
or happened the way told.
Concluding that the past does not exist
is not hard to imagine.
Imagining that the past never
writing: Valentine’s Day is only evil when we don’t have one.
- 02/14/12 11:30 AM
Valentine’s Day is only evil when we don’t have one.
Sixth grader puppy lover's Valentine.
Cards with cupids,
Sugar hearts and giggles were enough.
(Though innocent without perspective.)
Surely more benign---
---Puppy Love and Valentine's?
I hate Valentine’s Day!
Even the Pope agreed!
(Though probably not objective.)
Surely an oxymoron---
---Hate and Valentine's?
I love Valentine’s Day!
Even the Soaps agree!
(Though steamy and suggestive.)
Surely less foreign---
---or at least Lust and Valentine's?
Valentine’s Day is only evil---
---when we don’t have one.
Don’t nurture denial.
Hug your ♥alentine and don't let go---
writing: Mother Nature is a Hottie!
- 01/21/12 08:50 AM
In Summer, Mother Nature can be as hot as a brothel’s attic.
In Winter, as cold as the end of Jack in The Shining.
When she is out and about in the violent cold of winter.
When the hoarfrost nips our noses and toeses.
We are seduced by her crystal earring's shining.
And warmed all over again.
Like hot chocolate.
Amongst the shattered roses.
Charles Buell, Seattle Home Inspector
writing: The Puzzler
- 12/20/11 08:26 AM
The PuzzlerIt was no ordinary puzzle.
It came in a sealed box just like any other puzzle.
Except there was no picture on the cover.
"10,000 pieces!"---the box said.
"If you put together no other puzzle in your whole life------let it be this one!"---the box said.
The Puzzler was intrigued.
Possibly even manipulated a bit.
The puzzle pieces were laboriously laid out on a huge table with a leather top.
They were placed face up and organized by colors and recognizable textures.
The edge pieces were placed in an area all by themselves.
The Puzzler wished there was a picture on
writing: Pick your poison.
- 12/02/11 10:01 AM
Pick your poison.Knowing darkness------is knowing light.When we cannot see the forest for the trees, seeing the light becomes so important.Sometimes we merely have to open our eyes.
Sometimes it helps to close them.Seeing the light is often not enough.Sometimes we must actually seek the light.Seeking the light is different from moving toward it once we do find it.Sometimes we do------sometimes we don't.Choosing the darkness is OK. It provides the opportunity and the desire to both move and stay.Once in the light, we can choose the darkness------if only to desire the light again.Such is the law of opposites.Everything turns into its opposite.Sometimes we
writing: Make the most of life-------or not.
- 11/08/11 08:42 AM
Actually after the yesterdays
Hiding so many other yesterdays,
We inexplicably step out of the void.
We experience joy, we experience sadness,
We experience love, we experience anger,
We experience courage, we experience fear,.
We experience doubt, we experience faith,
We experience denial, we experience belief,
We experience epiphanies, we experience hope,
Experience is at the heart of it all.
Some among us are not even that lucky.
We smell the roses, we smell the garbage,
We taste the sweet lemon, we taste the bitter dandelion,
We see the fall colors, we see the winter clouds,
writing: Why is Teddy on the Roof?
- 10/13/11 12:10 PM
Why is Teddy on the roof?
There is no yard---a landfill of blackberries,rubber Tires,abandoned cars.The roof is rotten---missing shingles,leaking,long forgotten.Why is Teddy on the roof?The windows and doors are junk----mostly foggy,one broken,jagged glass crunch. The inside is not like outside---landfill removed, stains and rats remain, one can see they tried.Why is Teddy on the roof?The electric meter spins round and round---lights not working,fixtures missing,smoke alarms not found.The water meter is locked off---toilet filled with pink, water heater drained, rotting floor still soft.Why is Teddy on the roof?The gas meter has a lock---furnace rusted through,53 years old,vent pipe blocked.There is water in
writing: Looking for the perfect plum---a poem about my dad.
- 10/01/11 10:18 AM
The man loved plums.
It really isn't all that complicated.When one loves plums it all starts with selecting the right one from the right tree---perhaps even before.Walking around and under the tree he would handle one plum and then another, gently sensing its weight---its firmness---its color.Sometimes the perfect one was hidden behind others.The perfect plum would be obvious. The right one, the chosen one, would let go of the tree with little resistance.He would polish the plum until it glistened like a mirror---until he could almost see himself smiling in it.A certain mount of guilt always comes with biting into
writing: The Time Between Fall and Spring—a Turtle’s Journey—a Biker's Apology.
- 08/23/11 08:29 AM
As most of you that follow my blog know, I occasionally crank out a short story and share it here in the rain. I know the story is a little long for a blog post--but I hope you will give it a chance. Most of these stories are in some way autobiographical---but as I like to say---perhaps closer to "truth" than actual "fact." This story I give you today was sparked by the memory of an incident that happened many, many years ago. Please enjoy!
The Time Between Fall and Spring--a Turtle's Journey--a Biker's Apology.
When Shelley started across the
writing: Life is MUCH shorter than anyone ever knows.
- 07/14/11 09:52 AM
Life is MUCH shorter than anyone ever knows.
He doesn’t remember the exact day he was born.
He just knew it crept up on him when he wasn’t paying attention.
When he was paying attention,
No one else noticed either.
Of course those that might have noticed
were long gone from this place.
His Mother did her best to nurture him through it all,
while most of his time,
he spent ignoring her,refusing her embrace.
Life is MUCH shorter than anyone ever knows.
When the Mother was born,
- 05/24/11 12:03 PM
Hindsight is an amazing thing. After the fact---things may seem obvious.Obvious to the point
one might have foreseen them.
In the middle of thingswe are blinded by the distractions necessary to fulfill the script.Sometimes
what we see so clearlyis nothing more than a mirage.I would love to have had eyes in the back of my headso that as I boldly walked backwards into the events that shaped who I am today I could have seen where I was going. In spite of thisI am grateful to be where I arrived.
Charles Buell, Seattle Home Inspector.
writing: Like Bumps on a Log
- 04/30/11 11:09 AM
In our lives,
We act like a “bump on a log.”
It takes courage to venture from the comfort of our log,
Even if that fall is necessary.
Sometimes all it takes is a nudge.
Sometimes nothing can make us budge.
Sometimes we learn to move
Out of experience,
Out of longing,
Out of love.
Sometimes it takes an ultimatum to wake us,
And ultimatums often move both parties off their logs.
So---if you must be a “bump on a log,”
Do it in the warm sunshine,
And with friends.
Sooner or later someone will bump you off.
writing: The Princess (her version?)
- 03/27/11 10:32 AM
One day the King called his son, the Prince, to his bedside.
“Son,” said the King, “As you know I am dying and soon all of the kingdom will be yours. But first you must find a Princess and marry her.”
The Prince knew this would be no easy task as he had already turned down several options the King had suggested to him. The Prince wanted to make up his own mind. In the past there would have been no question. If the King had said you will marry this Princess or that Princess—even if she did have a
writing: Mr. Smarty Pants
- 01/18/11 07:08 PM
In my youth
when I wanted to be older,
and I knew that I would live forever,
or didn’t care whether I would live forever,
I was dumbfounded by people who claimed that life is short.
But now I’ve found---
that it was me all along who was dumb.
Charles Buell, Seattle Home Inspector
writing: Henry and the Dinosaur
- 01/13/11 06:18 AM
Henry and his brother and cousins liked to fight great battles for truth and justice in the woods. One day it would be Davy Crocket fighting against impossible odds at the Alamo---or Robin Hood outwitting the Sheriff of Nottingham forest----another day it might be Zorro, or the Lone Ranger. Regardless it was never about “pretending” to be these heroes---they were them. They were invincible---even invisible if necessary.
One day as they were fighting desperate battles with enemies seen and unseen along the old logging road in the woods next to the farm, they came across something white sticking out of the
writing: That’ll Be the Day!
- 01/09/11 12:45 PM
The boss was always the first one to get to work in the morning.
One of the first things he did was tune the radio from rock & roll to the weather----once he heard the weather forcast he could be thinking about how to organize the rest of his day. After the weather, the news would come on. He would listen to this while he checked up on the workers that had been on the job all night, and see how they were doing at their various stations. He would always talk to them---occasionally giving some of them a gentle pat
writing: Mummies in the Haymow (the making of a home inspector)
- 12/26/10 10:32 AM
It was 90 degrees along with 90% humidity---it might as well have been raining.
It was August.
Henry and his cousin were drenched in sweat from the stifling heat and their hard work in the haymow. Hay chaff stuck to their sweaty skin like salty sand at the beach---stinging like nettles. Sweat ran off Henry’s nose like a drippy faucet.
The bales of hay were lined up on the hay elevator about five feet apart and were dumping off the end monotonously. They were timed to give Henry and his cousin almost enough time to organize and stack them in the