A Bird in the Hand

Posted on October 26, 2020 by hdh

A Bird in the Hand

When I was a child, my friend Ronald and I found this baby bird on the ground near the woods by my house. We decided we were going to keep it. Ronald was the kind of person that had to have his plans all written out before he would do anything. So we thought we should go back to his house get ourselves a notebook and some colored pencils and write out everything we needed to have before proceeding.

Of course, we hadn’t gotten far before we realized we couldn’t just leave the bird on its own. He might fly away or be captured by some wild animal. I decided to forestall the trip to Ronald’s house and let him go by himself. Then I went back to where we spotted the bird. 

I needed some way to carry the bird but was somewhat skeptical of the health implications If I actually picked it up in my hand. I decided that the best way to carry the bird was in my shoe. 

I took off my right shoe and somehow coaxed the bird into it. Now I had to decide where to bring the bird. I figured since Ronald was the note taker, that I could be the bird taker. I thought that my house would be the best place for the bird. 

Now you should know this was not the first time I brought a stray animal into our house. And after the last worm incident, my mother was pretty clear on bringing stray animals into the house. Luckily for me, my mother was out shopping so when I got home no one was there. I needed a place to stash the bird until Ronald came over with his notebook. 

This was on a Wednesday afternoon. What’s special about Wednesdays is that we always eat Chinese take-out on Wednesdays. Knowing that my mom would not be cooking anything for supper, I figured that the safest place for the bird was in the oven. Since the bird was now sleeping in my shoe, I didn’t want to wake it up, so I put both the shoe and the bird in the oven and then called Ronald.

When Ronald came over the first thing we decided to do was to name the bird. After some discussion, we named it Woody, since we found it in the woods. 

We then had to figure out what to feed it. Worms would have been the best choice, but since the worm incident, I was not allowed to bring any worms into the house. Well, what do other birds eat? This was before the Internet, so we had to figure it out ourselves. After much thought, we decided that since birds fly and flies fly, they must eat similar things. We had observed that flies tend to eat droppings from other animals. And since we were animals and we certainly made droppings, that seemed like the easiest thing to get access to. So that was the direction we took. 

It was easy to get the droppings, however, how to feed them to the bird was a bit of a problem. We got one of my parent’s china dishes, the one with the flower design, figuring that birds must like flowers, placed the droppings on it, and put the plate in the oven too, hoping that if the bird woke up, it would enjoy a snack.

It was then that Ronald’s mother called and told him that he had to come home for his violin lesson. He left but we said we would meet again after the lesson to finish our plan. 

I checked in on the bird, who was still sleeping, and then decided to go upstairs and read one of my Superman comics. 

I must have fallen asleep for the next thing I heard was this loud scream coming from the kitchen. I went downstairs and stood in the shadow of my mother. There was no joy on her face. In fact, if looks could kill, suffice it to say, I wouldn’t be writing about this right now.

My mom made me take the bird outside and release it, which it seemed was exactly what the bird wanted since it quickly flew up in the air, circled me a few times, leaving a number of its own droppings on me. I guess it didn’t know that humans don’t eat droppings. 

Following that, I was sent to my room for some unspecified amount of time. I also wasn’t allowed to play with Ronald anymore. 

As for the china dish, I don’t remember that it ever was used again for a meal. 

Posted in Original Stories, Writing | Tagged , | 2 Comments

The Invitation

Posted on October 22, 2020 by hdh

The Invitation

For Harry it was a simple question, “Should I go or not?”

Julie looked at him with frustration on her face, “It’s your decision, make up your own mind.”

“But why do I have to make the decision. You were invited too.”, he replied.

“But they’re your friends. I’d only go because you work with them.”

Harry had no answer for that. “So we should go. I mean she invited the whole office.”

“Really,” she said, “Just because everyone else is going you’ll go.”

“Well, I wouldn’t want to be the only one that missed the party.” Harry looked a little worried. “I mean, she is the boss and my job may be impacted by not going.”

“So then go, decision made, just don’t expect me to be sociable with those opinionated self-know-it-alls you work with. You don’t even like them yourself.”

“So then maybe we shouldn’t go.” Harry was now getting very confused, which was not unusual. 

“Like I said it’s your decision,” Julie said matter of factly. 

“But I want your opinion.” Harry pleaded.

Julie was quick to respond, “But you’re not going to get it, since it’s your party.”

Since the party wasn’t for another hour, Harry just sat there perplexed, After about ten minutes of letting his mind wander, he made a decision.

“Okay, I’ve decided. We’re going to the party.” 

Julie just looked at him and replied, “Really? That’s what you decided? Whatever.”

Harry was totally perplexed. “So you don’t think we should go?”

Julie answered, “I didn’t say that.”

“But you inferred it. You always do this to me. You tell me to make the decision then you tell me it was the wrong one.”

“I never tell you your decisions are wrong. I just think there are better choices.”

Harry was getting very frustrated. “This is a yes or no question. A better choice means that I made the wrong one!”

“You said it, not me.” Julie scoffed. “I hope you enjoy yourself at the party.”

“What do you mean? You’re not coming?” Harry asked.

“You did say we were both invited, that means that I have a choice too. I decided I’m not going.”

It was at that time the phone rang. Julie picked up. “Yes, he’s here, hold on.”

Harry got on the phone and listened for a while. He thanked the person on the other end and hung up the phone. He turned towards Julie and said, “The party’s canceled.”

“Why, what happened?“  

Harry looked at her with a smile, “It seems the boss and three of those opinionated know-it-alls that you were so vocal about, have tested positive for Covid-19. We have the next two weeks together in self-quarantine. So what should we do?”

Julie looking forlorn said, “You decide.”

Posted in Original Stories, Writing | Tagged , | Leave a comment

To Write or not to Write?

Posted on October 19, 2020 by hdh

To write or not to write, that is the question.

I won’t grow up, I don’t want to go to school. Just to learn to be a parrot, And recite a silly rule.

When I was younger, by a lot, I wanted to be a writer. I remember wanting to write from as early as first grade. Everything else was peripheral. Yes, I played sports and I learned other stuff in school, but I loved to write. 

For mother’s day, I wrote a poem to my mother… “There will never be another of my sweet mother. I love her night and day. And even when I’m far away.” I’m not sure how young I was when I wrote that, but judging from the handwriting, I’d have to think about 6 years old. 

As I grew older and more things were introduced to me I got involved in other school subjects, but deep down I still loved to write. 

In Junior High School, I distinctly remember writing stories based on the book series, Tom Corbett Space Cadet, where I became the main character and other students in my class took on the roles of other characters in the series. Alas, once I shared this piece of writing with my English teacher it was never returned, so there are no copies left. 

A similar thing occurred in High School when I rewrote the story Treasure Island from the point of view of being there myself. In fact, it was due to my expertise that Jim Hawkins did all the things he was supposed to do. But that too is lost to what I’m going to assume was the teacher’s love of the story, and is archived somewhere in her basement as I have done to some of my students’ written work.

In my late high school years and college, writing became a therapy tool, whereby if something was bothering me, it would become a piece of semi-fictional writing. This was the case with, “What would happen if my father became president,” which my father loved, but the rest of the family, who understood that I was making fun of him, hated. I also wrote a piece about the place that I was working at, and what kind of things I could have done to disrupt their operation. Luckily I was the only one who ever read it. The therapy worked and I got rid of a lot of frustration. 

After college as a teacher, I kept journals of every year I taught, focusing on expectations, goals, and anxieties. Re-reading some of them, now that I’m retired, makes me understand how naive I was back then, and also reminds me of all the things I accomplished. 

In retirement now and being a storyteller has opened up new avenues for my writing. For now, I write everything and anything I want. Having prompts like this one help. Doing the A to Z blog challenge every April where I have to publish a piece of writing every day (except Sundays) also tests my ability to create. I love it. 

And though I have grown up, that little child in me that wanted to share his writing with others has not. And I’m thankful for it.

Posted in Personal Stories, Writing | Tagged , , | Leave a comment

The Wait is On

Posted on October 15, 2020 by hdh

The Wait is on

Wait for it…Wait for it…And…got it. Wow! That was a long wait. But I finally got what I was waiting for…The next number I have to call. 

They say that patience is a virtue. Well, it’s also a pain in the, well you know what. There are times that it is valuable to wait. For example, you are waiting for your tea water to boil. We all know that a watched pot never boils. But seriously…

There are plenty of times when patience does help you physically. You are sitting in your car going 5 mph because the car in front of you is going well under the speed limit. Patience, in this case, may get you to your destination a little late, but the potential hazard of speeding past the car on a one-lane road and encountering another vehicle can do serious damage, not to mention the stress of making that maneuver. Of course, there is the stress you feel of being late to your meeting that might counteract the stress of a driving accident. Be patient. Which outcome is less life-threatening? 

I’m known as being a patient person. I try to let people finish what they are saying before I jump in and throw in my ideas. That is unless I have to let them know my thoughts which are needed to be heard at that moment… “Your pants are on fire!”. 

I was once told by a colleague at one of my faculty meetings that if I didn’t raise my hand right away as soon as a thought popped into my head, and actually gave other people time to think, they would come up with the same conclusions I had reached and I wouldn’t be considered the gadfly of meetings. That wasn’t easy for me to do, but I tried.

Patience is definitely good when standing in a line or being stuck in traffic. There’s not much you can do, so why push yourself. Just sit back (or stand there) and talk to someone to pass the time. This happens a lot when I’m driving by myself. And it’s great, I don’t get interrupted by other impatient people or the other drivers that I’m talking to that clearly aren’t hearing me. 

I’m planning on voting in person during this upcoming election. I’m also planning for a long wait in line. Maybe I’ll get a chance to finish that book on tape that I’ve been listening to. And, if my wife goes with me, I’m sure we will have lots to talk about, planning that trip we can’t go on…yet, not to mention all the house jobs that have to be done. 

So my advice is to be patient. It never hurts to slow things down and just wait and give things time to pass. Like this piece of writing.

Posted in Original Stories, Writing | Tagged , , | Leave a comment

Trapped!

Posted on October 10, 2020 by hdh

Trapped!

It was a dark and stormy night. Not really, though it was dark. I never expected to be stuck in this situation. No lights, no phone, no way of escape without help. What was I to do? 

Let me backtrack a little to give you a better picture. I was an old man. I had been at home minding my own business when I felt a slight pain in my chest. Living by myself there was no one around to complain about it to. Well, the pain grew in intensity. Next thing I knew I was gasping for breath. I tried to get to the phone to call for help, but couldn’t reach it. I heard a knocking at the door and then screaming. There were sirens in the background and then nothing. 

Then came the long wait, or at least it seemed like a long time. When I finally became cognizant of my surroundings, everything felt odd as if I was floating in something. I couldn’t move very far. Twisting and turning a bit was all I was capable of. It was like I was tied down. And I wasn’t the only one there it seemed, but there was no way to communicate. And as I said it was dark. So here I am.

But wait, now there is something pushing at me. I seem to be moving forward. And yes I can feel the light, though not see it. I’m being forced through a very small opening and then dropped on the ground. I’ve been saved. I can breathe again, someone is cleaning all the gunk that I’m covered with. I find it hard to stand up and move. Crawling on all fours seems my only choice. 

My eyes finally open. Though everything is a bit blurry at first, I can see that I’m in a big room. I’m also very small. What could have happened? Wait, I see a mirror across the room. Let me get a look at myself. Someone is picking me up and carrying me over to the mirror. 

OH NO! I’m..I’m… a CAT!

This can’t be true. It can’t be happening. I try to call for help but all I can get out of my mouth is…Meow. 

Researcher’s note: Dateline: 2045-10-10, Timestamp: 1545:36  – Our computer just lost the signal to the test subject’s human brain understanding. Hopefully, with the new upgrade from Apple that we’ve ordered, that should come next week, we will be able to continue this research and understand the full transference of consciousness in the resurrection process.

Posted in Original Stories, Writing | Tagged , , | Leave a comment

An Open Door

Posted on October 8, 2020 by hdh

An Open Door

It’s not a very long road to travel. First, you have to pull back from the reality that you are in. You do that by sometimes closing your eyes. Sometimes that is not necessary, in that case, your path is free and your door is already open and you step in without knowing you have. The key to realizing that you have reached your destination is that all sights and sounds have been replaced by others that usually are not connected to where you thought you were.

Should you realize where you are, you can then control the direction that you wish to take. Sometimes it’s easy because you have been given a clue as to where you can go and you make a choice. Other times it is a bit more convoluted and you don’t have control and must just follow where you are taken.
In the past, a famous TV personality codified the entrance through this door. It went something like this: You’re traveling through another dimension, a dimension not only of sight and sound but of mind. A journey into a wondrous land whose boundaries are that of imagination. That’s the signpost up ahead – your next stop…

And then you are there. Once in the door, anything can happen. Your creative mind can take you to known places and you can experience things that have happened before. Or it can take you to places that look familiar yet are not and on adventures both wonderful and dangerous. And then there are times it can place you in a future world that is filled with horrors of potential reality. The places you can go are endless. The best of times is when you are free to explore new ideas and creations. That, is what is in store for you when you enter the path to your imagination.

The outside world sees a different picture. If you are awake, in a crowd, at a meeting, at a meal, you look glazed over, which can at times confuse and scare people. They might tend to pull back through the door into their reality. This might be helpful, if say, you are driving a car. Otherwise, it can be very frustrating.

If you enter when you are sleeping, only you are there. No one else knows unless they are watching your eyelids or you’re making some motions in reaction to what you’re experiencing and interfering with their sleep and their own visits to their imagination. Unfortunately, those visits to your imagination, tend to be temporary, for when you return, it doesn’t take long before you can’t recall where you have been.

As a writer, it is the best place to be. For therein lies the fountain of all your work. All you need is a little encouragement to go there and let the words flow. In my case, the door to my imagination is always open and that fountain of creativity and ideas is overflowing. Not a bad place to spend my time when I can.

Posted in Original Stories, Personal Stories, Writing | Tagged , , | Leave a comment

Marco the Magnificent

Posted on October 6, 2020 by hdh

Marco the Magnificent

He was named Marco the Magnificent on the day he was born, a very apt name you could tell.

Though he could not yet talk, with a wave of his hand, he could summon his wants with a spell.

Not like witches would brew in a cauldron filled through with all sorts of mysterious things.

But with thoughts of great charms and a movement of arms, he’d produce gifts that were fit for kings. 

As Marco grew older his creations got bolder and requests he accepted were great

“Make a toy”, “Make me strong”, “Make me write a new song”. “Make me anything quick I can’t wait.”

And he did, make it all, whether big or quite small, and charged such a minimal price.

For he was just a kid and enjoyed what he did and for all, he just acted quite nice.

But then came the day, he was twenty they say, that a man came to him and did tell.

You make trinkets for all, but for me, come this Fall, I want armies and weapons as well.

For I plan to use power, make this country cower, and become the new king of the land.

Let them all bow to me, let them beg, let them plea, let them worship the ground where I stand.

Marco, kind though he was, he did not like this cause, this man had an evil desire.

Should he do as was told, or refuse and be bold, he stood still and began to perspire.

But the man sensing fear knew that victory was near, as he pulled out a very sharp knife. 

The man he did gloat, the knife to Marco’s throat, “Give me all that I ask or your life”

Marco thought good and hard, as he played his last card, “I will do as you ask” he explained.

He’d come up with a plan, the man loosened his hand, and then Marco he felt less restrained

With a thought in his head, he broke loose and then said, as his hand pointed down to the ground.

“You’ll have armies galore, and great strength on the floor, as you crawl as an ant and get crowned.”

And so it was done, not that it was much fun, his joy to create had now gone

Creating’s no thrill when it’s things that can kill, and you’re asked to do things that are wrong.

Now Marco is old and the truth can be told that he doesn’t cast spells anymore.

He just sits in his home and rarely does roam, where he lives by himself near the shore. 

Marco the Lame is his only used name, which he feels now suits him quite well 

For he cares not for fame, it was only a game, till it got to be more than a spell.

When you do things for less, there are those that will guess, you are easy to trick, They are cruel.

Though it’s better to let them deserve what they get, best do nothing, and don’t be their tool. 

So take care all you folk, for this tale is no joke, teach your child when quite young to beware

And before someone dies, just like Marco be wise, and do not create things from thin air.

 

Posted in Original Stories, Writing | Tagged , , | Leave a comment

You’ve Got a Friend in Me…

Posted on October 1, 2020 by hdh

You’ve Got a Friend in Me…

When I was growing up, my father always used to tell me that I had no friends, I only had acquaintances. I thought I had friends. Growing up through elementary school there was David K., Ronald M., and Mark R. from school, and in the neighborhood and my apartment building, there was Juda A., Donny R., and my next-door neighbors Bernie F. and Robby K. They were always close in age to me and I did play with them. However, were they friends? 

I had a lot more people I interacted with in Junior High School and High School, though the only ones that I remember actually doing things with were Juda and Jeffrey F. I went over to their houses and Juda went to mine also. Does that define them as friends?

When college came along there were a whole new set of people that I interacted with, too many to name, though I remember most of their names. 

Following college, there were colleagues in teaching and technology consulting. Parents of some of my students. And other people connected to me through my music and writing organizations and groups. But are they just colleagues and acquaintances or are they friends? Or both? 

According to the Mirriam-Webster dictionary, the definition of “friend” is: 1.a favored companion 2. one attached to another by affection or esteem. 3. acquaintance. 

On Facebook, I have 595 friends. Some of those people are family (not friends), others are connected in some way through my life experiences or interests. Three of those friends that are from my junior high school/high school days. They obviously remembered me when I discovered them and I requested them to be friends, though when I knew them growing up, I didn’t do much with them outside of school. One of them, Steve, was a character that I put into one of my pieces of writing in 7th grade, which he did remember.  Seven of my Facebook friends are from my freshman and sophomore years at college. They do remember me, though most of their Facebook posts are done publicly rather than specific to me. 

And I have lots and of people that are teachers, storytellers, writers, musicians, parents, and the like that I have known and worked with, and others that may know of me but have never met me, and those that might know me through my writing or telling, but have met me only virtually or at conferences. And then there are those that just accept my friend request, as they do everyone that asks, and have no clue who I am. 

So the question to still ask is do I have real friends? Which is what my father was inferring when I was young. The answer is I have no idea. 

That is not exactly true. I consider a number of people that I know as true friends. There are a handful of people that I communicate with and we share life experiences together. At the top of that list is Christina, my wife. Even if we weren’t married, I would still seek her out to share my life with, turn to, give and receive comfort in times of need. After that, there would have to be Bill S., Nancy W., Toni T., Sylvia K., and my daughter-in-law’s parents. These are all people that I’ve worked with and continue to interact with. And by interaction, I don’t mean a one-way street.  It’s not just me being the one that makes all the contact, though at times it seems that way. There may be more that I might have missed. I’m sure if they read this they’ll remind me.

And then there are the others. I would like to consider them friends, but to me being a friend is a mutual thing. At times it seems that any interaction with some colleagues and friends from a previous time in my life only happens when I initiate the contact or am in a group with them. We certainly act friendly towards each other and share stuff with each other at that time, but if we’re not in a group together at any other time, we don’t interact. So are they friends or acquaintances, as my father had defined everyone I interacted with?

Maybe I’m being very self-centered. Maybe the definition of a friend should be much broader. Maybe the definition of “friend” is a fluid one. One that defines itself at any given moment in time, for certainly there are modified versions of “friend” such as life-long friends, which clearly, though not for a full lifetime, I have some. There are also common experience friends as well as common age/time period friends. Those last types of friends may be long-lasting as remembrances, but over time are just that, memories. Friends that either by distance or time have moved on to other friendships. 

So how do you define “a friend”? And if a person is on your list, would you be on their list? 

As for me, maybe we should just use the criteria for a friend, that Randy Newman used in the movie, Toy Story, that being mutual support and caring:

You’ve got a friend in me

Yeah, You’ve got a friend in me

You’ve got troubles, I’ve got ‘em too.

There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you

We stick together and we see it through

Cause you’ve got a friend in me. 

 

Posted in Personal Stories, Writing | Tagged , , | Leave a comment

River of Change

Posted on September 25, 2020 by hdh

River of Change*

One thing about rivers is that they can be dangerous. Living near a river during a rainstorm can bring untold damage to your house and neighborhood when the banks overflow. The pounding of the winds and the crashing of the water upon where you reside is a great destroyer of life. 

That is the case in some places in reality now as we face unprecedented rivers of water, fire, and ignorance. 

Flooding due to hurricanes is swamping cities and towns in the south as I write. Fires are not only destroying areas of the west but the smoke from those fires is spreading throughout the world creating a river of unbreathable air. 

And then there is the damage that is being caused by the most dangerous of all rivers: ignorance and blind faith. Our nation is succumbing to the rising waters of false belief. As global warming and the COVID pandemic scourge our planet, there are those people, and not a small number of them, that refuse to accept reality. They believe in the false prophecies of the self-centered know-it-alls, whether they be politicians, news organizations, or conspiracy groups – who, in fact, ignore it all. Meanwhile, those of us who are grasping onto science and real data lifeboats are struggling to stay afloat as the pounding of the floodwaters of ignorance rise higher. 

Such is the cost of the river’s flow. Can we stem the tide? Can we fight to put the river back in its place, where logic and reason allows us to be hopeful again? Where we can drift along to a safer and a more accepting future. Only time will tell. Until then we must continue to fight to stay afloat. Let the waters of ignorance lose their power and recede from the banks of humanity.  Be strong. Be safe. We will prevail.

*Note: A revised and edited version of this piece was published as a Letter to the Editor in Newsday on September 23, 2020.

Posted in Original Stories, Writing | Tagged , , | Leave a comment

The Invite

Posted on September 25, 2020 by hdh

The Invite

    I wasn’t sure. Should I take the plunge and dive right in? I knew there was a large possibility of failure, as I had not much success in these situations. It was a week after Hurricane Gloria had hit. Not everyone had their power back. I wasn’t even sure if I got the invitation correctly. It was only a verbal invite. But Barbara did say come to her house and join her for their house party that Saturday night and not to bring anything. She was a party person and it was through my Contra Dance playing that I got the invite. So the hope was that being there I would know other people and it wouldn’t be as threatening as if I were the only unknown. 

    The party was to start at 9:00. As I tentatively drove through the darkened, powerless streets every possible thing that could go wrong went through my head. Was I really invited? Did I get the date and time correct? Who else was going to be there? 

    I was a little early arriving at their house and noticed that there were only a couple of cars in the driveway. Not a good sign. All my usual fears of uncertainty were activated. 

    So did I boldly go where no me has ever gone? The correct answer is no, I did not. I decided to leave before I even got out of my car. My insecurities at being embarrassed temporarily got the best of me. 

    Now in normal situations like this, I would have just driven home. I knew Barbara had invited a number of other people to the party, so me not being there wouldn’t have been noticed, probably. I got about a mile away from their house when I decided I would wait a while. I waited for about half an hour, well past the supposed start of the party, and then summoned up what courage I had and drove back to her house. 

    On returning, there were now more cars in their driveway and on the street. A good sign. So I decided to go in.

    Barbara shared a house with 6 other housemates, none of which I knew except one woman that I had seen on the dance floor at some of the Contra dance events, and who I may have even danced with once at one of them. Her name was Christina.

    It turned out that Christina and I danced a lot more than just one dance that night. When we said goodbye at the end of the evening, we said we would speak again. And the surprising thing about that conversation, unlike others I had had in previous encounters with the opposite sex, we did in fact, communicate again. 

On October 5th, we will celebrate the 35th anniversary of our meeting and I will have known her half of my life. Sometimes it’s good to have concerns and worries about doing something or taking risks and then there are other times when you need to trust yourself and dive right in. I’m glad on October 5th, 1985, I took the plunge.

Posted in Personal Stories, Writing | Tagged , | Leave a comment