Midnight

Posted on September 12, 2020 by hdh

Midnight

I shouldn’t have opened the package. It clearly stated do not open until midnight. But I’m a curious person; I have no patience; I am impulsive. So I opened the package and it was empty.

Do Not Open Until Midnight

    She promised me that all my wishes would be granted. That the riches that I desired would be attained. I just had to wait until midnight. 

    Was it a lie? Was it a test? What would have happened had I waited until the appointed hour. I’ve read a number of folktales about a fisherman brought to the underground palace of the Sea King, who falls in love with the King’s daughter. He returns home temporarily to see his family one last time and is given a gift by the princess which he is told not to open. He eventually does open it and loses everything. Why didn’t I learn from that story?

    It had been a chance meeting at a social gathering. She was being bothered by others. I stepped in and freed her from her torment and was rewarded by an evening of companionship and pleasure. And then came the gift. It was a plain cardboard box, sealed with tape, and with a simple request, do not open until midnight and all you seek will be found. Her hands in mine, her beautiful hypnotizing face, her sweet-sounding voice, my eyes glazed over, staring at her and then the box. Hands released and then she was gone and I return home with the package. 

    An empty box! What could it have held? I never even got her name. So here I sit, both forlorn and confused. Did it really happen?

    As the clock strikes midnight, there is a knock at my door. With much anticipation, I go to the door and throw it open. There stands a portly man in brown clothing. In his hand is a package with an arrow in the shape of a smile on it. He hands me a package and a letter. He leaves.

    I close the door and slowly open the letter. It reads, “I knew you couldn’t wait. You get what you deserve.”

I pick up the package and open it. In it is a gift certificate for Amazon, with a picture of a wallet that looks exactly like mine. There’s another note which says, “To replace the one you lost. Thanks for the fun evening. It’s usually not this easy.”

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The Love of Spinach

Posted on September 10, 2020 by hdh

The Love of Spinach

“I’m strong to the finish, cause I eats me spinach, I’m Popeye the sailor man.” Toot, Toot.

I grew up watching the Popeye cartoon every time it came on TV.  Of course, that influenced my enjoyment of eating spinach. Who wouldn’t want to be strong to the finish? On closer examination of Popeye, I am glad that it was only the spinach that I admired. Granted eating spinach did not make me strong to the finish, let alone the middle or even the beginning, but it tasted good, especially since my mom always made creamed spinach, which was much tastier than straight up boiled spinach. In the Bronx, where I grew up, I don’t remember my mother ever getting, if was even available, fresh spinach. We always ate the packaged frozen variety. 

Back to Popeye. His physical appearance was not one that I ever wanted to emulate. Though he was strong, his arms were definitely deformed. They were skinny at parts and bulky at others, especially after he downed a can of spinach. Also, who wouldn’t want an animated picture showing up on your arm after consuming a vegetable. Well, to be honest, tattoos were never my thing, though having a video screen on my arm would have been cool. It is interesting to note, that now, with my Apple watch I do have a video screen on my wrist. But having one built in instead of strapped on would have been a perk growing up. 

Then there was Popeye’s pipe. It certainly looked cool. I might have had a fake corn cob pipe to pretend with, but as with tattoos, smoking has never been my thing. I have through the years collected a number of instruments, like train whistles and bird calls, that when blown through, as Popeye used to do with his pipe, make noises or emulate real sounds. 

And finally, there was Popeye’s language and speech patterns. His favorite thing to do was to mutter under his breath a commentary on his reactions to what people were either doing or saying to him. It wasn’t until I was much older that I understood all the innuendos of the things he was saying, certainly nothing that a child should be muttering out loud, without risking some parental consequences. I must say that in that regard, I do tend to mutter to myself or others nearby some of my thoughts and reactions, when things are said or done near me, though not in the vulgar Popeye sense. This happens a lot while I’m driving. In that respect, sometimes they may get a little vulgar and suggestive. You all know what an enema is. But these are never shared aloud to the perpetrators of said actions and most of the time, they are only said in my head. 

So I’m glad that of all these actions and characteristics of Popeye that the one that stays closest to me is spinach. That’s because as Popeye would say, “I yam, what I yam.” Then again, yams are a whole different story. 

 

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Wishes

Posted on September 4, 2020 by hdh

Wishes

Charles was a simple man. Everyone liked him and enjoyed his company. He was a man of high ideals. If only the world would be at peace, if only all sicknesses could be eradicated, if only people would just listen to one another and accept each other for who they are, life would be enjoyable. People could see the kind of person Charles was and admired him for his ideals. And they would listen to him. If only he could make some of those ideals come true.

Life has a way of creating opportunities. You have to know that when you find them, you need to think carefully before you take them. Take wishes for example. If you were given three wishes, what would you wish for? Would you be altruistic and wish for world peace or the end of sickness? Would you be self-centered and wish for more wishes, riches, and fame? Or would you go so far as to wish for immortality and God-like powers? In most of the stories that have been told wishing for things, usually comes at a cost or with pre-wish conditions. And in a lot of cases, your wishes never turn out the way you expected. 

But Charles was different, remember, he was a simple man. So when he was offered three wishes, he thought first. There were pre-conditions. He couldn’t wish for more wishes. He couldn’t wish for global things, like world peace or health. His wishes, in fact, had to be self-centered. He could wish for anything that would improve himself. So before he made his wishes, he thought about what he wanted that might allow him to reach his ideals. And these are what he wished for: He wished that he would be fluent in every language people spoke or signed. He wished that he could play proficiently any musical instrument that he was given. He wished that he had the power to both understand and communicate with all the living things.  These were all qualities and talents he wished he had. And his wishes were granted. 

Charles was a simple man at heart, but with the power to speak any language and understand animals,he became one of the most sought after people in the world. He could understand different points of view. He could realize solutions that others needed to act upon in order to work together. 

Though he could communicate with animals, he never shared the fact that he could with others. Animals’ aid was important in his discussions with other people. Animals provided the data needed for ways to arrest global warming. Their knowledge of plants was invaluable in finding cures for many illnesses. All species would survive rather than become extinct.  

And it worked both ways. Charles could also mediate conflicts between humans and animals. He had a way of explaining things to even the simplest of creatures that sharing rather than competing with humans was in their best interest. He convinced humans also. 

Music was another way of communicating. In some instances like birds and crickets, it is their language. It is said that music soothes the soul and the savage beast. Charles could make music out of any instrument. He could make music from everyday objects. Not just sound, but beautiful music. And it was music that became the connection to all. 

Thanks to Charles, the world became a better place. Was it perfect? Nothing is perfect, for we all continue to grow and meet different challenges every day. We need to adapt constantly. 

It’s not a bad thing to have ideals, as improbable as they might be. For someday, maybe some part of them will come true. We just need to be more like Charles, be simple at heart, listen, find those pieces of ideals we can agree on, and work to make a better world. And hopefully, someday, we will. 

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What a Life!

Posted on August 28, 2020 by hdh

What a Life!

Cats have nine lives, or so they say. And what do they do with each life? Do they come back as themselves and just continue on as if nothing has happened? Do they resurrect as a different cat, so that each life is spent as someone else? And if they do, do they retain the memories of their previous cat-life?

For me, I would love to have more than one life. That is, I would love to have more than one long life. I’m already planning for my 100th birthday and if I could do that 8 more times, that would be very cool. 

Since this is my first life, I can only write about what I’ve experienced so far. I can share all of the good things and bad things that have happened throughout my years. I can tell you about the different people that I’ve met and friended. I can write about the places that I have gone to and some of the places I still hope to go to before I reach the end of this life. I can also write or talk about the experiences I still wish to have. It would help, if I knew I was going to have a next life, so I could plan for it and leave things in place for the next me. 

When life two comes along, it would be great to have the knowledge of what happened in life one. It might help mitigate the mistakes made. It would also enhance the direction I go into. For example, knowing that I had been a storyteller and musician, I might attempt to start working on those skills at an earlier age in life two. I’m guessing that I would come into the world with the knowledge I already had, but not the skill, which would involve some physical attributes that I may not have starting out new again. I assume that this plan would repeat itself through lives 3-9.

Of course, it is possible that I come into the next life brand new, without the knowledge of the previous life. That would make my life just similar to the other lives I’ve had. Great quality with no substance. In that case, there really isn’t any reason to have nine lives since your past life can’t influence your present one. 

Now what if your first 8 lives were independent of each other, but your 9th and last life was a recount and culmination of the previous eight. This way each life would be separate with its own experiences, good times, and bad. Each life unto itself would have its own persona. Then when the 9th life comes around, you would integrate all of what you have learned. You could tease out all of the different pluses and minuses. You could direct your last life to fill in the gaps you missed, enhance the ones you have, and become a well-rounded individual. You would be the respected elder, sought after for your wisdom, even at an early age. Of course, there would be a lot of logistics in organizing this last life, what with growing up, puberty, how you are dealt with knowing all you know. Who could teach you anything, except maybe the newest technology? And throughout all this, discovering which lives all the people you interact with are at. Would you be part of a ninth life association, A.F.T.E.R.A.L.L. (Association For The Elders Relishing Attaining Last Life)? And then when you reach the end of the 9th life, you would be able to leave with the satisfaction that you have done well and left a legacy behind. 

Having more than one life could be fun and fulfilling. But it’s best not to dwell on that if I won’t be able to deal with it until my 9th life anyway. It’s best to make the best of this life that I can, while I’m still living it.

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The Song That Never Ends

Posted on August 25, 2020 by hdh

The song that never ends

Earworms…you love or you hate them. Actually this is a no brainer, you hate them. For those of you that don’t know what an earworm is, it is a catchy piece of music that continually repeats through a person’s mind after it is no longer playing. 

Earworms occur at no regular intervals. They just pop up. Sometimes they are predictable. You’re listening to a tune that really gets your feet tapping or plucks at your heartstrings and as soon as it’s over, it starts playing again in your head. Over and over and over again. You can’t stop it or turn it off. 

Then there are those earworms that are created by someone saying something that just happens to be words to a song you know, “I met my friend Caroline the other day, and she said the sweetest thing.” You do realize by typing this example I am now playing Neil Diamond’s “Sweet Caroline” in my head. Please stop.

There was a library clerk that worked in my school, who had seen me perform some of my songs in the school library each Halloween. After the first performance and for years following, all I had to do was mention, “With her head tucked underneath her arm.” and she was lost in the chorus of a song about Anne Boleyn in her head. 

If I’m by myself and can be distracted without causing bodily harm to myself or others, like not when I’m driving a car, and an earworm attaches itself to my mind, I have found a solution that very effectively blocks it and sends it away. 

I have a playlist on my iPhone called Motivational. It is a group of 20 upbeat songs that can get me working to a beat. Now each of these songs at one time or another was an earworm. I know the playlist and can pretty much start playing any of the songs in my head at any time. When an earworm begins in my head, it could be a new one, an old one, or just some random collection of notes to a song I might be writing that just wants to play/repeat/play/repeat in my head, I turn on my Motivational playlist. Not the actual one, but the internal one in my head. I start playing the beginning or chorus of each of the songs on the playlist. I don’t play the whole song, for that would just set up another earworm as a replacement. I start one, play a few bars, and then switch to a different one. Sometimes I can’t quite remember the tune in the playlist, but I fiddle around with notes in my head until the tune appears before I switch to another song. At some point, I just stop playing that playlist and refocus on what I was doing and my earworm issue is usually resolved, as long as I don’t intentionally try to remember what song the original earworm actually was. 

So beware. If you happen to be talking to me and you say something that might trigger an earworm, that telltale glaze that comes over my eyes that looks like I’m not listening to you, well I’m probably not, I’m just lost in earworm LaLa land. 

Damn! Now I’m hearing John Legend’s “Start the Fire” from the movie La La Land, from my Motivational list. Best start playing some of the other ones.

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Birthday Adventure

Posted on August 20, 2020 by hdh

Birthday Adventure

She was driving down the road minding her own business. She focussed on the directions she had to follow to get to her destination. Her husband said it was where they would meet to celebrate her birthday. Though directions were simple to follow, she had no idea where the end destination was.

As she drove she could hear car horns honking. She kept looking in her rearview mirror but saw nothing amiss. 

The directions now led her off-road on a dirt path for a short period of time. It was there that she noticed the car behind her. It was a red BMW with tinted windshields, so there was no way to identify the driver. 

As she left the dirt road and proceeded to the highway again. She again heard car horns.  Not only that, when she looked out of the side windows at passing cars, everyone seemed to turn towards her and give her a thumbs up. What was going on? 

After a few more exits, turnoffs, and re-entering onto crowded roads, she noticed that the red BMW was still tagging along behind her. She became concerned. Something was not right. 

She thought about pulling over and getting out of the car, but with that BMW following her, she didn’t feel it was safe. Cars continued to honk and drivers continued to give her a thumbs up.

There was just one more direction to follow, which she did and then came to a stop at a rustic old cabin, her destination. 

She looked behind and the BMW was no longer there. She hadn’t noticed that it had passed her at the last turn. 

Slowly she got out of the car. There was no one in sight. She walked up the porch steps to the door of the cabin. She was about to knock when the door opened and her husband stood there for a moment and then grabbed on to her and gave a long passionate kiss.

“Well, did you like it?” he said. 

“Like what?” she said totally confused.

“You mean you didn’t look at your bumper sticker?”

“No,” she replied. “I didn’t have time, and there was all this honking and a red car was following me.”

“Then you must not have read the license plate on the BMW either.”

Now she was totally confused. How did he know it was a BMW? 

Her husband took her hand and walked her to the back of the car and pointed to a sign on the bumper which read, “HONK TO WISH ME A HAPPY BIRTHDAY.”

She didn’t know what to say. That’s when her husband slipped away, behind the cabin. She heard a car start and then coming around the cabin was the red BMW. She looked at the license plate, as her husband stopped the car and stepped out. It read “4EVERURS”.

“Happy birthday,” he said. “I hope you like your new car.”

They spent the weekend at that cabin in the woods. Needless to say, it was the most memorable birthday she ever had. 

 

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The Cap

Posted on August 20, 2020 by hdh

The Cap

It was a simple cap. no distinguishing features. It was purchased second hand at a thrift shop. It was meant to keep my head warm. It was meant to be different than all of the baseball caps that I usually wore. It’s hard to describe what it looks like. To me, it was more like an old-style cab driver’s cap. Raised back, with adjustable buckle, flat on top, and made out of light brown corduroy material. The front did have a snap-on it so that I could pull it down deeper on my head or keep it buttoned so the front looked thin. It only stuck out about an inch in the front, unlike a baseball cap which sticks out about three inches. A baseball cap’s front is made of hard cardboard. This cap was all material.

I just purchased it to be different. Little did I know that that cap would identify me as a storyteller. 

Most storytellers have clothing attire that makes them look a little different when performing. For some, it is a very colorful shirt or outfit. One you would not normally wear at a public gathering unless you were in Bermuda or at some Polynesian feast. Others wear period or culturally appropriate clothing. These work well if you are doing a historical story. Then there are those that dress up in dressy clothes bow tie, jacket, good shoes, fancy pants, and the like. 

I had none of these. My attire was usually t-shirts with my logo on them and jeans. Then came the hat. 

I decided to wear the hat a few times while telling stories. One day when I was about to perform in the school I was teaching in for an assembly I was introduced to the kids by my principal as follows.  “Everyone here knows Mr. Heilbrun as a teacher, but sometimes he puts on a special hat and he magically changes. He becomes a storyteller.”

I had not prompted my principal to say that. He had seen me telling stories in school and noticed the hat. He made the connection.

So this ordinary hat became my signal to my school audience that I was no longer in teacher mode; I was a storyteller. I kept that hat and have had a few different ones over time, even baseball caps. Regardless of whether or not I am wearing them, kids now know that I’m a storyteller. I guess I just exude that kind of look. But still, this ordinary hat does transform me. It helps me get into the mood or my groove of being a storyteller. 

And that’s my story. 

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Alone

Posted on August 17, 2020 by hdh

Alone

What does it mean to be alone? 

To be by yourself. Sure that makes sense. It’s an important time to get one’s thoughts together, to imagine places and things that you want to do. To relieve yourself from the stresses of your everyday life. That’s important. Alone time is a necessary part of your life. It rejuvenates you, gets you ready to rejoin the world at large. 

What does it mean to be alone? 

To be within yourself. In a crowd of people, in a noisy place, where no one can be heard without shouting. To isolate yourself from what is going on around you. This can be both good and bad. It’s good in that it allows you to distance yourself from the disruption that is occurring around you so that you can focus on what is needed to accomplish a task. It is bad, in that it can prevent you from reaching out and seeking the help and wisdom you need in order to leave that isolation that you have put yourself in, perhaps amplifying harmful thoughts and actions.

What does it mean to be alone? 

To be without companionship. To feel unloved whether isolated or with others. It is hard to find friends and lovers. It is a growing mistrust of who you are and what you believe others think of you. This can be the saddest of all.

What is needed is not to be alone. To have friends and family; people you respect and trust. People who care for you and you for them. What is needed is a belief in yourself and the goodness of others. 

Don’t get me wrong, as I said earlier needing time for and by yourself is an important part of life. And one should always find those times. But don’t let that be the end goal. Be thankful for the ones you are with. Enjoy the things you do together and the memories of that togetherness as you move on with your lives. Explore new things and continue to grow. 

What does it mean to be alone? I think it means that you have time to use to better yourself. It is a natural rest stop in life that should be temporary. For we are all worthy of your presence. 

So take your lone time if you need it. But remember there are those of us that are here waiting for your return so we all can be alone but together, naturally. 

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Language of the Times

Posted on August 13, 2020 by hdh

Language of the Times

Texting has become the most used way of communicating in our technology-laden culture. No one really wants to send a letter to anyone. Imagine waiting a week to get a response.  Three days to send a letter and then three days to get the return response from the sender (if they even wanted to take the time to answer). Of course, you could use a phone and call people up and talk to them directly, but that is so old fashioned when you can simply send a text to their phone and get an instant reply, assuming they bother to look at the message and remember to reply. 

With the enhancements to texting technology of emoji’s and memojis, you can now add editorial comments to your texts so that people can understand the nuances of the words you are typing. 

So “Have a great day”, you can add a thumbs-up emoji . You don’t even have to say that your sad to hear of your friend’s stress, just send the sad crying face emoji. If you really want to scream out and yell, just send the emoji face with all of the symbols where the mouth should be , denoting cursing or you use the infamous poop emoji , which thankfully someone clued me into as not a chocolate pudding emoji before I used it too often in the wrong place. 

You show music, activities, flags of different nations, and more. And once you add memojis, as an Apple user can, you can simulate your own face showing all of these things. And animojis will actually look like they are saying whatever you are recording using your voice. 

But emoji’s and the like, with all their choices, seem to be missing some of the more useful ones, that I’m sure if created would be much more popular. 

Where’s the raspberry one (or Bronx cheer as I’ve been told), where you stick your tongue out and make that tbtbtbt sound. And how about one for “I’d really like to chat now, but I also really have to go to the bathroom”, which could also be used for “that was so funny I just peed in my pants” emoji. And more sports ones. Hockey only has a hockey stick and a puck. Why not an emoji of someone in a penalty box missing most of his teeth. Or swimming ones, where 4 swimmers are going in one direction and one is going in another and his trunks fell off. Tennis would also have to have a player either jumping over the net, breaking his racket in two,  or arguing with the umpire.  I’m sure there are a lot more emoji’s out there to invent. 

Think of how much more efficient these texts could be if you had enough emojis so that you didn’t even have to use words. 

Then again, maybe that’s what the ancient Egyptians and Cavemen had evolved into rather than from before they decided to change to an alphabet and speech method of communicating. We just haven’t found the archeological relics to prove it.  If that is the case, then it would seem that once we make that realization that we’ve gone too far and lost too much that our future is destined to return to letters and the spoken word as we once again realize that pictures don’t tell the whole tale. 

Only time will tell. 

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Faded Memories

Posted on August 13, 2020 by hdh

 Faded Memories

I wasn’t looking for it, but there it was. Deep in the corner of my mother’s closet. We were clearing out her house after she passed away; gathering all the old clothes from her closet. There were mostly dusty old clothes, dresses, coats, jackets, some of which clearly dated back to her earlier life in the 40s, well before I was born. I separated out the attire into piles, those that I would give away; those that I would throw away. 

There was this one fancy jacket in a protected plastic garment bag. It wasn’t a woman’s jacket but a man’s dress jacket. Now my father had died years earlier and my mother had already thrown away all of his old clothes. But this jacket, clearly from another age, was almost new. Remembering all of the pictures that I had of my parents, I had never seen one with this jacket in it.

Of course, as I was doing this sorting I would check the pockets for items left behind. On checking one of the pockets in this particular jacket I found an old photograph. It was of my mother when she was much younger and a handsome young man, one did not recognize. As I turned the picture over I discovered writing on the back. “auf meine schöne Greta, mit all meiner Liebe.” I knew enough German to know it read, “To my beautiful Greta, with all my love”

This picture must have been taken before my mother met my father. 

On checking another pocket of the jacket, I also discovered a yellowed, tattered piece of newsprint with an obituary and a faded letter. They had been enclosed in an envelope, which was postmarked in 1940, Germany. As I carefully pulled out the contents of the envelope I read the obituary and the letter. They described the death of a soldier, Hans Sarkermann, on the battlefront of Poland. The letter had been sent by a friend of his in Germany. 

I never knew of the person in the picture. And knowing the tumultuous life my mother had had with my father, while I was growing up I wish I had. I knew that there were secrets that my mom kept from me, but this was a shock. I remember the faraway look in her eyes at times of strife with my dad, but she never explained what she was thinking. I guess I have an idea now. 

I wish I had known. 

*Writer’s note: This is a work of fiction.

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