Canine Conundrums

There are moments in life in which all the scattering pieces fall into perfect alignment and suddenly a picture, clear and sharp as day, can be seen. Such moments are rare, so rare in fact they could be considered far more precious than gold.

Alexei was having one of those moments. Much to her annoyance, the moment happened to fall together as she was being propelled down the Lincoln Park trail at six in the morning by a pack, a literal pack, of dogs. The group was a motley crew. A Great Dane vied for the lead with a Siberian Husky of questionable parentage (although his owners swore to the contrary). Following close on their heels was chocolate Poodle of the larger variety, a black Labrador, and a Border Collie who kept trying to stick to the outside and herd the group together. Bringing up the tail was an assortment of what Alexei tended to think of as the seven dwarfs. Twin Dachshunds, one Lhasa Apso, and a quartet of bouncing Jack Russel's Why this particularly excitable breed was a favorite among tenants in her complex she would never know.

They were only five minutes out on their typical half hour walk and already the leashes were hopelessly tangled, the Dane was gasping for breath as he strained against his choke collar, and all four of the Terriers had attempted to terrorize a squirrel. As she twisted and turned, shifted leashes in her hands, and jumped over Babby, the lagging Lhasa, Alexei had her epiphany.

It started out as an extremely poignant burst of What the hell?! Fortunately this thought did not stay as it was, but evolved rather quickly.

She saw the moment in which her canine propelled purgatory started, how it grew from one tiny little dog to the mob it was now, and the lengths she had gone to in order to keep up with the ridiculous demand.

I don't want to do this. Why the thought hadn't occurred to her earlier she didn't know, but as she ran down the trail at unsafe speeds, the simple statement suddenly had a frightening weight to it. Like the words the sky is blue or I'm alive, it was truth which was clear and hard for her mind to tamper with.

I don't want to do this. So why had she?

It had started out as an kind gesture for her next door neighbor, the elderly owner of Babby. Mrs. Katzel had gone in for knee surgery and in an attempt to be a good neighbor, Alexei had offered to take her little companion for a couple of walks while she recovered. At the end of a month Babby, who rarely did anything more strenuous than walk over to her food bowl, was looking so fit and trim that Mrs. Katzel offered to pay for Alexei to take her out on a regular basis. Being a student who was often strapped for extra cash, Alexei agreed. After all, it wasn't as though she was doing anything extra really. She normally went for a walk in the mornings before school, what could it hurt to have a little company?

For a few weeks, everything was good. If she had known what that little gesture would have led to, she would have relished those weeks more. For it turned out Mrs. Katzel was talking her up. To her neighbor across the hall. To her neighbors in the elevator. To anyone in the complex who came within a few feet of her. And it seemed a lot of people listened. Alexei hadn't been aware of how many dogs had been in her building until they started showing up on her doorstep in the mornings. Gimli, the Dane, was the first. His owner had nearly scared the life out of her as she exited the apartment one morning. Gimli stood there looking innocent as can be as his owner explained his conversation with Mrs. Katzel. Gimli was a good dog he said, but needed more exercise than he had time to give him. Would Alexei mind terribly? It was an inconvenience, but he would pay.

Alexei had looked at the over-sized Gimli, then thought of tiny Babby and nearly laughed aloud. But she could use the money and at the very least the pair of them would be entertaining to her fellow trail walkers. She had taken the leash from his grateful owner, pocketed the first weeks payment, grabbed Babby from next door and had started out.

Gimli might have been the nice dog his owner described him as, but Alexei was hard pressed to find evidence of this on the trail. He was fine along the city streets, but the moment his paws hit the hard dirt something clicked inside of him. He became White Fang of the Alaskan Yukon. Fearlessly leading his pack over the expanse of the wilderness. It didn't seem to register with him that his pack consisted of one undersized Lhasa and a feverishly resisting human.

Alexei discovered quickly how strong he was. After the first morning she asked his owner to provide a choke collar. Gimli still forged on ahead, but at least she was able to get some degree of control on him. On the bright side, her legs were becoming fantastically fit due to all the resistance training he was providing.

Days came one by one and so did the dogs. Word had spread and it seemed each morning brought a new member to the group. She began waking up earlier and lifting weights at school so her thin arms could handle her early morning walking buddies better. On more than one occasion she had to sneak into a lecture because one of the dogs had escaped her grasp and she had to track the animal down. Her boss complained of wet dog smell on her, an odor which did not blend well with the coffee house where she worked. She tried to explain that she hadn't had time to shower because she spent several minutes trying to find Babby when she slipped from her leash, but he wasn't having it. He sent her home for the evening with orders not to let it happen again.

If work wasn't bad enough, dogs slipped into her dreams more often than not. One memorable night featured Gimli and Kato the Husky dressed in sequined body suits as they juggled the four hapless terriers.

She was making close to a thousand dollars a month but was it worth it? She didn't mind the weird looks she got and had to admit, the wide berth scary men gave her these days was certainly a bonus. But what about the bruises? The scratches? The sixty dollar running shoe she lost one day and never did find again?

Her grades were holding steady for the moment but she could sense their imminent downward slide. Professors gave her the evil eye for being late and her classmates had begun to avoid her. She hoped it wasn't because of the smell but had her suspicions. Even worse, her boss was getting into the habit of sniffing her cautiously as she came into work each day. It was embarrassing.

All these thoughts flashed through her mind in the space of a few moments as she was pulled down the trail. The dog's were happily oblivious to her turmoil. She became lost in her own thoughts as they trotted happily along, ignoring the tangle of the leashes and the incessant pull.

I don't want to do this.

The trail rounded a stand of trees and moved into a straight-away.

I don't want to do this.

A rustle of the bushes up ahead.

I don't want to do this.

A rabbit bounding into the dogs line of sight. Every leash suddenly snapped tight. A brief moment of stillness as the rabbit tensed and the dogs attention focused.

I don't want t----the rabbit fled and any continuing thoughts she may have had followed it's fluffy bouncing tail.

Her scream was lost as she struggled to keep up. The dogs moved as one mass after the fleeing rabbit, the larger dogs quickly outdistancing the smaller ones. Babby was the first to drop behind. Between huffing breaths and dodging tree roots she realized the Dachshunds weren't going to make it either. She knew the Jack Russel's would keep running even after they were technically dead, and the rest of the dogs were fairly matched. They wouldn't be stopping any time soon.

So it came down to a decision. Release the weaker ones and attempt to keep up with the others until they tired or their interest waned or let the larger ones go and keep a hold of the smaller ones. Guilt ate at her in those few moments of decision on the trail. All her neighbors at the complex gave their beloved pets into her care. What if some deranged psychopath captured them and turned them all into taxidermied puppets in doll dresses? Granted, the thought of Gimli in a frilly tutu would be something worthy of Ripley's, but it would still be horrible. Funny, but horrible.

And there was the possibility they wouldn't return at all, but keep running till they broke free of the park and wandered onto the on ramp. The thought of her neighbors watching their dogs dodging Ford Pintos as they barreled down I-76 on the morning news made her shiver. On the other hand, she was fairly certain if she let anything happen to little Babby, Mrs. Katzel would become a wig wearing incredible hulk.

It was a catch twenty two. A rock and a hard place. A conundrum. Whatever she chose to call it the fact remained that she was going to lose either way.

Her epiphany was what made the decision for her. She didn't want to do this. Never really had. It had simply began happening to her and she hadn't stopped it. The owners had kept on coming and she hadn't said no. Instead, she had taken the money and then the leashes with an inward sigh and did what had been expected.

Enough was enough.

The leashes had popped into her hands one by one. When she made her choice, they left all at once. With an almost victorious yell she threw down the leashes, abandoning them in one fell swoop and coming to a gradual stop on the trail. As the dogs plunged ahead she found herself swearing at the top of her lungs. Not at anyone or thing in particular, but just for the sake of doing it. She grinned manically as she raised her voice, certain by the time she was done that she had startled the birds soaring high above the trees.

She stopped when her voice grew hoarse and her mouth became dry. As she stood rooted to where she had stopped, a grin spread across her face and a feeling of release spreading like liquor through her chest. Something tickled her ankles and she looked down to see Babby rubbing at her legs like a cat, whimpering. Babby's affections normally irritated her, but as Alexei looked down at the fragile dog who had tried so hard the last month to keep up with everyone else, she felt a surge of affection rush through her.

Picking up the tiny fur balll, she could feel her heart thudding rapidly in her chest. She laughed as the dog licked her face eagerly and felt connected rather than burdened for the first time with this innocent animal.

Returning Babby to the ground, she picked up the leash. She was going to have to find the others now, and it wasn't going to be easy. Oddly, she didn't feel the panic she normally would have felt. It was though the very acknowledgment of what she wanted had freed her of her stress. Right now, what mattered was finding the dogs. Later she would deal with her teachers and her boss, if it came to it. But now was what mattered most.

She began her search by taking three steps north and coming to a halt. There, dominating the trail, was every last one of the dogs. They stood with their heads hung and their tails between their legs, each looking guilty as sin. Alexei slowly smiled. Then she threw back her head and laughed. When she was done she strode over to them, standing a few feet away from Gimli. On an impulse she placed her hands on her hips and ordered him to sit. And for the first time since they had met, Gimli obeyed. The others followed his lead quickly and in that moment, Alexei knew she had somehow won something. Something old and basic. Something visceral.

Gathering up the leashes, she took a step forward and for the first time it was she who led the group, not Gimli. The Great Dane stayed at her left side and Babby took up station at her right. Alexei had never felt like she did on that walk home. She had been recognized. It wasn't until later that she realized what she had won, what the dogs had actually realized before she had.

She had won back herself.

Memories of Kato

I'm following Bread and Circuses example and posting a story I'm not quite sure about. The modern world is not quite my usual canvas so I don't know how this is going to turn out, but I thought I'd give it a try. Not sure how long this is going to end up being, but here's the first installment, at any rate.

Memories of Kato

Paul had never particularly liked the rain. Which was a bit odd considering where he had eventually chosen to settle down in life. The Pacific Northwest was not particularly well known for it's dry sunny days and agreeable temperatures. The nicest thing he could say about the weather was it never bored you with monotony. Especially in the fall and spring months. He had hoped traveling halfway around the world would offer him some kind of reprieve. It was not to be. Despite the assurances from his iphone that Hong Kong was scheduled for at least three warm, dry days, the rain fell in a complete deluge. This was suppose to be the dry season.

He grumbled, a bit angry with himself for putting himself in the position he now found himself in. Stuck under a sagging canopy with four energetic teenagers, one disgruntled interpreter, and a mongrel dog. He didn't know where the dog had come from but it seemed to know they were strangers in this country, and might be counted on for a handout or two. A correct assumption on the dogs part as the two girls in the group fed him tidbits of beef jerky from their packs and scratched behind his ears. Paul tried not to think about what the mongrel might be carrying and hoped to high heaven the girls didn't get bit. He had already told them not to touch but it seemed girls at fifteen had very selective hearing, especially when it came to animals. He had already been yelled at by a shopkeeper when the girls decided the live lobsters he sold had names and therefore didn't deserve to die. Next time he put together one of these groups he was going to screen for anyone who thought crustaceans were people.

He wished his wife was here. She would have handled the group so much better than he. Mothers, especially mothers of multiple children seemed to have this natural ability for herding wayward youths. Unfortunately at this stage of her pregnancy travel, especially international travel, was strongly advised against. Her pregnancy had been entirely unexpected and as happy as Ruth had been about a new addition to their family, she had been distraught over the fate of this trip. Plans and promises had already been made to their church regarding the mission trip and she was loathe to break them. Upon seeing his wife in tears he had foolishly called the church leadership and told them he would lead the team.

So here he was. Halfway around the world in a country he had no first hand knowledge of, traveling with four hormonally saturated teenagers with visions of missionary grandeur. Not to mention his interpreter had taken one look at him upon his arrival and had audibly sighed. Kato was used to working with Ruth, and Paul was sure he possessed none of the outward confidence of his wife. Kato knew his job was going to take on whole new levels of responsibility on this trip and was obviously none to happy about it. So far his instincts had not been wrong. He was still sporting a swollen index finger where one of the rescued lobsters had clamped on during the altercation with the shopkeeper.

Paul broke from his musings as he felt a hard tap on his shoulder and he looked to his left to see Kato peering up at him.

“We should not wait longer Mr. Binger, The hotel you reserved at is strict when it comes to check in times.”

Paul nodded but looked out at the pounding rain and frowned. “It's still raining cats and dogs out there. You sure we can't hold off a bit? We've paid for the first night in advance, wouldn't they wait?”

Kato looked up at him with a perplexed look on his face before answering. “The hotel will not wait Mr. Binger. It is popular with American travelers and is always busy. You are very lucky you were able to book the time and space you did. If you are late they will not wait for you to wander in. Your rooms will go to someone with better punctuality and cash in their pockets.”

One thing he had to appreciate about Kato, he never glossed over a situation for you. Paul just wished he had better news. He nodded to his interpreter and looked behind him just in time to see the boys dropping dried sardines in each of the girls hair. They simultaneously shrieked, and not having the energy to to scold all of them together, Paul simply sighed and pulled out his wallet to pay the stands annoyed owner. Kato watched the scene with an expression which vacillated between horror and amusement.

Several minutes passed as Paul first had to convince the group they had to venture out into the rain or lose a place to stay for night. More minutes passed as the girls insisted on digging though their packs for their rain covers, then finding they had no idea how to tie them on in the first place. Additional time was lost as the boys haggled with the shop owner over the price of a few oddly packaged snacks to take with them. All in all, it was a full forty five minutes from the time Kato said they need to leave and the time which they actually ventured out from under the protection of the canopy. The sky had darkened and the rain still had not abated.

The streets were crowded with people, umbrellas, bicycles, and cars, all vying for space. Paul led the group, using his size to clear a bit of a path for the disoriented adolescents he led. Just behind him strode Kato, giving directions, words of advice, and caution on streets entirely foreign to all in the group but him. After nearly an hour of walking they arrived, soaked and cold as they crossed the threshold of their hotel. Paul did not miss the frowns of disapproval from the employees mopping the entrance as the teens dropped their packs on the hotel lobby floor, promptly sprawling their wet bodies on any available furniture, whether it was meant to be sat on or not. Paul managed to herd them all onto one long couch, hoping they were tired enough to refrain from any antics in the few minutes it would take him to check in.

Kato joined him, more for his own piece of mind then of actual need Paul suspected. This group in particular were a rowdy bunch. From the stories she told, the groups his wife led never seemed to be so troublesome. The small woman behind the computer smiled pleasantly up at him. He tried to smile back. God, he was so tired.

“Paul Binger and company, checking in for the night.” he said, trying to keep the frustration of the day out of his voice.

The woman nodded. “Yes sir, we have been waiting for you.” she chirped, then reached for the phone.

Paul breathed a soft sigh of relief and couldn't help a quick look of satisfaction in Kato's general direction as he replied. “Well, that's a welcome relief, let me tell you. I've been looking forward to a long hot shower ever since I stepped off the plane.”

The woman's smile did not waver. “Yes sir, I'm sure you have. Please wait a moment.” she said as she she shifted her body slightly away from him. Paul felt his relief slip a few notches as she whispered softly into the receiver, in a language he could only assume was Mandarin.

“Uh, sure.” he said as Kato stepped a bit closer.

“What is she saying?” he whispered.

“It seems as though her supervisor is coming to speak with you.” Kato replied neutrally.

“That can't be good.”

Kato was silent as the woman hung up the phone and a thin middle aged man came out from a room down the hall. He wore a polite smile which put Paul immediately on guard. Something was wrong. The man gave a slight bow then held out his hand.

“Mr. Binger, it is a pleasure to meet you. I am Mr. Han, night supervisor. How are you?” he asked.

Paul shook his hand hesitantly. “Not sure how to answer that at the moment.” he said. “Is something wrong Mr. Han?”

Mr. Han smiled again. “No, no, Mr. Binger, everything is fine.”

Paul looked over to the woman at the counter then back to the supervisor. “Uh huh. Okay. That's good. Can we check into our rooms?”

Mr. Han's smile morphed into a look of apologetic remorse with an ease Paul suspected only came with years of daily practice in front of the mirror. “Yes, about your rooms Mr. Binger. First, you must understand we are a very busy hotel. We turn away so many potential guest daily that we have had to enact a very strict punctuality policy. This is to ensure we can happily house as many guests as possible. It is a terrible thing to turn someone out into the streets when we have empty rooms still in the building. You understand?”

Paul looked over to Kato, who grimaced. He turned back to the night supervisor. “I'm beginning to.” he said cautiously.

“Wonderful.” Mr. Han exclaimed. “Then you understand our position?”

“What I understand is we don't have our rooms any more. Am I right Mr. Han?” Paul asked, again, trying to keep his voice even.

“Please believe me Mr. Binger, we held onto them as long as we we're reasonably able. Normally we give our guests a thirty minute grace period, but given the extra, ah,” he looked quickly over to the teens sprawled on the now damp and undoubtedly smelly couch, “challenges you described when making your reservation, we doubled that time to accommodate you.”

Seeing how he had a few words, which mainly used four letters at a time to describe his feelings towards this supposed generosity, Paul held his tongue. Quite literally, with his teeth. The man currently dashing his hopes of a warm shower and soft bed for the evening, continued.

“Unfortunately, once an hour had past we had no choice but to give the rooms to customers who were patiently waiting for an opening. So as you can see....”

Paul did a simple calculation in his head as Mr. Han continued his lengthly explanation and realized they would have made it. If not for the delay caused by a fruitless search for rain gear and an unfortunate attack-by-dried-sardine. He sighed audibly. Mr. Han paused mid-apology and looked warily up at the tall American. It was a reaction which prompted Paul to re-think the angry words bubbling up into his throat. No doubt the esteemed night supervisor had to deal with these kind of situations on a regular basis. He doubted most people traveling from his country were easy to talk down from irate indignation. Not after a fifteen hour flight and suffering jet lag. He could imagine the verbal backlash Mr. Han expected to deal with all to well.

Suddenly he did not feel so exhausted. Worried about where in this city he was going to take four weary teenagers and one unamused translator to spend the night, certainly, but oddly, not so bone tired. He looked over to the teens, back to the night supervisor, then finally to Kato.

“Do you think you can help me find a place to put these kids for the night if we leave?” he asked quietly. He didn't want the teens overhearing a raising a ruckus just now. Kato stared back with surprised eyes.

“You will leave?” he asked. Without throwing a fit? Paul mentally finished for him. He smiled.

“Doesn't really look like we have a choice does it?” he said, then turning to Mr. Han, who was beginning to realize he just might be getting a stay of execution. “I assume we will be getting our first night's deposit returned to us, seeing how we didn't technically skip out on you?”

Mr. Han swallowed, looked from Paul to Kato to Paul, then comically back to Kato once more. Kato caught his eye and gave a slight shake of his head, the meaning of which was lost on Paul. Whatever the intention, it worked. Mr. Han nodded then turned back to the night clerk, conversing with her rapidly in Mandarin. She nodded, smiling up at them before rapidly punching in a series of commands to her computer. A few moments later Paul was signing his refund receipt and Kato was uncomfortably holding a pink basket of complimentary soaps and shampoos Mr. Han had somehow found fit to give the departing group.

After a few loud and inelegant minutes of convincing the four tired teens to return to the rainy streets, they found themselves on the sidewalk, jostled by pedestrians and being waved goodbye by the relieved night shift of their former hotel. The teens waved back, perplexed but amused, then hurriedly chased after the two adults in the group who were already venturing out into the rainy night.

Paul followed Kato and the kids followed Paul. It must have been an entertaining sight to passersby, but none in the group was in the mood to appreciate the humor at the moment. They headed down the street, trying one western style hotel after another, only to be turned away on grounds ranging from the typical “no vacancy”, to the downright rude “no vagrants”. An hour passed and they were soaked through, standing under yet another market canopy with no place to rest for the night. It was like the story of the nativity, but with teenagers and no virgin mother. The thought brought a fleeting smile to Paul's lips.

He checked his watch and the smile vanished. Nearly ten o'clock. He knew the kids wouldn't be able to go on much longer and told Kato as much. His interpreter nodded.

“I do not think you will find any luck on this street Mr. Binger.” he said. “It is late and many westerners are arriving this time of the year.”

“So I've noticed.” Paul replied dryly then lowered his voice. “I gotta tell you though, I'm at a loss Kato.” He picked up one of the shampoos in the basket and held it up to the light. “The hotel was my starting point but now it's gone. I know what we're supposed to do over the next two weeks, but I need a place to put us while we're doing it.”

Kato frowned as he listened. “There is one place nearby I know of but,” he grimaced. “it's not anything near what you would have expected at the hotel.”

Paul nearly laughed. “Considering the manholes to the sewers are looking pretty tempting to me at the moment, I doubt not having the nightly mint on my pillow is going to make a difference.”

Kato looked dubious.

“You are sure?”

Paul clapped him on the shoulder in a friendly gesture which seemed to unnerve the small translator a bit. “Lead on brother.” he said. Kato looked at him as though he expected him to take the words back, shrugging when he didn't.

“This way.” he said, pulling up his hood and walking out into the rain. Paul and the teens scrambled to gather up their gear and follow him.

They walked another twenty minutes, the rain falling harder than ever. It was as though a monsoon had decided to take a personal grudge against them. Turning off the main strip which had brought them so much misfortune for the night, Kato led them down a series of side streets. One of the girls made a comment about the movie Labyrinth and Paul had to agree with her. He fervently hoped nothing happened to Kato because they were never finding their way out of this if it did.

Finally, after nearly half an hour had passed Kato came to a halt and unceremoniously pointed up. “It is not perfect, but it is dry.” he announced.

Paul took a long look at the three storied structure. It was well lit from the inside, with several paper lanterns swaying precariously under the wooden overhang in front. There seemed to be a great many people inside, laughing, singing, with the occasional female shriek thrown in. The smell of incense and humanity wafted out from the swaying fabric which seemed to serve as a door for the wide entrance of the establishment. He could feel the heat from inside drifting out to their tired group in the rain and they all unconsciously leaned towards it. Despite the allure of the warmth, Paul felt a stirring of hesitation. He turned to Kato.

“This is a hotel?” he asked.

The smaller man looked at the building then after a moment gave a shrug of his shoulders. “Of sorts. People sleep here sometimes.”

Paul looked at the unfamiliar language on the overhead sign, then to the men and women laughing around the entrance. “Do they even have room for us?”

For the first time since they met, Kato smiled. “My grandmother owns this building. She will make sure you have a place to sleep tonight.”

Paul was still dubious but the whines of the teens behind him were grating on his nerves. He shrugged. “God bless your grandmother Kato. Lead the way.”

Kato obliged.

A minute later Paul found himself standing in the middle of a boisterous crowd with four wide-eyed teens all but clutching at his clothes. He felt his jaw opened then shut, his mouth gone a bit dry with shock. He turned to Kato.

“Your grandmother owns a brothel?” he asked, perhaps just a bit too loudly.

Kato turned and smiled once more.

The house at the bottom of Danger Hill

There's a small house with a dark red door. The windows are paned, its flower boxes stuffed to the brim, and there is a perfectly grown apple tree which dutifully hides the white garage door at its side. It sits a the bottom of an incline charmingly named Danger Hill.

It stands empty, waiting to be claimed. I'm sure there are many who would gladly adopt it and settle into its frame if they could, but alas, the economy is a merciless beast.

But this is not about our annoying financial woes.

One house, many possibilities, some good, some bad. I look through one of the panes and see a young mother pulling a pie out of the oven. I think its apple. Probably organic. She looks like she would pay the extra dollar or two to buy organic. Her two toddlers come waddling in as she closes the oven door with her foot and somehow simultaneously herds them in the direction of the kitchen table. She is setting the pie on the counter as I pull away and look through another pane...

An old man has just come in through the back door. Rain is dripping from his brown coat. He grumbles as he takes a handkerchief from his pocket and wipes down his balding crown and flushed face. Opening the freezer door he takes out a frozen dinner and sets it in the microwave, pushing the buttons with familiar ease. Stepping into the hall, he hangs up his sopping coat then returns to the kitchen. He grabs a fork, pulls the hot dinner out, and wanders into the living room. There's a small television in the corner and he flips it on with an old remote, intent upon the evening news as he eats. There are two pictures on the fireplace mantel. One is black and white, a smiling young woman and a tall young man with thick hair stand side by side at the alter. The second is in color, but with the tell tale signs of age. The couple is older now, a few lines at their eyes but happy as they pose with their two teenage sons. There are no other pictures...

Another pane. It's dark. A girl, perhaps fifteen or sixteen, creeps towards the front door. She readjusts her backpack on her shoulder and grimaces as the floorboards creak under her slight weight. She opens the door slowly, carefully, and that is the last I see of her...

I should stop snooping. One more pane I tell myself, then I'm gone.

The house is empty. Not the kind of empty which comes with someone recently moved out, but true empty. Dust has settled onto the counters and the floors. Cobwebs litter the corners, stretching at times to include a cupboard or door handle. The window overlooking the kitchen sink has been broken. A few leaves have scattered themselves on the floor. I look to my left to see that three people have stepped through the front door. The one leading looks like a professional. Her hair is properly trimmed and her nails look as though they are regularly spoiled. The two behind her are dressed in clean blue jeans and button down shirts, the woman has her brown hair pulled up into a loose ponytail. The man holds her hand, looking around curiously.

The professional keeps trying to hide her grimacing as she steps further into the house. She doesn't look to hopeful. The couple, on the other hand, don't seem to notice the dust and leaves. They brush aside the cobwebs. The woman is smiling and pointing to what used to be the living room. The man nods and motions to the kitchen, apparently taking her thoughts and adding to them. There is a determined spark in each of their eyes. The professional stands back then jumps slightly when a brave insect crawls across the toe of her shiny shoes. I laugh to myself and pull away...

The house stands at the base of Danger Hill. It has a a dark red door and overflowing flower boxes. The For Sale sign sways slightly in the breeze. I take a new penny from my pocket and toss it on the front step. It lands face up.

I smile and begin to ascend the hill, hoping for the best.

Perplexed Immortals

I wish I could live for a thousand years...at least.

As my number of years residing on this planet increase, so does my curiosity. Things come. Things go. And some things, like the 80's, keep getting recycled.

I could do without the 80's repeats, but so many other aspects of human existence are endlessly fascinating. It seems remarkably unfair to me we are allowed only 80 or so years, if we're lucky, to observe this phenomenon called human life. Subtract twenty or twenty-five years off that number so we can mature to the point where we even bother to look at the rest of the world. Barring any unforeseen disease or lightening strikes, we're left with a mere 55 to 60 years to observe and try to take in a vastly unique and colorful tapestry which is millennia in the making.

There is a character in Orson Scott Card's "Alvin Maker" series whos task in life is to weave the cloth of human existence. It is never ending and ever changing. Some threads shine brighter than others, some only have the time to weave themselves an inch or two into the cloth before their role ends. Still, regardless of length or color, each thread undoubtedly contributes to the whole, giving it structure, giving it character.

Humans, in some form or another, have been on this earth for millions of years. Civilization for thousands. Yet somehow, year after year, decade after decade, century after century, we as a species seem to forget this. We plan for the immediate moment, not for the moments to come. Yet somehow, some way, we manage to keep moving forward. Oftentimes in strange and scary ways, yet nonetheless fascinating.

I wish I could have the time to see what is to come. I want to see us mature and pull ourselves back from the brink. I want to see us refocus, to reach out to the stars and out to each other. I want to see what strange theory or invention the next free thinker of the day pulls out of their proverbial hat.

I would like to say that if we can't do that, if we cannot endure then I would like to be there to bear witness to our end. But I honestly can't. The earth will go on without us. The thought is both comforting and intensely frightening.

Give me a thousand years. Let me observe and take note of our crazed, diabolical, ingenious, and hopeful species.

And after a thousand years...I will ask for another thousand.

Fortune Cookies in the Spotlight

Here's a question: Why do we not have ominous fortune cookies? The ones, once cracked into unequal, crumbling halves and carefully spread out upon the rice splattered table, get your heart beating just a tad faster with the simple message of "Beware". Beware? Beware of what? Your mind at once imagines a dozen different and vastly inventive scenarios.

Beware the street grate at your feet which has rusted to the point in which weight in any measure will crumble its deceptive iron bars.

Beware the tall stack of creamed corn in the supermarket which, like a teetering jenga tower, has finally had one can too many stolen by mischievous children run amok.

Or perhaps beware of the County Fair clown, who has finally freakin' had it with teenage boys taunting him with his stolen wig over the course of the weekend. That corsage ain't packin' water this time.

It could be the fortune is a bit more benign. Perhaps it only would have you beware of Mrs. Nelson and her good neighborly intentions of recruiting you to her church knitting club. All because you mentioned a passing amazement of her ongoing scarf project, which by now could mummy wrap a Green Bay Packers running back three times over.

Regardless of its meaning an ominous fortune cookie could, at the very least, get our imaginations kicked back into gear, adding to the richness of the human experiment.

Or perhaps it would serve only to make the paranoid among us even more bug-eyed.

Just a thought.