What is a trip to California without a visit to the beach? I'm sure it would be adequate but we decided to make our last full day in the other Sunshine State a trip to Huntington Beach. When we left the hotel the weather was nasty yet again. The dark clouds hovering over our destination did not give us a lot of hope for a nice beach day but we were committed and decided to make the best of what we were dealt. We pulled onto Main Street in Huntington Beach at 11:30 am and proceeded to do the regular tourist schtick—walking the pier, watching the locals, meandering up and down the beach looking for shells. Within an hour the weather had done a 180 and the rest of the day was sunny and cool. Chamber of Commerce weather and a welcome relief to the previous days.
We also sat on some of the stairs set up by the street and watched folks play volleyball, listen to hippies beat on drums, pet large reptiles, cruise through the art exhibits and generally enjoying the day. We ended up eating at Duke's, the seafood restaurant at the base of the Huntington Beach pier and feasted on really good seafood meals, looking out over the beach and preparing to head back home.
Once back at the hotel, we took a little time to pack our suitcases and then all met for one last session in the hot tub. We broke the rules for maximum people allowed in the tub but we deserved it on our last night. We have to leave at 6 am in the morning in order to make it to San Diego in time for our flight back to Florida. Fortunately, Kyle and crew leave at the same time so we will have one last caravan through SoCal together before we fly home. I imagine tomorrow will be a little light on words and photos but I will try to get something up to offer some closure. Check back for that tomorrow.
As usual, lots of pictures here. Home within 24 hours. Can't say I am disappointed to write that. As the saying goes, a great place to visit, but...
5/26/2008
5/25/2008
Day Four: California Trip
The idea for day four was to stay local and try to avoid a rushed and harried day. We were fairly successful, starting with a leisurely breakfast then showers and finally setting out to explore Old Town Temeculah and then tour the campus of Calvary Chapel Bible College. Tallulah blessed us with wearing the other princess dress we got her for her birthday but this time wore her black hi-top sneakers to round out the outfit. Before we began any of the walking tours we made a pit stop at In-N-Out Burgers for sustenance. The boys convinced Uncle Kyle to order "off the menu" and he ended up with a 4 by 4 (a hamburger with 4 patties and 4 pieces of cheese) and fries "animal style" (fries with cheese, onions and secret sauce on top.) Jordan and William were pleased with their prank but Kyle was brave and attacked the lunch. I'm not sure it was a great way to start the afternoon but he seemed to survive it.
We walked around Old Town Temeculah for a couple of hours and saw an old west shoot out, bought cheese and wine and laughed a lot. A major storm was blowing in so we took off to show the Kyle Colle family around the campus of CCBC before it rained. Of course, it never rained so the tour was completed successfully. Upon return to the hotel we all hit the hot tub for a long soak then gathered in the lobby to have our cheese and wine tasting party. The kids (and some adults) were still hungry afterwards so we got Mexican food take-out and ate it in the dining area of the hotel lobby. Kyle and I eventually burned a cigar out by the pool and then spent some more time in the lobby chatting with the wives and Laura. Tallulah had passed out on the floor right after dinner so we decided to let her sleep and try to plan Sunday. We never did figure out what we are going to do—I think we are going to Huntington Beach for the day—but whatever we do starts at 10 am.
As is the pattern, photos are here. Enjoy...
We walked around Old Town Temeculah for a couple of hours and saw an old west shoot out, bought cheese and wine and laughed a lot. A major storm was blowing in so we took off to show the Kyle Colle family around the campus of CCBC before it rained. Of course, it never rained so the tour was completed successfully. Upon return to the hotel we all hit the hot tub for a long soak then gathered in the lobby to have our cheese and wine tasting party. The kids (and some adults) were still hungry afterwards so we got Mexican food take-out and ate it in the dining area of the hotel lobby. Kyle and I eventually burned a cigar out by the pool and then spent some more time in the lobby chatting with the wives and Laura. Tallulah had passed out on the floor right after dinner so we decided to let her sleep and try to plan Sunday. We never did figure out what we are going to do—I think we are going to Huntington Beach for the day—but whatever we do starts at 10 am.
As is the pattern, photos are here. Enjoy...
5/24/2008
Day Three: California Trip
It is late and it has been a long but fun day. We started the morning by having breakfast with my brother and his family in the hotel lobby. We gave Tallulah her birthday presents that we had not sent her back in January on her real birthday. We gave her some dress up clothes and they were a hit because she immediately put on one of the dresses and the fancy shoes and did not take them off the rest of the day. The plan for the day was to head south and take the tour of the Taylor Guitar Factory in El Cajon near San Diego. The weather is still nasty—rainy and windy and cold— so it was a good day to be inside. We arrived in plenty of time and really enjoyed watching how they make the guitars from hunks of wood to finished pieces of art. William, Jordan and I were very disappointed that they did not give us a free guitar for being so attentive (or good looking or for having pleasant breath) but we consoled ourselves by purchasing some t-shirts.
From there we grabbed a bite to eat at Panda Express and then found a mall to wander around for a couple of hours. Mainly we watched Kyle and Shannon buy stuff which was cathartic and relaxing in a strange way. Maybe that was just me...
We then made our way to Extraordinary Desserts which had been recommended to me by several people who have visited San Diego. This place was decadent in all the right ways. We indulged in Kona coffee, red wine, cheese boards, panini sandwiches and ridiculously large desserts. I am not a good enough writer to describe them but fortunately for you, we have pictures. Along with the regular pictures of our day, I have added a set of artsy shots that Laura took today when I let her take over the camera during the Taylor Guitar tour (and a few she snapped at Extraordinary Desserts). She did a nice job and I wanted to give a set of her own to show off her skills. Come back again tomorrow for more fun and merriment with the Colles in California.
From there we grabbed a bite to eat at Panda Express and then found a mall to wander around for a couple of hours. Mainly we watched Kyle and Shannon buy stuff which was cathartic and relaxing in a strange way. Maybe that was just me...
We then made our way to Extraordinary Desserts which had been recommended to me by several people who have visited San Diego. This place was decadent in all the right ways. We indulged in Kona coffee, red wine, cheese boards, panini sandwiches and ridiculously large desserts. I am not a good enough writer to describe them but fortunately for you, we have pictures. Along with the regular pictures of our day, I have added a set of artsy shots that Laura took today when I let her take over the camera during the Taylor Guitar tour (and a few she snapped at Extraordinary Desserts). She did a nice job and I wanted to give a set of her own to show off her skills. Come back again tomorrow for more fun and merriment with the Colles in California.
5/22/2008
Day Two: California Trip
Graduation Day. After a rather odd and restless night of sleep (and waking up at 7 am which was 10 am EST which was a tad bit disorienting), we crawled out of bed and began the day. Laura called and let us know that she was bringing two friends to the hotel to get ready for graduation—showers, curling irons and blow dryers. They were all checked out of their dorms and didn't have a place to prep. Once they arrived the rest of us decided to give them their space and we left to run some errands. Target, haircuts for the boys and then we found a beautiful park to walk around and enjoy the weather. We eventually ate lunch at Chipotle and took Laura a salad back to the hotel. Graduation was at two in the afternoon so we had to be there a little early to ensure decent seats (i.e: a good enough view to use the video camera). The weather turned nasty at noon—rain, windy, cold— but it cleared right before the ceremony so apparently God was pleased. The ceremony was nice (and brief) and photos and video were obtained. Dad was pleased.
After the graduation ceremony they have a reception with food and lots of mingling, hugging, squealing and a few tears. William and Laura met with and said goodbye to all their friends which was pretty final since neither will be back to California in the foreseeable future. We were back at the hotel by five and as Laura took a nap the rest of us hit the hotel hot tub. It was a nice way to relax and wait on my brother and his family to arrive. Unfortunately, bad weather in Phoenix is delaying their departure so we are going to have to go eat without them. I will update before bed if there is anything to update.
Pictures are up for day two at the Flikr site. Check them out for a visual representation of the day.
UPDATE: My brother and his wife and daughter were delayed to the point that we decided to go get dinner without them. At one point, I received a text from Shannon that said: "Just slowed departures. We are #15. Tallulah is screaming from the depths of her throat. Buy wine." I'm guessing they are having a wonderful trip so far...
After the graduation ceremony they have a reception with food and lots of mingling, hugging, squealing and a few tears. William and Laura met with and said goodbye to all their friends which was pretty final since neither will be back to California in the foreseeable future. We were back at the hotel by five and as Laura took a nap the rest of us hit the hotel hot tub. It was a nice way to relax and wait on my brother and his family to arrive. Unfortunately, bad weather in Phoenix is delaying their departure so we are going to have to go eat without them. I will update before bed if there is anything to update.
Pictures are up for day two at the Flikr site. Check them out for a visual representation of the day.
UPDATE: My brother and his wife and daughter were delayed to the point that we decided to go get dinner without them. At one point, I received a text from Shannon that said: "Just slowed departures. We are #15. Tallulah is screaming from the depths of her throat. Buy wine." I'm guessing they are having a wonderful trip so far...
Day One: California Trip
It goes without saying that when you travel across the country it is a long day. So I guess I don't have to say that today was a long day. (Did I just say it was a long day? Sorry...) We left Tallahassee at noon and survived a 3.5 hour layover in Atlanta. We ate at South of the Border (which Jordan referred to as "microwave Mexican food") in the airport and discovered that sometimes a Shirley Temple is made with real Coke and cherry syrup. Yum! We flew out of the ATL at 4:30 (EST) and arrived in San Diego at 6:20 (Pacific), secured the rental car and headed north to meet up with Laura on campus. The homecoming was great and the weather was fantastic—windy and cool. We met a few of her friends and then whisked her away for dinner. I grossed everyone out by ordering liver and onions at supper but other than that it was fairly uneventful. We finally checked into our hotel at 10:00 pm (1:00 am EST) and everyone but myself are dead out in bed. I wanted to get an update in before I retire and to also point you to my Flikr site to view daily picture uploads. I will admit that today's batch is fairly lame but it gave me a chance to set up the page. They will get better as the week/weekend progresses forward. Hopefully, the updates will get better as well.
Tomorrow is the graduation ceremony and Kyle, Shannon and Miss Tallulah arrive in the evening. Then things will get hopping. 'Til tomorrow...
Tomorrow is the graduation ceremony and Kyle, Shannon and Miss Tallulah arrive in the evening. Then things will get hopping. 'Til tomorrow...
5/20/2008
Our Own Little Worlds
Right now is a very busy, interesting, potentially stressful time in the life of my family. Along with the constant day-to-day requirements of work, providing and accountability to bosses, friends and each other, all of us have something big and consuming we are dealing with. It may be temporary and it may be a positive thing but whatever category it falls under it has the potential to preoccupy and take most of our focus. My wife’s mother is seriously ill and in need of constant care. My daughter is graduating from college this week and planning on moving to Italy for a year in the fall. My oldest son and his girlfriend are engulfed in wedding plans for her sister as well as juggling work, school and ministry. My youngest son is preparing for finals in high school and becoming a senior and all it involves. I am maneuvering through some unexpectedly treacherous waters on the career front. My parents are planning their 50th wedding anniversary later this summer. My brother is preparing to move to another state in June to settle down and start a career. My sister is in the middle of the failing health of in-laws as well as her first born preparing to graduate high school and go off to college. There is a lot going on (not even bringing up earthquakes and other natural disasters all over the world) and, surprisingly, it is easy to lose sight of that. At least where it concerns everybody else.
What I worry about on a personal level is getting so wrapped up in my situation that I forget that other folks in my circle are dealing with their own circumstances. Or worse, I expect others to be as consumed with my issues as I am, regardless of what they may be dealing with. Both scenarios can play out and breed resentment and pouting. (I assume this would be one of the definitions of “selfish” but that puts such a harsh spin on it that I would rather not try and label it.) We are so wired to be self serving that, sadly, it takes effort to be concerned about someone else. And when we do make the effort it isn’t always repaid. Should that matter? Does it make it any less “right” if others are not “playing along?” Before you answer, remember that thinking of others is a command straight from the mouth of Jesus. This is how our pastor succinctly describes the Christ centered life: Love God. Love folks. Those are the essentials. At times like these—and aren’t they always “times like these”?—it is good to be reminded.
What I worry about on a personal level is getting so wrapped up in my situation that I forget that other folks in my circle are dealing with their own circumstances. Or worse, I expect others to be as consumed with my issues as I am, regardless of what they may be dealing with. Both scenarios can play out and breed resentment and pouting. (I assume this would be one of the definitions of “selfish” but that puts such a harsh spin on it that I would rather not try and label it.) We are so wired to be self serving that, sadly, it takes effort to be concerned about someone else. And when we do make the effort it isn’t always repaid. Should that matter? Does it make it any less “right” if others are not “playing along?” Before you answer, remember that thinking of others is a command straight from the mouth of Jesus. This is how our pastor succinctly describes the Christ centered life: Love God. Love folks. Those are the essentials. At times like these—and aren’t they always “times like these”?—it is good to be reminded.
5/17/2008
Death by Dietary Supplement
I recently received some information from my brother about taking a new dietary supplement. He had read some research and was impressed with the results so he wanted to pass it along. The pill is something called CLA and it is supposed to help deal with weight gain, specifically in the belly area. At my age, any type of voodoo treatment to slow down the expansion of my girth is, at the minimum, worth checking out. He told me that the main ingredient in the pills is something that humans used to ingest regularly through our beef when cows were allowed to graze on grass. I suppose this means it is a natural ingredient and therefore safe to ingest. (Then again, there are 60 mg of Ox bile extract in the digestive enzymes I down after meals so “natural” is not always pretty.) Cows are mostly grain fed these days so they can get fat and to the market faster and the farmers can make their money quicker and the circle of manufactured life can chug along seamlessly. What we are supposed to infer from all of this information is that grain-fed cows have made human meat eaters fatter because we aren’t getting enough safflower seeds in our beef. Whatever. My brother is a doctor and he can read medical journals and follow along without nodding off so I tend to trust his information. (Although I notice he does sleep a lot...)
My wife and I decided to buy some CLA at our local Vitamin Shoppe and watch the pounds begin to melt away. Apparently, this CLA racket is big business because there were seven different manufacturers of this particular supplement lining the shelves which complicated the decision making process. I refused to buy the one with the label that had a hand drawn dragon on it so that was an immediate help. Two others were more expensive than the rest of the options so they were quickly crossed of the list even though there was a chance that the cheaper pills saved money in manufacturing costs because they employed illegal immigrant children to harvest the safflower fields for a dime a day. Then I noticed that the Vitamin Shoppe brand CLA was two-for-one and the fact that I could save even more money caused me to quickly forget the Safflower Kids. It is interesting how being shallow and on a budget go hand in hand. We had just had lunch so my wife cracked open a jar of CLA in the car so we could start the process immediately. The pills were a deep reddish brown color and gigantic. I made her read the directions carefully to make sure they were not suppositories. The saving factor was that we had inadvertently grabbed the gel cap versions of the pills which gave us a fighting chance at swallowing them. I cannot think of a worse fate than to be known as the guy who choked to death on a dietary supplement. Irony does not begin to describe that scenario.
We have been taking the pills for two weeks—one with each meal—and the results are mixed. It is too early to give specifics but stay tuned and I will continue to share our progress.
My wife and I decided to buy some CLA at our local Vitamin Shoppe and watch the pounds begin to melt away. Apparently, this CLA racket is big business because there were seven different manufacturers of this particular supplement lining the shelves which complicated the decision making process. I refused to buy the one with the label that had a hand drawn dragon on it so that was an immediate help. Two others were more expensive than the rest of the options so they were quickly crossed of the list even though there was a chance that the cheaper pills saved money in manufacturing costs because they employed illegal immigrant children to harvest the safflower fields for a dime a day. Then I noticed that the Vitamin Shoppe brand CLA was two-for-one and the fact that I could save even more money caused me to quickly forget the Safflower Kids. It is interesting how being shallow and on a budget go hand in hand. We had just had lunch so my wife cracked open a jar of CLA in the car so we could start the process immediately. The pills were a deep reddish brown color and gigantic. I made her read the directions carefully to make sure they were not suppositories. The saving factor was that we had inadvertently grabbed the gel cap versions of the pills which gave us a fighting chance at swallowing them. I cannot think of a worse fate than to be known as the guy who choked to death on a dietary supplement. Irony does not begin to describe that scenario.
We have been taking the pills for two weeks—one with each meal—and the results are mixed. It is too early to give specifics but stay tuned and I will continue to share our progress.
5/14/2008
Dreams, Realized
I found out yesterday that my middle child, my only daughter, has been accepted as the intern to the Dean of Women at the new Calvary Chapel Bible College extension campus in Northern Italy. She will depart late August and work both semesters until next May. She graduates next week and this was the next post-college step she wanted to take. She is very excited and rightfully so; she wants nothing more than to be an available, pliable container for God to use and he led her through this door. She is running through it with enthusiasm.
I am thrilled that God paved the way for her to follow through on her first option. Any of us crusty veterans of prayer and The Journey can testify that is not always the case. I’m also proud that she is growing into the type of woman that a startup extension campus wants to have on staff to minister to their students. Her application (which she let me edit--I’m still allowed in that circle and I am thankful) was a deep, well thought-out verbal breakdown of her heart. After reading it I would have hired her and I am pleased that someone else had the sense and foresight to see the same thing.
Occasionally, in the midst of all the gushing and excitement, a small taste of loss jumps up and taps the back of my throat. It’s natural; the bond between us is strong. I will miss her but I can’t begin to kid myself that I didn’t see this coming. She was destined for this, her heart wide open, begging to please, ready and willing for anything—as long as it was God-directed—and it has been a privilege to watch her grow into this phase. For now, I will enjoy the summer with her home and make sure her mom and I get our passports up to date. God may direct us to a European vacation next spring (I’ll have my daughter pray for us...)
I am thrilled that God paved the way for her to follow through on her first option. Any of us crusty veterans of prayer and The Journey can testify that is not always the case. I’m also proud that she is growing into the type of woman that a startup extension campus wants to have on staff to minister to their students. Her application (which she let me edit--I’m still allowed in that circle and I am thankful) was a deep, well thought-out verbal breakdown of her heart. After reading it I would have hired her and I am pleased that someone else had the sense and foresight to see the same thing.
Occasionally, in the midst of all the gushing and excitement, a small taste of loss jumps up and taps the back of my throat. It’s natural; the bond between us is strong. I will miss her but I can’t begin to kid myself that I didn’t see this coming. She was destined for this, her heart wide open, begging to please, ready and willing for anything—as long as it was God-directed—and it has been a privilege to watch her grow into this phase. For now, I will enjoy the summer with her home and make sure her mom and I get our passports up to date. God may direct us to a European vacation next spring (I’ll have my daughter pray for us...)
5/12/2008
Entry One Hundred Three: Adam Mahoney, You Just Won!
[This entry is the current story I am working on. This is thirty-three of who knows how many will be posted. Enjoy it while it lasts...]
Chapter Thirteen
Adam returned to the school gym every day, eventually increasing the intensity of his workouts to a respectable level although there was no one to gain respect from but himself and that would just have to do. In between he started several projects around the house and eventually got all six neighborhood yards mowed and edged. He finally made a trip to Phelps Hardware and after several rounds with the paint mixer, was able to create the right shade of robin’s egg blue for the exterior of his house. That project alone kept him occupied for several days although the task was made easier by all the ladders and high-end painting equipment he was able to procure from the hardware store.
He also had to make another trip to the IGA but knew it would be his last unless he took the time to shovel out all the rotting “fresh food.” The stench was overwhelming and the flies were multiplying to Biblical plague numbers. To delay having to clean the place out he doubled up on canned goods and made sure he had enough frozen dinners to fill his freezer. It finally crossed his mind that there shouldn’t be any flies if, as the Squatters had promised, all life—including animals—had been wiped off the earth. Then he spotted the Dove Bars in the freezer and forgot all about that annoying contradiction.
Adam had established a new rhythm, a healthier pace, and his outlook slowly improved. His decisions were safe, not adventurous at all, but his mind was beginning the healing process and, even though the chasm was still prevalent, the workouts and the active chores at home helped him ignore the gnawing emptiness, solid and unmoving, still echoing inside him. He had answered the question “What can I do?” at least temporarily, with trying to maintain normalcy, going about his life much as he would have at any other time, only now he was by himself. It wasn’t perfect but, considering the situation, he was starting to assume it was as good as it was going to get.
All words and images ©2007/J. Colle
Chapter Thirteen
Adam returned to the school gym every day, eventually increasing the intensity of his workouts to a respectable level although there was no one to gain respect from but himself and that would just have to do. In between he started several projects around the house and eventually got all six neighborhood yards mowed and edged. He finally made a trip to Phelps Hardware and after several rounds with the paint mixer, was able to create the right shade of robin’s egg blue for the exterior of his house. That project alone kept him occupied for several days although the task was made easier by all the ladders and high-end painting equipment he was able to procure from the hardware store.
He also had to make another trip to the IGA but knew it would be his last unless he took the time to shovel out all the rotting “fresh food.” The stench was overwhelming and the flies were multiplying to Biblical plague numbers. To delay having to clean the place out he doubled up on canned goods and made sure he had enough frozen dinners to fill his freezer. It finally crossed his mind that there shouldn’t be any flies if, as the Squatters had promised, all life—including animals—had been wiped off the earth. Then he spotted the Dove Bars in the freezer and forgot all about that annoying contradiction.
Adam had established a new rhythm, a healthier pace, and his outlook slowly improved. His decisions were safe, not adventurous at all, but his mind was beginning the healing process and, even though the chasm was still prevalent, the workouts and the active chores at home helped him ignore the gnawing emptiness, solid and unmoving, still echoing inside him. He had answered the question “What can I do?” at least temporarily, with trying to maintain normalcy, going about his life much as he would have at any other time, only now he was by himself. It wasn’t perfect but, considering the situation, he was starting to assume it was as good as it was going to get.
All words and images ©2007/J. Colle
5/11/2008
Mother's Day
Right now, my wife, the mother of my children, is sleeping in her favorite chair in the family room. It has been a hectic morning which started at the early service at church (which we required the boys to attend much to their chagrin) and was followed by lunch at Carraba's then a visit with her mother. (We supplied the lunch for her mom and her friends which was chicken pot pies and sweet potato's from Boston Market). With all the requirements out of the way, we are home and relaxing, spending Sunday afternoon as God planned it--me listening to a baseball game on the radio and her napping. This is Mother's Day, her day, and what makes my wife the greatest mother in the world (after my mom) is that she has requested we go see Iron Man this afternoon as the capper to her day. Is she cool or what?
Speaking of cool, my very own mother--69 years young--completed the 2008 Danskin® Women's Triathlon this morning at Disney World in Orlando, Florida. She is a cancer survivor (over 25 years) and was joined by my sister in the event. I am very proud of her and wanted to give her some digital love and congratulations. The women in my life are amazing...
Speaking of cool, my very own mother--69 years young--completed the 2008 Danskin® Women's Triathlon this morning at Disney World in Orlando, Florida. She is a cancer survivor (over 25 years) and was joined by my sister in the event. I am very proud of her and wanted to give her some digital love and congratulations. The women in my life are amazing...
5/09/2008
Casual Friday Humor Post
P.J. O'Rourke has an article in the LA Times which is the speech he would give at a commencement ceremony—if only someone had asked him. Very, very funny and worth a read. I especially liked this section:
The Bible is very clear about one thing: Using politics to create fairness is a sin. Observe the Tenth Commandment. The first nine commandments concern theological principles and social law: Thou shalt not make graven images, steal, kill, et cetera. Fair enough. But then there's the tenth: "Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's house. Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's wife, nor his manservant, nor his maidservant, nor his ox, nor his ass, nor anything that is thy neighbor's."
Here are God's basic rules about how we should live, a brief list of sacred obligations and solemn moral precepts. And, right at the end of it we read, "Don't envy your buddy because he has an ox or a donkey." Why did that make the top 10? Why would God, with just 10 things to tell Moses, include jealousy about livestock?
Well, think about how important this commandment is to a community, to a nation, to a democracy. If you want a mule, if you want a pot roast, if you want a cleaning lady, don't whine about what the people across the street have. Get rich and get your own.
Have a great weekend...
The Bible is very clear about one thing: Using politics to create fairness is a sin. Observe the Tenth Commandment. The first nine commandments concern theological principles and social law: Thou shalt not make graven images, steal, kill, et cetera. Fair enough. But then there's the tenth: "Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's house. Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's wife, nor his manservant, nor his maidservant, nor his ox, nor his ass, nor anything that is thy neighbor's."
Here are God's basic rules about how we should live, a brief list of sacred obligations and solemn moral precepts. And, right at the end of it we read, "Don't envy your buddy because he has an ox or a donkey." Why did that make the top 10? Why would God, with just 10 things to tell Moses, include jealousy about livestock?
Well, think about how important this commandment is to a community, to a nation, to a democracy. If you want a mule, if you want a pot roast, if you want a cleaning lady, don't whine about what the people across the street have. Get rich and get your own.
Have a great weekend...
5/08/2008
Random Thought
I check a regular list of blogs each day, usually in the morning before I get fully cranked up with the necessities of the day. The odd thing is I always check them in the same order even though that means jumping around in my list of bookmarks. What is up with that?
5/07/2008
Entry One Hundred Two: Adam Mahoney, You Just Won!
[This entry is the current story I am working on. This is thirty-two of who knows how many will be posted. Enjoy it while it lasts...]
Adam sat on one of the wood benches between the lockers, bent at the waist, head between his legs, trying to catch enough air in his lungs to get past his dizziness. He knew he had overdone his workout, but in a perverse and nauseating way, it felt good to be physical again. Once he started, he had trouble stopping, even though his body had clocked out ten minutes before his mind had agreed. He had walked for fifteen minutes on the treadmill, keeping the pace very slow, and then had worked the weight circuit twice on the universal weight machines. He had used very little weight but the resistance was adequate for his torpid constitution. He then spent another fifteen minutes on the treadmill and that is when he physically shut down. He was able to muster enough clarity to turn off the machine and stagger to the locker room where he now waited for some relief.
When he felt strong enough to stand he lit a cigarette and made his way to the coaches office, not sure what he would find, but hoping to find some towels. The office was open but there weren’t any supplies, as least in plain sight. As he was walking out he noticed a wooden dowel with a loop of wire extending out of one end, hanging on a nail in the door jamb, a key, secured by the wire, dangling to one side. He picked it up and the word “laundry” was written on it in marker. He turned left out of the office, looking for a locked door, and found it around the corner. The key worked and when he turned on the light he faced several wooden shelves stocked with white towels, rolls of white tape and plastic tubs of orange analgesic rub. The room smelled like a spearmint greenhouse, much more pleasant than the room he had just vacated. He grabbed two towels off a shelf and walked back to the lockers. He hadn’t brought any shampoo or soap but assumed he could find something in one of the lockers. After ten minutes of searching he turned up nothing and came to the conclusion that the males of Lincoln High School had been pigs. “I’ll bet the girls used soap,” he said, and he walked out the locker room door, back into the gym and pushed through the doors leading into the girl’s locker room.
The first thing he felt as he entered was the strong sense that he shouldn’t have invaded that sacred space. It was empty, of course, and it looked very similar to the boy’s locker room. The lockers were blue, the benches were made of wood and it too smelled like feet, but the aura of estrogen was still strong and even without a host body to work through, its ability to make him uncomfortable and to feel he was in forbidden territory was creepy. Adam lowered his head and marched toward the first row of lockers, opening the first one he came across without a lock. His faith in women was vindicated when he found shampoo, conditioner and liquid soap on the small shelf at the top of the locker. He grabbed all three and turned to leave but then hesitated. “What the hell; I dreamed about this in high school so I might as well take advantage of it now.” He turned around, walked toward the back, stripped off his clothes, placed them in a pile at the entrance of the girl’s shower, stepped in and turned on one of the shower heads. Although he was still uncomfortable he knew he didn’t have to be and that was a small but noteworthy perk of being the last man standing on the face of the earth.
All words and images ©2007/J. Colle
Adam sat on one of the wood benches between the lockers, bent at the waist, head between his legs, trying to catch enough air in his lungs to get past his dizziness. He knew he had overdone his workout, but in a perverse and nauseating way, it felt good to be physical again. Once he started, he had trouble stopping, even though his body had clocked out ten minutes before his mind had agreed. He had walked for fifteen minutes on the treadmill, keeping the pace very slow, and then had worked the weight circuit twice on the universal weight machines. He had used very little weight but the resistance was adequate for his torpid constitution. He then spent another fifteen minutes on the treadmill and that is when he physically shut down. He was able to muster enough clarity to turn off the machine and stagger to the locker room where he now waited for some relief.
When he felt strong enough to stand he lit a cigarette and made his way to the coaches office, not sure what he would find, but hoping to find some towels. The office was open but there weren’t any supplies, as least in plain sight. As he was walking out he noticed a wooden dowel with a loop of wire extending out of one end, hanging on a nail in the door jamb, a key, secured by the wire, dangling to one side. He picked it up and the word “laundry” was written on it in marker. He turned left out of the office, looking for a locked door, and found it around the corner. The key worked and when he turned on the light he faced several wooden shelves stocked with white towels, rolls of white tape and plastic tubs of orange analgesic rub. The room smelled like a spearmint greenhouse, much more pleasant than the room he had just vacated. He grabbed two towels off a shelf and walked back to the lockers. He hadn’t brought any shampoo or soap but assumed he could find something in one of the lockers. After ten minutes of searching he turned up nothing and came to the conclusion that the males of Lincoln High School had been pigs. “I’ll bet the girls used soap,” he said, and he walked out the locker room door, back into the gym and pushed through the doors leading into the girl’s locker room.
The first thing he felt as he entered was the strong sense that he shouldn’t have invaded that sacred space. It was empty, of course, and it looked very similar to the boy’s locker room. The lockers were blue, the benches were made of wood and it too smelled like feet, but the aura of estrogen was still strong and even without a host body to work through, its ability to make him uncomfortable and to feel he was in forbidden territory was creepy. Adam lowered his head and marched toward the first row of lockers, opening the first one he came across without a lock. His faith in women was vindicated when he found shampoo, conditioner and liquid soap on the small shelf at the top of the locker. He grabbed all three and turned to leave but then hesitated. “What the hell; I dreamed about this in high school so I might as well take advantage of it now.” He turned around, walked toward the back, stripped off his clothes, placed them in a pile at the entrance of the girl’s shower, stepped in and turned on one of the shower heads. Although he was still uncomfortable he knew he didn’t have to be and that was a small but noteworthy perk of being the last man standing on the face of the earth.
All words and images ©2007/J. Colle
5/06/2008
About Mr. Mahoney
It has been brought to my attention that the snippets of my current story that I share occasionally on this blog can be annoying if you are joining it in the middle and have no idea what the heck is going on. To allay those frustrations, I present a brief primer on "Adam Mahoney, You Just Won!"
Adam Mahoney awakes one morning to discover that he is the last man standing on the face of the earth. Overnight, a small group of aliens (they prefer to be referred to as Squatters) have wiped out every living creature on earth except for Mr. Mahoney. They inform him that he is on his own (though they have disposed of the bodies) and they will be watching him to see how he responds--mainly for entertainment value but they also have a wager between them as to the results. So begins Adam's new life, trying to figure out what to do to survive, initially, in a small town in Georgia and eventually in the world at large.
The excerpts start here. Reading them in this format can be extremely frustrating because you are reading "up" the page instead of down but Blogger is free and it is what it is. If you are really interested in the story let me know and we can work something out. Enjoy...
Adam Mahoney awakes one morning to discover that he is the last man standing on the face of the earth. Overnight, a small group of aliens (they prefer to be referred to as Squatters) have wiped out every living creature on earth except for Mr. Mahoney. They inform him that he is on his own (though they have disposed of the bodies) and they will be watching him to see how he responds--mainly for entertainment value but they also have a wager between them as to the results. So begins Adam's new life, trying to figure out what to do to survive, initially, in a small town in Georgia and eventually in the world at large.
The excerpts start here. Reading them in this format can be extremely frustrating because you are reading "up" the page instead of down but Blogger is free and it is what it is. If you are really interested in the story let me know and we can work something out. Enjoy...
5/05/2008
Entry One Hundred One: Adam Mahoney, You Just Won!
[This entry is the current story I am working on. This is thirty-one of who knows how many will be posted. Enjoy it while it lasts...]
Even after several weeks void of human activity, the locker room still had the funky scent of sweat, balm and feet. Adam stopped at the entrance and looked around, smiling at the immediate memories that flooded him. High school gym class was never his favorite but the familiarity of a room that looked exactly as it had 14 years earlier was enough to make him smile. In the midst of everything that had changed—his life, the world--the recognizable blue, metal lockers and wooden benches dissecting the aisles between them gave him a secure feeling. He moved slowly between the rows of lockers, running his fingers along the outside of the closed doors. Some had locks on them, most did not. He remembered sharing a locker with two friends and the ghastly stench that was generated by damp clothes and towels, ignored in the bottom of the chamber for weeks. He followed the maze to the far side of the room and pushed through two swinging doors, entering the weight room. The equipment was new, as was the graphic painted on the wall of a bulldog, the school mascot, snarling and growling at some unseen opponent. The artwork itself was amateurish, probably commissioned to one of the social outcasts toiling in an art class. “The Squatters spared them a life of frustration and disappointment, if the mural represents the best they could do.” He walked over to a treadmill in the corner of the small room and he turned it on. It immediately started humming, its sound building as the walking surface broke through its lethargy and began a consistent spin. He found the control for the speed and dialed it down to the pace of “leisurely stroll” and straddled the moving base, holding on to the safety rails with his hands. When he felt he had good timing on the speed, he lifted one leg and gingerly placed it on the spinning belt and smoothly dropped into a walk. He swung his arms, emulating a natural walking motion and continued for several minutes. Satisfied he could handle it, he stopped the treadmill and stepped off as it slowed to a stop. “Let’s do it,” he said, and he made his way back to the locker room to change clothes.
All words and images ©2007/J. Colle
Even after several weeks void of human activity, the locker room still had the funky scent of sweat, balm and feet. Adam stopped at the entrance and looked around, smiling at the immediate memories that flooded him. High school gym class was never his favorite but the familiarity of a room that looked exactly as it had 14 years earlier was enough to make him smile. In the midst of everything that had changed—his life, the world--the recognizable blue, metal lockers and wooden benches dissecting the aisles between them gave him a secure feeling. He moved slowly between the rows of lockers, running his fingers along the outside of the closed doors. Some had locks on them, most did not. He remembered sharing a locker with two friends and the ghastly stench that was generated by damp clothes and towels, ignored in the bottom of the chamber for weeks. He followed the maze to the far side of the room and pushed through two swinging doors, entering the weight room. The equipment was new, as was the graphic painted on the wall of a bulldog, the school mascot, snarling and growling at some unseen opponent. The artwork itself was amateurish, probably commissioned to one of the social outcasts toiling in an art class. “The Squatters spared them a life of frustration and disappointment, if the mural represents the best they could do.” He walked over to a treadmill in the corner of the small room and he turned it on. It immediately started humming, its sound building as the walking surface broke through its lethargy and began a consistent spin. He found the control for the speed and dialed it down to the pace of “leisurely stroll” and straddled the moving base, holding on to the safety rails with his hands. When he felt he had good timing on the speed, he lifted one leg and gingerly placed it on the spinning belt and smoothly dropped into a walk. He swung his arms, emulating a natural walking motion and continued for several minutes. Satisfied he could handle it, he stopped the treadmill and stepped off as it slowed to a stop. “Let’s do it,” he said, and he made his way back to the locker room to change clothes.
All words and images ©2007/J. Colle
5/03/2008
Take A Moment
A few weeks ago, my 16-year-old son, my youngest child, quit running track. On the surface it seems pretty innocuous, just another decision in an active life. Sure, track was a long shot, an attempt to scratch an athletic itch after a promising baseball “career” was abruptly ended because of three elbow surgeries. And his decision to walk away from running and concentrate on his music was mature and absolutely right. Regardless of all the sane logic attached, I had a surprisingly concrete, physical reaction when the decision was made. Maybe it was a sense of loss—after more than twenty years of sports activities with my kids, it was no more. Combine that with the complicated ache of unsatisfied athletic potential in my youngest child, and “loss” doesn’t feel like a stretch.
He is such a good athlete and he faced so many obstacles, almost as if athletic success was working against him. He fought a good fight—we all did—but the reality is he’s done. The loss (or sadness or whatever it should be labelled) is just another moment to deal with. Life is crammed with them, wall-to-wall. Some are big—not too many, I hope—but most are small. I would categorize this one as medium. String all those moments together and you have your life. This might be a right-brained characteristic, but I am conscious of the moments. I can’t be certain but I don’t think everyone senses the small moments; they only see the medium or bigger. They may notice the gaps created by the small moments, the empty spots on the string between the noticeable ones, but what causes those gaps escapes them. I don’t see gaps. I feel most of the moments, if not all. The way a book feels in my hand or the power of a quality pen dragging across paper. The first sizzle and smell as the bleu cheese burger hits the grill. The first sip of wine and the unexpected chord in a song. Lots of little, small moments.
I’ll get over this particular moment, this sports moment, because my son has plenty more to provide. But I won’t rush the recovery. The ache is a reminder of an eventful, memorable past as well as that another corner has been turned. Besides, even the painful moments are worth remembering.
He is such a good athlete and he faced so many obstacles, almost as if athletic success was working against him. He fought a good fight—we all did—but the reality is he’s done. The loss (or sadness or whatever it should be labelled) is just another moment to deal with. Life is crammed with them, wall-to-wall. Some are big—not too many, I hope—but most are small. I would categorize this one as medium. String all those moments together and you have your life. This might be a right-brained characteristic, but I am conscious of the moments. I can’t be certain but I don’t think everyone senses the small moments; they only see the medium or bigger. They may notice the gaps created by the small moments, the empty spots on the string between the noticeable ones, but what causes those gaps escapes them. I don’t see gaps. I feel most of the moments, if not all. The way a book feels in my hand or the power of a quality pen dragging across paper. The first sizzle and smell as the bleu cheese burger hits the grill. The first sip of wine and the unexpected chord in a song. Lots of little, small moments.
I’ll get over this particular moment, this sports moment, because my son has plenty more to provide. But I won’t rush the recovery. The ache is a reminder of an eventful, memorable past as well as that another corner has been turned. Besides, even the painful moments are worth remembering.
5/02/2008
Thought to Ponder on Casual Friday
Character is like a tree and reputation like its shadow.
The shadow is what we think of it;
the tree is the real thing.
- Abraham Lincoln
The shadow is what we think of it;
the tree is the real thing.
- Abraham Lincoln
Entry One Hundred: Adam Mahoney, You Just Won!
[This entry is the current story I am working on. This is thirty of who knows how many will be posted. Enjoy it while it lasts...]
Chapter Twelve
Adam pulled into the parking lot of Lincoln High School, his alma mater, and veered to the left, looking for the sports wing of the school. He hadn’t been to the campus in years but it didn’t appear to be radically different from his days roaming its halls so he was confidant a building as prominent as the gym would be easy to locate. And it was. He parked along the outside of the large, metal building, grabbed his bag of new clothes and the shoes for cross training and walked to where the gym and the school building connected. If his memory served him correctly, he thought he could climb through a window near that intersection and gain entry into the gym through the double doors inside. The windows were slats of glass, the kind that rolled out by cranking a handle, so most of them were loose and it didn’t take him long to find one that was easy to dismantle. Once inside, he was happy to find everything unlocked and accessible.
He pushed the handle on one of the double doors leading into the gym and the loud clank of its release echoed throughout the large, empty space. Light was filtering through the windows lining the top of the walls but it was not enough to brighten the floor. He scanned for the big gray box that held the light switches and thought he saw it on the far end of the gym. His shoes squeaked with each step on the varnished parquet floor and the absence of any other sounds amplified his noisy soles. When he reached the light box, he pulled open the cover, the sound of the metal latch releasing giving off a loud popping sound that bounced off the walls, and he pushed the three handles up to turn on the lights. They did not come on immediately but there was an instant buzz, like a large electric razor had been switched on, and the overhead lamps slowly warmed to a slight glow and held, the same routine they’d followed for years. Adam stood and stared at the lights, all of them covered with wire cages to protect them from wayward throws and bounces, waiting for them to kick in to full illumination. As the lights slowly grew brighter and his eyes adjusted to the darker surroundings, he saw a wheeled, metal frame that held several basketballs under one of the basketball goals. He walked toward it, shoes still screeching even though he tried to walk on his toes, and pulled one the balls off the top of the wheeled rack. He bounced it once, caught it and the thud reverberated against all four walls, flying all around him and surprising him with how long the noise sustained above the drone of the lights. He bounced it again, this time pushing it down with his hand twice, two dribbles, and then grabbed it, letting the echoes fade before repeating the exercise a few more times. The noise of the bouncing ball off the floor, singular and unaccompanied by anything else, sounded lonely to Adam. It reminded him of his situation and he knew he couldn’t deal with it, at least not that moment. Combined with the squeak of his shoes, the gloomy duet was too much and he placed the ball back in the rack, bent down, untied and took off his sneakers and started walking toward the locker rooms in his stocking feet. He veered right, choosing to enter the boy’s locker room, “because that’s what I am.” At least that hadn’t changed.
All words and images ©2007/J. Colle
Chapter Twelve
Adam pulled into the parking lot of Lincoln High School, his alma mater, and veered to the left, looking for the sports wing of the school. He hadn’t been to the campus in years but it didn’t appear to be radically different from his days roaming its halls so he was confidant a building as prominent as the gym would be easy to locate. And it was. He parked along the outside of the large, metal building, grabbed his bag of new clothes and the shoes for cross training and walked to where the gym and the school building connected. If his memory served him correctly, he thought he could climb through a window near that intersection and gain entry into the gym through the double doors inside. The windows were slats of glass, the kind that rolled out by cranking a handle, so most of them were loose and it didn’t take him long to find one that was easy to dismantle. Once inside, he was happy to find everything unlocked and accessible.
He pushed the handle on one of the double doors leading into the gym and the loud clank of its release echoed throughout the large, empty space. Light was filtering through the windows lining the top of the walls but it was not enough to brighten the floor. He scanned for the big gray box that held the light switches and thought he saw it on the far end of the gym. His shoes squeaked with each step on the varnished parquet floor and the absence of any other sounds amplified his noisy soles. When he reached the light box, he pulled open the cover, the sound of the metal latch releasing giving off a loud popping sound that bounced off the walls, and he pushed the three handles up to turn on the lights. They did not come on immediately but there was an instant buzz, like a large electric razor had been switched on, and the overhead lamps slowly warmed to a slight glow and held, the same routine they’d followed for years. Adam stood and stared at the lights, all of them covered with wire cages to protect them from wayward throws and bounces, waiting for them to kick in to full illumination. As the lights slowly grew brighter and his eyes adjusted to the darker surroundings, he saw a wheeled, metal frame that held several basketballs under one of the basketball goals. He walked toward it, shoes still screeching even though he tried to walk on his toes, and pulled one the balls off the top of the wheeled rack. He bounced it once, caught it and the thud reverberated against all four walls, flying all around him and surprising him with how long the noise sustained above the drone of the lights. He bounced it again, this time pushing it down with his hand twice, two dribbles, and then grabbed it, letting the echoes fade before repeating the exercise a few more times. The noise of the bouncing ball off the floor, singular and unaccompanied by anything else, sounded lonely to Adam. It reminded him of his situation and he knew he couldn’t deal with it, at least not that moment. Combined with the squeak of his shoes, the gloomy duet was too much and he placed the ball back in the rack, bent down, untied and took off his sneakers and started walking toward the locker rooms in his stocking feet. He veered right, choosing to enter the boy’s locker room, “because that’s what I am.” At least that hadn’t changed.
All words and images ©2007/J. Colle
5/01/2008
Write, Right, Rite
One of the dangers of trying to be a writer is that it is sometimes easier to study writing than it is to actually sit down and write. No, that is wrong. It is much easier to read and talk about writing than to commit to the “butt in chair” time that is required to produce something. Having said that, I want to share some thoughts from Flannery O’Connor. She is one of the patron saints of writing deeply spiritual stories that don’t appear as such on the surface. She died fairly young but she left us a trove of thought-provoking stories and thoughts on writing. The following blurbs are from her book “Mystery and Manners.” It is a collection of articles, speeches and essays and the majority have to do with being a writer in general and, in some of the most interesting pages, a writer of faith. Time for me to shut up and hand the reigns to Miss O’Connor...
Any discipline can help your writing: logic, mathematics, theology, and of course and particularly drawing. Anything that helps you to see, anything that makes you look. The writer should never be ashamed of staring. There is nothing that doesn’t require his attention.
The fact is that anybody who has survived his childhood has enough information about life to last him the rest of his days. If you can’t make something out of a little experience, you probably won’t be able to make it out of a lot. The writer’s business is to contemplate experience, not to be merged in it.
In fact, so many people can now write competent stories that the short story as a medium is in danger of dying of competence. We want competence, but competence by itself is deadly. What is needed is the vision to go with it, and you do not get this from a writing class.
Everywhere I go I’m asked if I think the universities stifle writers. My opinion is that they don’t stifle enough of them.
Enjoy your day. Start reading a new book.
Any discipline can help your writing: logic, mathematics, theology, and of course and particularly drawing. Anything that helps you to see, anything that makes you look. The writer should never be ashamed of staring. There is nothing that doesn’t require his attention.
...
The fact is that anybody who has survived his childhood has enough information about life to last him the rest of his days. If you can’t make something out of a little experience, you probably won’t be able to make it out of a lot. The writer’s business is to contemplate experience, not to be merged in it.
...
In fact, so many people can now write competent stories that the short story as a medium is in danger of dying of competence. We want competence, but competence by itself is deadly. What is needed is the vision to go with it, and you do not get this from a writing class.
...
And one of my favorites...Everywhere I go I’m asked if I think the universities stifle writers. My opinion is that they don’t stifle enough of them.
Enjoy your day. Start reading a new book.
4/30/2008
A Prayer for Everyone
Some days we just need to be encouraged. I'll get out of the way and turn it over to Paul...
...I couldn’t stop thanking God for you—every time I prayed, I’d think of you and give thanks. But I do more than thank. I ask—ask the God of our Master, Jesus Christ, the God of Glory—to make you intelligent and discerning in knowing Him personally, your eyes focused and clear, so that you can see exactly what it is He is calling you to do, grasp the immensity of this glorious way of life He has for Christians, oh the utter extravagance of His work in us who trust Him—endless energy, boundless strength.
Ephesians 1:16-19
(The Message)
...I couldn’t stop thanking God for you—every time I prayed, I’d think of you and give thanks. But I do more than thank. I ask—ask the God of our Master, Jesus Christ, the God of Glory—to make you intelligent and discerning in knowing Him personally, your eyes focused and clear, so that you can see exactly what it is He is calling you to do, grasp the immensity of this glorious way of life He has for Christians, oh the utter extravagance of His work in us who trust Him—endless energy, boundless strength.
Ephesians 1:16-19
(The Message)
4/28/2008
Entry Ninety-nine: Adam Mahoney, You Just Won!
[This entry is the current story I am working on. This is twenty-nine of who knows how many will be posted. Enjoy it while it lasts...]
The first thing he wanted to find were shoes, so he walked to the wall displaying all the different styles and brands and began to browse, for once in his life not limited by price or budget. His first inclination was to get running shoes only but, after finding a style he liked, he realized he might need more variety to accommodate different kinds of workouts. He was, after all, serious about getting into shape. He found a pair for cross training as well as a pair specifically for basketball, assuming, along with the running shoes, those three would cover the workout options he was apt to explore. He took the three sample shoes and started searching for the matching twins in boxes in the storage room at the back of the store. It was confusing at first because he was not familiar with the store’s system and there didn’t seem to be any logic to how the boxes were sorted. Once he found one match, it made more sense and he was able to find all three of his choices in his size.
He stacked the shoe boxes on the counter by the register and turned his attention to clothes. He needed shorts and shirts, and maybe some socks, so he started thumbing through the stacks of options randomly scattered all over the store. He found a pair of shorts he liked but was unsure of what size would fit his new doughy frame. He picked up a pair of large as well as a pair of extra-large and turned toward the dressing room. What stopped him he couldn’t say, but something in him pointed out how ridiculous it was to hide while he tried on clothes. He laid the shorts over the rack next to him and undid his pants, dropping them to the floor and stepping out of them as he began to try on the first pair of shorts. He caught a glimpse of himself in one of the full-length mirrors along the store wall and started laughing. The weirdness of the situation--standing in his underwear in the middle of a retail business, casually trying on clothes like he was at home—was amusing. If he had tried to do that one month ago he would have been asked to leave. “Time has a way of changing the rules, doesn’t it Mr. Mahoney?” His reflection didn’t respond but it looked like it understood.
All words and images ©2007/J. Colle
The first thing he wanted to find were shoes, so he walked to the wall displaying all the different styles and brands and began to browse, for once in his life not limited by price or budget. His first inclination was to get running shoes only but, after finding a style he liked, he realized he might need more variety to accommodate different kinds of workouts. He was, after all, serious about getting into shape. He found a pair for cross training as well as a pair specifically for basketball, assuming, along with the running shoes, those three would cover the workout options he was apt to explore. He took the three sample shoes and started searching for the matching twins in boxes in the storage room at the back of the store. It was confusing at first because he was not familiar with the store’s system and there didn’t seem to be any logic to how the boxes were sorted. Once he found one match, it made more sense and he was able to find all three of his choices in his size.
He stacked the shoe boxes on the counter by the register and turned his attention to clothes. He needed shorts and shirts, and maybe some socks, so he started thumbing through the stacks of options randomly scattered all over the store. He found a pair of shorts he liked but was unsure of what size would fit his new doughy frame. He picked up a pair of large as well as a pair of extra-large and turned toward the dressing room. What stopped him he couldn’t say, but something in him pointed out how ridiculous it was to hide while he tried on clothes. He laid the shorts over the rack next to him and undid his pants, dropping them to the floor and stepping out of them as he began to try on the first pair of shorts. He caught a glimpse of himself in one of the full-length mirrors along the store wall and started laughing. The weirdness of the situation--standing in his underwear in the middle of a retail business, casually trying on clothes like he was at home—was amusing. If he had tried to do that one month ago he would have been asked to leave. “Time has a way of changing the rules, doesn’t it Mr. Mahoney?” His reflection didn’t respond but it looked like it understood.
All words and images ©2007/J. Colle
4/27/2008
Paying Attention
Displayed on the first page of my current journal is this proverb:
Four things come not back:
1. The spoken word
2. The spent arrow
3. The past
4. The neglected opportunity
When I first read those words they were credited as an “Arab Proverb.” I don’t know if that is where it comes from or not—I don't always trust such a general acknowledgment—but the power behind it is universal. There is much there to dissect but I am drawn to number four. The first thing that comes to my mind is Ephesians 5: 15, 16: Be very careful, then, how you live–not as unwise but as wise, making the most of every opportunity, because the days are evil. (NIV). I have always been challenged by those two verses, wondering how many times I was too wrapped up in some petty, narcissistic challenge that I missed a chance to share, help, smile, encourage, show empathy, laugh, pray, hug, listen or just be emotionally present for someone else.
And the people are out there. The situations are in front of us every day. But we need “eyes to see.” I can sit on a park bench and read or eat my lunch and notice how nice and quiet it is, not much going on. But if I put my book down and stare down at the ground and wait, within seconds I begin to notice the ants moving back and forth across the ground. And I see another bug working its way through the grass. And then another. The ground beneath my feet is busy, full of activity and bustling. But I would never see that unless I stopped, adjusted my eyesight, and attempted to see a step deeper than what I am trained to see in a superficial, customary way. I want to see those things around me that can only be seen when I pay attention—and then have the courage to act. I want to make the most of every opportunity. Does it mean having to slow down to notice? Not always but I don’t think it hurts.
Four things come not back:
1. The spoken word
2. The spent arrow
3. The past
4. The neglected opportunity
When I first read those words they were credited as an “Arab Proverb.” I don’t know if that is where it comes from or not—I don't always trust such a general acknowledgment—but the power behind it is universal. There is much there to dissect but I am drawn to number four. The first thing that comes to my mind is Ephesians 5: 15, 16: Be very careful, then, how you live–not as unwise but as wise, making the most of every opportunity, because the days are evil. (NIV). I have always been challenged by those two verses, wondering how many times I was too wrapped up in some petty, narcissistic challenge that I missed a chance to share, help, smile, encourage, show empathy, laugh, pray, hug, listen or just be emotionally present for someone else.
And the people are out there. The situations are in front of us every day. But we need “eyes to see.” I can sit on a park bench and read or eat my lunch and notice how nice and quiet it is, not much going on. But if I put my book down and stare down at the ground and wait, within seconds I begin to notice the ants moving back and forth across the ground. And I see another bug working its way through the grass. And then another. The ground beneath my feet is busy, full of activity and bustling. But I would never see that unless I stopped, adjusted my eyesight, and attempted to see a step deeper than what I am trained to see in a superficial, customary way. I want to see those things around me that can only be seen when I pay attention—and then have the courage to act. I want to make the most of every opportunity. Does it mean having to slow down to notice? Not always but I don’t think it hurts.
4/25/2008
Entry Ninety-eight: Adam Mahoney, You Just Won!
[This entry is the current story I am working on. This is twenty-eight of who knows how many will be posted. Enjoy it while it lasts...]
Adam stood in front of the sporting goods store, tire iron gripped tightly in his right hand, determined to get in and abscond some new workout clothes but unsure how. He had made his way to The Mall, a local misnomer for what amounted to two strips of store fronts facing each other, divided by a double sidewalk. It was as fancy as they had been able to generate in Grayson. It wasn’t large enough to crush the downtown businesses but it contained all of the stores usually found in fancier malls in bigger cities, so the business community was relatively happy with the arrangement.
Adam had hoped the back door to the store would be accessible, much like the grocery store, but when he checked it he realized it was solid and secured by deadbolts. He wasn’t going to penetrate that with a tire iron. Now, standing in front of the store, he was confronted with walls of glass and his only option was to shatter something and force his way in. He didn’t like the idea of destroying property but the displays of clothes and shoes through the window were motivating him to proceed. He swung the tire iron back over his head and brought it forward against the glass door with minimal force, hoping to do enough damage to gain entrance but not make a mess. The instant the metal bar hit the reinforced door it bounced back with surprising speed, barely missing his face on the rebound. He tried again using a little more energy but the result was the same; the door was intact and the clothes were safe. He took a deep breath, grabbed the tire iron with both hands, assumed the stance of a clean-up hitter and brought the metal bat across his body with full thrust and power, swinging so hard he lifted himself off the ground. The moment of impact was a glorious display of glass shards arcing through the air, showering Adam as he struggled to gain his balance and not fall into the ragged door frame. The combustion was accompanied by its own song, a musical escort, as the store alarm started screaming an awful combination of deep honks and staccato, piercing shrieks which caused Adam to panic. He quickly knocked out the large, remaining chunks of glass in the door frame and pushed his way into the store, frantically looking for the box on the wall that controlled the alarm. He ran to the rear of the store, assuming it would be in the back where the owner would daily enter and exit and he spotted a small, blinking box on the wall by the door. He started pushing buttons randomly, hoping some lucky sequence would stop the cacophony, but nothing worked. The noise was deafening and he was having trouble concentrating, his hands shaking as he tried to miraculously punch in the right combination. Frustrated, he hit the box with the flat of his hand which gave him an idea. He stepped back and swung down hard with the tire iron, smashing the box into several pieces, exposing wires and controls, all dangling from the wall. Yet the alarm was still alive and screaming. He continued to pound on the wall, creating holes all around the target until, finally, one swing met the mark, the metal rod snagging the wires and ripping them from their source. The alarm immediately stopped, the silence of the store pronounced and a relief. Adam sagged to the floor, dropping the tire iron that suddenly felt like it weighed 200 pounds. His hearing was muffled allowing his heart beat to pound clearly in his head, throbbing yet slowing, as he remained still, leaning against the store’s wall. “Damn, that was ridiculous,” he said as he struggled to pull a cigarette and lighter from his shirt pocket. The cigarette helped to calm him and after a second one, for good measure, he stood up and began to shop.
All words and images ©2007/J. Colle
Adam stood in front of the sporting goods store, tire iron gripped tightly in his right hand, determined to get in and abscond some new workout clothes but unsure how. He had made his way to The Mall, a local misnomer for what amounted to two strips of store fronts facing each other, divided by a double sidewalk. It was as fancy as they had been able to generate in Grayson. It wasn’t large enough to crush the downtown businesses but it contained all of the stores usually found in fancier malls in bigger cities, so the business community was relatively happy with the arrangement.
Adam had hoped the back door to the store would be accessible, much like the grocery store, but when he checked it he realized it was solid and secured by deadbolts. He wasn’t going to penetrate that with a tire iron. Now, standing in front of the store, he was confronted with walls of glass and his only option was to shatter something and force his way in. He didn’t like the idea of destroying property but the displays of clothes and shoes through the window were motivating him to proceed. He swung the tire iron back over his head and brought it forward against the glass door with minimal force, hoping to do enough damage to gain entrance but not make a mess. The instant the metal bar hit the reinforced door it bounced back with surprising speed, barely missing his face on the rebound. He tried again using a little more energy but the result was the same; the door was intact and the clothes were safe. He took a deep breath, grabbed the tire iron with both hands, assumed the stance of a clean-up hitter and brought the metal bat across his body with full thrust and power, swinging so hard he lifted himself off the ground. The moment of impact was a glorious display of glass shards arcing through the air, showering Adam as he struggled to gain his balance and not fall into the ragged door frame. The combustion was accompanied by its own song, a musical escort, as the store alarm started screaming an awful combination of deep honks and staccato, piercing shrieks which caused Adam to panic. He quickly knocked out the large, remaining chunks of glass in the door frame and pushed his way into the store, frantically looking for the box on the wall that controlled the alarm. He ran to the rear of the store, assuming it would be in the back where the owner would daily enter and exit and he spotted a small, blinking box on the wall by the door. He started pushing buttons randomly, hoping some lucky sequence would stop the cacophony, but nothing worked. The noise was deafening and he was having trouble concentrating, his hands shaking as he tried to miraculously punch in the right combination. Frustrated, he hit the box with the flat of his hand which gave him an idea. He stepped back and swung down hard with the tire iron, smashing the box into several pieces, exposing wires and controls, all dangling from the wall. Yet the alarm was still alive and screaming. He continued to pound on the wall, creating holes all around the target until, finally, one swing met the mark, the metal rod snagging the wires and ripping them from their source. The alarm immediately stopped, the silence of the store pronounced and a relief. Adam sagged to the floor, dropping the tire iron that suddenly felt like it weighed 200 pounds. His hearing was muffled allowing his heart beat to pound clearly in his head, throbbing yet slowing, as he remained still, leaning against the store’s wall. “Damn, that was ridiculous,” he said as he struggled to pull a cigarette and lighter from his shirt pocket. The cigarette helped to calm him and after a second one, for good measure, he stood up and began to shop.
All words and images ©2007/J. Colle
Food for Thought on Casual Friday
In re-reading The Screwtape Letters, this passage gave me pause:
(Screwtape is teaching Wormwood about “Nothing”) It does not matter how small the sins are provided that their cumulative effect is to edge the man away from the Light and out into the Nothing. Murder is no better than cards if cards can do the trick. Indeed the safest road to Hell is the gradual one—the gentle slope, soft underfoot, without sudden turnings, without milestones, without signposts.
C.S. Lewis
The Screwtape Letters
It is a reminder to me to be diligent, to not get bogged down in dodging the big sins to the point of missing the slow layering of the little ones. Chew gently and thoughtfully as you work this around your molars.
(Screwtape is teaching Wormwood about “Nothing”) It does not matter how small the sins are provided that their cumulative effect is to edge the man away from the Light and out into the Nothing. Murder is no better than cards if cards can do the trick. Indeed the safest road to Hell is the gradual one—the gentle slope, soft underfoot, without sudden turnings, without milestones, without signposts.
C.S. Lewis
The Screwtape Letters
It is a reminder to me to be diligent, to not get bogged down in dodging the big sins to the point of missing the slow layering of the little ones. Chew gently and thoughtfully as you work this around your molars.
4/23/2008
Entry Ninety-seven: Adam Mahoney, You Just Won!
[This entry is the current story I am working on. This is twenty-seven of who knows how many will be posted. Enjoy it while it lasts...]
Chapter Eleven
Adam Mahoney was on his hands and knees, crawling in his closet, trying to locate an old pair of running shoes in the explosion of clothes and life leftovers that covered the floor. He was determined to begin his quest towards physical fitness immediately but finding the proper equipment was proving a detriment. “Maybe they’re in the garage,” he said and he pushed himself off the ground and started making his way across the house to resume his search. As he passed the living room he noticed the sofa and the disaster that was a visual reminder of his recent setback. He had not cleaned any of it and had successfully ignored the scene every time he passed it going to and from his bedroom. He sighed, the kind of resigned reaction when the obvious thing to do is the exact opposite thing in which you want to engage. As he moved toward the mess, he stepped on an empty DVD cover and thought about Blockbuster. He picked up an empty, plastic, liter bottle that had contained orange soda in earlier times and he thought about the fly-infested IGA. He glanced out the back window, saw the shed and thought about Phelps Hardware. He stood up straight and said, “Why the hell am I looking for my old running shoes when I can go to the store and get a brand new, top-of-the line pair for free?” He abandoned his cleaning task and looked for his keys.
All words and images ©2007/J. Colle
Chapter Eleven
Adam Mahoney was on his hands and knees, crawling in his closet, trying to locate an old pair of running shoes in the explosion of clothes and life leftovers that covered the floor. He was determined to begin his quest towards physical fitness immediately but finding the proper equipment was proving a detriment. “Maybe they’re in the garage,” he said and he pushed himself off the ground and started making his way across the house to resume his search. As he passed the living room he noticed the sofa and the disaster that was a visual reminder of his recent setback. He had not cleaned any of it and had successfully ignored the scene every time he passed it going to and from his bedroom. He sighed, the kind of resigned reaction when the obvious thing to do is the exact opposite thing in which you want to engage. As he moved toward the mess, he stepped on an empty DVD cover and thought about Blockbuster. He picked up an empty, plastic, liter bottle that had contained orange soda in earlier times and he thought about the fly-infested IGA. He glanced out the back window, saw the shed and thought about Phelps Hardware. He stood up straight and said, “Why the hell am I looking for my old running shoes when I can go to the store and get a brand new, top-of-the line pair for free?” He abandoned his cleaning task and looked for his keys.
All words and images ©2007/J. Colle
Jayservation: 005/2008
I am currently reading a really interesting (and very good) book by Pete Gall entitled “My Beautiful Idol.” It’s a memoir of sorts and the thing that jumps off the page is the honesty. It feels like he made the decision to write everything exactly as he thought it— no gloss, no PC editing, no adjusting to make himself sound like a better person. And I am surprised how many times I catch myself muttering in agreement or in raw recognition of what I am reading. Here is an example that jumped out at me just this evening:
I know that in the same night I can experience the failure of lurid fantasies concerning a married woman and also the immediate reality of a God whose love for me is greater than my ability to remain still and experience it. It is an exquisite torture, the evidence of heaven and hell mingled and foaming as ravenous fighting dogs within me. I can’t tell for sure which fighting dog I’m rooting for, and I couldn’t even begin to muster the courage to shoot the other.
Buy the book. There is more where that came from.
I know that in the same night I can experience the failure of lurid fantasies concerning a married woman and also the immediate reality of a God whose love for me is greater than my ability to remain still and experience it. It is an exquisite torture, the evidence of heaven and hell mingled and foaming as ravenous fighting dogs within me. I can’t tell for sure which fighting dog I’m rooting for, and I couldn’t even begin to muster the courage to shoot the other.
Buy the book. There is more where that came from.
4/22/2008
Jayservation: 004/2008
There is a lot going through my head right now and I really wish it wasn’t. I try to keep the valve barely open for fear that if I twisted the knob all the way to the left I would release a free form rant that would be scary and not make a lick of sense. So let’s keep it to one thing shall we? How about waiting? I realize that Tom Petty may not be officially recognized as one of our modern day prophets--at least in the Christian tradition--but he pretty much nailed it with the line “the waiting is the hardest part.” Right now I am in limbo about several areas in my life (i.e. waiting) and I told my wife that I am truly not concerned about the outcome of any of the situations. I am okay with whichever direction God deems to lead. What I am struggling with is this time of letting it play out (i.e waiting for the direction to reveal itself). All the platitudes, Bible verses and empty quotes from pillars of faith do nothing to temper my imagination from careening between every possible solution, constantly playing out all the “what ifs” and “just maybes.” Oh how I long to be content in the waiting. To rest in the unknown and let it play out in its proper time without the teeth grinding and churning stomach. To have the relaxed smile on my face generate from a real place and not be a plastered facade. I’ve been here before, eerily so, and you would think it gets easier. And if I am honest with my self analysis, I can admit I have gotten better over time. The angst is not as bitter, the fear not as crippling. And on that I will hang my hat. Progress, regardless how slight, is progress. At this rate, my prayer is that I will be a calm old man for my grandkids...
The waiting is the hardest part
Every day you see one more card
You take it on faith, you take it to the heart
The waiting is the hardest part
--”Tom” Earl Petty
The waiting is the hardest part
Every day you see one more card
You take it on faith, you take it to the heart
The waiting is the hardest part
--”Tom” Earl Petty
4/20/2008
Jayservation: 003/2008
I was watching Sunday Night Baseball on ESPN tonight and the announcers were discussing Jose Reyes, shortstop for the New York Mets. He is the latest model of “Mr. Excitement” in professional baseball and they were commenting on how much fun he has playing the game (which is not too difficult when you make over $4 million to play a game but I will try to back off the cynicism for a brief moment). Then they told the story about how he was ten years old when he started playing baseball in the Dominican Republic and he used “an egg crate for a glove and an orange for a baseball.” My initial, obnoxious American response was to question the authenticity of the story, wondering if it was some Latin version of a Monty Python skit. All I could picture was a little boy asking to get in the latest pick-up game at the dusty, litter-strewn field only to be rebuffed by the other boys because his “glove” was too small—it was a 12 crate and not an 18. “You can’t catch a tangerine with that glove, Jose, much less an orange!” Oops, I forgot I said I would back off the cynicism. I suck.
Jayservation: 002/2008
Recently our pastor was leading us through John 11 which is the section where Jesus raises Lazarus from the dead. It wasn’t the usual high powered miracle that caught my eye this particular night (nor was it the famous “shortest verse in the Bible”) but something earlier in the passage. As you start your work week, remember this practical advice from Jesus of Nazareth.
“Anyone who walks in daylight doesn’t stumble because there’s plenty of light from the sun. Walking at night, he might very well stumble because he can’t see where he is going.” (John 11: 9,10 The Message)
Ain’t that the truth. May you have fewer bruised shins and stubbed toes as you move through the coming days.
“Anyone who walks in daylight doesn’t stumble because there’s plenty of light from the sun. Walking at night, he might very well stumble because he can’t see where he is going.” (John 11: 9,10 The Message)
Ain’t that the truth. May you have fewer bruised shins and stubbed toes as you move through the coming days.
4/18/2008
Jayservation: 001/2008
I read a column (if that is what it is referred to online--or am I still holding on to old terminology in a new digital world?) yesterday by Dick Staub. He is a fellow who is constantly trying to draw people into a conversation about the intersection of faith and art. Obviously, that is something I am interested in so I try to follow what he has to say. (He also has a lot of interesting podcasts at one of his other sites called The Kindlings Muse. Give those a listen if you are so inclined. They are available directly from the site or through iTunes.) The column he posted yesterday listed a number of quotes from famous (or not) people who were discussing how the arts help people see God. Several were good, a couple were great but the one that hit me the hardest was by Julian of Norwich. She is considered to be one of the greatest English mystics and lived in the 1300's. Her quote was: "O God, please give me three wounds; the wound of contrition and the wound of compassion and the wound of longing after God. This I ask without condition."
Without condition. That is a tough prayer. To get beyond myself to the point that I can honestly leave it all in God's hands is a goal, but I cannot say with any conviction that I have achieved that. And why not? Who better to make those decisions for me? Who better can I trust than my Creator? Why is it so hard? Do we not truly believe? It makes it easier to understand Mark 9:24 when the father of the possessed child tells Jesus, "I do believe; help my unbelief." But we are stubborn. Instead of,"Lord, what is Your plan" we are prone to pray, "Lord, bless my plans." Selfish, male and so very American (forgive my redundancy). I pray that I can get to that place for everything. To trust completely and "be anxious for nothing," following the one entity in my life that loves me more than I love myself.
Without condition. That is a tough prayer. To get beyond myself to the point that I can honestly leave it all in God's hands is a goal, but I cannot say with any conviction that I have achieved that. And why not? Who better to make those decisions for me? Who better can I trust than my Creator? Why is it so hard? Do we not truly believe? It makes it easier to understand Mark 9:24 when the father of the possessed child tells Jesus, "I do believe; help my unbelief." But we are stubborn. Instead of,"Lord, what is Your plan" we are prone to pray, "Lord, bless my plans." Selfish, male and so very American (forgive my redundancy). I pray that I can get to that place for everything. To trust completely and "be anxious for nothing," following the one entity in my life that loves me more than I love myself.
97 Posts, last published on Oct 17, 2007
It has obviously been a long time since I wrote on this blog. I will dispense with all the apologies and mea culpa’s (mainly because not writing here was a conscious decision so I’m really not sorry). But I think I am ready to dive back in. I realize all three of you that used to read this may not care anymore but I will proceed for myself. We’ll see how long it lasts.
Stay tuned.
Stay tuned.
10/17/2007
Entry Ninety-six: Adam Mahoney, You Just Won!
[The next many entries are the current story I am working on. This is twenty-six of who knows how many will be posted. Enjoy it while it lasts...]
He filled the mower’s tank with gasoline and pushed it to his driveway. Before cranking the engine he surveyed his small, bedraggled kingdom, trying to formulate a plan. “I may as well start across the street and work my way around. It shouldn’t take me too long to cut six yards.” Satisfied, he pulled the starter rope and prepared to get lost in his new lawn maintenance career.
Fifteen minutes later he stopped. He was out of breath, dizzy and had to sit down. He dropped on to the steps leading up to his neighbor’s porch and tried to regain his composure but the air was not filling his lungs fast enough and his heartbeat was throbbing in his ears. His struggles lasted for several minutes before some normalcy returned and he was able to start a regular breathing pattern and gain enough control to walk across the street to his home for some water. As he sat in the kitchen, smoking a cigarette, he wondered what was happening to him. He had never been in great shape but this was beyond any physical struggle he had ever encountered; he’d never had to take a break from cutting the front yard before. Had his recent movie phase sucked that much out of him? He wasn’t sure how long he had camped on the sofa but apparently it was long enough to alter his constitution and aerobic capacity. “This is ridiculous.” He wanted another glass of water but he wanted to get up and fix it even less. As he stared at the empty glass, wishing his autonomy had come with super powers so he could make the glass fill on its own, a massive realization struck him. It wasn’t massive in that the idea it generated was brilliant, but it was massive in that, like a lot of things, the small idea led him to move, to take a baby step, to begin an activity that would eventually evolve into a turning point in his existence as the last person standing on the face of the earth. “I need to get in shape,” he said out loud, to no one in particular.
All words and images ©2007/J. Colle
He filled the mower’s tank with gasoline and pushed it to his driveway. Before cranking the engine he surveyed his small, bedraggled kingdom, trying to formulate a plan. “I may as well start across the street and work my way around. It shouldn’t take me too long to cut six yards.” Satisfied, he pulled the starter rope and prepared to get lost in his new lawn maintenance career.
Fifteen minutes later he stopped. He was out of breath, dizzy and had to sit down. He dropped on to the steps leading up to his neighbor’s porch and tried to regain his composure but the air was not filling his lungs fast enough and his heartbeat was throbbing in his ears. His struggles lasted for several minutes before some normalcy returned and he was able to start a regular breathing pattern and gain enough control to walk across the street to his home for some water. As he sat in the kitchen, smoking a cigarette, he wondered what was happening to him. He had never been in great shape but this was beyond any physical struggle he had ever encountered; he’d never had to take a break from cutting the front yard before. Had his recent movie phase sucked that much out of him? He wasn’t sure how long he had camped on the sofa but apparently it was long enough to alter his constitution and aerobic capacity. “This is ridiculous.” He wanted another glass of water but he wanted to get up and fix it even less. As he stared at the empty glass, wishing his autonomy had come with super powers so he could make the glass fill on its own, a massive realization struck him. It wasn’t massive in that the idea it generated was brilliant, but it was massive in that, like a lot of things, the small idea led him to move, to take a baby step, to begin an activity that would eventually evolve into a turning point in his existence as the last person standing on the face of the earth. “I need to get in shape,” he said out loud, to no one in particular.
All words and images ©2007/J. Colle
10/10/2007
Entry Ninety-five: Adam Mahoney, You Just Won!
[The next many entries are the current story I am working on. This is twenty-five of who knows how many will be posted. Enjoy it while it lasts...]
Chapter Ten
Adam stood dead center in the doorway that provided a portal between his bedroom and the rest of the house. With a clearer head, post hot shower, the site of his recent habitat depressed him further. What had he been thinking to allow himself to fall into that circle of hell? What was causing his random dives into apathy and indifference? “Besides the fact that I’m the very last person standing on the face of the earth? And there’s no manual?” The ridiculousness of that reality made him smile, slightly, and he moved into the living room to begin another round of clean up. He glanced out the window framing the front door on his way to the kitchen to grab a garbage can and what he saw stopped him in mid step. The Broughton’s house across the street was surrounded by a jungle of overgrown yard and plants. The sight of their normally manicured lawn so overgrown and in disarray jarred him and he slowly walked to the front door and stepped out on the front porch to get a closer look. He scanned the houses on either side of the Broughton’s and they revealed a similar state of disorder. The three yards were indistinguishable, no lines of demarcation, no way to know what belonged to whom, just one big, messy field with three houses plopped in the center for show. His own yard was in need of a cut but, since he had mowed his recently, his stood out as a showcase for maintenance. The yards on either side of his house were in the same sorry shape as the ones across the street. And all of the shagginess bothered him. With a sudden sense of urgency, Adam turned and walked through the house, out the back door and headed straight for the shed. “I’ll mow, that’s what I’ll do.” He felt like a recovering addict, fully engaging in the creed of “one day at a time,” only altering it for his own unique situation to “one activity at a time.” He gained energy and warmth when he had a task at hand. It was the time in-between tasks that were killing him.
All words and images ©2007/J. Colle
Chapter Ten
Adam stood dead center in the doorway that provided a portal between his bedroom and the rest of the house. With a clearer head, post hot shower, the site of his recent habitat depressed him further. What had he been thinking to allow himself to fall into that circle of hell? What was causing his random dives into apathy and indifference? “Besides the fact that I’m the very last person standing on the face of the earth? And there’s no manual?” The ridiculousness of that reality made him smile, slightly, and he moved into the living room to begin another round of clean up. He glanced out the window framing the front door on his way to the kitchen to grab a garbage can and what he saw stopped him in mid step. The Broughton’s house across the street was surrounded by a jungle of overgrown yard and plants. The sight of their normally manicured lawn so overgrown and in disarray jarred him and he slowly walked to the front door and stepped out on the front porch to get a closer look. He scanned the houses on either side of the Broughton’s and they revealed a similar state of disorder. The three yards were indistinguishable, no lines of demarcation, no way to know what belonged to whom, just one big, messy field with three houses plopped in the center for show. His own yard was in need of a cut but, since he had mowed his recently, his stood out as a showcase for maintenance. The yards on either side of his house were in the same sorry shape as the ones across the street. And all of the shagginess bothered him. With a sudden sense of urgency, Adam turned and walked through the house, out the back door and headed straight for the shed. “I’ll mow, that’s what I’ll do.” He felt like a recovering addict, fully engaging in the creed of “one day at a time,” only altering it for his own unique situation to “one activity at a time.” He gained energy and warmth when he had a task at hand. It was the time in-between tasks that were killing him.
All words and images ©2007/J. Colle
10/03/2007
Entry Ninety-four: Adam Mahoney, You Just Won!
[The next many entries are the current story I am working on. This is twenty-four of who knows how many will be posted. Enjoy it while it lasts...]
Armed with fresh supplies, Adam bivouacked on the sofa and returned to his previously established rhythm; movies, food and bathroom breaks. He wasn’t sure how long he could maintain that particular lifestyle but he was far from concerned about it and pushed it aside when it floated to the forefront of his mind. Ignoring them wasn’t an arduous task, the thoughts weren’t there very often, maybe forming as he switched out the movies or as he sat on the toilet, but never fully developed. They were easy to dismiss. His near fanatical desire to watch movies proved stronger than any other thoughts he could conjure and he saw no reason to fight that urge. The cadence he had created was mesmerizing and numbing, both welcome states that masked his situation and helped him ignore the obvious. Besides, he was king, emperor and sovereign ruler over all as the last man standing on the face of the earth and if he wanted to lie around and watch movies all day and night he could; there was no one to stop him. And the “no one” part of the equation was what made being numb and mesmerized so appealing.
He had no idea how long he remained in that reclusive condition, lost in the repetitive tempo he had created and perfected. The movies were blurring together, none making sense any more, relegated to serving as a sedative, far removed from entertaining him as he camped out on the sofa. His food and movie supplies dwindled to dregs at approximately the same time and by then he had no idea if it was morning or night much less what day of the year it was. He was sluggish and had just woken up on the sofa, music playing in his head. As he lay there, adjusting to post REM consciousness, trying to gain a toehold on where he was and who he was, his thoughts turned to other things. Maybe it was the music which he now identified as coming from the television, the background accompaniment to an ignored DVD menu repeating a dissonant loop of violins and cellos, which was familiar, but not by much, just enough to stir something deep inside him. The cavern, the bottomless chasm, still echoed, yet to be filled. Maybe the latest phase, the catatonic videophile stage, had run its course. If he had hoped it would fill a need he had been wrong. He was suddenly aware that he needed to try something else, anything to pull out of the funk he had snuggled into. But what? Something familiar would be good, something that would require little thought. He sat up and his body protested. He was stiff and even the pedestrian attempt to lift off the sofa was harder than he had anticipated. As he scanned the living room he observed the arc of nastiness he had created over the last few days—weeks?—which was limited to a three foot radius around the sofa. The rest of the house appeared tidy but he had to kick wrappers and discarded plates out of his way to clear a path to his bathroom. He avoided his reflection, sure it would be alarming, and he turned on the water in the shower. He was vaguely aware that he had come full circle but he was not sure what he could do about it.
All words and images ©2007/J. Colle
Armed with fresh supplies, Adam bivouacked on the sofa and returned to his previously established rhythm; movies, food and bathroom breaks. He wasn’t sure how long he could maintain that particular lifestyle but he was far from concerned about it and pushed it aside when it floated to the forefront of his mind. Ignoring them wasn’t an arduous task, the thoughts weren’t there very often, maybe forming as he switched out the movies or as he sat on the toilet, but never fully developed. They were easy to dismiss. His near fanatical desire to watch movies proved stronger than any other thoughts he could conjure and he saw no reason to fight that urge. The cadence he had created was mesmerizing and numbing, both welcome states that masked his situation and helped him ignore the obvious. Besides, he was king, emperor and sovereign ruler over all as the last man standing on the face of the earth and if he wanted to lie around and watch movies all day and night he could; there was no one to stop him. And the “no one” part of the equation was what made being numb and mesmerized so appealing.
He had no idea how long he remained in that reclusive condition, lost in the repetitive tempo he had created and perfected. The movies were blurring together, none making sense any more, relegated to serving as a sedative, far removed from entertaining him as he camped out on the sofa. His food and movie supplies dwindled to dregs at approximately the same time and by then he had no idea if it was morning or night much less what day of the year it was. He was sluggish and had just woken up on the sofa, music playing in his head. As he lay there, adjusting to post REM consciousness, trying to gain a toehold on where he was and who he was, his thoughts turned to other things. Maybe it was the music which he now identified as coming from the television, the background accompaniment to an ignored DVD menu repeating a dissonant loop of violins and cellos, which was familiar, but not by much, just enough to stir something deep inside him. The cavern, the bottomless chasm, still echoed, yet to be filled. Maybe the latest phase, the catatonic videophile stage, had run its course. If he had hoped it would fill a need he had been wrong. He was suddenly aware that he needed to try something else, anything to pull out of the funk he had snuggled into. But what? Something familiar would be good, something that would require little thought. He sat up and his body protested. He was stiff and even the pedestrian attempt to lift off the sofa was harder than he had anticipated. As he scanned the living room he observed the arc of nastiness he had created over the last few days—weeks?—which was limited to a three foot radius around the sofa. The rest of the house appeared tidy but he had to kick wrappers and discarded plates out of his way to clear a path to his bathroom. He avoided his reflection, sure it would be alarming, and he turned on the water in the shower. He was vaguely aware that he had come full circle but he was not sure what he could do about it.
All words and images ©2007/J. Colle
9/29/2007
Entry Ninety-three: Adam Mahoney, You Just Won!
[The next many entries are the current story I am working on. This is twenty-three of who knows how many will be posted. Enjoy it while it lasts...]
He ran out of food before he ran out of movies. He knew he had to return to the grocery store and restock his refrigerator and pantry but it was almost as hard to leave this time as it had been his initial voyage outside the house. Before he left he had the sense to put a couple of bags of garbage in his trunk with the intention of using the dumpster behind the grocery store as his personal waste management facility. The second trip to the grocery store was quick, aided by the ease of entry and the near overpowering stench filling the inside of the store. The fruits and vegetables were now beyond eating and were breaking down in festering piles in the far corner of the store. The air conditioning had not discouraged the flies from descending and they were in abundance, hassling Adam as he tried to make it through the store in short order but not so fast as to forget something. Fortunately the freezers were all in working order so he made the majority of his selections from their crowded shelves as well as stocking up on canned food. Based on the amount of cans on the shelves he assumed he would have tuna and ravioli for as long as he could stomach it. The bread was becoming another casualty of time so he took a few minutes to dig through what was stocked and found several loaves of white bread that were still mold-free, dropped two into his cart and placed the rest in one of the freezers to try and prolong it’s shelf life. After half an hour he felt he had gathered enough food to get him through another week, at least, plus the stench and the flies were winning the war on his patience and he wanted to get outside. He had started out the automatic door–which opened flawlessly--when he remembered his annoyance from his last trip there and he stopped, jogged to a checkout station and started searching under the counter for some bags. “Plastic will be fine, thank you.” He threw a box of them into his cart and quickly left the store.
As he moved his groceries from the cart to the Volvo, he placed everything in the bags, piling everything into the trunk. When he steered the car out of the parking lot he didn’t hesitate, not because he was getting used to being the last man standing on the face of the earth but because he was distracted by the lure of the idea of stopping by the video store for more movies, even though the store was not conveniently on his way home. He couldn’t, or wouldn’t, figure out why he wanted more DVD’s because he had not watched even half of the ones he had at the house. As he passed his street and continued toward Blockbuster he shrugged his shoulders and said, “Anything beats mowing the yard.”
All words and images ©2007/J. Colle
He ran out of food before he ran out of movies. He knew he had to return to the grocery store and restock his refrigerator and pantry but it was almost as hard to leave this time as it had been his initial voyage outside the house. Before he left he had the sense to put a couple of bags of garbage in his trunk with the intention of using the dumpster behind the grocery store as his personal waste management facility. The second trip to the grocery store was quick, aided by the ease of entry and the near overpowering stench filling the inside of the store. The fruits and vegetables were now beyond eating and were breaking down in festering piles in the far corner of the store. The air conditioning had not discouraged the flies from descending and they were in abundance, hassling Adam as he tried to make it through the store in short order but not so fast as to forget something. Fortunately the freezers were all in working order so he made the majority of his selections from their crowded shelves as well as stocking up on canned food. Based on the amount of cans on the shelves he assumed he would have tuna and ravioli for as long as he could stomach it. The bread was becoming another casualty of time so he took a few minutes to dig through what was stocked and found several loaves of white bread that were still mold-free, dropped two into his cart and placed the rest in one of the freezers to try and prolong it’s shelf life. After half an hour he felt he had gathered enough food to get him through another week, at least, plus the stench and the flies were winning the war on his patience and he wanted to get outside. He had started out the automatic door–which opened flawlessly--when he remembered his annoyance from his last trip there and he stopped, jogged to a checkout station and started searching under the counter for some bags. “Plastic will be fine, thank you.” He threw a box of them into his cart and quickly left the store.
As he moved his groceries from the cart to the Volvo, he placed everything in the bags, piling everything into the trunk. When he steered the car out of the parking lot he didn’t hesitate, not because he was getting used to being the last man standing on the face of the earth but because he was distracted by the lure of the idea of stopping by the video store for more movies, even though the store was not conveniently on his way home. He couldn’t, or wouldn’t, figure out why he wanted more DVD’s because he had not watched even half of the ones he had at the house. As he passed his street and continued toward Blockbuster he shrugged his shoulders and said, “Anything beats mowing the yard.”
All words and images ©2007/J. Colle
1/24/2007
3/10/2006
Entry Ninety-two: Adam Mahoney, You Just Won!
[The next many entries are the current story I am working on. This is twenty-two of who knows how many will be posted. Enjoy it while it lasts...]
Chapter Nine
The long night turned into a long several days. Once Adam had watched a couple of movies he started establishing a rhythm, alternating between bathroom breaks and restocking his food supply on the coffee table that was strategically placed at arms length from the sofa. Once he made it through the first five or six DVD's that he had prioritized as essential viewing, he found he was, initially, less patient with the movies that followed. He would fast forward through some and bailed out of one altogether when its content proved to be boring and impossible to watch.
As movie number eleven began playing through his television, Adam noticed a settling over his spirit, a euphoric wash that, if pushed to describe it, he would have said was a feeling of peace. He felt himself relax and he began to think less about the quality of the movies and chose to lose himself in the experience, regardless of storyline or cinematography. He had no place to go, nothing else to do, so he shifted to a comfortable spot in the sofa and began watching every movie lined up on his floor, back to back, never stopping them or fast forwarding them until the credits rolled at the end. If a DVD included extra material--commentary or “behind the scenes” documentaries--he sat through those sections as well, giving them as much attention as he did the actual film it described. If he fell asleep on the sofa during a movie, he would start it from the beginning when he woke up, continuing his obsessive new hobby, rarely finding a reason to get off the coach outside of using the bathroom or emptying the ashtray. His brief foray into being a respectable citizen had lasted for two days. Adam Mahoney had returned to being a disaster.
All words and images ©2006/J. Colle
Chapter Nine
The long night turned into a long several days. Once Adam had watched a couple of movies he started establishing a rhythm, alternating between bathroom breaks and restocking his food supply on the coffee table that was strategically placed at arms length from the sofa. Once he made it through the first five or six DVD's that he had prioritized as essential viewing, he found he was, initially, less patient with the movies that followed. He would fast forward through some and bailed out of one altogether when its content proved to be boring and impossible to watch.
As movie number eleven began playing through his television, Adam noticed a settling over his spirit, a euphoric wash that, if pushed to describe it, he would have said was a feeling of peace. He felt himself relax and he began to think less about the quality of the movies and chose to lose himself in the experience, regardless of storyline or cinematography. He had no place to go, nothing else to do, so he shifted to a comfortable spot in the sofa and began watching every movie lined up on his floor, back to back, never stopping them or fast forwarding them until the credits rolled at the end. If a DVD included extra material--commentary or “behind the scenes” documentaries--he sat through those sections as well, giving them as much attention as he did the actual film it described. If he fell asleep on the sofa during a movie, he would start it from the beginning when he woke up, continuing his obsessive new hobby, rarely finding a reason to get off the coach outside of using the bathroom or emptying the ashtray. His brief foray into being a respectable citizen had lasted for two days. Adam Mahoney had returned to being a disaster.
All words and images ©2006/J. Colle
2/14/2006
Entry Ninety-one: Adam Mahoney, You Just Won!
[The next many entries are the current story I am working on. This is twenty-one of who knows how many will be posted. Enjoy it while it lasts...]
Adam steered the Volvo toward the hardware store, turning left at the end of his street, the opposite way he’d traveled earlier in the week to find groceries. Gus Phelps had owned the only hardware store in town until a few years ago, before Lowe’s had deemed his small Georgia town worthy of a Superstore. He wanted to explore the Phelps store first because it was closer and he was more familiar with the location of the stock. Whether out of loyalty to Gus or lack of need for much in the way of hardware, he had shopped very little at Lowe’s. Gus had an older gentleman that worked for him who was a master at mixing paint and that was all Adam ever needed besides a few nails or screws for hanging pictures; Phelps Hardware filled his needs just fine. He was thinking about how he was going to break into the store when he passed a small strip mall, relatively new, still with a few empty storefronts. What caught Adam’s eye was the store on the far end, the contents of which relegated all of his goodwill and plans for home repair to the trash pile. The local Blockbuster video store, lit up and almost glowing, suddenly reminded him he could use his television for more than just watching long gone broadcast shows; he could play rented movies on his DVD player. He engaged his turn signal and made a right into the strip mall parking lot, making a beeline for the video store. There were a couple of cars scattered throughout the parking lot—probably belonging to the employees, former employees—but overall it was desolate. He parked at the front door and walked right into the store, a benefit of visiting a store that had never closed. He began circulating through the aisles, trying not to succumb to what usually happened to him when he attempted to rent movies, which was forgetting what he had been wanting to see once inundated with all the choices in the store. To try and avoid that happening he had taken to writing the names of the movies down on a piece of paper he kept in his wallet but, after digging around and not finding it, he was on his own. He took a deep breath and decided to start with the section full of new releases. After five minutes of looking he had only found a couple of movies he wanted to see and was carrying them as he walked and scanned for more. Unsuccessful, he decided his two selections would suffice and he turned to leave. As he was about to walk through the door he realized how short-sighted he was being by only taking two movies. “Why limit myself? No minimum, no late fees and if I start watching a movie and it’s terrible, so what? I pop in another!” He leaned over the counter and found a box of plastic bags and grabbed several. He started walking the aisles, taking a movie off the shelf and bagging it if he was even remotely interested in watching it. He acted like a contestant in a game show with only 35 seconds to grab as many items as he could hold, barely looking at titles, his main motivation driven by the design and photograph on the front of the case more than the content. It didn’t take long for him to fill up 15 bags with movies and, although he could have taken everything in the store home that day, he decided he had enough to entertain him for several days. He could always come back and “rent” more.
The prospect of watching movies, being entertained, excited him so much he cancelled his trip to the hardware store and drove straight home. He dumped the contents of all the bags onto the living room floor, forming one large pile, and began to sort them by levels of importance. He cleared a space along one of the walls and began lining up the cases, titles facing out for easy reference. The ones he most wanted to see were first and then he lined up the rest in order of descending relevance. He laughed at some of the selections, weird choices that in normal circumstances he would not have even glanced at in the store. “But these are not normal circumstances, far from it, so it’s good to expand my taste a bit, at least when it comes to what I watch.” When he was finished organizing, he put some popcorn in the microwave, poured a glass of sweet tea and made sure he had a full supply of cigarettes stacked on the coffee table. “It’s liable to be a long night.” And he laughed.
All words and images ©2006/J. Colle
Adam steered the Volvo toward the hardware store, turning left at the end of his street, the opposite way he’d traveled earlier in the week to find groceries. Gus Phelps had owned the only hardware store in town until a few years ago, before Lowe’s had deemed his small Georgia town worthy of a Superstore. He wanted to explore the Phelps store first because it was closer and he was more familiar with the location of the stock. Whether out of loyalty to Gus or lack of need for much in the way of hardware, he had shopped very little at Lowe’s. Gus had an older gentleman that worked for him who was a master at mixing paint and that was all Adam ever needed besides a few nails or screws for hanging pictures; Phelps Hardware filled his needs just fine. He was thinking about how he was going to break into the store when he passed a small strip mall, relatively new, still with a few empty storefronts. What caught Adam’s eye was the store on the far end, the contents of which relegated all of his goodwill and plans for home repair to the trash pile. The local Blockbuster video store, lit up and almost glowing, suddenly reminded him he could use his television for more than just watching long gone broadcast shows; he could play rented movies on his DVD player. He engaged his turn signal and made a right into the strip mall parking lot, making a beeline for the video store. There were a couple of cars scattered throughout the parking lot—probably belonging to the employees, former employees—but overall it was desolate. He parked at the front door and walked right into the store, a benefit of visiting a store that had never closed. He began circulating through the aisles, trying not to succumb to what usually happened to him when he attempted to rent movies, which was forgetting what he had been wanting to see once inundated with all the choices in the store. To try and avoid that happening he had taken to writing the names of the movies down on a piece of paper he kept in his wallet but, after digging around and not finding it, he was on his own. He took a deep breath and decided to start with the section full of new releases. After five minutes of looking he had only found a couple of movies he wanted to see and was carrying them as he walked and scanned for more. Unsuccessful, he decided his two selections would suffice and he turned to leave. As he was about to walk through the door he realized how short-sighted he was being by only taking two movies. “Why limit myself? No minimum, no late fees and if I start watching a movie and it’s terrible, so what? I pop in another!” He leaned over the counter and found a box of plastic bags and grabbed several. He started walking the aisles, taking a movie off the shelf and bagging it if he was even remotely interested in watching it. He acted like a contestant in a game show with only 35 seconds to grab as many items as he could hold, barely looking at titles, his main motivation driven by the design and photograph on the front of the case more than the content. It didn’t take long for him to fill up 15 bags with movies and, although he could have taken everything in the store home that day, he decided he had enough to entertain him for several days. He could always come back and “rent” more.
The prospect of watching movies, being entertained, excited him so much he cancelled his trip to the hardware store and drove straight home. He dumped the contents of all the bags onto the living room floor, forming one large pile, and began to sort them by levels of importance. He cleared a space along one of the walls and began lining up the cases, titles facing out for easy reference. The ones he most wanted to see were first and then he lined up the rest in order of descending relevance. He laughed at some of the selections, weird choices that in normal circumstances he would not have even glanced at in the store. “But these are not normal circumstances, far from it, so it’s good to expand my taste a bit, at least when it comes to what I watch.” When he was finished organizing, he put some popcorn in the microwave, poured a glass of sweet tea and made sure he had a full supply of cigarettes stacked on the coffee table. “It’s liable to be a long night.” And he laughed.
All words and images ©2006/J. Colle
2/13/2006
Entry Ninety: Adam Mahoney, You Just Won!
[The next many entries are the current story I am working on. This is twenty of who knows how many will be posted. Enjoy it while it lasts...]
Chapter Eight
After a shower and starting a load of laundry, Adam stood in his living room and felt like he had returned to step one. What was he going to do? The house was clean, the yard was mowed, edged and driveway swept. He needed another project.
He walked out the back door and stood on the patio, enjoying a late afternoon smoke. The yard looked good and he took a few moments to relish his sense of accomplishment. The shed he had put together a few years ago to hold the lawn mower was in the far back corner of the yard and it was in bad shape. It was not an expensive model but it had served its purpose for longer than he had planned. The problem was now it was ugly and it distracted from the near perfection of his trimmed and sculpted back yard. He walked toward the shed to inspect it closer, taking his shoes off and enjoying the clipped grass on his bare feet. He pushed the rickety shed door to the side, it barely sliding over the rusty rails, and poked his head inside. The smell of gasoline, oil and stale air mingled in his nostrils as he stepped past the mower. He had been so focused on the yard earlier that he hadn’t noticed what else was stored there. Along the back wall, starting at the floor and stopping at the ceiling were gallon cans of paint stacked eight rows high and ten across. He had faint recollections of where they came from but he was sure, if opened, each color and tint would serve as a liquid core sample of his life in the current house. The drips down the outside of several of the cans gave him some clues to what was inside and he instantly recognized a few of the harsh colors his ex-wife had made him apply to various rooms in the house. Some were so hideous that their existence may have been the sole reason she didn’t push to keep the house in their divorce settlement. He’d always heard “paint’s cheap” but in this case it may have cost him quite a bit. The stacked cans represented a lot of time, energy and arguments between the two of them and the fact that they could not accomplish the simplest of household projects together was a microcosm of other areas of their relationship; they just couldn’t get along.
He broke away from his memory stroll and backed out of the shed, ducking, careful not to scrape his head on the top edge of the opening. The shed needed to be replaced and now was the time while it wouldn’t cost him anything. He headed back to the house to find his car keys and as he stepped on the patio he glanced at the outside of the house and stopped, scanning and inspecting the exterior walls. “Maybe I should pick up some house paint as well. The outside is looking a little dingy… and I’ve always wanted a blue house.”
All words and images ©2006/J. Colle
Chapter Eight
After a shower and starting a load of laundry, Adam stood in his living room and felt like he had returned to step one. What was he going to do? The house was clean, the yard was mowed, edged and driveway swept. He needed another project.
He walked out the back door and stood on the patio, enjoying a late afternoon smoke. The yard looked good and he took a few moments to relish his sense of accomplishment. The shed he had put together a few years ago to hold the lawn mower was in the far back corner of the yard and it was in bad shape. It was not an expensive model but it had served its purpose for longer than he had planned. The problem was now it was ugly and it distracted from the near perfection of his trimmed and sculpted back yard. He walked toward the shed to inspect it closer, taking his shoes off and enjoying the clipped grass on his bare feet. He pushed the rickety shed door to the side, it barely sliding over the rusty rails, and poked his head inside. The smell of gasoline, oil and stale air mingled in his nostrils as he stepped past the mower. He had been so focused on the yard earlier that he hadn’t noticed what else was stored there. Along the back wall, starting at the floor and stopping at the ceiling were gallon cans of paint stacked eight rows high and ten across. He had faint recollections of where they came from but he was sure, if opened, each color and tint would serve as a liquid core sample of his life in the current house. The drips down the outside of several of the cans gave him some clues to what was inside and he instantly recognized a few of the harsh colors his ex-wife had made him apply to various rooms in the house. Some were so hideous that their existence may have been the sole reason she didn’t push to keep the house in their divorce settlement. He’d always heard “paint’s cheap” but in this case it may have cost him quite a bit. The stacked cans represented a lot of time, energy and arguments between the two of them and the fact that they could not accomplish the simplest of household projects together was a microcosm of other areas of their relationship; they just couldn’t get along.
He broke away from his memory stroll and backed out of the shed, ducking, careful not to scrape his head on the top edge of the opening. The shed needed to be replaced and now was the time while it wouldn’t cost him anything. He headed back to the house to find his car keys and as he stepped on the patio he glanced at the outside of the house and stopped, scanning and inspecting the exterior walls. “Maybe I should pick up some house paint as well. The outside is looking a little dingy… and I’ve always wanted a blue house.”
All words and images ©2006/J. Colle
2/09/2006
Entry Eighty-nine: Adam Mahoney, You Just Won!
[The next many entries are the current story I am working on. This is nineteen of who knows how many will be posted. Enjoy it while it lasts...]
The sun streaked through the blinds in his bedroom and he shielded his eyes from nature’s alarm. He checked the clock on the nightstand and was disappointed it was so early. He lay still a few minutes, getting his bearings and then rolled over to start his day but was immediately stopped by stabs of soreness and stiffness throughout his body. He rolled back to his previous position and waited, hoping his body would be forgiving and give him another chance. After several failed attempts he finally made it to the edge of his bed and slowly unfolded his body to an upright position, not straight and tall but at least to a point of mobility. A long, hot shower drove away a lot of the aches and he was reasonably sure he would survive.
He made coffee and decided to enjoy his breakfast cigarette sitting on the front porch in one of his rocking chairs. It was already warm outside but the idea of fresh air allowed him to overlook the heat and humidity. As he rocked and smoked he surveyed the neighborhood, or at least what he could see from his roost, and the quiet once again alarmed him. All noise was generated by him—the squeak of the rocker, the slight whoosh of the exhale of cigarette smoke. He didn’t realize how he had taken for granted all of the sounds of his street—cars starting, screen doors slamming, pots clanking through open windows on cooler evenings, kids laughing as they played kickball or rode their bikes up and down the street. The thought of the kids instantly sucked a sliver of life out of him, the chasm inside him echoing and hollow already, every new realization making it worse. There would never be any more kids, ever. He had never had any of his own which, for a long time, he had been thankful for since they didn’t have to deal with the divorce. He had always assumed he would meet someone else, fall in love again, remarry and then have some children of his own. Just another thing he had taken for granted, before the note, that now seemed so impossible and long ago. He jumped as the lit end of the cigarette he held in his hand reached the filter and began to burn his fingers. “I can’t be sitting around thinking about all that could have been. That’s a waste of my time.” He spoke aloud again, something he was enjoying more and more. It was a way to break the monotony of the discussions in his head.
He stood up, still sad but needing to do something active to keep the sadness from taking over. Knowing his house was as clean as it had ever been he decided to cut his grass. The yard hadn’t been groomed in two weeks and the grass had grown high and shaggy, spilling over the edges of the driveway and crowding out the pavers leading to the mailbox. There was no sense in the outside of the house being unkempt while the inside was immaculate. He put on his work clothes and then pulled the push mower out of the shed in the back yard. There was plenty of fuel in the gas can so he filled the mower’s tank and rolled it to the front yard. It started after three pulls of the starter rope and he began the mindless task of walking back and forth across his yard, taking satisfaction in how neat the freshly mowed grass appeared under his feet. He had never viewed cutting the yard as anything more than a chore, a necessary task to keep the rest of the neighborhood off his back. Being the only single guy on the street added extra pressure to his life, especially when it came to house and yard maintenance. Now he was alone and cutting the yard for no real reason he could discern other than for something to do. Maybe it was his way of trying to recapture some of the activities and things he had taken for granted, pre-note. Or maybe it was filling a subconscious need he had for normalcy. Whatever the reasons, Adam decided not to entertain them. He took a deep breath, drew in the luscious smell of fresh cut grass and entertained a smile instead.
All words and images ©2006/J. Colle
The sun streaked through the blinds in his bedroom and he shielded his eyes from nature’s alarm. He checked the clock on the nightstand and was disappointed it was so early. He lay still a few minutes, getting his bearings and then rolled over to start his day but was immediately stopped by stabs of soreness and stiffness throughout his body. He rolled back to his previous position and waited, hoping his body would be forgiving and give him another chance. After several failed attempts he finally made it to the edge of his bed and slowly unfolded his body to an upright position, not straight and tall but at least to a point of mobility. A long, hot shower drove away a lot of the aches and he was reasonably sure he would survive.
He made coffee and decided to enjoy his breakfast cigarette sitting on the front porch in one of his rocking chairs. It was already warm outside but the idea of fresh air allowed him to overlook the heat and humidity. As he rocked and smoked he surveyed the neighborhood, or at least what he could see from his roost, and the quiet once again alarmed him. All noise was generated by him—the squeak of the rocker, the slight whoosh of the exhale of cigarette smoke. He didn’t realize how he had taken for granted all of the sounds of his street—cars starting, screen doors slamming, pots clanking through open windows on cooler evenings, kids laughing as they played kickball or rode their bikes up and down the street. The thought of the kids instantly sucked a sliver of life out of him, the chasm inside him echoing and hollow already, every new realization making it worse. There would never be any more kids, ever. He had never had any of his own which, for a long time, he had been thankful for since they didn’t have to deal with the divorce. He had always assumed he would meet someone else, fall in love again, remarry and then have some children of his own. Just another thing he had taken for granted, before the note, that now seemed so impossible and long ago. He jumped as the lit end of the cigarette he held in his hand reached the filter and began to burn his fingers. “I can’t be sitting around thinking about all that could have been. That’s a waste of my time.” He spoke aloud again, something he was enjoying more and more. It was a way to break the monotony of the discussions in his head.
He stood up, still sad but needing to do something active to keep the sadness from taking over. Knowing his house was as clean as it had ever been he decided to cut his grass. The yard hadn’t been groomed in two weeks and the grass had grown high and shaggy, spilling over the edges of the driveway and crowding out the pavers leading to the mailbox. There was no sense in the outside of the house being unkempt while the inside was immaculate. He put on his work clothes and then pulled the push mower out of the shed in the back yard. There was plenty of fuel in the gas can so he filled the mower’s tank and rolled it to the front yard. It started after three pulls of the starter rope and he began the mindless task of walking back and forth across his yard, taking satisfaction in how neat the freshly mowed grass appeared under his feet. He had never viewed cutting the yard as anything more than a chore, a necessary task to keep the rest of the neighborhood off his back. Being the only single guy on the street added extra pressure to his life, especially when it came to house and yard maintenance. Now he was alone and cutting the yard for no real reason he could discern other than for something to do. Maybe it was his way of trying to recapture some of the activities and things he had taken for granted, pre-note. Or maybe it was filling a subconscious need he had for normalcy. Whatever the reasons, Adam decided not to entertain them. He took a deep breath, drew in the luscious smell of fresh cut grass and entertained a smile instead.
All words and images ©2006/J. Colle
2/08/2006
Entry Eighty-eight: Adam Mahoney, You Just Won!
[The next many entries are the current story I am working on. This is eighteen of who knows how many will be posted. Enjoy it while it lasts...]
Chapter Seven
Adam Mahoney stood in front of the stove, scraping the scrambled eggs to the edge of the skillet as they cooked, sipping a cup of coffee and smoking a cigarette. Even though it was three in the afternoon, he had decided to cook breakfast food when he returned from the grocery store and had finished putting away the supplies. He had enjoyed a few minutes of pride for having survived his first trip out of the house but the mindlessness of stirring the eggs gradually turned his thoughts back to his situation, one that he was far from comprehending at any level, and the emptiness of the chasm returned.
What was he going to do? Yes, he had ventured out for gas and food, but what now? What was he going to do with himself? Everything that occupied his days before the note was moot. He now had no job to go to and any reason he had to earn a living was gone. His original motivation to work was to pay bills and possibly save a little money for retirement. Answering complaints on the phone all day long certainly didn’t fill any latent needs he suffered because of a rotten childhood or a bad relationship with his mom. His “career” had been necessary but far from fulfilling. The one positive with the current situation was he would never be fired.
As he stood over the sink and ate his eggs straight from the skillet, he worked up a mental list of things he could do with all the time he now had in front of him. One possibility was to catch up on his reading but he’d never been much of reader, at least of anything of substance like books or literature. His forays into reading had usually been saved for an occasional hot rod magazine or a graphic novel, both dominated with pictures and art. He was pretty sure he wasn’t going to turn over that new leaf. Television was out, not by choice but by necessity. He had rechecked it earlier and when he cruised through the channels nearly every one of them was now visual white noise, the computers feeding the shows to the stations long ago ceasing to work and they weren’t coming back. “So much for entertainment,” he thought. He rinsed and washed the dirty dishes from his meal and then scanned the living room as he dried his hands. The house was a wreck, something that had not bothered him a mere three hours before but now gave him a sense of purpose. “I can at least look civilized,” he said as he began to pick up dirty clothes and to straighten cushions and furniture.
He started cleaning with the idea he would merely tidy up, get everything in its proper place and make the house presentable. But as he began working, something came over him and he became obsessive, the desire to clean overwhelming him to levels he had never experienced before. Every new surface that was cleaned revealed another that was worse and he refused to stop until he was satisfied. He wiped baseboards, mopped floors, dusted the tops of every visible surface in the house and used an old toothbrush to scrub the tile in his bathroom. He got lost in the effort and by the time he stopped, unable to find another chore to begin, exhaustion engulfed him and he crawled in to his bed, pulled the freshly washed sheets up to his chin and slept.
All words and images ©2006/J. Colle
Chapter Seven
Adam Mahoney stood in front of the stove, scraping the scrambled eggs to the edge of the skillet as they cooked, sipping a cup of coffee and smoking a cigarette. Even though it was three in the afternoon, he had decided to cook breakfast food when he returned from the grocery store and had finished putting away the supplies. He had enjoyed a few minutes of pride for having survived his first trip out of the house but the mindlessness of stirring the eggs gradually turned his thoughts back to his situation, one that he was far from comprehending at any level, and the emptiness of the chasm returned.
What was he going to do? Yes, he had ventured out for gas and food, but what now? What was he going to do with himself? Everything that occupied his days before the note was moot. He now had no job to go to and any reason he had to earn a living was gone. His original motivation to work was to pay bills and possibly save a little money for retirement. Answering complaints on the phone all day long certainly didn’t fill any latent needs he suffered because of a rotten childhood or a bad relationship with his mom. His “career” had been necessary but far from fulfilling. The one positive with the current situation was he would never be fired.
As he stood over the sink and ate his eggs straight from the skillet, he worked up a mental list of things he could do with all the time he now had in front of him. One possibility was to catch up on his reading but he’d never been much of reader, at least of anything of substance like books or literature. His forays into reading had usually been saved for an occasional hot rod magazine or a graphic novel, both dominated with pictures and art. He was pretty sure he wasn’t going to turn over that new leaf. Television was out, not by choice but by necessity. He had rechecked it earlier and when he cruised through the channels nearly every one of them was now visual white noise, the computers feeding the shows to the stations long ago ceasing to work and they weren’t coming back. “So much for entertainment,” he thought. He rinsed and washed the dirty dishes from his meal and then scanned the living room as he dried his hands. The house was a wreck, something that had not bothered him a mere three hours before but now gave him a sense of purpose. “I can at least look civilized,” he said as he began to pick up dirty clothes and to straighten cushions and furniture.
He started cleaning with the idea he would merely tidy up, get everything in its proper place and make the house presentable. But as he began working, something came over him and he became obsessive, the desire to clean overwhelming him to levels he had never experienced before. Every new surface that was cleaned revealed another that was worse and he refused to stop until he was satisfied. He wiped baseboards, mopped floors, dusted the tops of every visible surface in the house and used an old toothbrush to scrub the tile in his bathroom. He got lost in the effort and by the time he stopped, unable to find another chore to begin, exhaustion engulfed him and he crawled in to his bed, pulled the freshly washed sheets up to his chin and slept.
All words and images ©2006/J. Colle
2/07/2006
Entry Eighty-seven: Adam Mahoney, You Just Won!
[The next many entries are the current story I am working on. This is seventeen of who knows how many will be posted. Enjoy it while it lasts...]
Adam pushed the cart toward the front of the store, having to use one hand to keep some of the items from spilling onto the floor. He had been pleasantly surprised at how fresh he had found most of the food. The refrigeration system in the store had remained fully functional so most of the dairy and all of the frozen food was in excellent shape. As he made his way through the aisles he discovered most of the pungent air was emanating from the fruit and vegetable section of the store. Most of the food was still edible but there were a number of items that were well on their way to ruin. He decided to pick through the things he would eat and stock up on them while they were still in good shape. The supplies in the freezer would last a while longer.
He had maneuvered to the front of the store because he wanted to see if the automatic doors had been activated when he had turned on the lights. He ran his cart onto the black, rubber pad but the door remained lifeless. He scanned the walls, saw two switches and rolled the cart close enough to them that he wouldn’t have to let go of the loose items. He heard a click and a hum after he pushed both switches up and grinned as the doors slid open to release him to the outside world.
After he began the task of stacking all of the supplies into the trunk of the car he immediately regretted not separating everything into bags. He not only had to handle each individual item to place them in his car but he would have to do it all over again once he returned home. After he finished loading he returned the cart into the store, pleased when the door successfully gave way as he stepped on the pad. He stood inside for a few minutes, scanning, and realized he had left the lights on. He ran to the back of the store, shoes still squeaking, and turned off the lights. As he jogged back to the front of the store he glanced over at the Customer Service counter and the goodies lining the wall behind the cash register reminded him that he was not quite ready to leave. He jumped the counter and grabbed as many cartons of cigarettes as he could hold and shoved a handful of lighters into his front pants pocket. “There are supplies and then there are supplies,” he said to himself, grinning once again as he approached the glass doors that swung open on cue, just for him, giving Adam a minute sense of royalty and dignity that seemed fitting for the last man standing on the face of the earth.
All words and images ©2006/J. Colle
2/06/2006
Entry Eighty-six: Adam Mahoney, You Just Won!
[The next many entries are the current story I am working on. This is sixteen of who knows how many will be posted. Enjoy it while it lasts...]
He walked up to the glass doors, fully expecting them to slide open with his first step on the black, ribbed pad situated on the ground right in front of the door. But nothing happened. He tried pulling the door handle, then pushing it, but it was obvious it was locked. Inside, the store was dark, in the same condition it had been in when the squatters did their work at 4 a.m. four days ago. He peered into the window, cupping his hands around either side of his face, shielding his eyes from the sun glaring off the glass. Everything looked normal in the store. Nothing seemed broken and there were no puddles of water from broken freezers or air conditioners. In fact the glass was cool to his touch, indicating the air conditioning was still cranking inside the store. Adam stepped away and tried to decide how he was going to get in.
He knew the easiest thing would be to grab a rock and break one of the windows, but he didn’t want to take that route unless absolutely necessary. Destruction seemed useless if there was a better alternative. He started walking along the front of the store and turned at the corner to see if there were any doors or openings anywhere else. The side of the building was nothing but brick, no vents or windows, so he kept walking toward the back. When he turned the corner he was facing the loading dock so he climbed up to the platform, pushed through the walls of hard, plastic flaps and found himself in a large room with several doors, giving him options to enter. All of them were locked but he noticed one was only held in place by a padlock. Although heavy duty, it looked like it had been in use for a while and was possibly the weak link he needed to gain entrance into the store. He looked around for something to break it open with but the loading dock was spotless. “Just my luck. I get to try to break into the cleanest grocery store in the southeast,” he thought as he ran to his car, hoping he had something in the trunk he could use. The only tool he found that was worth trying was a tire iron so he grabbed it and ran back to the loading dock to try see if it would work. The lock gave way easily and he was in the back of the store within four swings of the metal club. He had entered the area where the business offices were located and the silence was once again alarming. It was the middle of the day and a grocery store was not supposed to be that quiet. His shoes squeaked on the linoleum floors as he made his way through the halls, searching for the entrance to the store. When he walked through the correct door he was greeted with the smell of food. No food in particular, but a mingling of a variety of scents that created one strong but not-quite-overpowering bouquet. He made his way to the front of the store, winding his way past the fully stocked shelves. As he found the train of grocery carts by the front door he glanced outside and looked at his car. It was an odd site, the Volvo, alone in a vast parking lot and he, standing inside, also alone, getting ready to put food in a cart that no one would charge him for. It wasn’t exactly shopping, but was it stealing if no one could ever possibly find out? He pulled his list out of his back pocket and began steering the cart toward the first aisle, hoping the cheese was still fresh in its air-conditioned shelves.
All words and images ©2006/J. Colle2/03/2006
Entry Eighty-five: Adam Mahoney, You Just Won!
[The next many entries are the current story I am working on. This is fifteen of who knows how many will be posted. Enjoy it while it lasts...]
Chapter Six
After he topped off his tank, Adam pulled up to the entrance of the parking lot and, out of habit, checked both ways for traffic. As he began his final descent toward downtown he noticed a slight flare of confidence begin to stir in his gut. It was very small and wouldn’t have normally been noticed except it was in direct opposition to all of the fear, uncertainty and angst that had dominated him for the last few days. The incident at the gas pump served as a small glimpse into possibilities he had yet to entertain.
He absentmindedly stopped at the red traffic light one block from the downtown district of shops and assorted small businesses, checking the radio to find out if any stations were active. All he heard was static up and down the dial so he clicked it off and shrugged. When the light turned green he drove slowly, remaining cautious, scanning the streets for any movement or sign of life, just in case. He was immediately struck by the stillness of the streets. He was vaguely pleased that every building and store remained intact, all ready for business, all eerily empty and silent. His insides lurched as he passed store after store that, just one week ago, had been lively and practicing capitalism at various degrees of success. Would he ever get used to this scene? Would he one day take the emptiness for granted and drive through town with no sense of the past, no memory of last week? Or would he avoid coming back any more than was necessary, finding alternate routes to the grocery store, leaving the downtown alone, like a state park, a museum display preserved for future visitors to see how small town life used to be in the days before the note? He hoped not, but he wasn’t sure of anything anymore. He hoped he would always feel the loss if for no other reason than it would allow him to feel something other than confusion and fear. Those emotions were his constant companions of the moment and were probably the only visitors that would ever be interested in how the downtown used to be and even then the interest would be limited.
He debated whether to stop the car and walk around but decided to stay on task and find some food. He had seen and experienced enough and he needed some time to process his initial trip downtown. He had reserved just enough energy to deal with his sustenance needs and he didn’t want to burn that up before he completed the task. The local IGA grocery store was only one block south and two blocks east of downtown so he was driving into the parking lot minutes after he had cruised through the business district. Since the IGA wasn’t open 24-hours, there were no cars in the parking lot; apparently four a.m. was too early for any of the employees to have reported to work. His initial thought as he pulled in was “They must be closed” but he caught his mistake and then wondered how long it would take for him to change his reactions to every day impulses. Currently they offered a small sense of comfort, a reminder of the past, but he anticipated them becoming annoying real soon. He pulled up to the front door and parked in the first available slot next to the spaces reserved for persons with handicaps. As he put the car into park he glanced over to the empty spot and realized what he’d done. He put the car in reverse and pulled into the reserved space directly in front of the front door and said, “If there has ever been a person handicapped, it would have to be the last man standing on the face of the earth.”
All words and images ©2006/J. Colle
Chapter Six
After he topped off his tank, Adam pulled up to the entrance of the parking lot and, out of habit, checked both ways for traffic. As he began his final descent toward downtown he noticed a slight flare of confidence begin to stir in his gut. It was very small and wouldn’t have normally been noticed except it was in direct opposition to all of the fear, uncertainty and angst that had dominated him for the last few days. The incident at the gas pump served as a small glimpse into possibilities he had yet to entertain.
He absentmindedly stopped at the red traffic light one block from the downtown district of shops and assorted small businesses, checking the radio to find out if any stations were active. All he heard was static up and down the dial so he clicked it off and shrugged. When the light turned green he drove slowly, remaining cautious, scanning the streets for any movement or sign of life, just in case. He was immediately struck by the stillness of the streets. He was vaguely pleased that every building and store remained intact, all ready for business, all eerily empty and silent. His insides lurched as he passed store after store that, just one week ago, had been lively and practicing capitalism at various degrees of success. Would he ever get used to this scene? Would he one day take the emptiness for granted and drive through town with no sense of the past, no memory of last week? Or would he avoid coming back any more than was necessary, finding alternate routes to the grocery store, leaving the downtown alone, like a state park, a museum display preserved for future visitors to see how small town life used to be in the days before the note? He hoped not, but he wasn’t sure of anything anymore. He hoped he would always feel the loss if for no other reason than it would allow him to feel something other than confusion and fear. Those emotions were his constant companions of the moment and were probably the only visitors that would ever be interested in how the downtown used to be and even then the interest would be limited.
He debated whether to stop the car and walk around but decided to stay on task and find some food. He had seen and experienced enough and he needed some time to process his initial trip downtown. He had reserved just enough energy to deal with his sustenance needs and he didn’t want to burn that up before he completed the task. The local IGA grocery store was only one block south and two blocks east of downtown so he was driving into the parking lot minutes after he had cruised through the business district. Since the IGA wasn’t open 24-hours, there were no cars in the parking lot; apparently four a.m. was too early for any of the employees to have reported to work. His initial thought as he pulled in was “They must be closed” but he caught his mistake and then wondered how long it would take for him to change his reactions to every day impulses. Currently they offered a small sense of comfort, a reminder of the past, but he anticipated them becoming annoying real soon. He pulled up to the front door and parked in the first available slot next to the spaces reserved for persons with handicaps. As he put the car into park he glanced over to the empty spot and realized what he’d done. He put the car in reverse and pulled into the reserved space directly in front of the front door and said, “If there has ever been a person handicapped, it would have to be the last man standing on the face of the earth.”
All words and images ©2006/J. Colle
2/02/2006
Entry Eighty-four: Adam Mahoney, You Just Won!
[The next many entries are the current story I am working on. This is fourteen of who knows how many will be posted. Enjoy it while it lasts...]
Chapter Five
Adam sat in his car, hand on the key, ready to twist it forward and start the ignition, but he hesitated. He knew this was a turning point and he was getting ready to face a huge unknown. Besides the dearth of people wiped out, had the rest of the environment been altered? He was in no hurry find out but he knew delaying was not in his best interest. He started his car and backed it out of the carport. He had been driving the Volvo for years. He bought it used, with low mileage, and had planned on keeping it as long as it would deliver him from point A to B without a lot of maintenance costs. His plan had worked well and the comfortable predictability of the car made him more at ease, like an old sweatshirt or a favorite hat. He drove slowly, not sure why, but cautious seemed to be a better idea than reckless at that point so he heeded the inner voice. He turned left at the end of his street and started toward the closest grocery store, not yet sure if he was ready for a tour of his hometown, post alien invasion. His internal debate was interrupted by a high-pitched “ding,” the distressful signal that he was low on gas. “Oh great. Now what do I do?” He remembered at that moment he had intended to fill up the tank on his way to work the morning he received the note, but such memories were useless and a waste of time. The present had never had less to do with the past and his run to the store had just gotten more complicated.
He spotted the Olsen’s food mart and gas station ahead on his right so he decided to stop there and see if it was possible to procure some gasoline. Pulling into the parking lot gave him a sick feeling, seeing three cars lined up in front of the store yet knowing the owners no longer existed. Neither did Karl and Olga Olsen, for that matter. He had been buying gas and cigarettes from them for years and they were a critical, albeit taken for granted, part of his day-to-day existence. How strange to be pulling up to their business like nothing was changed. Oh, how that simple act belied the facts.
Adam drove to one of the gas pumps and got out of his car, uncertain how to approach the situation. He pulled the nosseled hose out of the holder and looked over the choices listed on the pump. Everything seemed to be working, helped by the 24-hour status of the store in normal times. He had to make a selection to start the flow of gas but he was unsure of his best option. He had a few dollars in his wallet and initially thought spending the cash would be the fastest and surest way to get started, but then he spotted the button that stated, “credit/outside.” He hesitated, ran that through his mind and quickly realized if he used one of his credit cards to purchase the gasoline, assuming it worked, he could save his cash. Then, common sense crashed through his brain and he started following the credit option to its logical conclusion. Once the computer inside the fuel pump validated his credit card number, it would forward it to the computer used by the credit card company that would log it in a database and at the end of the month print out a bill that would be ready to mail to him for his payment. Except there was no one in that far away city to put the bill in an envelope and there was no one to drop it in a mailbox and there was no one at the Post Office to route his bill and there was certainly no one in his small town in Georgia to deliver the bill to his empty mailbox. At last, Adam Mahoney had discovered a perk of being the last man standing on the face of the earth. He slid his credit card in the slot and waited to see if it would be validated. When the words “Select type and begin fueling” flashed onto the small screen, he smiled and, for the first time in his life, filled his Volvo with high quality premium gasoline.
All words and images ©2006/J. Colle
Chapter Five
Adam sat in his car, hand on the key, ready to twist it forward and start the ignition, but he hesitated. He knew this was a turning point and he was getting ready to face a huge unknown. Besides the dearth of people wiped out, had the rest of the environment been altered? He was in no hurry find out but he knew delaying was not in his best interest. He started his car and backed it out of the carport. He had been driving the Volvo for years. He bought it used, with low mileage, and had planned on keeping it as long as it would deliver him from point A to B without a lot of maintenance costs. His plan had worked well and the comfortable predictability of the car made him more at ease, like an old sweatshirt or a favorite hat. He drove slowly, not sure why, but cautious seemed to be a better idea than reckless at that point so he heeded the inner voice. He turned left at the end of his street and started toward the closest grocery store, not yet sure if he was ready for a tour of his hometown, post alien invasion. His internal debate was interrupted by a high-pitched “ding,” the distressful signal that he was low on gas. “Oh great. Now what do I do?” He remembered at that moment he had intended to fill up the tank on his way to work the morning he received the note, but such memories were useless and a waste of time. The present had never had less to do with the past and his run to the store had just gotten more complicated.
He spotted the Olsen’s food mart and gas station ahead on his right so he decided to stop there and see if it was possible to procure some gasoline. Pulling into the parking lot gave him a sick feeling, seeing three cars lined up in front of the store yet knowing the owners no longer existed. Neither did Karl and Olga Olsen, for that matter. He had been buying gas and cigarettes from them for years and they were a critical, albeit taken for granted, part of his day-to-day existence. How strange to be pulling up to their business like nothing was changed. Oh, how that simple act belied the facts.
Adam drove to one of the gas pumps and got out of his car, uncertain how to approach the situation. He pulled the nosseled hose out of the holder and looked over the choices listed on the pump. Everything seemed to be working, helped by the 24-hour status of the store in normal times. He had to make a selection to start the flow of gas but he was unsure of his best option. He had a few dollars in his wallet and initially thought spending the cash would be the fastest and surest way to get started, but then he spotted the button that stated, “credit/outside.” He hesitated, ran that through his mind and quickly realized if he used one of his credit cards to purchase the gasoline, assuming it worked, he could save his cash. Then, common sense crashed through his brain and he started following the credit option to its logical conclusion. Once the computer inside the fuel pump validated his credit card number, it would forward it to the computer used by the credit card company that would log it in a database and at the end of the month print out a bill that would be ready to mail to him for his payment. Except there was no one in that far away city to put the bill in an envelope and there was no one to drop it in a mailbox and there was no one at the Post Office to route his bill and there was certainly no one in his small town in Georgia to deliver the bill to his empty mailbox. At last, Adam Mahoney had discovered a perk of being the last man standing on the face of the earth. He slid his credit card in the slot and waited to see if it would be validated. When the words “Select type and begin fueling” flashed onto the small screen, he smiled and, for the first time in his life, filled his Volvo with high quality premium gasoline.
All words and images ©2006/J. Colle
2/01/2006
Entry Eighty-three: Adam Mahoney, You Just Won!
[The next many entries are the current story I am working on. This is thirteen of who knows how many will be posted. Enjoy it while it lasts...]
Adam bathed although getting clean had been a much harder task than he had anticipated. He took the term “wash, rinse, repeat” to new levels but eventually felt he had reached a cleanliness that was adequate. After all, he only had himself to please. Food was another matter. His days in bed had wrecked havoc on the contents of his refrigerator that, even in normal times, was minimal and existing in, what he dubbed, the Post Expiration Date era. As he stood at the open refrigerator door, surveying the remains, it was clear he was in dire need of supplies. He paused, contemplating the ramifications of his need. The first thing, obviously, was he would have to leave the house and venture into town. His heart raced as the uncertainty of that task throbbed in his head. What would he find? Would the stores be intact? Just because his house and the homes on his street were left unharmed didn’t mean the rest of the world wasn’t some flattened wasteland, all dust and rocks. If that were the case, his chances of survival would be severely hampered.
Survival. Just thinking that word placed a metallic taste in the back of his throat. Last week survival meant getting paid, having enough beer, not running out of cigarettes and dodging phone calls from his ex-wife. Today he wasn’t sure what it meant, but it was obviously bigger than beer.
He rummaged around in the cabinets and found some stale cereal that he ate dry with a glass of water and a cigarette chaser. While he ate he made some notes to take with him to the grocery store, meticulously listing the supplies he felt he needed for the coming week. It was a habit he had developed, part of his anti-spontaneity program of the last few months. Somewhere in his subconscious he knew it was silly to write the list, but the normalcy of the task felt good. A last gesture of the past before he ventured out of his cocoon into the very weird, and very real, present.
With his list complete and his cereal bowl empty, he had no reasons left to procrastinate. He stood at the open front door, car keys in hand, waiting for something in his mind to convince him to stay inside, even for another hour, but he knew it was time. After one deep breath he stepped through the entryway, pulling the door closed behind him. He fumbled for his house key, slid it into the deadbolt and checked to make sure it was engaged before he made his way to the garage, never once thinking how useless that was. After all, he was the last man standing on the face of the earth.
All words and images ©2006/J. Colle
Adam bathed although getting clean had been a much harder task than he had anticipated. He took the term “wash, rinse, repeat” to new levels but eventually felt he had reached a cleanliness that was adequate. After all, he only had himself to please. Food was another matter. His days in bed had wrecked havoc on the contents of his refrigerator that, even in normal times, was minimal and existing in, what he dubbed, the Post Expiration Date era. As he stood at the open refrigerator door, surveying the remains, it was clear he was in dire need of supplies. He paused, contemplating the ramifications of his need. The first thing, obviously, was he would have to leave the house and venture into town. His heart raced as the uncertainty of that task throbbed in his head. What would he find? Would the stores be intact? Just because his house and the homes on his street were left unharmed didn’t mean the rest of the world wasn’t some flattened wasteland, all dust and rocks. If that were the case, his chances of survival would be severely hampered.
Survival. Just thinking that word placed a metallic taste in the back of his throat. Last week survival meant getting paid, having enough beer, not running out of cigarettes and dodging phone calls from his ex-wife. Today he wasn’t sure what it meant, but it was obviously bigger than beer.
He rummaged around in the cabinets and found some stale cereal that he ate dry with a glass of water and a cigarette chaser. While he ate he made some notes to take with him to the grocery store, meticulously listing the supplies he felt he needed for the coming week. It was a habit he had developed, part of his anti-spontaneity program of the last few months. Somewhere in his subconscious he knew it was silly to write the list, but the normalcy of the task felt good. A last gesture of the past before he ventured out of his cocoon into the very weird, and very real, present.
With his list complete and his cereal bowl empty, he had no reasons left to procrastinate. He stood at the open front door, car keys in hand, waiting for something in his mind to convince him to stay inside, even for another hour, but he knew it was time. After one deep breath he stepped through the entryway, pulling the door closed behind him. He fumbled for his house key, slid it into the deadbolt and checked to make sure it was engaged before he made his way to the garage, never once thinking how useless that was. After all, he was the last man standing on the face of the earth.
All words and images ©2006/J. Colle
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