Soj 的个人资料Soj's Corner照片日志列表更多  |  工具 帮助 |
Soj's CornerPonderings, Prose and Poetry |
7月30日 Beetles-bocker
We all have an entity in our lives from our childhood that we remember as the very bane of our existence. It was the scary, bad guy that would grab us when our mother’s were not watching. We knew what he looked like. We could see him in our mind’s eye when we were alone in the dark, or on a stormy night, or trying to break in our window or lying in wait under our bed. We could hear his raspy breaths emanating from the closet and envision him in the frightening shapes that played as shadows on the wall at night. He was the bane of our existence as children and we all had one that haunted us from time to time. For my Granddaughter, his name is Beetles-bocker. John Edelsbacher works for her father off and on because Livy’s dad is a kind-hearted man that has a soft spot for guys hard on their luck and John fits the bill in spades. Off and on, he is homeless, always broke and on occasion, a person of interest by varying police departments. He has been the subject of many heated discussions between my daughter and her husband because Brad feels badly for him and Jenny feels he is bad. To the consternation of my daughter Brad loaned him his bike because he had no transportation and he loaned him his tent because he had no place to live and loaned him money because he had none. My daughter was of the opinion that John was not as down on his luck as he was irresponsible at best and at worst, grossly inattentive of the laws and mores that most of us feel obliged to adhere to… whether written or implied and she expressed it vociferously each and every time John Edelsbacher took further advantage of Brad, fully within earshot of Livy. Now Livy is a huge fan of the movie “Dennis the Menace.” Each time she would hear another discussion centered around Beetles-bocker, her mind would gravitate toward the character Stitch-blade Sam, played by Christopher Lloyd. She has never met Beetles-bocker but she knows what he looks like. He is the identical double of Switch-blade Sam. As Jenny had predicted, both the tent and the bicycle disappeared and as Brad began to relate the story to his wife, Livy imagined Switch-blade Sam making off with her daddy’s bicycle and his tent. A few days later, sitting in the back seat, 3 year old Livy sees a person riding a bike out the window and begins a dissertation about Beetles-bocker. “Daddy, Beetles-bocker is dirty. He has mud on his back. He took your bike and got it all dirty and muddy and he made your tent nasty and stole it. Daddy, Beetles-bocker is a bad man. He is going to take Sayer (Sawyer) and make Sayer dirty too. Daddy, Beetles-bocker steals your stuff and makes them all dirty. Look, there is mud on the floor. Beetles-bocker made your car dirty.” By now, Brad is glaring at his snickering wife. “Livy, Beetles-bocker, I mean John, needs our help. He is Daddy’s friend.” “You have a dirty friend daddy..” Time went on and John Edelsbacher had to make a fast exit out of town but Livy never forgot him. From time to time something would disgust or frighten her and she would launch into a tirade about Beetles-bocker being dirty or mean or a thief. Just recently, Beetles-bocker returned to Reno and came back to Brad looking for a handout. Immediately upon hearing his name, Livy began to survey their home in an effort to secure the premises from an onslaught of terrorist attacks from the muddy miscreant. “Mommy, Beetles-Bocker is going to steal our bikes and He is going to try and take Sayer.” “It’s okay Livy,” my daughter told her, Edelsbacher doesn’t know where we live. But for the next several days, she looked for evidence of the muddy tracks that he would surely leave behind were he hovering about looking to pilfer whatever he could from their family. “Mommy, there is mud on the deck. I think Beetles Bocker has been looking in our window. Mommy, look, there is mud on daddy’s truck.” Brad gave him a job and in keeping with his previous habits, it wasn’t long before John wasn’t showing up to work on time or putting out a lot of effort when he got there. But Brad didn’t realize it until he came to check up on a job that wasn’t getting done in as timely a fashion as he would have expected and he challenged José regarding his disappointment. José finally told him, “Bossman, that guy you hired, he no good. He don’t be ready when I pick him up and he don’t work when he get here. Why you get me bad help like that guy and yell at me? I’m doing it all by myself. Today he don’t even come in to work.” Brad told José that the next day, he would be there when they were supposed to get there and if John didn’t make it in, then he would let him go. True to fashion, John called José and told him he was sick and couldn’t make it in and when José turned in John’s time card for him, John had marked all his days as present and on time and it was finally too much even for Brad. So Brad called John up on the phone and told him he was going to have to let him go. John was so angry he, in turn called Brad's cousin and embellished a discussion between Brad and John regarding frustrations between himself and his cousin. It created a few days of bad blood between them and as Brad related the story to my daughter, Livy listened intently. Later that evening, as Brad was helping Livy get ready for bed, Livy, in her most motherly voice said, "Daddy, I hope you understand now that Beetles-bocker is NOT your friend. “ 4月18日 Answer me... When to Hagar the Lord spoke beside me she stood To the Lord, Abram said were I fetched t’would be good; At my touch to the lips was the answer of prayer That the one God had chosen would carry me there. I was not in the pit where young Joseph was cast I was one become four as I left Eden fast. I felt the sting of a mantel’s slap In my presence camels kneel and grown men lap. Shepherds drew me, unstable though I be, Past the wilderness of sin you’ll not find me. In the desert the sons of Jacob shall see Abundance of life because of me. 2月10日 A Quiet Day at WorkCold winter’s day at work… the phones aren’t working today and everyone is scrambling for something to occupy their time. Some letters were handed out but only to the chosen few. Cleaning of cubicles is prominent on the list of performed tasks for those not given letters to answer. I write. It’s how I occupy my mind when it’s too noisy to read… and we’re expected to be good children and remain seated quietly as they attempt to repair the unexpected deadlock propagating indolence among the staff. So I begin to navigate the Internet and discover that it’s supposed to snow tonight. Just flurries. While I detest navigating my car through the slippery sludge on the roadway, once I've safely arrived at my destination, I do enjoy the look of an unspoiled ground blanketed by the soft pallid drifts . The quiet that snow lends to the outdoors, is irresistibly alluring to me. The falling flakes absorb all the gratuitous noise that divaricates our attention and extinguishes our aptitude for contemplation. One's ruminations--a reflective interlude as opposed to the clamorous cacophony that chokes creative imagination and grinds meditation to powder--grows audibly manifest encompassed by such an anomaly of quietude. So when it does snow, I take the time to get outside. Alone… well except for the dog. We walk and I think and she sniffs and prances and pounces and licks the frozen congelation under her little feet. She winds around me until I wonder why I brought her. But even her antics do not override the enveloping silence that hangs in the air, a ubiquitous quiet that generates musings of a depth one rarely attains in this age of vociferation. Nevertheless, it is a sabbatical of great brevity a cherished rarity like viewing aurora borealis or a double rainbow. Perhaps not quite a phenomenon but just as inestimable. Eventually the cold gets the better of me and I have to go back inside where I often find my husband in the process of building a fire. Fires in our fireplace are oftentimes momentous occasions. According to my husband, there are two bends in the flue and thus the flue must be properly warmed. That, apparently can only be done by holding twisted flaming newspaper up into the flue for an enigmatic duration oft resulting in unintelligible mutterings and burned fingers. If the heat in flue is disproportional to the velocity of wind above the flue, the fire begins sending billows of thick smoke directly into our family room and the dog begins howling a warning that we’re in eminent danger. So as we fling open doors and windows and fan furiously to propel the smoke toward them, my husband explains the science behind the choking vapors and the stupidity of the architectural design until the fire warms the flue sufficiently to draw the smoke up the chimney. Now, chilled to the bone by a fire intended to warm us, I feel inspired to make us some mulled wine in hopes to retrieve the intended mood my husband desired to create. I gather the cinnamon sticks and whole cloves and brown sugar and my mulling bag from the freezer. I add a couple of cups of water in a pan and begin simmering the mulling spices in a sauce pan until the fragrant aroma begins to diminish the biting tang of smoke hanging in the air. My husband pops the cork on a bottle of red table wine and adds it to the spicy liquid elixir to just under boiling. I slice an orange to float in our mugs of mulled wine and my husband puts on Yanni. We sip the warming brew and stare into the flames—a beautifully wild and dangerous gyrating, undulating iridescence. The pop and crackle occasionally spits out tangerine embers reminding us that the fire is merely contained and not tamed, a captivating menace warming our souls while breathing threats of mastery. So much of life is like that. When suddenly my thoughts of home and snow and fires and warming elixirs are interrupted by a turbulent vociferation demanding our attention. It seems someone had downloaded a book... a large book and it had disrupted some sort of test they were performing in hopes of identifying the cause of our unringing phone lines. So now we must sit here, motionless and silent. No letters. No Internet. No going home. We wait... as the day draws on to a close and we will be released from the choke hold there is on a system that we neither built nor broke. 3月31日 Still another Riddle of biblical proportionsVain men are born to resemble me. Gainst Angels have I made my stand I take my stand in places High. I laugh at those who dwell in town. Forbidding madness with my tongue
Thirty cities, Thirty lads and thirty more of me. Arose Jair of Gilead, two and twenty years judged he. Clue #3 By the strength of my jaw a thousand men were slain. Heaped one upon another, the lifeless were lain; And though cast aside as useless waste, From the hollow of my jaw did water taste. Winsome wizards, wonderfully wise, Dost the answers yet escape your eyes? Is your mind bewildered, your sense bereft? There is none but save the answer left… Another RiddleA luminous orb casting shadows at night Contorting the vision, enhancing the fright, A bright full moon completes this rhyme. Where did the moon shine just one time? |
|||||||||
发送私人消息
订阅 RSS 源
告诉朋友
添加到 Live.com
添加至您的网络
订阅提醒|
|
