Changes

I remember

running on our gravel road

 

past a couple crackerbox tract houses

onto the main road , just two unpaved troughs through the swamp

lush with green cattails before their fuzzies came

and red wing blackbirds

everywhere, flashes of color.

There was the smell of

loamy wetness and green freshness while

summer breezes and  bright sun forbade

mosquitoes trespass until  dusk freed them later.

 I would be home by then, washed off of dust

that tasted of oatmeal,

Mom making me

mustard sandwiches

and cherry Kool-Aid in a big pitcher

with condensation running down the sides

drawn with faces,  finger etched in the frosted surface.

I was always thinking about that running

relishing the wind in my eyes and a  good soreness in my legs

from journeys leaving me feeling as complete as I ever would.

Journeys that abruptly ended

with Dr Soaper telling Mom I needed glasses.

Clumsy heavy things that slid down my nose and made other kids mock “Four eyes, Four eyes.”

Things that smudges and sweat and dust had to be constantly wiped from and that felt so unnatural and limiting, I hated them.

They stole my freedom.

While making things clearer

It was not pretty like the impressionist world I saw without them.

I was always taking them off ,but Mom always made me put them back on .

 I was saddest that I could no longer feel the wind on my eyes running.

 Because of those glasses 

running just wasn’t fun anymore.

 

Then we moved to town.

Mom got a divorce.

 

I remember.

Because  things were never the same again.                                        


–Jerry Wendt 2014

Carlotta on Facing Fear

Carlotta’s Corner

Dear Carlotta:

The other night “Psycho” came on TV and I was all alone, and then I heard  a scream. What should I have done? -Nervous Nellie       

 

 

Dear Nervous-

I am the worst sort of “namby-pamby.”  The cry of a screech owl at night is enough to send me doing Rosary, and I’m not even religious.  To this day, when I hear that “Dum-Dum, Dum-Dum, Dum-Dum” sound sequence from Jaws, my Earl Grey ices over.  When I think of the Mummy and that waste of good gauze, when people in Ethiopia are running around with open sores, I shake with emotion. O.K.,granted, that may be more rage than fear, but you get the point. I am a VERY sensitive individual. But, also a proactive one

There is no reason to live with fear. With proper precautions, we can all sleep soundly and go about our lives without it. Why, just the other week I was up late alone and on came Psycho.  You would think that this would send me screaming “willy-nilly” through the house in terror. But no, I was prepared and will graciously share my precautions.

 I found a chain maile shower curtain on one of those Dungeon and Dragons Goth sites.  You can’t go stabbing through one of those babies, I can assure you.  You may have to reinforce your curtain bar somewhat as these things hang pretty heavy.  Also get some “Rust-Away” from the start to overcome that problem, unless of course your bath is decorated in earth tones, in which case you’re O.K. Before I step into the shower I sprinkle a box of tacks in front of the bathroom doorway. You will shower unbothered or at least have advance warning of any entry.  Here, I must interject.  All those pretentious friends that are always telling you how fabulous their Dyson vacuum cleaner is are blowhards. There are some things that even a Dyson won’t suck up.

An alternate escape:  I did try to get one of those emergency escape tube slides that attaches to the window, but was informed that wouldn’t be practical for a window 20 inches from ground.

The salesman was very nice though, and sold me a hammer for only nine dollars.

Be sensitive to messages from the spirits “beyond.”  I learned from Shirley MacLaine that those that have passed are constantly trying to help us avoid adversity. So, for example, with our Psycho case, you must note sudden repetition of certain key words such as in “Anxiety exacerbates your arthritis,” or “We are offering big rebates” The departed are trying to warn you of impending doom.  A Ouija board is of no help. You’ll usually get a guy partner who delights in “assisting” the pointer to spell out “fart”  which has no relevance at all, other than greatly amusing your companion at your expense.  Trying to Ouija with your cat is also of no use even when the pointer is rubbed with tuna juice.

Instead of interjecting at your monthly Bunko party, “We’re all gonna die,“which can cause digestive problems - especially when Clarice’s scones are involved in the first place, just take additional steps to prepare.  ( keeping in mind that a few of those scones stowed away in your bag will come in handy warding off those rudely beeping at you as you wheel your grocery cart full of precious dumpster diving items down the middle of the highway.)

While sleeping, wear an old style string mop head (a new one is best) and a cameo broach at your neck.  You will appear to any deranged killer as Norman’s Mother, Jonathan Winter’s “Maude Frickert,” or “Judge Judy,” any one of which would frighten away any psycho.  If you are a guy and this is an affront to your masculinity, instead rub talcum powder on your face and get a plastic Easter lily at the craft store.  You will look as though in final repose, and we all know no respectable killer will mess with someone else’s work. It’s professional courtesy. So with Psycho, or any other fright movie, one has only to be prepared to avoid distress. If all else fails I’ll have my dear friend Freddy come over and have a glass or two of elderberry wine with you . He makes excellent company and lives just over on Elm Street.   - Carlotta

I was tired of writing these drama pieces on "dark and stormy nights" or "screams in the night" so I decided to just have fun with this piece which was supposed t be based on a reaction to seeing "Psycho" late in the evening alone. I hope I engage you with a little humor in this one-jpw