DFB

Dearest Fine Bunch,

While I've made no specific plans to write or not write more, at the moment, I'm too lazy to keep my blog going.

Writing has always been difficult for me, just ask any poor sentence I've let languish for hours waiting for me to commit. The greater value and reward in doing it all has consistently come from you. Your take on my take has been enlightening, enriching and often hilariously dark.

As I continue on my dour but occasionally merry way, let me slow to say thank you for all that you've said, what you haven't and for being an excellent source of riboflavin!

To those I've met, thank you for proving brilliance on the blog page does translate to real life and to those I've yet to meet, here's hoping we can and you don't turn out to be a bigger ass than I am.

Love and more,

Dale

And I Will Send Hornets Before Thee

Standing in one of the side by each lines waiting for the train a few days ago, I had nothing better to do than have a lazy look around at my fellow waiters.

In the line next to me but a couple of people ahead stood a woman minding her own business, headphones in, engrossed in her reading. With a bit of minor craning, I could see she was reading some sort of bible study material. For someone who claims to eschew all things religious (except for gospel music which I love), it seems I'm forever rubbing up against it.

I'd have quickly lost interest if a hornet buzzing around the platform (they're everywhere, including my last post) hadn't landed on the top of her hair. It walked around a little and settled at the back of her shoulder length hair as though it was home. She didn't notice and I wondered back to my etiquette classes trying to remember whether it was acceptable to swat the back of a stranger's head or not.

I considered tapping her on the shoulder to tell her about it but imagined her screaming and running away swatting wildly and me being convicted on the testimony of a pack of unreliable witnesses. I decided it was up to Jesus to take care of her considering she had his whole world in her hands.

Two other people also noticed the hornet in her hair and did about as much as I did. We were waiting to see how it all played out. I'm afraid poor Kitty Genovese wouldn't have gotten much help from our unholy trinity.

As the train pulled up and the doors opened, the hornet held his position and boarded with his hostess. As she sat down, her little passenger flew up the stairs to the upper deck of the car.

I cannot provide details on whether panic eventually ensued up there as I promptly drifted off to sleep, my keen disinterest intact. Forgive me Father, for apparently, I do not care.

This Is Not My Beautiful Dog

September days seem better when they dress themselves up as July ones. The sky, like my head, is nearly empty of clouds and the bamboo flowering next to the deck hums like a last blast buffet for dozens of hornets.

My concentration is limited to wondering how many more Grolsch might be left in the ridiculously distant refrigerator and my back is to the human soup that is Honeypot's pool. A noise invites me to at least think of turning to it but I don't have to, I know what it is.

Over the past few weeks, Honeypot's oldest son has been assembling a frame and fixing a canopy over a freestanding carport in the driveway. His clanging and 'creating' brings to mind Tom Waits' What's He Building? but I decide no action is required until I hear screams or smell smoke.

Settling back to my beer, I ponder over a dream I had. I was on my way to meet Beth from A Cup of Coffey. I was walking in an unfamiliar city through drizzle and as I rounded the corner of a building as grey as the light, I spied David Byrne standing with a small dog. Next to him were many more haphazardly stacked cages with assorted small dogs inside. I knew he was waiting for Beth but unsure whether I wanted to make small talk, I considered turning around. He spotted me and I felt I should be polite and go over.

He explained that in order to meet Beth, you need to have a dog with you. As I puzzled over this and bent to look at some of the other dogs in cages, Mr. Byrne chirped on and on. I wondered if Beth would ever show up but before that could happen, my alarm clock rescued me.

Why am I using this time thinking about dreams? A small reserve of energy allows me mobility enough to retrieve the second to last beer and I settle back. The noise next door stops momentarily, the last cloud particles dissolve from sight and mind and I smile thinking this is one fine day.