Johnny

We are challenged on every hand to work untiringly to achieve excellence in our lifework.  Not all men are called to specialized or professional jobs; even fewer rise to the heights of genius in the arts and sciences; many are called to be laborers in factories, fields, and streets.  But no work is insignificant.  All labor that uplifts humanity has dignity and importance and should be undertaken with painstaking excellence.  If a man is called to be a street sweeper, he should sweep even as Michelangelo painted, or Beethoven composed music, or Shakespeare wrote poetry.  He should sweep streets so well that all the host of heaven and earth will pause to say, “Here lived a great street sweeper who did his job well.”  - Martin Luther King, Jr.

Last fall I was asked to speak to 3,000 employees of a large supermarket chain in the Midwest on building customer loyalty and regenerating the spirit in your workplace. 

One of the ideas I stressed was the importance of adding a personal “signature” to your work.  With all the downsizing, re-engineering, overwhelming technological changes and stress in the workplace, I think it is essential for each of us to find a way we can really feel good about ourselves and our jobs.  One of the most powerful ways to do this is to do something that differentiates you from all the other people that do the same thing you do.

I shared the example of a United Airlines pilot who, after everything is under control in the cockpit, goes to the computer and randomly picks several people on board the flight and hand writes them a thank-you note for their business.  A graphic artist I work with always encloses a piece of sugarless gum in everything he sends his customers, so you never throw away any mail from him!

A Northwest Airlines baggage attendant decided that his personal signature would be to collect all the luggage tags that fall off customers’ suitcases, which in the past have been simply tossed in the garbage, and in his free time send them back with a note thanking them for flying Northwest.  A senior manager with whom I worked decided that his personal signature would be to attach Kleenex to memos that he knows his employees won’t like very much. 

After sharing several other examples of how people add their unique spirit to their jobs, I challenged the audience to get their creative juices flowing and to come up with their own creative personal signature.

--I OPEN DOORS I CAN'T LOCK

…Did you know that sea otters hold hands while sleeping so they don’t drift apart?  Isn’t that the cutest thing?

…On the 4^th there were over four hundred 911 calls related to fireworks.  I’m not a fan of fireworks myself.  After five minutes, they’re pretty much all the same.  Seems like a loud, obnoxious waste to me, but maybe you feel differently.

…I wrote this the other day:

                                                                                   

                                                                   OBGYN

            He fell in love with her while standing in the espresso bar line.  She smelled citrusy and fresh, like a Mojito, and because he had no good lines he simply said, “You smell nice.”  She liked that, brightening with a wide smile, hair in a ponytail, her skin flawless and creamy, with dimples the size of shirt buttons.        

            They went on a date that night and every one that followed.  He started calling her his girlfriend, introducing her to his pals.  When one said, “You look familiar,” she chuckled and said, “People always say that.  I look like everyone,” though she didn’t.

            The night before their wedding, his pal came over.  “Let’s get really drunk,” he said, and once they were tipsy, the friend flipped his laptop open.

            At first it seemed like a hoax, as if someone had Photoshopped her head onto a porn star, but then the groom-to-be realized you couldn’t do that to film reel, and besides, he recognized the tattoo of crossed arrows on her bare thigh, smashed between two naked men.

            She’d told him she was studying to be a doctor, said she was a virgin until him.  She’s said lots of things.

…Here are a few things I like to start a new week off:

“In yourself right now is all the place you've got.” Flannery O'Connor

"Nobody realizes that some people expend tremendous energy merely to be normal." Camus

"The happiest excitement in life is to be convinced that one is fighting for all one is worth on behalf of some clearly seen and deeply felt good." Ruth Benedict

"It's humbling, to become the very thing you once mocked." Gillian Flynn, "Gone Girl"

"We sit indoors and talk of the cold outside.
And every gust that gathers strength and heaves
Is a threat to the house. But the house has long been tried."
---Robert Frost "There Are Roughly Zones"

"All men dream, but not equally. Those who dream by night in the dusty recesses of their minds wake in the day to find that it was vanity; but the dreamers of the day are dangerous men, for they may act their dream with open eyes, to make it possible." Lawrence of Arabia

I KEEP STUMBLING UNTIL I FINALLY MISS THE LAST TRAIN

--I KEEP STUMBLING UNTIL I FINALLY MISS THE LAST TRAIN

…Right now there’s a blue inner tube floating in the middle of the lake.  It’s the only thing on the water.  It reminds me of all those scenes in Breaking Bad with the stuffed bear floating in the pool, and it’s many episodes later when the viewer learns it’s there because a plane has crashed in a residential area.

The last eight episodes of the show are coming up next month.  I can’t wait.

…How was your Independence Day?

…Here’s something I wrote last week:

           

                                                                    Songs of Angels

            This one is strange, odd in a good way, and it scares her. 

            Naked under the sheets, he props himself up, cocking his elbow, head on chin.  “So, you’re a collector,” he says.

            He studies the shelves of ceramic angels, angels on the night stand, on the ledge behind the bed, a few others on the dingy, oatmeal-colored carpet.

            “Are you religious?”

            This one’s not from the trailer park.  He’s clean and kind.  He hadn’t tried to hurt her when they had sex.  No vile verbal abuse, no biting or kinky shit.

            She doesn’t answer, just stares at the flaking ceiling, at a sunburst water spot.

            When he asks what her real name is, she turns and says, “You gotta leave.”

            She watches his green eyes blink, becoming steady.

            “Sure,” he says.  “I get it.  Another customer?”

            She nods.

            She watches him dress.  His body is lithe and muscled, like a swimmer or gymnast.

            He collects his slacks and shirt from the floor where they are neatly folded.  He tucks in his shirt and buckles his pants, saying, “They’re really something,” about the angels, then “You are, too.”

            He has an easy, college boy grin and straight teeth.

            He places cash on the night stand beside a periwinkle angel playing a flute.  When he bends to kiss her, she puts up her palm.  “We’re all done for now,” she says.

            He’s surprised and hurt, yet he says, “Of course.”

            As he closes the door to her trailer, she inhales his scent—citrus and almonds—the smell giving her a kind of high, like those first few seconds after snorting a line.

            An hour later, a bull of a man thrashes over her, one hairy hand choking her neck, the other yanking a fistful of her hair.  His chest and gut are slick with sweat, and he spits crude commands into her ear.

            She remembers being sixteen, a year after her abortion, trolling garage sales with her mother, a rare thaw that day.

            “You can pick something out,” her mother had said, “but it can’t be more than five dollars.”

            Her father was an eye surgeon, while her mother was thrifty.

            When she picked out a bronze angel with eagle’s wings and the chubby face of a child, her mother scoffed.  “You ought to be ashamed of yourself,” she said.  “Put that back.” she said.

            Now the man’s breath is a rancid furnace washing over her face.  He bucks and punches and chuffs.  His fingernails pierce her neck skin.  They’re close to a vein, but not close enough.

            She focuses on the angel with the flute.  It plays her something pretty, something hopeful, a song about strength and renewal.

--HOW ARE THOSE TAN LINES TREATING YOU?

--HOW ARE THOSE TAN LINES TREATING YOU?

…I have been listening to The National and Dawes quite a bit.  They’re both quite mellow, but so very good.

…Here are some things I like for the middle of the week:

"I want to put a ding in the universe." Steve Jobs

"Nothing can be done except little by little." Baudeliar

"Whether they be old or young, rich or poor, high or low, wise or foolish, ignorant or learned, every individual is seen to be strongly actuated by a desire to be seen, heard, talked of, approved, and respected." John Adams, Second U.S. President

"Sorrow found me when I was young.  Sorrow waited, sorrow won." The National

"I fly because it releases my mind from the tyranny of petty things." Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

“Someday, somewhere - anywhere, unfailingly, you'll find yourself, and that, and only that, can be the happiest or bitterest hour of your life.” Pablo Neruda

"I don't understand the point of being together if you're not the happiest." Gillian Flynn, "Gone Girl

-"Stories are for those late hours in the night when you can't remember how you got from where you were to where you are.  Stories are for eternity, when memory is erased, when there is nothing to remember except the story."

-"As a writer, all you can do is pick a street and go for the ride, putting things down as they come to you.  That's the real obsession.  All those stories.

-"The thing about remembering is that you don't forget.  You take your material where you find it, which is in your life, at the intersection of past and present."

-"What you have to do is trust your story.  Get the hell out of the way and let it tell itself." --Tim O'Brien, "The Things They Carried

"I know you can't save every dog. But you can totally try to save the dog that's in front of you." Cesar Millan, aka The Dog Whisperer

"It's practically impossible to look at a penguin and feel angry.” Joe Moore

"It's the friends you can call up at four a.m. that matter." Marlene Dietrich

"I am certain of nothing but of the holiness of the heart's affections and the truth of imagination." Keats

"You must have the devil in you to succeed in the arts." Voltaire

"Whatever the mind of man can conceive and believe, it can achieve." W. Clement Stone

"I'm totally in control of this tiny, tiny world right there at the typewriter." Joan Didion

“The night kept coming on in and there was nothing I could do.” Charles Bukowski

--WHEN YOU GET WORRIED I'LL BE YOUR SHOULDER

--WHEN YOU GET WORRIED I'LL BE YOUR SHOULDER

…We’re currently having a heat wave here in the Seattle area.  Nothing like Houston or Vegas, but it’s pretty scorching.

I love it.

…Lucy is lying next to my left foot as I write this.  We’re on day three of getting acquainted and it’s going pretty well.  You’d probably expect me to say this, but she’s the cutest puppy in the world.  Really, she is.

…I found this “The Window” the other day.  I don’t know who wrote it, but I like it:

The Window

Two men, both seriously ill, occupied the same hospital room. One man was allowed to sit up in his bed for an hour each afternoon to help drain the fluid from his lungs. His bed was next to the room's only window. The other man had to spend all his time flat on his back. The men talked for hours on end. They spoke of their wives and families, their homes, their jobs, their involvement in the military service, where they had been on vacation.

And every afternoon when the man in the bed by the window could sit up, he would pass the time by describing to his roommate all the things he could see outside the window. The man in the other bed began to live for those one-hour periods where his world would be broadened and enlivened by all the activity and color of the world outside.

The window overlooked a park with a lovely lake. Ducks and swans played on the water while children sailed their model boats. Young lovers walked arm in arm amidst flowers of every color of the rainbow. Grand old trees graced the landscape, and a fine view of the city skyline could be seen in the distance.

As the man by the window described all this in exquisite detail, the man on the other side of the room would close his eyes and imagine the picturesque scene.

One warm afternoon the man by the window described a parade passing by. Although the other man couldn't hear the band - he could see it in his mind's eye as the gentleman by the window portrayed it with descriptive words.

Days and weeks passed.

One morning, the day nurse arrived to bring water for their baths only to find the lifeless body of the man by the window, who had died peacefully in his sleep. She was saddened and called the hospital attendants to take the body away. As soon as it seemed appropriate, the other man asked if he could be moved next to the window. The nurse was happy to make the switch, and after making sure he was comfortable, she left him alone.

Slowly, painfully, he propped himself up on one elbow to take his first look at the world outside. Finally, he would have the joy of seeing it for himself. He strained to slowly turn to look out the window beside the bed. It faced a blank wall.

The man asked the nurse what could have compelled his deceased roommate who had described such wonderful things outside this window. The nurse responded that the man was blind and could not even see the wall. She said, "Perhaps he just wanted to encourage you." 

--YOU'RE VERY PHOTOGENIC

…Well, I got up early and ran 12 miles on the trail in town this morning.  That’s the longest I’ve gone in quite some time.  Unfortunately, I’m also giving blood in an hour.  I hate giving blood.  Half the time they jab that needle in too hard.  Still, I’d like to think someone else would donate blood if I needed some.

…My son’s best friend’s house burnt down last night.   He lives across the lake.  Everything is gone.  He’s a great kid and I feel terrible for him.  He’ll probably be living here a while.

…I have this last story up at Pure Slush to finish out my run as Featured Writer for June:

http://pureslush.webs.com/everyfouryears.htm

…I’m dying to see “Fruitvale” and I hope it’s out this weekend.  You should see it, too.

…Here are some funny things someone sent me:

THOSE FLORIDA DRIVERS

An elderly Floridian called 911 on her cell phone to report that her car has been broken into. She is hysterical as she explains her situation to the dispatcher: "They've stolen the stereo, the steering wheel, the brake pedal and even the accelerator!" she cried. The dispatcher said, "Stay calm. An officer is on the way." A few minutes later, the officer radios in. "Disregard." He says. "She got in the back-seat by mistake.

_______________________________________

FAMILY

Three sisters ages 92, 94 and 96 live in a house together. One night the 96 year old draws a bath. She puts her foot in and pauses. She yells to the other sisters, "Was I getting in or out of the bath?" The 94 year old yells back, "I don't know. I'll come up and see." She starts up the stairs and pauses "Was I going up the stairs or down?" The 92 year old is sitting at the kitchen table having tea listening to her sisters. She shakes her head and says, "I sure hope I never get that forgetful." She knocks on wood for good measure. She then yells, "I'll come up and help both of you as soon as I see who's at the door."

_______________________________________

"I CAN HEAR JUST FINE!"

Three retirees, each with a hearing loss, were playing golf one fine March day. One remarked to the other, "Windy, isn't it?" "No," the second man replied, "It's Thursday." And the third man chimed in, "So am I. Let's have a beer."

______________________________________

A little old lady was running up and down the halls in a nursing home. As she walked, she would flip up the hem of her nightgown and say "Supersex." She walked up to an elderly man in a wheelchair. Flipping her gown at him, she said, "Supersex." He sat silently for a moment or two and finally answered, "I'll take the soup."

_______________________________________

ROMANCE

An older couple were lying in bed one night. The husband was falling asleep but the wife was in a romantic mood and wanted to talk. She said: "You used to hold my hand when we were courting." Wearily he reached across, held her hand for a second and tried to get back to sleep.

A few moments later she said: "Then you used to kiss me". 

Mildly irritated, he reached across, gave her a peck on the cheek and settled down to sleep. Thirty seconds later she said: "Then you used to bite my neck." Angrily, he threw back the bed clothes and got out of bed. "Where are you going?" she asked.

"To get my teeth!"

_______________________________________

DOWN AT THE RETIREMENT CENTER

80-year old Bessie bursts into the rec room at the retirement home. She holds her clenched fist in the air and announces, "Anyone who can guess what's in my hand can have sex with me tonight!!" An elderly gentleman in the rear shouts out, "An elephant?" Bessie thinks a minute and says, "Close enough."

_______________________________________

OLD FRIENDS

Two elderly ladies had been friends for many decades. Over the years, they had shared all kinds of activities and adventures.

Lately, their activities had been limited to meeting a few times a week to play cards. One day, they were playing cards when one looked at the other and said, "Now don't get mad at me ... I know we've been friends for a long time ...but I just can't think of your

name! I've thought and thought, but I can't remember it. Please tell me what your name is."

Her friend glared at her. For at least three minutes she just stared and glared at her. Finally she said, "How soon do you need to know?"

_______________________________________

SENIOR DRIVING

As a senior citizen was driving down the freeway, his car phone rang. Answering, he heard his wife's voice urgently warning him, "Herman, I just heard on the news that there's a car going the wrong way on Interstate 77. Please be careful!"

"Hell," said Herman, "It's not just one car. It's hundreds of them!"

_______________________________________

DRIVING

Two elderly women were out driving in a large car - both could barely see over the dashboard. As they were cruising along, they came to an intersection. The stoplight was red, but they just went on through. The woman in the passenger seat thought to herself "I must be losing it. I could have sworn we just went through a red light." After a few more minutes, they came to another intersection and the light was red again.  Again, they went right through. The woman in the passenger seat was almost sure that the light had been red but was really concerned that she was losing it. She was getting nervous and decided to pay very close attention to the road and sure enough, when they came to the third red light, they went right on through. So, she turned to the other woman and said, "Mildred, did you know that we just ran through three red lights in a row? You could have killed us both!"

Mildred turned to her and said, "Oh, am I driving?"

--I'VE GOT TWO TICKETS BUT THEY'RE ONE-WAY

…My house faces the lake, as does the exercise room on the first floor, and while on the treadmill this morning, listening to Better Than Ezra (my all-time favorite band) two deer, does, made their way on the lawn out to the lake.  They were beautiful, so sleek and graceful.  Deer are my favorite animals, next to zebras.

…It’s my birthday today, and I’m okay with that.  I used to hate my birthday, getting older, plus I didn’t like it when people lavished attention on me. 

Now it’s kind of nice to be noticed.

…This is one of my favorite stories that I’ve ever written.  It appeared in Black Heart Magazine.  I just love Ruthie.

  

                                                                          Ovation

            Before she died, Ruthie wanted to go skinny dipping. 

She paid a man from the home named, Jay, to take her.  They rode in the van with the bad shocks and she watched her skin bounce, heard it slap, her dermis the color and texture of tortillas.  In the rearview, Ruthie saw herself as a series of shudders, a broke down woman with white dandelion seed hair strapped into a wheel chair unit.  When she leaned forward she could pick out the sparkly bits of sliver-blue in her irises.  Her eyes were the thing that had changed least over the years.  She knew she’d never been beautiful, but Levi had gushed about her eyes.  At first Ruthie thought he just wanted inside her skirt, but Levi never stopped remarking on their light, said the colors shifted in the sun, said it was like panning for gold.  And so she’d believed him.

“Are we almost there?” Ruthie asked.  It had been decades since she’d been so excited.  Her stomach gurgled.  She felt giddy and girlish.

Jay leaned over the headrest, his breath smelling awful of cigarettes.  When he shot her a look, Ruthie knew not to ask again, not to push her luck just yet.

Levi was deeply muscled with skin like cooled lava, the first black man she’d ever befriended.  He stared at her constantly and this made her feel as if she were being excavated.  His consistent attention wasn’t overly sexualized, though.  He just seemed very interested about her.

Levi worked on the other side of the lake doing landscaping for the Wheelers and one brave day Ruthie rowed across, tied the boat to the dock, and called to him.

His gaze went immediately to her eyes, gleaning something she was unable to discern.  Sweat twisted down his neck, into his chest like inky rain and she was ashamed by how desperately she wanted to lick it off.  Ruthie was not that kind of girl; she was a virgin and had only really kissed Tommy Pittman.

Levi smelled of mown grass and sour perspiration and Ruthie adored the aroma at once.  She was exhausted with always having to be ironed and perfumed.

They talked for hours that day.  And the next.  And for days and days that summer.

Ruthie’s affection for Levi became dominating and exclusive.  She knew she would never love another, but Ruthie soon learned that Levi’s fondness was simply that.  He did not love her, not in the way Ruthie desired.

Levi loved a white man named Benedict.   

To be homosexual back then, and to also mix races, was preposterous.  Levi realized he was in a doomed affair, just as Ruthie knew she was now equally ill-fated. 

Listening to Levi describe his yearning for Benedict was a paradoxical torture for Ruthie.  He had opened up a place inside her that no one else could fill. 

Levi confessed to Ruthie that he would meet Benedict on Friday nights in the hidden cove east of Storm Lake.  They’d go skinny dipping.

“You should come!”

Ruthie laughed, but secretly she was holding herself back from having a heart attack.  The thought of seeing Levi naked ran a hot blade of lust through her. 

“Seriously, join us.  We get there at nine.  I’d love for you to meet Benedict.”

The days leading up to that Friday were impossible.  Ruthie had decided she would do it; she would swim naked with her beloved and her beloved’s lover. 

At the last minute, however, she chickened out.  Convention got into her brain.  Suddenly it all seemed ludicrous—her infatuated with a man who did feel the same.  And to go skinny dipping with them!

Saturday morning her world burnt down.

Both Levi and Benedict had been found drowned, washed up in the cove with cattle rope strung around them, neck-to-neck. 

Ruthie broke, actually felt something coming unhinged inside her, irreparable for all eternity.

That was sixty-seven years ago. 

            Now the river came into view.

 Jay grumbled as he extricated Ruthie.  “This is the worst idea ever,” he said, pushing her to the water’s edge. 

“I paid you $1,000.  Where else are you going to get that kind of money?”

Jay had fitted her with a life vest and tied a tow rope around her waist.  He was ornery but strong and had no trouble lifting her into the water. 

“Damn river’s ice cold,” Jay spat.  He fed the rope some slack and Ruthie drifted out a few feet. 

“Turn around.”

“Why?

“Just do it.”

“You’re a nutty old broad.”

“I am,” Ruthie agreed.  “But if you don’t keep your back turned for a full five minutes, I’ll report you to Nancy.  I’ll tell her you hatched this plan, that you robbed me.  I’ll see you ruined.”

Jay called her an antique female dog, but did as she requested.

Ruthie had worked her skirt off already.  Next she undid the buttons of her blouse, and then she sawed a jackknife through the rope.  She’d planned well, had even spent time sharpening the blade.

There.  She floated.  A current caught her at once.  It was wonderful.

The waves sounded sloppy, like enthusiastic applause, an ovation.

She went under, which was perfect, because that gave her the ability to finagle the life vest off.  When Ruthie came back to the surface, she was naked and Jack was a tiny bug on the shore.

She tilted her head back.  She closed her eyes and listened to the water having its way with her.  She did not protest.  She felt Levi caressing parts of her no one had ever even seen, the parts she’d saved for him all these years.

And when some time later Ruthie went under for good, she heard Levi say, “Open your eyes, Baby Doll.  I want to see your eyes again.”