“Well, let me tell ya, it’s been a long time since I saw that coming. You see that car behind me? Yes, that BMW. Well, that’s the last of it’s kind now. Ya, they melted all of them down after all the oil ran out. And then when they found out that it wasn’t just the oil that was running out, all the metals used to make electronics - they were running out too, and the only way to keep this planet running was to recycle, recycle, recycle everything.”
“You listening to me fella?”
“Oh, yeah, go ahead drink that water before the cup soaks through. You know, once we had cups that did not do that. Yah, plastics.. Oh you’ve heard of them have you? You had a sippy cup when you were a kid? Yah, once this planet was drowning in plastic.”
“Did you know there was a giant plastic trash island in the pacific? Not there anymore. Scavengers you see. There was a rush to see who could go there and bring it back to be recycled. That’s where the Greiners made their fortune. Ships.
What? Oh not those kind. Old man Greiner had a few sailing ships, you know with canvas and sails. And when the oil ran out and the only way to go anywhere on the cheap was on a sailing ship, well, that’s that you see.”
Haarm-ch. Ptui.
“What’s that?”
“No no, fella, you got it all wrong. Disgusting is when you spit in a hankerchief or a piece of paper. This way it will just degrade nat’rally. What ‘s that?”
“Oh, yeah, the birds will eat it. Don’t harm them. Nutritious, you see.”
“You can laugh now, but that is the way things used to be when my grand parents were kids. We’ve all just gone back to that time - no one has realized that we are in the good old days everyone kept talking about when this planet was on a speed rush fueled by oil. “
“Yaup. We’re back in those days. TV stations switch off at midnight. We’re back down to 12 channels on the TV. And most stores stay closed on Sundays. Family. That’s what it is. Now that we’ve gotten rid of the worlds hangover, we’re back on our regular schedule.”
“What’s that? There’s still ethanol? Or Hydrogen?”
“Ha. Ha. Ha. It’s like those scientists say boy. Economics of scale. Economics of scale. You can’t ship enough of that around to make things like they used to be. Sure, we have started doing it and as you see the prices, it’s not as cheap as the oil was. Never will be. Ha. Ha. Hurm. Ha.”
“What are you doing here boy? Why aren’t you in school?”
“What’s that?”
“Schools closed for summer? Gosh darnged it. Is it summer already? I have to remember to put in enough food for my missus and me for the winter. Gor. Time flies so fast. I couldha sworn it was spring last week…”
“What’s that? Summer started two months ago?”
“Aarg. Hurm. You pulling my leg boy? You sayin I’m somehow mentally deficient?”
“Huh. Youngsters nowadays.”
“In any case, time for me to head on back. Don’t you forget boy how this all started. None of us never saw that comin.
One day we were all in our homes and classes and factories, and the next day we were not. So don’t you go around thinking this is what life has always been. “
Gone for a long time,
the writing muscle weakens -
Beginner again.
Two days traveling
to the other side of the
world - so no haiku.
The shortest haiku:
meteorological.
Not quite. Needs more work.
Plans made cannot be
followed - the body demands
sleep denied all week.
Stretch, lift, point, bend, push.
The dancers sweat in the room -
a bluebird watches.
Imagination:
tree tops, blue skies and mountains -
the view from my chair.
Two lonely sail boats,
uncaring automobiles -
The sea lions bark.
Explosion downtown,
windows rattle briefly - life
goes back to normal.
For a large portion of my adult life, I'd always thought of oatmeal (or 'porridge' as I knew it growing up) as a breakfast food for children. It is one of the first solid foods given to babies, and the little ones get it while they're still at home. We got to eat grown up food (toast with butter or jam) once we'd started going to school.
That was until I started seeing someone who had a love affair with oatmeal. She would eat it for breakfast, brunch, and sometimes dinner. It was amazing to watch her cook it. She never followed directions: instead of cooking it for 30 minutes as specified, she would soak the grain overnight and once it started cooking, it was done in about 10 minutes. Made breakfasts a snap.
Of course, by this time, my definition of grown up food had expanded to include pancakes, leftover naan from the Indian place, muffins, and sometimes, cold pizza. Whatever ended up on my plate, for a long time it was not oatmeal.
I don't remember what persuaded me to try it. It may have been a particularly amorous kiss at the breakfast table that led to other things, amongst which included licking warm oatmeal off her erogenous zones. Almost like naked sushi, but with oatmeal and rated XXX. We had the kitchen blinds down, I think, since none of the neighbours complained.
Well, once I'd tried it, there was no turning back. Now I have oatmeal for breakfast. But I draw the line at brunch and dinner.
I am a little bit of a purist though: I still insist on making oatmeal the old fashioned way - none of this 'soaking overnight' business. I do experiment with adding honey, sliced bananas, blueberries, chopped pecans, dried cranberries... It's a lot of fun. I think I would miss oatmeal if I didn't get to have it when I choose. Strange really - I don't miss the girlfriend, but I would miss oatmeal. Must have been the sex.
The fog is back, it's
cold outside. The children run
and scream regardless.
Long walk in the cold
windy city - sun and fog
in San Francisco.
Warm breeze, hot sunshine;
the cat sprawls on the wooden
floor - a cold shower.
Sweeter than milk is
a bottle of cool water -
a hot summer day.
Little boy slaps his
forehead repeatedly - the
bug flies off unhurt.
Writing. Another
thousand words. My life is still
an incomplete book.
The end of the day -
memories of the work done
have faded away.
Sleep comes to me now,
softly - like a finger tip
on a snooze button.
Tourists in shorts walk
along the Barbary coast -
the maidens long gone.
Sweating in the street
at the San Rafael street
fair - the dancers glow.