pickle making his snow angel

pick's snow angel

bobby

more again bobby

hunda put the snow in his mouth

Video: 

video of hunda doing agility

hunda in a basket

me in a cage

this is sort of a sequal to the story i wrote a while ago called Serial Killers.  except it's not.  and i'm trying to develop some characters to go with my dialogue  so bear with me.  i wrote this while listening to heartbreak warfare by john mayer.  i can't believe the guy at the tapout gym actually thought i should sign up for the 10 week fitness boot camp.  the goal is to loose weight.  he showed me pics of the before and after for lots of different peeps.  but where would i lose weight from???  i want to gain weight you f-er!  this guy did NOT get it.  i don't think guys get it in most cases.  please watch out for life.  do it now.

Let’s Go Fly A Kite

By: ffluffy

Dedicated to: my peeps and Chewy

"Who's to say where the wind will take you

Who's to know what it is will break you

I don't know which way the wind will blow" ~ U2

P ran, his hair trailing behind him in the wind. He looked over his shoulder and tripped a little on a jutting root; he picked himself up and sprinted for the field. A bruise from the day before was tender on his shin but forward he went.

Everyone else followed, squinting into the sun and tasting the peanut butter on their lips from lunch. They looked out from underneath their eyebrows to the open space filled with air and bugs and pollen and wind. Past the tree with crispy winter leaves they ran. Over dusty dirt and trash and weeds into the world they flew.

P smelled like sweat and dirty socks, his clothes hung off his skinny frame with a flourish. Pumping his arms, he could feel his heart beat harder and faster and his breathe came quick. But his mind saw the plastic flitter in the sky, with a back drop of blue and white, specked with sun. He could feel the twine between his fingers and the spool un-winding farther and longer until the inevitable dive bomb that meant untangling the line from the pear trees ringing the field and digging burs out of socks and shoes.

The kids behind him were a flailing mass of brown motion; screaming and yelling things P couldn’t hear. P’s mind jutted out into conscious thought and the word Kite repeated itself over and over; he ran past the gopher skeleton without even seeing it, and rotting fruit on the ground was just a smell in the air.

Some days, P could just sit and drum his fingers on the bench, pick the dirt from under ragged nails, or bite the skin from a chapped lip. Other days the kids wouldn’t leave him alone until a game of make believe took them to invisible lands. One time all the imaginary friends fought a brutal and bloody battle from which they did not return. Today P would touch the air.

After it was over, the darkness sent them packing. The cold took them slowly back to where they had come from. A can ringing from a kick in the night and his toe aching from the impact, P trudged forward, nothing to show for the day and only a glimmer of thought for the next election.

ps.  sushi in california kicks ass but sushi in arizona has my peeps.

I wrote this a while back and just got around to editing it.  It is NOT a negative commentary on Henry James who I love.  It stems more from a conversation between Lynn and DaRa that we had after the Nutcracker at El Charro.

Book Club

By: ffluffy

Dedicated to: all readers and writers

"And should you like him to write our story?" - Henry James
 
When So and So read The Turn of The Screw it was so boring and complicated that he eventually looked it up on line just so that he would understand the basic plot. 
 
“If I could re-write that story I would make the ghosts actually say something.  Who believes in ghosts who can’t talk?”  LaLa wondered.
 
“If I could be in the story I would be the nanny because everyone else is either retarded or dies at the end,” D said.
 
“I didn’t like the story,” So and So exclaimed.
 
“Henry James is supposed to be this amazing author and instead I read The Turn of The Screw as a rambling ghost story with too much non-information,” J flipped through the pages of the book.
 
“Somebody recommended it to me, one of these books you have to read before you die kind of things,” D reasoned.
 
“I think we should make a list of 100 things to do before we die,” LaLa suggested.
 
“I don’t regret reading it though; at least I can say I’ve read it.  What else are you going to do with a story like that?  Let it sit on the library shelf?”  J explained.

 “Well, I thought it was scary,” said D.
 
“It was scary, but it was also pointless, who cares if the kids could see the ghosts or not?  And who cares if the house keepers had an affair or not.  I think that book is supposed to be about random sex acts but it just doesn’t come through in the story since you couldn’t really write about stuff like that back then,” LaLa gestured with her hands as she spoke.
 
“I have too much A.D.D. to read a story like that,” Vee said.
 
“What are you talking about?  It is super short; took me a few hours to read.  You could read it, you just don’t want to,” J looked at Vee across the room.
 
“Maybe I don’t want to read it, you can’t force me.”
 
“Why are you in a book club then?  You should join a sofa sifting club.”
 
“Fuck off.”
 
“Next I think we should read some Shakespeare, or some Milton,” D interjected.
 
“Or maybe we should try writing a ghost story of our own,” So and So recommended.

“I don’t have anything inside me to write,” LaLa glanced around the room.
 
“Neither do I,” Vee stated.
 
“Well this is some book club!”  D stood up ready to go.
 
“Let’s combine all the choices for next time, either write a story, make a list of 100 things to do before you die, read something from Shakespeare or Milton or just sit on your sofa,” J proposed.

“Makes me want to join a real book club,” Vee whispered inwardly.
“Well, I’m outta here, thanx guys!” D opened the door.

“Me too.”

“Bye.”

And in the end, as Henry James would say, So and So and LaLa “were alone with the quiet day.”

The Refrigerator Memoirs

By: ffluffy

Dedicated to: all closet zen people and kupie and wacker, kerm and cooner, j and d, stockdale, susilla, toy boy and his brother, t, e and e and anyone who has played with magnetic poetry

My brother has an old fridge in his garage. The garage is packed with discarded life items; the fridge is packed with a sampling of high end microbrews. I love to open the door, and peer into the cold interior, each time the selection is different. The beer chooses me.

The fridge in the cabin was so old it had a stainless steel handle that you pulled out to open and pushed in until it clicked to close. Its rounded edges gave it a sensuality only seen on women wearing skin tight clothing from the 70’s. The smell in that cabin was a cross between smoke and pine trees and the fridge clunked when the compressor kicked on so the quiet was never quite peaceful.

The first fridge that was given to me came without an interior light and I am lazy, so I never replaced it. Most of the time it was ok except when you wanted something from the back or you were trying to decide if a food item had mold growing on it. That fridge sort of worked but sort of didn’t. Beer was never quite cold enough and meat spoiled a little too quickly. I gave that fridge to some not so nice type of people who deserved it more than I did.

The fridge from my childhood was yellow but the front was covered with magnets, random papers decorated with drawings, pictures of relatives and take-out menu’s. My favorite memory of that fridge was finding a bowl full of white goopy stuff with no lid on it and dipping my finger in deep to taste it, except it wasn’t pudding, (gag), it was chicken fat. Nothing gets rid of that flavor in your mouth.

My fridge in college had word poetry on it. Friends would come over to hang around and have a beer and make wonderful poems out of strange English words deemed worthy enough to put on a small magnet. Poems like: ‘slather to your orange, this sound upon me’ and ‘delicate whisper like an elaborate symphony to his death’ and ‘weak moment think me’. None of them got published.

The latest fridge that owns me was a freebie from some friends. It came filled with piss and shit and mouse death. I didn’t find the nest until I had turned it on and the compressor had a chance to heat up and cook the mess until the smell filled my kitchen. And then I couldn’t quite identify the stench, but my nose finally picked up on the pee stink above the others and I unscrewed the back. Ten mice bodies lay desiccating on the pan of the fridge, snuggled among hair, poop and urine. As I pulled the corpses out, I found two small cat toy mice that had been nestled amongst the others. It turns out mice can show good will to their likeness. A bunch of man hours and a sixty dollar un-needed/un-returnable/over-priced electric part later this fridge freezes burritos and keeps beer super cold. My sweat and blood has replaced the dead and the poo and a new vinyl drain tube decorates what used to be home to ten mice and their two mannequin buddies.

And next? Who knows? It could be the fridge at school, that isn’t used by anyone but was left by a teacher that I have never met and is filled with five years of stuff sitting at 28 degrees Fahrenheit doing strange biological things. It might be the fridge of my future, perfect in every way or at least willing to accept me for who I am. It has been; in every house, in every shack, in some garages and even in my car, masquerading as a leaking ice chest. Refrigerators exist as art and in graveyards and in my heart.

One Inch Square

By: ffluffy

Dedicated to: everyone living their lives the best they can

That one spot on my desk is warped from coffee cups and spilled food. The varnish is almost the shade of wood but more like the color of the inside of tree bark, where the soft pith starts. My finger nail leaves a dent where I picked off a piece of hardened Doritos. White specks are randomly distributed through the area; I peer closer to find a pattern. It looks like the splash when a diver does not execute a nine or ten (or how vomit would look when it hits the floor from a fall of four feet) and is sort of in the shape of a butterfly, one who is going to die soon. That section of desk smells like the inside of my nose, or the inside of my nose smells like my desk, maybe it has no smell. I can’t tell because when I lean over and inhale, nothing strikes my brain. I tasted it by licking my finger and wiping it on the desk and licking my finger again; my tongue touches dust, Cheetos and Earl Grey tea. That part of my work station needs to be washed, scrubbed, scraped, and re-painted and it is usually covered by books and pens and scraps of sticky notes and random papers. I uncovered it to get a better look at it. I wish I could peel it off and rub it all over my body but instead I wipe the inside of my wrist across it, the smooth flesh touches warped fake wood that is colder than me, colder than the room but warmer than the snow outside. If I listen closely I can hear the ocean. Shhhh.  Listen.

the hunda rally chronicles continue...we did rally again today which i must say took a lot of guts on my part after being booted out yesterday.  but i spent yesterday and this morning clicking and treating for heeling around a rally sign so i was pretty sure i could do about 20 seconds in the ring.  so i walked the first four signs, which included a SLOW sign as the first thing we had to do (sucks for the poor novice rally dogs to have to do a slow right off the bat).  hunda was a TOTAL spazz and the ring steward had to back away because he thinks he should go up and visit everyone.  then he tried to visit the judge but i got him back and started.  needless to say, there was no SLOW in hunda's today so we just heeled past the first sign and got to the normal sign which put us almost at the ring rope which was a left turn to a stop and down.  hunda and i got all the way to the stop and down which he is amazing at with a verbal cue only and i paused for 2 seconds and then ran for the exit thanking the judge on my way out who was standing with her mouth open.  hunda and i ran for the tree where the treats were stashed and bailed for the car.  the comments i got for the rest of the day were great:  "you should teach him to watch you when you heel" (really??? it's a vallhund, it took me 2 years just to get eye contact during a stationary sit), and "does that dog do agility? he sure is a spazz" (i don't think hunda's spazzyness is due to doing agility), and "he sure is cute" (of course he is!!!!).  i am proud that we were able to function together in the ring and have a rally show n go planned in two weeks to practice more.

pickle held his sit stay during group today in open!!!!  woot!!!!  he had already failed for not jumping the high jump after the retrieve so pressure was off.

a story i wrote a while ago:

Clear

By: ffluffy

Dedicated to: Goop (who used to live at Magic Carpet Golf) R.I.P.

I saw a sky bigger than anything I could fit into. And green hills rounded and mounding and a black rock or two, darker than what’s inside and rivers twisting through steep canyons. The backing was peeled of the mirror and I could see straight through myself into nothing. I wasn’t even sure I was alive. But the space between the ground and the clouds was painfully visible. Foxtails tickled my ears, I looked so hard it hurt and I held on too tight, my hand wrapped around the air, knuckles dug deep.

Goop

the most hilarious thing happened today.  and before i begin you should ask yourself this question - how many people do you know who have been kicked out of the rally obedience ring??  as of today the answer to that question is: 1!!!  hunda and i were asked to leave today because he was being a spazz.  the BEST part of the whole thing is that hunda wasn't just being a normal spazz, he was trying to offer behaviors with the signs (you can tell i have NEVER practiced rally with signs and that hunda is a super operant dog).  he offered nose touch on sign, paw sign, go around sign, jump on sign, bite sign, etc.  i carried him out of the ring and by the time we got to the car i was laughing so hard i was crying.  only hunda.  after a time out in his crate we went to the agility practice jump because i don't want hunda to not be excited in trial situations and i felt like he had gotten the point of being carried out of the ring and put back in his crate.  so i started out like nothing had happened and we went and did some jumping at the practice jump where it turns out running a muck is ok and actually welcomed and he was happy and barking and jumping and tugging and in awesome drive mode.  then we went out and did some rally stuff outside of the agility ring and he was great.  so i'm going to try again tomorrow AFTER i glue a piece of paper to a pvc pole and heel around it today.  i don't know if hunda will ever be able to do rally or agility in a real trial but it doesn't matter.  he is an amazing dog.

(hunda's fav rally sign)

pickle got his cd today 3 for 3.  the long sits and downs scare me in open, pickle pretty much crouches for any sit so crouching for 3 minutes with me out of sight may turn into a down...

thanx to lynn i am reading this great book about writing, check out this line by Anne Lamott from Bird by Bird:

"writing motivates you to look closely at life, as it lurches by and tramps around"

i can't wait to lurch and tramp through 2010 with hundalootodo do do do doooo at my side!

from the book monkey by: wu cheng'en which is a book about battling demons. 

i hatch no plot, i scheme no scheme;
fame and shame are one to me,
a simple life prolongs my days.

which pretty much means don't try so hard!  and maybe watch out for life.  and maybe: note to self - no expectations in 2010.  NONE!!   

it's a quarter after one and i'm a little drunk and i need you now..."

a pic of pic and i.  pick is being super cute!  i <3 the pick.