A Love Fiction

A small driftwood mobile dances slowly in the window, just visible past the brown paisley print cloth curtains. A hint of sandalwood incense floats in the breeze. Ferns and philodendrons crowd together under the sill in a damp clay bed of earth. Faded colors no longer shimmer on the sea shells, which lay tucked tightly together along a small uneven brick path intersecting a sparse overgrown lawn of weeds and grass.  

A woman's voice is audible- Why don't you put on that record I like. A man's voice replies- Which record you like?-


-You know the record. The one in your collection I really like. Trumpets and strings with the sweet vocals.  

- Trumpet and strings?-

-Yes. It's got that Spanish flavor and puts me in a good mood.-

-Miles' Sketches of Spain?-

 -Vocals and songs with trumpets, not trumpet, dork! God, you can be so dense.-

 The soft guitar opens in that flamenco classical half step up and half step down that seeps through into the air. "Yeah, said it's all right, I won't forget all the times I've waited patiently for you." The strings build in the background as the Herb Alpert styled brass bravado sweeps into the break. Spanish tile and arch doorways peer onto the busy streets with voices harmonizing "I think people are the greatest fun."

The woman's voice -Do you want any of this?-

A waft of smoke escapes around the bobbing fish-lined driftwood and into the atmosphere. "At my house I've got no shackles. You can come and look if you want to."

-Are you about done in there?-


-Yeesss.  Did you shower this morning?-


"Thrum-pum-pum-pum. And I'm wrapped in my armor but my things are material"

-Yes, but seeing you like that makes me dirty all over again.-

"Then you feel your heart beating thrum-pum-pum-pum."


You are so baaad! You're tickling me. Who is this?

"They're locking them up today. They're throwing away the key. I wonder who it will be tomorrow? You or me?"


-Love. Forever Changes.-


"Served My Time. Served it well." 

-Really? Love? I thought they were a punk band.- 


-No, just Arthur Lee and some friends for awhile in LA. Long ago.-


Trumpets pop, and the vocal rings "This is the the time and life that I am living and I'll face each day with a smile. For the time that I've been given is such a little while."


-That's nice.-


Fade out.

April Fools

Sun's up. A morning breeze cools the french roast in my hand with doves, jays and sparrows taking their usual breakfast places underneath the plum tree. The dog trots on patrol from one side of the yard to the other letting out various low sounds of growl indicating a feline intruder wandered the grounds recently. The morning commute echos in the air, forming the usual wall-of-sound din that serves as the sonic background to my urban lifestyle. My big cat inside the house peers through the french-door windows with a look of disgust at his imprisonment. I walk inside with the dog to cheer him up. It's not my endearments, but the offering of dried salmon which rescues the awkward reality. The lady inmate cats appear quickly to receive their usual ration of dried fish, which always must follow the big guy's preferred bribe.

The cracks in the stucco need a patch and quick touch of paint. I retrieve my tools and arm myself with latex gloves. I cover the spider web lines of separation at a corner and underneath a few of the windows. I complete the fill in the back of the house where a broom handle marks the final area of wear. A fast brush after getting the paint put back together with a quick stir ends the project.

Several kids move up and down the street with ipod cords bouncing in rhythm to their steps. I see a lot of kids out and about throughout the town everyday. Apparently school schedules must be on flex time these days.

NPR buzzes with Sam Donaldson. Sam serves up some memories of Nixon, and actually praises Oliver Stone's film of the same name. Sam tells a funny story about questioning Ronald Reagan amid his popularity slide in the early eighties when the economy was about as bad today. Reagan, as Obama does today, had a habit of always reminding the nation that the previous office holder and party created the mess. Sam's question was when would Ronald Reagan accept responsibility for some of this financial crisis. Reagan's response was funny. He acknowledged that, yes, he had once been a Democrat.

I need some tunes on to calm the critters before heading out the door. I put on a collection of oldies the Nixon chronicles had tweaked into my brain. Arthur Lee exclaims, "I just got out my little red book the minute you said goodbye......................... There's just no getting over you."