Does the wrinkly, old, white woman in the politic-

al ad know that what comes out of her mouth is a

huge lie? She’s stern and so serious she is almost

scary, but she is so grandmotherly, too and some-

times grandmothers have to be stern and serious

but they never lie. Mine never did. Of course, she’s

there to convince (or perhaps just give an excuse

to) all the wrinkly, old, white people in the state

that their fear is legitimate, warranted and absolute-

ly true and that’s why they better get out their canes

and walkers and get their kids to take them on down

to their voting places. I don’t know if the wrinkly,

old, white actress knows that what comes out of her

mouth is a huge lie but she should, and shame on her

either way no matter how much she was paid, but,

for sure, the candidate knows and that’s why it is

doubly shameful and scary that Mr. Nice, White

Guy may be re-elected and tell lies for another four

years until he can’t run anymore. Still, those wrinkles

make the old, white woman look so much like my

grandmother and my grandmother would never lie

and Mr. Nice, White Guy hopes every (not just old) white

person in the state thinks about how wonderful and

truthful their grandmothers were and how good a

slice of Grandma’s homemade bread, fresh from the

oven, smelled and tasted with real butter slathered

and melting on it just for her grandchild. Now, really,

would a grandmother ever lie?

He took what he thought was a slight swipe at his

Chocolate Lab’s butt when the lab got too rambunc-

tious with the new, little, Golden girl from down the

street who just stopped by to meet the big boy. He

felt a pop above his elbow as his hand glanced off

the dog’s hind quarters. Cause and effect, karma,

divine retribution, the Wrath of God, stupidity, all of

the above? It didn’t take long for the Southpaw’s

swelling to increase and the range of motion to

decrease seemingly exponentially and opposition-

ally. The torn tendon tore through his arm with searing

pain and he never knew he would enjoy ice on an el-

bow at least as much as ice in a glass with three fingers

of bourbon, but if he wanted to get the self-prescribed

anesthetic to his mouth fast, the right hand had to be

the helping hand and that made it the “right,” if only,

hand available.

It dawned clear skied and still for the

first time in days in this middle of

October. Too, too often the trees tease

with changing colors starting muted

and a bit dull and then brighter and

brighter, sharper with well-defined

reds and yellows and purples, and

then in Michigan along the shore

of the Big Lake, the clouds come in

stealthily at night to cloud the day

followed by rain and winds out of the

west — strong, harsh winds that rip

at the trees and tear the leaves off of

the branches tossing them to the

ground seemingly without any res-

pect and indifferent to the sultry

dance of the leaves like fan dancers

slowly revealing the beauty beneath.

But today and maybe only this

day (There are no promises of Indian

Summer in these parts.), the leaves

hold tight and shine bright by the pond

and the waterfall. He almost didn’t see

the Cardinal couple sitting on a branch.

A couple incurred some damage to

their home and called the

insurance company they had

been paying without a claim since

Adam gave up a rib and the com-

pany sent a cordial letter informing

the couple that everything would

be covered except that which

is due to “wear, tear, marring,

scratching, deterioration, in-

herent vice (what?), latent defect,

mechanical damage, corrosion,

electrolysis or rust, defect, weakness,

inadequacy, fault or unsoundness in

materials used in construction or

repair or maintenance and anything

that may be considered an Act of

God which pretty much means every-

thing including a $1000 deductible

and because we value you as a policy-

holder and appreciate your business,

we want to ensure you understand the

coverage decision which in the Queen’s

English means, ‘You have just been screwed,

Sucka.’ Sincerely, The Simon Legree

Insurance Company of America (located

in the beautiful Cayman Islands to

help guarantee and maintain reasonable

premiums for our valued policy holders),

p.s. Because of this claim, your premium

will automatically skyrocket out of the

stratosphere.”

Good evening.

Ebola is going to kill you.

Lyme Disease is going to kill you.

West Nile Disease is going to kill you.

Issis is going to kill you.

Issil is going to kill you.

Islamist State is going to kill you.

Muslim extremists are going to kill you.

Blacks in the inner city are going to kill you.

An asteroid is going to kill you.

Marauding gangs in Haiti indiscriminately wielding

machetes are going to kill you.

Mexican drug gangs are going to kill you.

The economy is going to kill you.

The national debt is going to kill you.

The deficit is going to kill you.

The Affordable Care Act is going to kill you.

Obamacare is going to kill you.

Strenuous exercise is going to kill you.

A sedentary life style is going to kill you.

Illegal aliens crashing the border are going to kill you.

Unemployment is going to kill you.

Cholesterol is going to kill you.

Saturated fat is going to kill you.

Carbohydrates are going to kill you.

Genetically modified food is going to kill you.

Fast food is going to kill you.

Sugar is going to kill you.

Sugar substitutes are going to kill you.

Corn syrup is going to kill you.

Salt is going to kill you.

Salt substitutes are going to kill you.

Global warming is going to kill you.

Record cold temperatures this winter are going to kill you.

All kinds of Polar Vortexes are going to kill you.

Any and all Administration policies are going to kill you.

Public education is going to kill you.

Freddy Krueger is going to kill you.

Jason is going to kill you.

You Name It is going to kill you.

Fill in the blank______is going to kill you.

Abandon all hope, you who watch the news

but stay tuned for new and even scarier things

that are going to kill you.

YOU ARE GOING TO DIE.

Have a great weekend and good night.

All four of the Chocolate Labs

we have had one at a time

(Oh, my who could handle

more than one at a time?

Some saint in time.)

over the years

get dirty ears

and then their ears itch and

then they shake

and shake and shake

their heads

driving us to distraction

and necessary action,

so we attempt to clean their ears

the veterinarian recommended way

which is to use a soft syringe to spray

vinegar in the ears and then sweep

down deep

with a q-tip through the dirty caverns

all the way.

But they

are pretty smart dogs and they would

see

us coming syringe in hand

and would run for the hills

in some distant land

which means behind the bed.

Pulled by the collar

outside to the deck,

they eventually say, “What the heck,

I can’t get away so I’ll just let them

spray and then I will shake, shake,

shake driving them further to

distraction.

Yes, that will be

my revengeful action.

And I won’t give them a kiss

for at least a minute’s fraction.

So there. I win.”

And we let them think they’ve

won. That’s half the fun, but

even though they think

we’re mean,

we win

because their ears are

clean.

A visual artist, she hunts and often finds

things which she can see as art as the two

of them and their Chocolate Lab jog the

trails. This particular trail is open for hunt-

ing during certain months so they stay away

afraid a hunter will mistake their big dog

for a wild animal to be shot with an arrow

or bullet. She bends down and picks up a

dry bone along a trail in one of these hunt-

ing areas. It is clean of flesh, sinew, liga-

ments, tendons –a small femur that when

whittled could be a native American musical

instrument telling soulful, mournful stories.

Had the hunter hit its prey but not cleanly

and it crawled or ran or hopped away to die

another day? The leg which could have been

whittled into a whistle at another time to

tell another story became that upon which

everything else hung in her new sculpture

which could have been anything the behold-

er wanted to see. A clean bone alone became

once again the supporting structure of that

which for now stands on the mantle ready

to leap and run once again and avoid the

hunter’s aim.

a full two days before the moon was full

of itself so many here on planet earth were

full of themselves in weirder ways than

they normally are full of it – driving fast-

er, cutting off other drivers, flipping birds

left and right and with the courage of a left-

handed flight of the bird right out of their

open driver side car window, birds flap-

ing in the wind –a pretty bold move when

usually the driver could only muster the

courage of a right-handed bird held up

between bucket seats through the middle

of the car and visible through the rear wind-

ow. a left-handed bird out the window is stupid

because such a gesture might provoke full-

moon road-rage resulting in serious bodily

injury or perhaps even death especially as the

day of the full moon neared, but then again,

as stated earlier, people were acting weird-

er than usual. i hated to think what the next

two days and nights on the roads of america

might mean for a guy who normally drives

slowly but on full moons drives even slower so

more cars would be on his tail feathers flipping birds.

The man e-mailed his friend from years

gone by. He didn’t call even though the

friend’s # is in his cell-phone contacts.

For some reason the word awkward came

to mind when he thought about calling,

and so he wrote and got a response, a

matter-of-fact, data filled response – re-

tired, watching grandkids, spouse dealing

with arthritis. Congenial. Twenty-one years

ago, the friend had traveled many, many

miles to attend the memorial service for the

man’s wife who died tragically in a day.

The friend was there and he stopped for a

ham sandwich, pickle and potato chips at

the reception and left to travel back all those

miles. Several years later the friend asked the

man to preach at the celebration of the friend’s

twenty-fifth anniversary of his ordination and

fiftieth birthday. Since then, the man always

has to call or write his friend, and now it is

always write and not often. Sometimes the

man just has to remember long miles driven

and invitations to be a part of special occasions

in a friend’s life, give thanks and leave it at

that.

Hearing the rain, he puts down

his Harlan Coben at a really

good spot in the plot,

looks out the window and sees

drops splattering and bouncing

off the balcony railing,

sliding down the patio umbrella

closed for the season, onto the

table and chairs,

not yet put away, through the slats

of the deck onto the concrete below,

running off into the

sand, filtering down, down, down

and swirling around to the Big Lake

raising the water

level for the second year in a row

after several years of a drought.

He’ll miss a jog,

but doesn’t mind too much think-

ing about kids romping in the

surf around the 4^th of July.

There’s a lull in the rain;

he may get in that jog

all the same.

Oops, it’s raining again.