Category: Humor

Ancel and electronics… when he was young.

Ancel’s tangle of electronics and cords were gathered up after his visit. My lowly charger must have appeared to be just another USB with a wall plug, so whoosh, into his bag it went.

My prayers to the finding gods had gone unanswered. It hid among its companions until I had a bright idea… it may have come from the finding gods, who knows. I thought to ask Ancel directly. “Ancel! Do you have my phone charger per chance?” With a clear sense of what belongs to him and what doesn’t, he responded, “Oh! Is it a USB with a wall plug?”

“Yes, yes,” I nearly screamed (but didn’t since we were sitting in a public place and I didn’t want to sound accusatory). “It’s in my tech drawer,” he said calmly, not being cognizant of the suffering I had been experiencing. “Your tech drawer? Where is your tech drawer?”

I tried to sound calm but I wanted to run to his “tech drawer” and steal away my charger, charge my phone and once again be connected to my world, but I had to wait. Ancel wasn’t going home quite yet.

At last I had dinner with Jesse, Hannah, and Enora. I was happy for dinner and the great company, but I knew that my charger would be with them, which added to my joy. At the end of the evening, Hannah pulled out a tangle of USBs and a wall plug that had been pulled from the “tech drawer.” We identified mine from the bunch, and now my phone is cooking beside my bed once again, reunited with its lifeline, and I with mine.

When Things Were Simple

When weed came in kilos across the border from Mexico, it was simple. That’s when a kilo was $35-$60. When you most likely bought a lid in a plastic sandwich baggy for $10 from a friend.

When what you bought was smattered with stems and seeds that would pop and burn holes in your clothes or in your davenport or the seat of the car.

When a part of opening the baggy, and before smoking, was performing the ritual of carefully picking through and cleaning out the debris.

When Zig Zag papers were bought at the corner store to roll a joint. When one took pride in knowing how to roll a perfect joint or a giant “doobie,” It was an acquired skill.

We rolled joints by hand that wouldn’t fall apart, clear to the finger burning end. Or maybe someone had a pipe and sometimes a hooka.

When we all had “roach clips”. Making a nice  “roach clip,” was a work of art and creativity. Does anyone even know what a roach clip is or use one anymore?

The very last bit of a joint, or roach,  was savored by slipping it into a clip and holding it to your lips so as not to burn your fingers. How very handy they were.

PS: Those treasured relics pictured above are more than 50 years old, probably closer to 60. They were made from the bristles of the street cleaners brushes that one could find in the gutters while walking the streets of Portland.

Rain, Fish, Fiasco

Fish & Chips in a Rain Storm.

The mess


This inevitably happens with Yum Yum and me. There was a march of heavy rain storms today with a few cloud breaks. Yum Yum and I dressed in our raincoats and went out to walk, of necessity.

After half a block, the clouds opened and drenched us while Yum took her time carefully, sniffing out a perfect spot to relieve herself. By the time we were back in the house, we were sopping wet.

I had decided to fry some cod for an early dinner. I prepped the fish and decided to make a beer batter. These days,opening cans or bottles is best left to Han or Nori, but the fish I wanted wouldn’t wait.

I held the bottle of IPA in my right hand, as tightly as I could, while I tried to pry off the cap with my left. The cap popped off surprisingly. I could easily predict what happened next…. my hand holding the beer, uncontrollably lurched to the right spilling the beer onto the counter, into the tray holding the toaster and coffee pot, then spreading a river onto the floor.

Fortunately, there was just enough beer to make the batter… but that’s not all. While reaching for a large bottle of oil in which to fry the fish, I misjudged the height in which to clear other objects in front of the bottle. It squarely hit the pour over cone, holding this mornings coffee grounds. Not quite dry, the grounds spilled out onto the counter, then bounced down onto the floor, spreading grounds here and there and everywhere.

By this time, I felt hot and sweaty and had lost my appetite for the fish. I cooked it anyway, but it held little charm. I ate a few pieces and now only want to clear the dishes and go to bed. Maybe that’s the safest place for me.

Yum Yum wants it

Poor Messed Up Fox

My fox was brand new

All shiny of hue,

‘Til I found it had puntured

The bottom of my shoe.

Unbeknownst to me,

I had walked a mile or two,

And scraped the poor thing,

‘Til it’s black and it’s blue.

Bee Behaviour … Love or Thuggery

The Bee Bar

Today I sat and watched the bees drinking at the “bee bar” and gathering pollen from the lavender, the gladiolus, the sweet William, the kiwi, apples, the lily’s and more. One guy caught my eye.

He watched as other bees entered a particularly attractive squash blossom. Once the unsuspecting bee got deep within, this guy… (I don’t know if it was a guy or not, but I suspected as much, as his seeming thuggery led me to believe so) followed him or her in from behind.

Within seconds, he dragged the other bee out of the blossom, slammed it on the ground, gave it a good going over, released it, then both flew away. In seconds the scene was repeated.

Either this was characteristic of territorial behavior, violent love making or a rape. I couldn’t tear my eyes away until the brutality was too much for me to continue to witness. 😂