Dodo Eggs

Elias entered the village with the quiet rumble of rumor surrounding the men.  The widows, including Inge were ready and came forward to meet their new husbands.  Each man took their respective widow into their arms and offered them their love.  The bishop was called and a huge wedding ceremony was hastily put together.

“Inge,” Elias approached the smiling woman.  “I hope you will consider this feat I have preformed as proof enough of my kindness.  Will you accept me as you husband?”

“I look at these remarkable men you have found and can only marvel at the love they have for these widows they have only just been introduced to.  If you show me half as much then we will be quite content.  But where did you find these men?”

Elias leaned forward and kissed Inge.  He whispered into her ear.  “They have been fashioned from animals by the magic in my staff.  I am a wizard will you accept me even now?”

Inge looked Elias in the eyes.  “You have brought hope to these woman.  My womb is closed and someday I may yet desire a child.  Will you teach me what you have done and then promise me never to use it again?”

Elias laughed out loud.  “Only if you promise to inform me before I am to become a father!” 
 
All five couples were married that day and everyone seemed content.  A sense of wholeness cast the dark pallor that had settled on the village away.  The village prospered along with the growing love between Elias and Inge.

Almost a year passed before Brena arrived at Elias’ door.  She was upset and angry.

“The husband you gave me is stupid!  He may be strong enough to drag logs but isn’t smart enough to tie the harness!  I’m weary of helping him think through everything.  What can you do about it?”

Elias gave Brena a hard look.  How dare this woman complain to him?  What was he to do now?  “You asked for a strong and healthy husband and that’s what you have received.  I promised nothing else.  Does he not love you?”

“Yes, he loves me but his slow thinking makes him so much trouble!”

“Leave me woman!”  Elias found her ungratefulness upsetting.  “He is strong and under your guidance he will work your farm.  And above all else he loves you!  Leave me!”

Only three days later, Rachel came to see Elias.  “The man you brought me is cheap and thoughtless of other people!  He has cut so many one sided deals that no one trusts him.  I have lost friends to my husband’s profitable approach to everything.  He does nothing before considering who will come out on top!”

Elias scowled and bit on his anger.  “You wanted a clever and organized man.  I can see by the fine linens you are clothed in that your inn has prospered.  Does he not still love you?” 

“Oh yes, he spends on me lavishly but is so cutthroat with everyone else.  I don’t like the way the other women look at me anymore.”

“Be gone!  Everything you asked for was given to you!”  The wizard finished before closing the door in her face.  “Be grateful and temper your husbands actions with good gifts to those who may be offended!”

The next day, Trena found Elias picking berries from the bushes behind his cottage.  “Why have you burdened me with such a man?  Our neighbor’s hounds wandered into our sheep pasture last week and my husband killed them all!  A man pushed past me near the commons yesterday and my husband beat him!  It caused a terrible scene.  He is so suspicious of others that we cannot even offer guests our hospitality.”

Elias clenched his teeth.  They did not understand the toll such powerful spells take on a wizard and he had been under no obligation to help them!  “You as well!?  Months ago when a small party of pillaging Saxons attacked the village, it was your husband that took his spear killing two and driving the others away.  Does he not guard your heart with equal diligence?”

“Yes, however…”

“Then leave me!  My gift was everything I promised and much more than you deserved!”

Elias had not finished picking from his berry patch when Catherine approached him only hours later.  

“Sir,” she began.  “My husband does not work as he should.  He prefers to explore the woods, but not to hunt.  He just walks through the trees lounging.  And when he is in the town he is wrestling and playing with the young men and boys instead of minding the mayor’s business.”

The old wizard could hardly contain his anger.  He was above questioning.  “You are the envy of this village!  Your husband has women half your age swooning at his approach!  He is the caretaker of the forest and disciples the young men!  Has one of the younger girls taken his eyes?”

“No, they stay filled with visions of me.”

“Then your ungratefulness cannot be ignored!”  Elias dropped his thatch basket of berries and pulled the moonroot from the belt across his waist.  He struck her with the end of his wand and she transformed into a doe.  “No go!”

The doe turned and bolted into the woods.  Then the wizard stuck the ground with the moonroot altering his spells.  Brena became and ox and her husband returned to his original form, Rachel and her husband became foxes, Trena and her husband were bent into badgers, and Catherine’s husband became a stag once again.

Word spread though the village of the missing people and the strange animals left in their place.  Everyone was confused except for Inge.  She knew what must have happened.  She hid and did not come home until late that evening after Elias had gone to bed.  She crept into the bedroom and took the moonroot wand. 

Elias woke with the sounds of the front door closing.  “My wand!”  He looked at the other side of the bed and realized that Inge had not returned.

The wizard sprinted outside and found his wife standing in the moonlight with his wand outstretched.  “Inge!  What are you doing?  Come to bed that wand is not to be played with.”

“I thought you were kind but your vengeance today has stripped away your previous deeds and created a state worse than when you found it.  Your actions have destroyed my trust in you.  I’m leaving.”

Elias fell to his knees.  “Inge my dear, I am sorry!  Forgive me and tomorrow I will search every forest and glen until I find the animals.”

“Elias, you know that is impossible.  You have lost them and now you have lost me.” 

Inge tapped each shoulder with the moonroot and a second later a great owl stood in her place.  It took the moonroot staff in its talons and flew over the trees in the direction of the full moon.

The last of the wizards was left broken hearted and powerless.   

One of the greatest lessons that ever broke over my head came when I was the most confused.  I was in high school struggling with an appreciation of quadratic equations, balancing chemical reactions, and especially poetry. 

“This stuff is stupid!” I was standing in the hallway talking to everyone in earshot.  “I mean it!  And nothing quite reaches the heights of stupidity and pointlessness like poetry.”

My social studies instructor overheard my bleating and decided to throw in a free lesson. 

“You think it’s stupid because you can’t do it or you don’t understand it.  If you were able to write poetry and finish the math and science successfully I think your opinion would dramatically change.”

I eventually came to grasp the math and science but to this day I have failed to garner a handle for poetry.  Then I observed my supervisors at the Parks & Recreation Department crammed into the Aquatics office.  No serious issues existed so they were closing small meaningless loopholes in the ways lifeguards dress, twirl their whistle, or even sit.

I became possessed by the bard’s spirit and crafted this poem to leadership meetings without a clear cause.  For greater applicability, I have given it a business setting.  Read it slowly and aloud for any pentameter may be hard to find.

               The florescent lights burn strong then blink,
                  Coffee bittersweet, stale bagels whole wheat,
                  A table of heels and ties all struggle to think.
                  Meeting is a bore, administrators on third floor.
                  Too many irons searching for the same kink.

                  “Productivity up, I guess moral is high.
                  But small problems exist…just pop the wrist?”
                  To be useful, the strong leader must reply.
                  “A new regulation to quell my frustration!”
                  “Yes, all and every employee must comply.”

                   Language is conjured a consensus is taken.
                   Their meeting is adjourned, their salaries earned.
                   Potent cure for a fleabite, no one is mistaken.
                   “Eyes will roll! What needless control!”
                   Next meeting canceled for more useful vacation.

 Words are arranged all willy-nilly, poetry may not be stupid but it’s defiantly a little silly.

From the desk of Dr. Norm dePlume,
Professor of Rectal Sclerosis at Dakota University -Medora Branch
2008 Winner of DUMB’s Most Expensive Textbook Competition
     

To My Esteemed Colleagues,

For many years, our understanding of the hormone driven behavior of the young male has lumped haphazardly into the catch phrase, “Boys will be boys.”  Science and we as scientists must consider this grossly insufficient to our intellectual demands.  We as men of learning must peel back the layers of that hide the young male’s inner psyche. 

We must ask ourselves what makes young males respond, “Man, yea!  I’ll take another!” to nine out of ten randomly generated questions.

As scientists we must understand why, with such a willingness to mate, these young males dress and groom so poorly when males of other species puts on his best.

With a generous appropriation from the Centers for Disease Control, we have wired a typical dorm room with cameras, listening devices, and small hoists.  Little effort was needed to conceal our surveillance equipment as we have labeled everything with, “Cable for 1500 Channels.”  The room was actually given cable access.  We have little fear they will count.

Our specimens are two males we have affectionately named Binko and Zits.  They were lulled into permanent occupancy of the room by the lowering of baked goods whenever they lost consciousness.  These baked goods are made from sugar, white flour, and the most advanced space age materials, which give them a shelf life that tops canned goods. 

I will keep you posted regarding our studies.

                              Regards, 
       

                              Professor Norm dePlume      

My favorite Chinese restaurant in Memphis is a small place called the Laughing Panda.  The odd decals plastered on the windows, walls, and menus inspire a different name.  The image is a panda leaning forward with its forepaws across its middle and mouth agape.  Regulars have come to calling it the Belching Panda.

The unofficial name has been good for business especially among the college guys that migrate over from the nearby campus.  Tuesdays and Thursdays are especially busy because of a new pinpoint promotion called Pang hu Sagwa.  If you order a beer you get a free serving of fried rice.  Order a pitcher and it becomes a family sized feast of greasy brown grains with sliver-sized bits of meat and vegetables.

I looked over at the most recent group of mop-haired, rag wearing young men.  They were clumsily circling the long table the hostess had shown them, laughing although no one had said anything funny.

“I told you we shouldn’t come on a Thursday night.”  My wife commented with a spoonful of egg drop soup only inches from her mouth.

I responded with a dismissive nod and a question, “I wonder what Pang hu Sagwa really means?  Have you ever noticed how the waiters smile whenever anyone orders it?”

She took a sip from her spoon.  “The menu says beer and rice so I’m guessing that’s what it means.  Why don’t you finish you beef and peppers?”

“If Pang hu Sagwa really means beer and rice, then why does the menu have a different name for rice over here?”  I flattened a menu and pointed at the listing for fried rice.  “And the beer has a different Chinese name when it’s listed with the other alcoholic beverages as well.”

“Do you really care?”

I whipped out my wallet.  “Darling, let me show you the power of a dollar.”

The next time our waiter stopped by our table I asked him about Pang hu Sagwa. 

“Sir, the menu says it’s our beer and rice special.  Free rice with beer.”

“Yes, I know that, but why the different names on the menus and why do you keep suppressing a grin every time I say it?”

He stammered a bit before I interrupted him with, “I tell you what, you’re looking at another extra dollar on your tip if you tell me the secret.  How do you feel about an extra Washington?”

My wife put her hand over her eyes.

The waiter and I stared at each other for a long moment.  I was waving the small greenback like it was the battle flag to the Republic.  He was conjuring then casting aside a million sarcastic retorts.
 
“Alright,” he took the dollar from me and slipped it into his pocket.  “Pang means fat and Sagawa means stupid.  It’s always good for a laugh.” 

I gave my wife another dose of my self-satisfied grin. 

“And for ten dollars sir, I’ll tell you passes in the kitchen for beef.”

This post is part of an archive.  To read the current version, we recommend ‘Lead Laced Tongue.’

 Nothing casts so gracious a light upon a man’s brow as saying the right thing at the right time.  It’s the perfectly fitting piece to a jumbled puzzle of competing voices.  It makes your case and clads your point in stainless steel. 

 A shrewd man once quoted another by saying, “Borrowed wisdom is always better than the dung you were going to say.”

 Scenario Number One:  Your coworkers are discussing a difficult problem that has development of your new supercomputer at a complete standstill.  Groups of engineers are looking at the beta type and blue prints and saying something about reversing the polarity.  You have no idea what the problem is because you’ve been learning to juggle your collection of stress balls for the last three weeks.

 Suddenly, they all turn to you and ask, “Bob, what do you think the problem is?”

 Dynamic Quote:  “It looks like there’s a little play in the mechanism.”

 Further Application:  Use this handy phrase whenever anyone asks you to diagnose problems with cars, computers, home electronics, economic recovery plans, and recipes.  If they ask you to clarify, simply restate the quote, “I said, it looks like there’s a little PLAY in the MECHANISM.” 

 Scenario Number Two:  A new supervisor has been hired for your department, restaurant, or school.  His first long oration revolves around finding the “right people for my new ideas.”  Everyone with three years of experience knows that means extra responsibilities with no extra pay.  If your job is secure, step into his office, look around a bit confused, and say…

 Dynamic Quote:  “Wait, this isn’t the men’s bathroom!”

 Further Application:  As long as it isn’t over used, his quote has lesser value anytime you waltz into a meeting a bit late.  It amuses and deflects from the fact that you were running a bit late.

 Scenario Number Three:  One of your coworkers has a proposal that has “apocalyptic failure” written all over it.  You are asked your opinion.

 Dynamic Quote:  “I’d rather teach roaches to do circus tricks on a street corner in Haiti.”

 Further Application:  In recent tests, this verbiage has been found ineffective in relieving spouses of household chores.  Tests indicated subjects still had to take out the trash.  This quote is best left to shoot down suggestions from people who cannot physically harm you.

 Scenario Number Four:  The following quote is best kept under glass with emergency decals plastered across it.  It is guaranteed to bring any group conversation to a screeching halt.  You instantly become the center of attention and the previous subject of conversation is completely forgotten.

 Dynamic Quote: “Hey, guess who I saw picking his nose while he was driving to work?”

 Further Application:  This quote adjusts well to any and all social situations but it must be used only in dire circumstances.

This post is part of an archive.  To read the current version, we recommend ‘Elderly Thnking.’

I was trapped in the an elderly Sunday school class called the “Late Bloomers.” The room was filled with the smell of old paper and jasmine perfume. Those around me had their gray heads bowed and were either sound asleep or deep in prayer. The battered metal folding chair squeaked every time I moved.

To my right, an elderly voice droned, “And Lord, we pray for Eugene Blatamer’s gallbladder. We pray that you would give him comfort as it has been removed.”

I didn’t know any of the folks for whom they were praying and it wasn’t easy to sit still.  My most recent bout with prehistoric jock itch was occupying most of my attention. Each time I adjusted my hindquarters the chair would release a squeak like the cry of a pinned rat.

“How do these people stay so still so long? Half of them have to be getting a head start on their afternoon nap.”

In reality, I wasn’t supposed to be here. My wife and I were visiting her grandparents for the weekend and should have attended the young couples class as guests. However, this morning she woke up with a terrible headache and flu symptoms. That meant sitting alone with a bunch of strange couples for an uncomfortable hour or sitting beside my grandfather-in-law in his class.

“Oh yea, you can come with me. You’ll enjoy the prayer request time where each member gets to air their latest health problem.” He smiled and poked me in the ribs. “I’ll be sure they mention your fungus problem for prayer.”

If only he had been kidding.

“…and Lord we pray that you would give Matt comfort from his unmentionable request. Lord, we don’t know the exact nature of Matt’s problem but we pray for Your hand on whatever it is bothering him…Amen.”

The following lesson was on fleeing from temptation and sin.

I sat half listening and half wondering when was the last time anyone in the room with me had fled from anything. My grandfather still raised cattle and every now and then his bull would chase him out of the field. I tried to imagine my eighty-year-old grandfather sprinting in his overalls and dirty boots but couldn’t quite conjure it.

After the closing prayer, I offered this question to my grandfather-in-law and a few of the other gentlemen. “When was the last time you actually picked up your knees and ran?”

They looked at each other smiles creasing their faces. No one could answer my question.

I pressed the question. “Well why don’t you? Wouldn’t you like to run again even if it’s for no apparent reason?”

A man in an out of date polyester suit pointed to me. “We don’t run because we’re old. Once you get old your done running. Actually, your done doing a lot of things.” The guys around him chuckled a bit making me feel uncomfortable.

“So basically what your telling me is that once a man is old, that’s it, he’s old. The sign a man is officially old is that he can no longer run.”

Another man said, “Your only as old as you feel and if you feel old, you ain’t running.”

One of the wives scooted her chair toward the men. “So you think that’s what makes a man old huh? Well then, what makes a woman officially old?”

This answer I knew. It was as plain as the hair on their heads. “Ma’am, if you look at all the other women’s hair you’ll notice it’s permed into spirals so tight it would take a can opener to reach their scalps. That’s how you know an old…I mean mature woman.”

The woman’s expression didn’t change for a minute then she smiles and said, “Well, look who just talked his way out of the potluck.”

During China’s first imperial age, a minor official named Zhang purchased some land. It was a beautiful plot dominated by tall limestone spires covered in flowing vines. At the center was a natural spring that was shaded my Formosa trees.

Water from the spring and other sources had carved caves both large and small throughout Zhang’s property. The largest he found them completely by accident while searching for his lost dog. Noises from strange croaking noises from inside drew Zhang’s attention and after getting his lantern he went inside.

An unusual plant grew thick along the cave’s shaded belly. It was narrow at the base with a large cap on top much like the hats rice farmers wear to keep the sun off their heads. They were soft to the touch and came free with an easy tug. Zhang took a few and returned home.

The next day, Zhang took the strange plants to a friend who was one of the palace cooks. The cook tried the plant with several of his regular dishes and found their mellow taste delightful. Once it was determined that they were safe to eat, he used some for the Emperor’s evening meal.

The Emperor was so delighted by the tasty meal that he ordered the cook before him. “What was it that you added to the snow peas and peppers? I wish to enjoy them with every meal.”

“Great lord,” began the cook. “I procured them from a minor bookkeeper named Zhang.”

The Emperor had Zhang brought before him. “You will continue to bring my chef these strange plants. If you do so, I will promote you and see to it you are made a wealthy man.”

Zhang did so and from that day, his life became much improved. He was given silk and gold to wear, his former coworkers tried to win his favor, and his family prospered.

Every evening on the seventh day, Zhang would take a lantern and walk into the cave harvesting these strange plants as he went. Each time he needed to journey farther and farther into the cave to find them.

The Emperor was pleased. He doubled Zhang’s land and offered his sons wives from noble houses. “But,” he warned, “Should you fail me in any regard, I will see that your name and seed is removed from the earth.”

Zhang began returning to the cave more often. He kept its location a secret to prevent anyone from finding the source of his favor. Each time he needed to push further into the cave to find the plants he wanted.

Finally, he found his way in past the point where he could see the mouth of the cave. Zhang was sure he would loose his way in the darkness if he went in too far.

The basket was almost completely full when Zhang heard a slapping noise on the rocks in front of him. He brought the lantern’s light up and was startled to discover a huge toad covered in gold scales and ruby red eyes staring back.

It was as large as most dogs with thick forearms to match its strong rear legs. Thin braided strands of gilded hair grew from both sides of its nose and chin. The scales on its belly were smaller and finer than those along its sides and back.

It split its broad mouth wide. “My name is Kiye and you are a trespasser sir.”

Zhang screamed and fell back. His basket landed on its side sending his green mushrooms rolling all about. Yet, he kept the lantern light on the wondrous creature.

“You…you speak!”

“That’s right, as well as you do. You are collecting a harvest of mushrooms that you did not plant on land that is not yours.”

Zhang regained his feet. “That’s not true. I purchased this land months ago. It belongs to me. These mushrooms, as you call them, have won favor with the Emperor and will make me a rich man.”

“Wherever the sun strikes belongs to you but this cave is a different world.” The toad adjusted its weight allowing it to point to the spilled mushrooms with a large webbed right foot. “And the mushrooms you have taken are the result of my own labor. If they are so precious to you, what will you pay me for them?”

Zhang sat up and began refilling his basket. “Tell me then. What is your price?”

Kiye spun his beard with his webbed toes. “I will take a gold coin per mushroom.”

“An talon of gold for each! That’s too much money and I will not pay!” Zhang took a step back to the mouth of the cave.

“Wait! More amazing things grow in the deeper parts of the cave. Your gold also wins the right to see these amazing places. If your master has rewarded you for these paltry mushrooms, he will give you a anything your heart desires for the wonders further below!”

Zhang turned around and studied the golden toad. It returned his stare rocking back and forth on its strong legs and wide feet.

“Very well.” Zhang took three gold coins out of the purse he always carried with him. “This is all the money I have now. The rest I will pay you at a later date. Now, show me the wonders of your home.”

Kiye turned and jumped to the rock behind him and further into the cave. The toad moved quickly jumping from rock to rock. Zhang followed as quickly as he could but he stumbled often. For over an hour, Zhang followed the giant toad deeper into the cave through twisting caverns and across many different paths. The deeper they traveled the more light that seemed to seep from the walls. A thick, silver moss produced this strange blue light so Zhang extinguished the lantern.

On each side to the path grew magnificent mushrooms some tall enough to reach Zhang’s knee. He would have stopped to study the moss and mushrooms but Kiye moved too quickly.

The toad didn’t slow until they reached a large open cavern. The arched rock above their heads was covered with the glowing moss. They stood on a cliff with a narrow set of stairs that wound downward. Below, mushrooms of all sizes grew in an endless carpet.

Kiye jumped to a stone pillar near the entrance. “Do you like what you see? If you look straight over the edge you will see the world’s largest mushroom which is my home.”

Zhang peeked down a steep set of stairs. At the foot, was a flat mushroom cap wide enough for two people to sleep in comfort. “Yes, I have seen amazing things but the hour grows late and I am in a rush. Take me back now.”

The giant toad leaned toward Zhang. “You have been deceived. I will not take you back until you have worked off the debt you owe me.”

“I think not.” Zhang turned to the darkened cave and tried to light his lantern but he had run out of oil.

The toad let out a short mocking groan. “Fool. You have no chance of reaching the world of sunlight on your own. Like tree roots, these tunnels dip and turn with hundreds of dead ends. One of them will become your tomb if you leave without my help.”

Zhang stared into the darkness then to Kiye. He fell to knees and wailed. “But I must return! If I am gone too long the Emperor will destroy my family! I did not understand that these mushrooms were your property! Have mercy upon me!”

Kiye studied the weeping man for a moment. “Very well. I will have mercy upon you if you prove clever enough. My gold is under the largest mushroom at the bottom of these steps. Meet me there.” Kiye croaked again and began leaping down the stairs taking three at a time.

Zhang rose to his feet and followed the mysterious creature to the floor of the cavern. Under the mushroom’s umbrella was a large stone bowl filled with glittering gold coins of all sizes. Kiye sat atop his treasure waiting.

“The challenge is simple.” The toad began, “This stone bowl has become too small to house my treasure and so I wish to move it to another. I need three legs to move and can only carry gold with one. Whoever is able to carry the most gold coins with one hand wins the challenge. If you fail, moving my gold will be your first duty. Should you succeed, I will take you back to the surface and you may keep what you have picked for the small price you have paid me.”

Zhang studied the gold for a moment. He knew the toad held some advantage. “I must agree.”

Kiye gave another amused grunt then jumped to the side of the stone basin. It stretched its webbed forefoot and sank it into the gold coins. When he turned his foot up, many coins were held in place by the webbing between its toes. It gave a few short jumps to the larger bowl and dropped the money.

Zhang knew that his hands were no larger than the toad’s and without the webbing between his fingers there was little hope of holding as many coins. He stepped up to the gold and gave the coins a long, steady look.

Then he smiled. “I can meet your challenge with ease.”

Zhang found the widest coin and placed it in his palm. He began stacking coin upon coin until he was balancing a stack taller than his shin. Carefully, he turned to the larger bowl, took a couple steps then spilled his column of coins.

The gold toad leaped straight into the air. It landed hard then released an angry roar. “You have succeeded and I will succumb! We will leave immediately before my anger overcomes me.”

Once Zhang and Kiye reached the mouth of the cave, the ruby-eyed toad gave a warning. “You have stolen from me then bested me. I never want to see you in my domain again. Never return.”

With that, the giant toad leaped back into the cave’s thick curtain of darkness. Zhang took his basket of mushrooms to the palace and presented it to the Emperor.

“Oh Great Son of the Sky, I have brought you your desire but I fear my supplies have been exhausted. Once these are gone, I can provide you with no more.”

The Emperor looked upon Zhang with scorn. “My favor runs alongside your ability to please me. Once I have enjoyed the last of these mushrooms you will be returned to your place as a common bookkeeper. Consider that before you tell your ruler he is to be denied.”

Two weeks later, as the basket of mushrooms began to empty, Zhang panicked. He had grown used to the palace’s plush life and did not want to return to the toil of ink and parchment.

The day before his banishment from the Emperor’s court Zhang crept into the cave hoping to steal only a few additional mushrooms. He had gone in only a little way when his lantern light fell upon the golden toad.

“I warned you and yet you have returned! Now I will punish you for your greed.” Kiye reared back and spit a fine glittering dust at Zhang’s face.

Zhang turned and ran as fast as he could manage toward the cave’s entrance. With each step, he coughed. His lungs were filled with dust and it was hard to breath. Kiye’s mocking croaks followed him.

Zhang reached his land’s spring before collapsing. He could no longer breath and was soon dead with his basket of edible mushrooms and lantern beside him.

Beneath the cool shade of the Formosa trees, spores from the tasty mushrooms grew and spread along the spring’s bank. Along side them grew the poisonous mushrooms that consumed Zhang’s body. Nature and the spring’s cool flow spread the magic toad’s treasure bringing mushrooms to every part of the world.

This post is part of an archive.  To read the current version, we recommend  Dodo Egg Or Turkey Scratch.

It’s time to test your truth sniffing abilities. Can you pull wheat from chaff? Are you able to rescue fruit from cottage cheese? Does your eye find decent programming during daytime television?

Both stories have embellishments and shreds of truth. Read each separately and reckon your judgment without regard to the other. It is possible neither has a backbone of truth or both could be gently lifted from my actual experience.

Egg #1-

I was born a whopping boy of almost eleven pounds. My mother wasn’t conscious when my first breath was taken and the nurses immediately upgraded my diaper regimen to “sumo.”

To all eyes and measurements, I appeared healthy but I was underdeveloped in one key area. The valve that closed my stomach was not fully formed. That meant most of the food I took in purchased a round trip ticket. By some witnesses estimate, I regurgitated at least a third of what I ate.

Mama Teply found this circumstance annoying. It was hard enough for a new, exhausted mother to look nice but to try and accessorize with burp rags was too much. She tried old art smocks which failed to catch fire with local fashion scene.

The constant burping up wasn’t all thorns and hexes. For their amusement and mine, my family would strap my round body into an old wind-up swing. It was a four-legged contraption made mostly of metal with a vinyl sling for a seat. A few quick turns of the handle on the mechanism’s side sent me click-click-clacking back and forth.

With each forward swing my momentum brought up a small portion whatever was in my stomach. To a young family with a poorly developed sense of humor, it was amusing to watch the infant burp-up in perfect synchrony with the swing’s pendulum path.

Egg #2-

I have two brothers whose sense of humor runs parallel with my own. The rare times we all spend together hold a high concentration of happy memories. We’ve squandered hours sitting around beverages so saturated with sugar you have to push for your straw to earn penetration.

One of our favorite maxims is, “You can’t crash if you don’t stop.”

When my first brother finally found someone who would adapt him into the fraternity of the blissfully wed, he asked our youngest brother and me to participate in assembling the wedding.

Our sister-in-law-to-be discovered the responsibilities we had been entrusted with and went about eroding them. “No, no don’t worry about picking up the tuxes. I will have one of my brides maids do that.” Also, “Make sure you keep the ring in the right front pocket of you tux’s jacket. The pant’s pocket has a slight hole in the upper part of the pocket for pulling your shirt and we don’t want you to loose the ring.”

She even had a couple of her bride’s operatives (oops, I mean maids.) keep watch as we decorated my brother’s car. What violations they were looking for was beyond me but I’m sure their garter belts held nightsticks.

The one thing we were allowed to assemble was the reception slide show, which set photos of the families and the couple to music. It was an easy enough task and one my brother and I had no problem doing.

“Say, you know what we ought to do?”

“No, what?”

“Let’s pull a photo of some overly happy family off the Internet and slip it into the presentation. We’ll slip it in between one of the transition parts and give it an extra three seconds of exposure. Do you think anyone would notice?”

“I don’t know but I’m not going along unless their waving with grins you would need antidepressants to achieve.”

We did so and made sure to laugh it out early in order to maintain our composure during the presentation.

To my eternal dismay, no one batted an eye as they admired what was to everyone in the room a collection of perfect, well-wishing strangers. The only sound audible over the music was a strangled snicker from my brother on the other side of the table.

This post is part of an archive.  To read the current version, we recommend “Life’s Road Kill.”

Before I begin the story I’d like to drive a metaphor into the ground…

On the one-way road of life, there are no u-turns for the important pit stops we miss. Who we rub bumpers with today may become hitched to someone else tomorrow.

We don’t know where the next pot hole will strike but we do know that one day our tires will wear bald, our gas will run dry, and our belts may stretch.

Our radio plays whatever tune we set. Is there a pre-set for lost loves? Or are you admiring the headlights and taillights of today’s models.

Let’s brake here.

After football practice one afternoon I was sitting outside of my Junior High in Dakota Territory. (Our mascot were the Midgets! That’s right, we were brave enough to thumb our noses at political correctness). The sky was overcast filled in with the thick, slate gray clouds so common during the winter. It gave everything a subdued and melancholy light. I sat on the concrete steps tired and waiting for my mother to pick me up.

I took a moment to inventory those gathered around me. There were always a few athletes or cheerleaders loitering long after school waiting for the same purpose but this afternoon someone more important was among their faceless assembly.

Leah was there. She was standing with a friend or two talking easily and looking completely unattainable. My secret hope, the burden I bore everyday from ages ten to thirteen was to have her attention for mere moments. I thought about her everyday. Did she even know I existed?

I had one hope. My mother’s car was in the shop and that meant there were only two cars she had the option of using. Attention would be drawn either way since both cars were members of their respective extreme. The car would either be my father’s completely restored 1976 Pontiac GTO or the red YuGo missing its front grill.

The GTO meant a proud march to the car with my football equipment on the opposite shoulder. I wouldn’t look at her that would have been too forward. No, I would look in her direction as if a bird in the tree behind her had caught my attention.

I asked God to grant me this wish. It was a simple prayer like a child asking for candy before bed. I didn’t have the bravado to ever start a conversation with her. I needed this.

Minutes later, a red bucket with four wheels turned the corner.  I bit my lip and draped my jersey over my head. Leah and I had missed our chance.