Kamloops or California?

Well, some of you probably thought that I’d left blogging behind for other places, but I just had to post an update on my upcoming trip to Kamloops!

The problem is that I seem to have mixed up my travel plans a bit and might be heading to California instead of Canada!

If you don’t think about C and K having the same pronunciation, than it really doesn’t matter if Kamloops starts with a C, or California with a K?

According to Wikipedia: Canadian diaspora:

Country or Territory Canadian citizens Source
United States 1,062,640 Coulombe and DeVoretz, 2009

Source: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Canadian_diaspora

The population of Kamloops is 85.678 (2011) of which might just comprise a number of Californians?

If any of you are seeing, where I am heading with this, then raise your hands……

I thought, I saw one or two in the back rows, that have seen the logic in my reasoning, but I’ll just explain it for the rest of you:

If I were to end up in California, which might be spelled Kalifornia, then that would almost be like being in Canada, or Kanada, if that helps you? I’m not suggesting that Kanada is the same as Kalifornia, but I might just come across some homesick Kanadians, who might or might not say that they are Canadians, dependent on how much they really miss Kamloops, or don’t like the thought of voting for Donald Trump?

If I do end up in California, instead of Kamloops, then my logical explanation should be known to you, out there, causing no distress whatsoever in my way of thinking? I’d like to think that I will still be flying into Kamloops International Airport, but it might just be LAX in Los Angeles, which might be the same anyway? If the airplane is blown off course, or we need to land in Kamloops to tank up, then I’d like you to disregard this blog all together!

If I am still writing blogs, when I get to that point in time, then I might just happen to regale you all with a few tales of the wilds of Kamloops, aka. Los Angeles, or any point along the map between those two places.

I’m happy to have gotten that off my chest, before my trip out West, thinking that a lot of you – all, might have been disappointed in thinking that I was having the time of my life in Kamloops, but chose not to share it with the rest of you-all!

I might still not do so, but now you-all, have something more to live for!

Dedicated to the Canadian in all of us!……


Travel or Dogs?

I’ve been enjoying my break from constant blogging. It has given me an opportunity to look back on my site over the last year, and wonder why it should continue?

It might just be transformed into 2 other sites: One with Travel and One with Dogs. Those are the topics that get the most reads, and what others seem to react to. Rather Shallow some might say, but hey! If that is what gets the likes, then I should consider those options!

I’ve written on a number of topics, some of which were pure boredom\time killing blogs, some pure whimsy, and others were short stories. I’ve looked through them all, and have removed a great number from my site, as a lot of them were just fillers, between the other things. They might have had some merit at the time, but since Blogging is a Here and Now type of thing, then they were forced to reside in one of my many categories, until someone happened upon them once again.

I still have a number of drafts, but those don’t fit the Travel, or Dog themes, so they will have to wait for another, truly uninteresting site in the future.

I’d like to thank all of my followers, who have supported me in the past, but I guess, all that adulation just wasn’t enough to keep my interest in writing things that the majority of people out there, didn’t feel like supporting my ideas along those lines. Blogging has no easily definable guidelines, none that I could find, with a lot of Blogs – Like my Fantasy Blog about my long, lost friend from Botswana (Facebook Blog), getting the most likes of them all. It must have touched some people, somehow, somewhere, but if read between the lines, then you might just see that it was just tongue in cheek!

I’ve considered taking a number of photos of my dog, and cropping them down to a puzzle-like series, in which each week would be a new foot, ear, or tooth. If that’s what really sells things, then I might just combine his many parts with photos taken of him in exotic places. Dogs and Travel = Together Again!

I haven’t decided to delete this main site as yet, leaving it to languish away, while I decide on my new direction with the whole thing.

If any of this makes sense, then you should make some sort of comment, but I don’t think it’ll change my mind about shuffling of this mortal blog coil and moving on to something else!

It’s been a fun ride, thanks for joining me for all, or part of it!


Summer and Cessnas – Chapter 20

Dad was working on some sort of plan to get my mom back, but he was really mum about it. I only hope that it worked for him, so we could start eating things that didn’t come in cans!

I felt that my summer vacation had stalled in midair. The pilot looked at both engines, but the propellers refused to spin, with traces of jet fuel leaking out of the sides. I started to panic this being only my second time in the air with the pilot suddenly grasping his chest, as if he were suffering a heart attack, or something! His last word to me before he passed out, were anything less than reassuring, “Tell my wife and the kids that my affair with the Tunisian Belly Dancer didn’t mean anything, and that I still loved them with all my heart! I would like to carry out his last wish, if that is I too survived the plane crash, happening just minutes from now!

We spent a lot of our time cleaning the house, and talking about how we felt. It was beginning to feel like Dr Joyce Brothers had moved in with us, telling us to talk about our feelings, and what had happened in our childhood. I felt it was easy talking about my childhood, as it in some ways, still was my childhood. My father, on the other hand, seemed to have forgotten a lot of things that happened when he was young, prompting Dr Joyce to say, “You are in denial. Plain and Simple. A Classic case of Oedipus complex, if I ever saw one!

I pushed his prone body out of the way, and began to use the microphone in a frantic sort of a way, “Mayday, Mayday” “Pilot in trouble, both engines out, pilot unconscious, imminent crash possible, please advise!!” Someone on the ground had forgotten how to work the darn thing, and continued to talk to the others in the control tower, thinking that I couldn’t hear him. “That boy is SOL if you ask me?  Unless a miracle occurs, he’ll be plowing the nearest field with the nose of his Cessna, and soon. He turned on the microphone once again, and said “Take it easy young man, we are discussing the best way to get you down in one piece, we’ll get back to you in a bit. Thus thinking he had turned off the microphone once again, he added to those around him, “Better call in the Chaplain, we’ll be lucky if there are any pieces left to find of that poor fellow, so we might as well comfort him as much as possible!

My father had put a pile of papers, on the kitchen table. They looked like travel brochures with cabins and lakes and the like, lying in the nearby county just an hour’s drive as the crow flies! “I think we need to get away for a few days, enjoy the summer a bit more, what do you think about that?” My father didn’t like to beat around the bush. He liked to tell it like it was, and I admire him for his directness. I guess, hanging around the house with all of those memories of my mother and all, made him crazy in a way? He wanted to get her back, but he usually spent all of his time away from her, either at work, or hiding out in the garage. It was a woman, making him crazy again! Why should he be different than the rest of us?

“Perhaps, if I can pull up on the throttle, I can straighten out the plane enough to make an even landing”, said aloud, while considering my steadily decreasing options. I knew the plane soon would be strafing the top of the palm trees, casting monkeys from side to side, coconuts scattering along the way….”

A trip to the lake, I said breaking free from my thoughts, Great! “That’s what we need, Jack. Some water on the back of the neck, and the code!” That was what Peter Sellers told Sterling Hayden in Dr Strangelove, just before Sterling Hayden blew his brains out! His brains, that is. Not Peter Sellers. Funny how my father’s name was Jack, and the crazed commander of the Bomber Wing of the American Air Force, who sent the B-52s on their way to Russia to drop the A-bomb on the heads of those Red Commies, was also named Jack! I might just work that into my next daydream, if I remember to?

  1. daydream number 1- the trip to the lake
  2. daydream number 2-plane crashing
  3. daydream number 3-Dr Strangelove
  4. daydream number 4-The Girl Next Door
  5. – empty slot-

I might have to make some sort of mental note, in order to keep track of my thoughts? It seems like a lot of people have been having difficulty breaking through them as late?

“It seemed like the motor on the right side of the plane still had something to give. I swear, I saw some movement in the propeller, as if it wanted to start again and save me, the girl of my dreams, and the important shipment of food to the third world. If only, there was a chance..

My father just waited patiently until he established eye-contact again with me. “I’d like to think that we have all summer, but we don’t”, he said with a bit of impatience in his voice. “Well, are we going, or not?”

I started to think about the Girl Next Door. I didn’t think it fair that she ended up as number 4 on my list, but I was sure, I could talk my way out of that one, if pressed into a corner. “Armed only with a chair leg and a whip, I felt the corner of the room pressing me in the back. The lion roared, and stepped closer. “Back you beast, Back, I say” as my possibilities decreased in a way that I rather wished, I was in a Cessna with motor stop, heading toward certain death in the jungles of Swaziland!

“Uh, I guess so. It’s just…”

“Oh, I see” said my father, but I was sure that he didn’t.

“You’d like to be together with your little friend, instead of being with the Old Man? Well, you know what? I’ve spoken to her mother, and she agreed that you two could take a vacation together, that is with the Old Man…”

Peter Sellers needed the code to stop the bombers from bombing Russia. It might have succeeded, but in the end Slim Pickens got himself the ride of his life, on the back of an A-bomb heading toward “Commie-land, Russia”. That’s what my mother would have said. She clapped and cheered when the bomb fell, starting WWIII, and all, when we saw that movie on TV once.

I thought that we should try to communicate with each other, and sit around a round table, or perhaps a horseshoe-formed table where all of us could share ideas and thoughts.

“Is it that school that teaches you things like that?” she’d ask me after the movie had ended.

“My goodness, if you think that we can get anywhere with the Russians by talking, then you should think again! Détant. That’s what we need to concentrate on! It’s us against them! And the only thing they understand is how many nukes we have vs how many they have!”

I worried sometimes about how my mother looked at things. I realize that her father, being an avowed Anti-Communist might have influenced her thinking a bit, but sometimes even I wanted to be a Russian, just to rebel against my mother’s way of thinking.

My father was losing patience. I know that, because he suddenly slammed his hand on the table, and demanded an answer !Well, what do you say?!

“Yes” was about all that I could muster. “Yes, I think that is an excellent idea!” but the questions and doubts had already begun to grow in my mind. When did he speak to my friend’s mother? When did he see her mother? The woman was Gone With the Wind, for all I know? “Frankly Scarlett, I don’t give a …… And being together with my friend was both good and bad. I knew she would get us, I mean, I knew, she would get me into trouble, before you could say “Jack Robinson!”

Another Jack to keep track of? I’ve already got the lion, the Cessna, Slim Pickins, and the Girl Next Door to think about, and the plane still hasn’t crashed in the jungles of Swaziland!

The motor on the left side also was trying to save my skinny butt. It seemed as if my time to shuffle off this mortal coil hadn’t come, as yet. The children at the orphanage clapped and cheered at the sight of the supply plane, heading their way. Now they would be saved from the dreaded disease with the much-needed antidote! “Pull up, you devil. Pull up!” I felt, as if I were regaining control over the plane and more so, over my life.

Lucky for me, the lion got distracted, just before my days indeed were numbered. It exited the building with me following after it, exerting maximum caution and restraint. Outside stood my friend, looking as if she had won the “Nobel Scare Away Lion Prize” or something? leaning up again the spiny kapok tree deep in the jungle. “That was a close call, what with the Cessna and all!” she said.

It was. Oh, how it was.  I was so happy to see her again, I threw caution to the winds and stepping lightly over the A-bomb and Slim Pickens, running over to her, throwing my arms around her, and….

“Why in the world are you hugging the kitchen chair?” My father’s voice seemed closer now.

“Uh, I ….” Oh yeah? Why was I doing such a thing?……






Who Done It? A Summer Mystery – Part 5

I guess, I should have left well enough alone and just forgotten about Miss Scarlett once and for all? She was gone and that was that. I don’t know of anyone, personally that is, that has managed to come back from the dead, once they’ve taken a trip on the River Styx? If so, then they are not of this world anymore!

Although, there was still something gnawing at me, that made me continue on in the hope of finding the truth at least, about what happened to the likes of that likable young woman, Miss Scarlett. I ran the whole scenario through my mind, the last time I had seen her, and tried to put the pieces together of the back side of the puzzle picture.

I knew the answer must exist in the Mansion, where we spent a lot of our time together. An old Tudor, with rooms that each could tell a story that would give anyone the willies, or cause them to run for their lives, while they still could, that is. We, that is Miss Scarlett and I, had solved a few tricky cases, which had to do with a past love, or a matter of money, which seems to be the best causes of crime in our neck of the woods!

I returned to the scene of the crime, even though no crime had been committed. I recall having gone out to the cellar, after hearing a noise, then the lights went out. Sounds like someone slipped me a Mickey, or hit me on the head with a Blackjack, but I was still conscious, when I left the top of the stairs to return to the Lounge.

The Cellar. The Cellar should have been my first Port of Call. With the foghorns sounding, and the drunks and derelicts being dragged onto the waiting ships, shanghaied away to a new home, against their will, I might as well have been the Captain on the Black Ship for want of an answer to my questions. Brushing away the salty brine on my jacket sleeve, I again started down the Cellar Steps, feeling the coolness wrap itself around me, similar to how I remembered Miss Scarlett’s legs, doing a similar trick, but then I digress in my memory for want of a better thing to think about!

At the base of the steps, there were signs of a struggle, as if someone had been bound and then dragged along the stony floor towards a blank wall on the opposite side of the room. The signs stopped abruptly, which made me think of a Secret Passage, or something like that, unknown to anyone else, in this God Forsaken House of Death and Mayhem.

I felt along the wall, for an indentation, or something similar, which didn’t belong there. I had forgotten my torch, which was now residing next to a bottle of Whiskey, but luckily I had my Lead Pipe, which I usually have with me, especially when in the company of Miss Scarlett. I struck a match, which helped me to see the following text, “Kilroy was here” with a figure of a man looking over a fence of sorts. I felt along this drawing, noticing a small hole, large enough for my index finger to fit into, which made me do so without hesitation.

A sound appeared, behind the wall, as if gears and levers were set in movement, creating the impression of a doorway, where the figure had just been. My match had gone out, plunging the Cellar into semi-darkness. I took this as an omen to tread carefully, when I felt around for a new opening in the door like structure. A thin crack allowed me to open the “door” and enter a new area, filled with a familiar scent, that I knew about before…

The “room” made the impression of having been occupied recently, supported by a pile of rope, which lay in a heap next to a chair. Someone had been bound to that chair, without being gagged, as the proximity of this “Secret Room” would have dissuaded any and all onlookers from ever finding the door, like I just did. The Mansion had all been abandoned, after the disappearance of Miss Scarlett, even forcing myself to take up residence in a dirty Flop House down near the River, for want of throwing myself to my own fate, if the Whiskey didn’t help me cope, like I needed it to.

My own existence had become my own nightmare, thinking constantly of the fate that Miss Scarlett had suffered by person, or persons unknown. That poor Canadian Lass being at the mercy of unscrupulous types, forcing her to throw herself into the River, or yet even worse things that could befall, such a young and innocent girl as herself! It made my blood boil at the thought of her being held captive down here in this dungeon of pain, but I tried to get a grip having only the thought of bringing the guilty persons to justice. My own kind of justice that is, having made a lucky shot with my massive Elephant Gun, which had gone off by accident, when I was escorting the Blighters back to civilization to face the music.

The next thing I heard was the muffled cries of a woman, behind yet another door, just ahead of my position. I made what others might have referred to as Super Human Strength, when I forced the door open, throwing the person on the other side, off to the one side, allowing me entry into a darkened dungeon of sorts. “Mustard, you Blaggard, I never thought you’d find my hiding place”, snarled a familiar voice belonging to Sgt. Grey, the once trusted officer of the local Constabulary. In the corner of the room behind him sat a familiar figure, who resembled….who resembled….”My God God, Is that you Miss Scarlett?”

An almost unrecognizable figure was seated in the corner, her eyes not focusing on me due to the limited light in that room. “Oh, Colonel Mustard, I hoped someone would rescue me, and most of all that someone being you!” which caused her to break down and sob, as if she had been ready to meet her maker.

Sgt. Grey turned to me, and said, “If it hadn’t been for your meddling, I’d have had her all to myself, but now no one will!”  And with that he drew forth a Spanner, and began to wave it threateningly in my direction. I whipped out my Lead Pipe, which made Miss Scarlett squeal in delight, and did my best impression of a man fencing with an equally armed assailant. I won’t say that I bludgeoned the Blighter, or sent him to Kingdom Come, but I did have that very intention of doing so! They did have to carry him out of that Hell Hole, when I was finished with him, but that almost saved the Taxpayers the chore of trying the man to be hanged by the neck until dead, which I found pleasure in all the same!

Miss Scarlett was then rescued by Yours Truly, and returned to the Lounge, where the whole terrible mess started just one week before. I laid her gently on the bed and waited on her, hand and foot until she made a complete recovery, at least on the surface that is. She might never get over her ordeal in the Cellar, but I was bound and determined to bring her back into being the woman she was before, by committing myself to her with all my heart.

“Oh Colonel Mustard,” she said one day being almost completely recovered from her ghastly ordeal, “I knew you would rescue me some day!” She was consoled by the presence of my Elephant Gun and Lead Pipe, which by the way, complemented each other beautifully in the service of young women.

“I can’t wait until we continue, where we left off, on that most fateful day”, said while gazing into my Elephant Grey Eyes.

“Nor can I, Miss Scarlett. Nor can I…..”


Dad Gets an Earful – Chapter 19 (The Girl Next Door)

I really felt sorry for my father. First he had a wife, then he didn’t.

All the while my father thought he knew what was going on,  but it turned out that he really didn’t anyway. I guess he forgot how women can make you crazy, just when you thought you knew how they were, but it turns out that you were wrong, way wrong!

If my mother was still here, she’d probably just make his life miserable in person, and not just long-distance, like she seems to be doing right now. I don’t know which one I’d prefer?

It might be like having to choose between fighting an alligator with your hands tied, or jumping into shark-infested waters, armed only with a dull pencil and a bath towel with a duck on it. I bet, James Bond might be able to do something about that, he always does, but the rest of us might just end up in a can of Tuna-shark surprise!

We still carried on, but things were way different than normal. My father seemed to have lost interest in his Garage chores, concentrating on fixing up the house instead. He seemed to be making improvements on things that my mother had talked about over the last 4 years or so. “What if you put a mirror here? I’ve always wanted a bug screen over this window…Wouldn’t it be nice with a row of vases right here, where all of our garden flowers could be seen at one time?” I was amazed that he could remember all of those things! It kind of made me wonder, why he didn’t just do them right then and there, when my mother talked about them, instead of waiting for a better time to do them?

You see, it’s like this. My father had reasons, you see, and I was going to learn about the perils of being a married man, right here and now. “If you do everything, they want, then the chores will never stop. Let’s say that I made that bug screen. Then she’d get some idea about how all of the screens should be a different color, let’s say pink. There I would be, spray-painting all of the screens, while the rest of you would be suffocating inside the air-tight house, when your mother would get a new idea. “What if you painted all of the window frames at the same time, with a light red color. I would have to ask if light red and pink were not the same color, but then she would accuse me of having all my taste in my mouth, and that men had a bone in their head and all. I would argue that our house was fine like it was, and changing the color of the window frames and screens would make the rest of the house look wrong. “Exactly” she’d say. Then would instruct me in why the rest of the house should be painted at the same time, probably in a reddish carnation color. I would have to argue that reddish carnation is the same as light red, which is the same as pink, which would make her throw her hands up in the air and ask the gods, why she married me in the first place, and wasn’t there anyone else who could have been luckier to do so?

Right then and there! There was the perfect spot to tell me father about my mother’s first love, without having to pull teeth, or whatever that means anyway.

“Dad.” Sounding as grownup as possible, “I have to tell you something about mom. You’d better sit down first.”

They were always saying those kind of things in the movies, and on TV. I have some bad news to tell you and it would be better if you were sitting down, when you hear what I have to say. I guess, they’ve had more experience in such matters? Maybe they got tired of having to pick the people up from the floor after them having fainted and all? They never say things like, “Perhaps you should stand on one foot first, or lean casually against our paisley-colored wallpaper, while I regale you with the news of the disappearance of your pet mouse! I just thought that dad wouldn’t want to mess up all of our house cleaning work, by having to collapse in a heap, or alert the neighbors to our plight, by him running out of the front door, screaming bloody murder.

My father looked at me, in the same sort of way that my friend, the Girl Next Door does. “Uh are you going to tell me something, or are you just lost in your own thoughts?

“Dad. Mom told me about someone who she knew before she met you. A French-speaking bloke, who promised her a glorious life in Canada, and marriage and all that stuff.”

I half expected the walls to blow out, or some sort of fire-breathing monster to wake up in the cellar and stick its head through the floor, throwing us to each side of the room. “Run Dad, Run for your life! I’ll hold him as long as possible, grabbing a chair and a nearby whip, and proceeding to crack it over the head of the roaring beast. But when the monster turned its head toward me, its face was that of my mother, changing from light red to pink then reddish carnation at one time!

We ran upstairs, my father and I seeing how the floor beneath us seemed to crumble and fall away. Upon reaching the top floor, we searched the skies for the rescue helicopter, knowing that would be our only chance to get away, saving the world and getting the girl at the same time.

My father didn’t exactly react like I thought. He seemed to take it in stride, as if people told him that sort of thing every day.” I knew it was something like that”, he said. “I always knew there was something in your mom’s past that was gnawing at her. She just refused to tell me about it, that’s all.”

Colonel Mustard was in the Drawing room smoking his pipe. I’ve gathered you all here today to tell you something dreadful. Mrs Peacock has been found, stabbed with a knife in the Conservatory. And all of you need to account for your whereabouts. Miss Scarlet told how it couldn’t have been her as she had been in the Dining Room discussing the Bible with Mr Plum. “People who discuss the Bible cannot do such things” she tried to say, before Colonel Mustard simply waved her to the side saying in an ominous voice, “Everyone is suspect here, no matter what”! I used to get upset while playing Monopoly, and would end the game by throwing the board in the air, but in Clue I just bided my time, waiting for the murderer to be uncloaked.

It didn’t seem to me that being an adult was all it was cracked up to be. There were way too many problems, and unanswered questions, and it made me happier to think that being young and all, wasn’t so bad after all. I couldn’t see any way out of my father’s dilemma. At least in Clue there was a secret passage which would allow someone to escape, or kill another person, depending on your mood at that time, but I don’t think those were options for my father.

“Where is the boy’s mother?” the Police would ask my father. “I’m not sure, but I think she might have run off with a Frenchman from Québec. She’s done that sort of thing before. The Police would be jotting in their notebook while my father stood next to the wall, moving a well placed carpet with his foot. He did so to divert attention from the carpet, which covered the spot where the trapdoor  to the cellar was visible, lest he be discovered in the act. The trapdoor which led to the cellar, where my mother and her French lover would be chained to the wall, still professing their love for each other, while my father continued to stack the bricks higher, and higher, entombing them in their icy grave. “One last kiss my love, then we will journey to eternity together….

“I’ll win her back, you’ll see.” My father looked determined like I’d never seen before. It was more certain that going fishing without knowing what you were doing, but did so anyway. He seemed to be possessed in his thoughts, which was scary in a way, showing what women can make you do, even though common sense tells you the reverse.




The Cancellation of Summer – Travels Part 8

I felt it to be quite relaxing, enjoying someone elses dream for a while. I didn’t need to apologize for my Stormy thoughts, nor my unsettled disposition.

She was doing the driving, and all I had to do was enjoy the ride, if I could that is. I felt myself to be a bit restless, being the passenger and all, but those ideas just needed to be adjusted to someone elses thoughts.

She didn’t seem to understand my distress. Why can’t you just let your imagination go, and let another unreality mold your Summer Daze?

Yes. Why not I asked myself?

Your problem, she said turning the car down a steep embankment, and removing her feet from the brake pedal, is not being able to let yourself go, am I correct?

…..I wish, I hadn’t let her drive. That was neither the first, nor the last time, I wished that. I was more in control, when I thought about driving, wrenching the wheel away from her, regaining control of my life again, but is that what I really wanted?……

Yes, I yelled as the car raced towards our doom. I like to be in control. It must be one of my failings, which I screamed at her, thinking that the end of my nightmare was close, and getting closer all the time!

She must have caught the glimpse of terror in my eyes, as she stepped on the gas pedal making the engine roar like the lions I had left behind, embarking with her instead…

“Any regrets yet?” she yelled in the wind, driving madly down the slope. I shook my head, fearing that any backing up would make her crazier, but my toes were eagerly twisting and curling, rubbing against the rug looking for calm beachy sand to hide in…

Her gaze left what should have been the road to our common dreams of a now apparently deadly summer, to put on a song, and stare at me smiling. “Hello, you fool…” she started singing at the top of her lungs, her eyes not leaving mine, and the car still bumping and racing downhill, pretty much as it felt it.

“I was thinking more Loving Spoonful, you see?” I managed to tell her, just before she turned her attention back to her driving.

“See? You’re doing it again! I am giving you a blank check to my dream account, and yet, you turn around and try to take control of everything! My car, my road, my song! C’mon join the joyride…”

……I felt like my Summer had taken a turn for the worse. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but it seemed like, I wasn’t in control anymore……

Couldn’t get clearer…  Clear as the huge Sequoia trees that were forcing her to zigzag frantically, postponing our death each time we…  each time she dodged one.

“Saved you once more!” She said, not seeming the least concerned about our still increasing speed.  “Don’t you feel alive?” she asked, and then whistled along with the radio…

I closed my eyes, starting to think that she didn’t know anything about summer after all… That letting go was too big of a chance to take, and that I might as well take back my own dreams under my arm, and slip away to the beach to hope for another chance companion to spend what little of summer was left.

Just as I was about to wipe this crazy road trip from my mind, a warm feeling enveloped me, like a blanket. Flowers started blooming everywhere, from the ceiling down, covering the walls, and hiding the door I wanted to let myself out of a moment before…

“Do you trust me?” Her eerie voice surprised me, concentrated as I was, getting used to the new vegetation. It felt as if she was just next to my ear, feeling her voice more than I could hear it.

“Do you?”

“You’re not even really here…” I said, convinced she had stayed in the car, having the time of her life.

Without warning, I suddenly got the burning feeling of her lips on my neck, searing my skin, as if she wanted to brand me.  “I think we should be summer lovers, you and me, you know?” she whispered, as I considered the burn on my neck. “Just like phone sex… Just without the phone! I am not too much into technology, not during summer…”

She burst into laughter, burst into a hundred butterflies, and flew away from me, leaving me wondering what had just happened. When she appeared again, coming out of the bushes, she was covered with Clematis Cloudburst, from head to toe. The delicate flowers didn’t let a clear view of her silhouette, but allowed me just enough to imagine every curve of her hiding behind the petals…

“One of them is inked into my skin… Want to come and look for it?”

……If I said yes, at this juncture, would I survive this journey? Would I just fade away like some Summer Memory, that someone lost on their Summer Holiday. “Did you find it, or is it gone for good?” It was never there, I’m afraid……

I did, even if I feared a trap, not wanting her to break into butterflies again if I brushed my fingers lightly on her hip.

“Do you believe in my summer dreams now?” She asked. “Are you ready to let go?”

I just kept staring at her for a moment, trying my best to focus on the violet blossoms and not the pieces of pale milky skin in between. She walked to me, reaching up a hand, running her fingers on the burn on my neck, with a content look in her Manga eyes.

“Are you ready?” I nodded, impatient to go flower picking…

“Then there is something we have to get over with first!!”

I opened my eyes, as we were jumping the cliff, Thelma-&-Louise like. My heart skipped a beat and I felt a freezing chill down my spine. The air was so cold in the car, suddenly, that I swear I saw the edges of the windshield icing up… With icy little flower patterns,  slowly decorating the glass, framing the view of our imminent death!

That’s when I saw it…  Huge, more than huge, giant. We were flying straight into oblivion.

“My love, meet General Sherman, General, meet my new summer love!”

Flying straight into the biggest tree I could have imagined… even in my wildest dreams… And there was nothing more to do… The windshield was completely covered with ice now, and there was really nothing left to do…

But let my summer fall straight into winter!

…….I fell back onto the front seat, as if nothing had happened. Everything looked the same, but I felt differently. She had been driving, no doubt about it. She had left an impression on me, similar to the impression of melting ice crystals on the windshield in the noonday sun. I shook my head a few times, trying to force oxygen back to my brain, lest I fainted from sheer lack of sanity!

Written in corroboration with cyranny.wordpress.com



Goodbye, then!

Some people hang on. Way longer than it is necessary. Goodbye could, should just be that?

“Goodbye, then!”

I felt as if that was rather final, for goodbyes that is. What if there was something else in that Goodbye? I felt a bit uncomfortable knowing that some goodbyes are just that. Goodbye.

She looked at me, as if I didn’t know the meaning of the word? “You said, Goodbye. Do you mean it, or not?”

Of course I did. I had thought about it for a long time. How to say it, when to say it, re-thinking it, and thinking it again. Goodbye for now. Goodbye for then. Goodbye is not easy to say, but easy to come by, but not easy to accept.

There was a certain finality, when I finally got it out of my mouth.

“Wouldn’t you like to chew on it a bit more”, she asked? “Get a proper feel for it. Taste the nuances of the word. When you are ready to say it, be firm and unwavering.”

I wasn’t sure if I had to floss afterwards? Were there repercussions for not spitting it all out at one time?

“You can’t chew and spit at the same time”, she told me, without allowing me the comfort of enjoying my words just a minute longer.

We are both adults. Adults don’t mince words.

I wanted to treat it like a bunch of chives, or onions that needed to become an important part of dinner. Chop and dice, then in the pot to make something better than the individual parts ever could. Mince was a word that I knew well!

Are we those parts?, I wondered to myself. Are we just onions and carrots, who on their own are unique, but are more so, when combined with each other?

“I started to cry when you chopped the onions”, she said wiping a tear away from the truth. “I couldn’t accept the fact that you were determined to make dinner in that way!”

I didn’t want her to cry. I didn’t want to end our cooking session in that way. If we could find the right recipe, then it wouldn’t be necessary to worry about onions and the problems thereof in the same way!

“I didn’t want to tell you, but I feared the word for a long time. Goodbye that is.”

Her words came as a shock to me. I hadn’t expected to hear them from her? My words of Goodbye. Coming from her. Hitting me in the face.

“Ow!” I said as if I had just been slapped! “That hurt a lot.”

“Yes”she said. “Goodbyes tend to do that.”

I knew that not all goodbyes had the same effect. Some goodbyes were necessary, otherwise we would never get anywhere else in life.

“Do you want to be apart from me?”, she asked, while stopping packing her bags.”I guessed that your Goodbye was a final sort of one, not negotiable for change?”

“No. That was not that Goodbye”, I said with certainty.

“Well, then I would advise you in the future to make sure which Goodbye you’ll be taking down off your shelf of expressions, and using it in the proper way!”

I could see that we thought differently about things. Her and I. I only wanted my Goodbye to be of a short term nature, but she interpreted it differently.

“Goodbye. Then. See you later on. Later today. Later together with you…”

“I like it when you punctuate like that”, she said……….


A Short Story in “The Kingdom of Denmark”

Today, I met the girl of my dreams. She was a virgin, or a maiden if you prefer, which was rather unusual, but not unheard of.


I fell in love with her at first sight, who wouldn’t? Wavy hair, and stars, and the whitest eyes, accentuated by a blue background, I’d ever seen before.

I asked her father for her hand in marriage, but he didn’t think me worthy of her. I worked hard, and had saved a few coins stashed away in my savings chest at home, but his response was:


Stop, no entry! I felt him to be unfair and asked my love to run away with me, despite not having gotten the blessing from her father!

She was in doubt and didn’t want to cause distress in her family on the one hand, but also didn’t want to let me go on the other. She was in such a quandary, that she decided to end it all, so no one could come between us again.


She climbed to the tallest cliff, overlooking the deep and troubled waters, and threatened to throw herself off, in order to justify our love. I held her back, and said that her dying was not the answer to our troubles, showing her that other options existed to solve our problems.

Try as I may to make a name of myself and gather more wealth to me, I didn’t succeed in becoming wealthier, than I was in the first place.


I felt that the (G)odds were against me, and I too considered drastic measures to keep that maiden for myself.

One night I decided to climb up the tower, where her father had locked her in, so I could carry her to freedom, and a life together with me. I knew that the way was treacherous, and that her weight might be difficult to assess, when hanging from a rope, high above the rocky ground.


Suddenly I called out to her, and said that it wasn’t right for me to take her from the bosom of her loving family, and chose to seek my fortunes with a new maiden elsewhere in the Kingdom of Denmark.

I hoped that maidens grew on trees, and looked for the lowest type (of trees), thinking that my next maiden would weigh less than my former?!

At any rate, I always had my trusty steed to accompany me in my search.


With such companionship, no man will ever go completely wrong in finding the Girl of his Dreams…..

The End!

PS The search continues……



Losing Århus

Someone lost Århus.

That is Denmark’s second largest city, if you didn’t know?

Some people might be happy that it has gone missing? You just never know?

I stumbled upon a sign today, which might explain the mystery!


It seems as if someone didn’t want visitors to come to Denmark’s second largest city.


I found the sign, but it still didn’t get me there……


So I went looking for Viborg, instead…


The Cancellation of Summer – Travels Part 6

It was beginning to look like my Summer would be one of the best, I ever had experienced, but being Cancelled and all.

I looked back to my Spring suitcase, gathering dust on the upper shelf in my memory. I wonder if I reached up high, if I could get to it, changing Summer into Spring once again. Flowers Blooming, Summer Expectations, Tickets to be purchased and, and,

The and, was me having to travel alone, again. It might as well have been but, which sounds more promising than and, but then.

I started to play that game with myself. If I hadn’t chosen that day to, If she hadn’t been so mysterious, If she hadn’t been so foreign, if, if, if.

I thought of going to the beach, as if I had been alone, as if I wanted to meet her by chance once again. I looked around my room, which seemed small in comparison to the rest of Summer. Dusty postcards yet unwritten, and sand from Estonia, or someplace like it, and the thought that I hadn’t traveled this far alone, but there wasn’t anyone in the room with me. Nor was there anyone outside along this lonely stretch of beach, resembling an Autumn scene, with all the tourists gone for the season.

The screen door slammed in the wind, scattering my random notes and unfinished poems of someone I hadn’t yet met, along a Summer Beach, somewhere…

“I dreamed of you”, I said while I wrote. “I dreamed of you on the beach, not paying attention to me whatsoever, taking care of your own business, hiding under your hat.”

I scribbled and I swore. I lined out what didn’t belong, and kept what I thought she would like, if I ever met her, that is.

I felt that she was too aloof to consider someone like me. I gathered up my notes and tried to place them in order. She was here, then there, then….I seem to be missing a page or two right here, which I said while pointing to no one.

Her first words were, “Such a mess! You probably don’t know your head from your heart, not like I do anyway.”

She was right, of course. I needed to get a grip. The Summer was passing me by in this lonely cottage, cheap as they come, but wouldn’t I have wanted it another way?

I was looking for page 3. That’s where I said, “You really add something special to this beach” which sounded like the worst pick-up line that I had ever heard.

The wind blew once again, making more mess than before. She bent down and began to collect the many pages. “Honestly”, she said with consternation. “You are never going to be finished with this, until you find pages 3 and 4.” She sat down on the wooden floor and began to hum a little tune, which I had dreamed of the night before. “What did you dream?” she asked, stopping for an instant with her paperwork, gazing up at me.

“I dreamed that I was lying in bed, but the cottage wasn’t dark. I watched the spiders make their webs on the ceiling, catching the Summer Flies unaware. The screen door was moving, but I couldn’t tell, if someone had come in, or if the wind was playing tricks again.”

“Did you see her?” she asked while continuing with her work. Her fingers stroking the edges of the papers, caressing the words as if they liked it like that. “Did she come into the room?”

I looked up from my table, gaining sudden inspiration to continue my work. The wind blew the curtains in and out, but there still weren’t any other sounds than the wind, and the waves. It irked me that I still couldn’t find pages 3 and 4. They were the key to finding her, asking her to stay, telling her of my life and, and…

My pencil fell onto the floor, making me bend down to pick it up. “Here. Let me help you” she moved over from her pile of papers and reached it at the same time, with our hands meeting and greeting each other. “How do you do?” I asked her, as she looked up at me. “I am doing just fine, looking up at you, wondering why you are sitting here all alone, in a lonely cottage by the sea in the fading memories of Summer?”

My hand was getting cramped with all of my paper scratching. I thought of lying down for a bit, in the late afternoon, not dark, but not light. As I lay there, watching the spiders make their webs on the ceiling, I heard a movement at the front door. I dare not move, not knowing if it was a sign, an ill omen?

I found her gaze to be piercing, slicing holes in my arguments of why I had been alone, why it had been the best thing, and why I found her to be so fascinating. I must have written that on page 3? When I gazed upon her face, her smile, why they seemed so restful to do so?

She took the pencil and twirled it in the air. “Did she come into your bedroom? Did she? I wonder if you wanted her to do so, being who you are?” She got up and went out of the door, without a word being uttered. I just sat there, wondering if I was ever going to be finished with my poem, my story, telling myself that she and I, that she and I were made for each other, but because I hesitated, because I insisted on finishing up, what I had started.

I let the pencil drop, not caring if she reprimanded me for it later on. I was bound and determined not to lose sight of her, not again.The spiders went about their business, as I left the bedroom heading for the front door. I reached the door, just seconds after she had been there, but there was no one to be seen. Just a lonely beach, devoid of Summer Visitors, if there indeed had been any?

I walked along until I stumbled upon 2 pieces of paper lying in the sand. Pages 3 and 4. It seems as if they had blown here, causing my mind to wander, distracting me from my work, daydreams of someone, who I had dreamed about, someone, someone.

“I can’t just lie here all Summer, waiting for you to finish your poem”, she said not angry, but waiting for me to make up my mind about us. “About us spending the Summer with each other, not in your lonely cottage, but in each others company, wherever that might lead us…”

“I’ll always remember her, lying on the beach, as if I had dreamed of her/you. I dreamed of you, I said to her while we gazed upon the Summer stretching out before us. You were on the beach, not paying attention to me whatsoever, taking care of your own business, hiding under your hat.”

“Yes, she said, but I knew you were there. If it wasn’t for my darn hat, then I might have seen you sooner?

“Then I wouldn’t have wasted my time writing poems to you, when I could have been living them…”

“Write them anyway”, she said.

“I love the way you write….”