Look Up

 The movement that looks like heat waves is the atmosphere between us. And so very cool.

What Really Happened

Photo by Ashin K Suresh on Unsplash

Back in the days when you couldn’t swing an enchanted cat by the tail without hitting some personage who thought he was a god and was willing to wreck havoc willy nilly on innocent passers by, there lived two brothers.

The brothers were named Prometheus and the other brother was named something that’s only pronounceable in the original Greek so we’re going to call the brother of Prometheus, Unlucky in Love. 

 

Now, Unlucky in Love minded his own business which apparently consisted of behaving thoughtlessly which also apparently makes him the perfect model for certain modern men.

 

While Unlucky in Love was minding his own business, his brother Prometheus was busy giving mankind the gift of fire, in the original Greek, which translates as technology in modern English so we could call Prometheus the father of the Internet, if we wanted.

 

But Prometheus stole the gift of fire from a particularly cranky set of persons who didn’t like to share and who could be quite vindictive as we shall see.

 

For the sin of civilizing humanity, a job that has yet to be completed, if you ask my opinion, Prometheus was tied to a rock and forced to provide a liver dinner for an eagle every day.

 

For the sin of being the brother of Prometheus, Unlucky in Love was given the most beautiful woman on earth whose name was Pandora.

 

Pandora was also minding her own business which probably consisted of lying around looking beautiful and fending off Unlucky in Love’s thoughtless comments when she received a wedding gift of, in the original Greek, a jar, but since there aren’t any original Greeks left, this is commonly translated as a box, from Zeus, the cranky villain of this story.

 

I think I forgot to mention that Zeus is the villain of this story.

 

Zeus is the villain of this story.

 

Along with the wedding present box were the instructions DO NOT OPEN. Not like the cute little tag, ‘do not open ‘til Christmas,’ because Christmas hadn’t been invented yet, just DO NOT OPEN. Which makes Pandora’s gift, jar or box, the worst present ever.

 

Now, let’s be clear, what happened next was not because Pandora was a woman. 

 

In fact, I’ll say without fear of contradiction that NOBODY could keep a box in the corner of the room for long, telling visitors who ask, oh that’s just a box we don’t open. 

 

Everybody who’s anybody is gonna sneak a peek. Maybe after midnight when everyone else is asleep, but still.

 

So, Pandora didn’t peek because she’s a woman. She was set up.

 

How long before Pandora peeks? Nobody knows. But she opens the box and all of life’s miseries fly out. War, famine, pestilence, Republicans, light beer, sitcoms.

 

She slams the lid at the last moment and traps Hope inside. The modern interpretation is that Pandora saved hope for humanity, but an older view is that hope was just another way Zeus had to torment mankind. 

 

One view, in the original Greek, was that Hope hid under the lip of the jar and refused to come out. So, not only an empty promise but a coward as well. However, if you’d been trapped in a jar for who knows how long next to war and Republicans with only light beer for comfort, your courage might be worn to the bone too.

 

So, Zeus goes about his business wrecking havoc willy nilly. Prometheus endures eternal torment. Unlucky in Love continues to inspire modern man. But what happened to Pandora? And what became of Hope?

 

In the epilog nobody bothered to write, Pandora, who besides being beautiful, was savvy to the way of men and gods, went back to the box, opened the lid a crack and whispered to Hope, “Hey fella, we’re about to get blamed for every bad thing that ever happened or will. How ‘bout you and me split this joint. I know a place where the sun always shines and they have Guinness on tap.”

 

Now, we might say Hope considered this for a New York minute if New York had been invented yet, but the options being solitary in a box or stout beer with a beautiful woman made this choice no choice at all.

 

Turns out, Hope was the perfect companion for a beautiful woman. Sunny days and Guinness on tap aren’t bad either. So as they say in all the best stories, Hope and Pandora lived happily ever after. 

Sun

Moon

 

Eclipse 2023

Nikon D7200 300mm lens, 1.7 extender.

 

And it begins.

Then, for a minute, clouds!

A tree kept getting in the way. You wouldn't expect that of a tree.

Through the lens.

As much as we got in York, Montana.

Talking to Myself

Life is weird, you know.

Sunday morning, finished reading the local paper, or what is left of it post newspapers' demise. Can we call it a paper if it only exists online? 

I had emailed a friend about the difference between being a screenwriter and being a playwright and it got me thinking about what I have said about screenwriting. So, I cruised through my blog to see and found this. 

This is the original link (https://coyoteunderground.blogspot.com/2007/07/life-in-split-second.html ) but you can read the whole thing below.

BEGIN TRIP DOWN MEMORY LANE

After I completed EMT training and started answering emergency medical calls for our fire department, I worried about how I would do when we were called to our first car wreck.

I didn’t plan to be it.

Monday morning, I cruised the Net, checking activities in Portland, planning our vacation next month to the Oregon coast.

I made progress on my current script and liked what I read. Maybe this will be the “one.”

Ate lunch, collected my Dad and we ran errands in the afternoon.

On the way home, at an intersection I’ve passed countless times, a man driving a full-size Dodge pickup, was waving to a friend, and started across the intersection without noticing I was already there.

He hit us at the driver’s door, which sent the Chevy sliding sideways up a hill until it hit the soft dirt at the side of the road and commenced to roll.

Shaken witnesses at the scene said the car rolled three times.

Fortunately, I don't remember the roll.

I clearly remember the scene out the windshield, sliding sideways up the road. Then starting to roll.

Returned to full consciousness after coming to rest upright.

This ceiling center console which held interior lights and a place for the garage door opener, came loose and bashed into my head.

Every window, save the back one over the tailgate, broke out.

Six Good Samaritans ran to the car, all clutching their cell phones, all calling for help, all trying to assure us help was on the way.

One older lady held my hand while trying to call my family, and she was so upset, she couldn’t get her phone to work. The rollover must have been a horrific to watch. No fun to endure.

Neither air bag deployed.

Volunteer fireman, guys I’ve trained with, used the Jaws of Life, to remove the door so they could package me for the ambulance.

Package. That’s what we call it. An intricate set of procedures to insure the patient suffers no further injury before medical help can be reached. I’ve practiced this several times in training. Works slick, but trust me, it’s no fun being the package.

Another team removed my father.

After eight hours, the hospital sent us home. Dad has a broken collar bone. He’s out of commission for six weeks.

I have cuts, strained muscles and a heck of a bruise on my head. (And I later discovered, a torsion injury in my back from the seat belt that saved my life.) Even my hair hurts.

Today’s Wednesday. My aches are fading. I’m a little less stiff. What doesn’t seem to diminish is my memory.

I clearly remember the view through the windshield and having the presence of mind to think, this is my life. This moment. This second.

Not in three weeks on vacation. Or next fall when the Nicholls are announced. Or that fateful day I get it all together and something sells.

This second, I’m rolling a two ton car.

Make your life what you want it to be. Not next week or six months from now.

This second. 

END OF TRIP DOWN MEMORY LANE.

So, here I am on Sunday, wasting time, and always in the back of my mind is a little voice who sometimes whispers, sometimes SHOUTS, Why?  

Why are you still doing this? Writing, submitting, believing?*

Now, a lot has happened since 2007. Some good. Some bad. Mostly just regular life. 

The last two years I've enjoyed a type of career success that I'd never had before. Right now I'm riding something pretty hot, so who knows what will happen? Could be colder than deep space by tomorrow.

Or not.

What my 2023 self needed to know was what my 2007 self learned. 

Your life is what you make it. 

Make it what you want.

And I didn't even need to wreck the car again to remember.

*My latest work has a pivotal moment where the character wonders about the nature of Hope. Why do humans persist in hoping? This morning I paid $40 to get a download of a scientific study that proves there is a portion of the human brain that generates hope. 

I'm still trying to get my mind around that concept. It's not a Pollyanna character flaw or silly wishful thinking. Or a socialized construct of the modern mind. It's our brain. Our actual meat and blood brain.

How 'bout that?

The Latest

       A woman struggles to adjust to a solitary life as she packs her husband's belongings. 

Last Rose of the Season

 

Americana

 Jeez, I’m getting old.

 Took in a unique bit of Americana last month – the County Fair.

 

Ignore the creaking of my rocking chair as I say, back in my day, the Fair was the highlight of the summer. Rides. Prizes. Animals. Foods one never saw the rest of the year. And it was always hotter than hell, but that made it a day a person never forgot.

 

Remember the time Grandma sat right down on the grass next to the Tilt-a-whirl? 

 

(She survived.)

 

Remember the time the cotton candy melted in Daddy’s hand while we were on the ferris wheel?

 

(Liar, liar.)

 

Packed dirt walkways between corrals and beat up old buildings filled with bunches of stuff grown, sewn, and built while rattling swamp coolers kept the place humid.

 

Barns stuffed with all manner of livestock come to town. 

 

Once I saw one of the five largest dairy bulls in the country at a county fair. The top of his tail was a clear foot above my head and his manly bullish parts were the size of a ten pound roast. And that was a lot of bull.

 

(Honest.)

 

When they paved the walkways, I figured it was the beginning of the end.

 

Used to be, (creak, creak) we showed we could feed and clothe ourselves. We had skills to make things and were proud of our craft. Now, there’s a few displays in one row while a couple of old souls, nostalgia gripping their hearts, wander past for a look.

 

The 4H kids barely keep one barn dusty with a small herd of miscellaneous critters.

 

This year, the fair is mostly concerts with stages, lights and seating taking up all the room that used to be filled displays and stuff you never knew you needed to buy until you wandered into the shade to prevent heat stroke.

 

I guess it was always so. Comfort comes from memories and routine. Nostalgia doesn’t have to be bitter if we don’t allow it to prevent the joy of new stuff.

 

I sat in the shade of a tractor and ate fry bread. So all was not lost.

 

Then I went home to dust off my rocking chair.

The Nature of Hope

 After twice being decimated by Montana's heathen deer, the rose bush is budding once again.

The first thing I thought when I saw the tiny bud was, hope springs eternal.

And I moved the rose into a pot in the house so the deer just go bother someone else.

Necessity being the mother of invention. (1894 translation of Plato's Republic.)

(Who knew? I always thought it was my mother.)

Hope humbly then; with trembling pinions soar; 

Wait the great teacher Death; and God adore! 

What future bliss, he gives not thee to know, 

But gives that hope to be thy blessing now. 

Hope springs eternal in the human breast: 

Man never is, but always to be blest: 

Alexander Pope

For those more playful, less literary -- 

"... A straggling few got up to go in deep despair. The rest

Clung to the hope which springs eternal in the human breast;

They thought, "If only Casey could but get a whack at that—

We'd put up even money now, with Casey at the bat."

Ernest Thayer

Wouldn't It Be Nice ...

 

The Latest News

Delivered by animation! I love these from Film Freeway.

 

Old and New. Remembrances of Things Past

While the deer were savaging the roses ON THE FRONT PORCH, the peonies were enclosed in wire in the yard and survived.

 Stupid deer.

 

And a corollary to my war for the roses is a camera epiphany.

I got out the old camera – I should say previous camera – I have carried a Nikon all over the place, over my shoulder, in bags, across the water, everywhere. It has a very nice close up lens so I trapsed out to the yard to get close ups of the peonies and got this.

And the camera said, well darlin’ adjust the lens. Which I would have considered rude if we hadn’t known each other for oh so long.

 

Yep.

 

New camera – Sony A6600 – acquired because fastest auto-focus and very light – doesn’t make me adjust the lens unless I’m feeling really fussy.

 

Oh how quickly we are spoiled.

And the pictures of the cameras were taken with the fu*kn phone cuz the very best camera there is is the one in your hand when you want to take a picture.

I adjusted the lens.

Summer Time ...

 ... and I'm fighting deer for the flowers.

News

Just won 2nd place in the Fantasy Feature section of this year's International Horror Hotel's Film Festival.

And 3rd place in Fantasy Feature 2023 International Horror Hotel's Film Festival.

New Production Announced!

 

Caught in a Sun Spot

 

Dry January

Eureka and all that. I did it.

 

Decided on a lark, after being drawn in by a couple of clickbait articles, to do Dry January. Didn’t think I was that much of a drinker and that it would be lots easier than NaNoWriMo. 

Act in haste, repent at leisure.

 

Soon after that national election with those unexpected results, we got in the habit of starting happy hour at 4 PM and once, sufficiently lubricated, listen to the five o’clock news on NPR.* 

Other than a cocktail on dinner out events, I didn’t drink. Alcohol, that is. Much preferred cherry coke, Italian soda, Starbucks Double-Shot espresso, green tea. 

 

Right.

Apparently good habits are hell to establish and bad habits sneak in on kitten paws. 

 

Besides learning to make one hell of a good Old Fashioned,** I got used to sipping an adult beverage while making dinner or listening to the five o’clock news. And silly me, when I didn’t, because of an arbitrary goofy internet decision, I missed it.

 

As in, I really, REALLY wanted a drink.

 

And that was enough incentive to keep me dry all January. 

 

So, what did I learn? 

 

I paid attention to the times when I wanted a drink. Really, REALLY wanted a drink. 

 

Realized an adult beverage could be both a comfort and companion, and brother that could easily go seriously wrong. Decided I wanted a drink to be a treat not a reflex.

 

Were there complications or benefits?

 

Luckily all my no alcohol angst was in my mind. I did notice a bit of better memory this month, but I’m at the age where memory is a come and go event,*** so can’t substantiate that.

And now, EUREKA, and all that. Dry January is over.

Since no reasonable person has a martini with breakfast, I’m planning on a nice juicy cocktail with dinner tonight. 

Dry January is an effort worth making. Live and learn.

 Cheers.

 

*to see how former guy was destroying the world as we knew it. 

** classically made with bourbon, but 16 year old Irish won’t go amiss.

***Alas. 

Instagram Again

With a couple of corrections probably due to copy/paste error with one person doing the work of 20.

 And, gosh, never had to fuss about pronouns before, but not him.

There are two other wonderful plays being presented in this production, so come to Anaconda, Montana for a great night of theater.

Signs Around Town

 Promise I won’t.

Nothing is foolproof to a sufficiently talented fool.

Hope springs eternal.

But Spring is Coming ...

 

And on Instagram ...

 

 

That's What She Said

I am thrilled to announce one of my plays will be produced this season in multiple theaters. 
 Anaconda Ensemble Theater in February.  Rocky Mountain College Theater Arts in Billings with dates as yet to be announced.
 

The play is titled, THAT’S WHAT SHE SAID. It is a short one act with five female characters.

 

The genesis of this one goes like this – 

 

A couple millennials I know were enamored for a while of that double entendre joke – that’s what she said.

 

It won’t fit.

 

            That’s what she said.

 

It’s too big.

 

            That’s what she said.  

 

Etc.

               

Photo by krakenimages on Unsplash

 

It was all the rage at the time and by that I mean, annoying.

 

Since when I was their age we were still struggling to be heard,* I thought surely she has more to talk about than the size of someone’s dick and where it went or should go. So, I decided to see what else she had to say and spent an enjoyable few hours searching famous sayings by notable women and something else occurred to me.**

 

Sometimes, women don’t support other women. Whether this is an evolutionary artifact or social construct, who knows? Adding to that, the fact that each generation seems to look askance at every other generation and there we are. A big mess.

 

The 60s old hippie generation says – we stopped a war. We burned our bras and fought for reproductive freedom and equal pay, just so you girls can stroll into management positions.

 

The millennial generation says – put your bra back on grandma, you have no idea what the job market is like now or what we have to endure and what was that about reproductive freedom and equal pay?

 

They are both right.

Fast moving technological changes, pandemic losses, social upheaval and political unrest have created a world no one expected. And there’s still protests going on. #Timesup and #MeToo show it is still possible to move the needle on popular opinion and there’s a new generation doing just that.

 

But it might not hurt to acknowledge some of us stood across from police lines and got beaten bloody for our trouble or maybe just kept voting and writing and talking until we couldn’t help but be heard.

 

My daughter is committed to recycling. Once in a while I tell her, I was at the FIRST EARTH DAY and if it wasn’t for that, you wouldn’t be fussing at me about plastic water bottles now.

 

So I wrote a play with generations of smart, brave women watching over my shoulder and now she’s going to town.

Photo by saeed karimi on Unsplash

Told through the words of women of renown, THAT’S WHAT SHE SAID is a one act play that moves female discourse from a double entendre joke to multi-generational discussion on what it means to be female in America when much of the country wants her to sit down and shush.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*has anything changed? Alas.

**the very best bit of being a writer, when the muse stoops to whisper – here’s a story.