Category Archives: Life

The God Hunter

Short Fiction for Guests of the Wordfeeder
Wednesday, November 23, 2011

Preface… This is the second in a series that began with “Stranger on the Bus“. If you haven’t read it yet, you need to read it first. It’s about an exceptional individual living among us, seemingly one of us, but special in ways not even he fully appreciates, a stranger without knowledge of his origins, purpose or destiny, still finding his way.

What you or I believe isn’t important, only what happened. I’m only asking that you read the first two and others in the series with an open mind – because you have no choice, because, like everything I write, except for a few details, this is a true story.

This second installment begins a few months later, on a Friday evening in early October.
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Farfromworthit.

A new grandfather’s rant about a portable crib.
Saturday, November 12, 2011

I begin by offering the following Newtonian Law of Grandparent Consumerism: The portability of a complex product is inversely related to the sum of the time it takes to set it up and take it down, plus the size of the item in its portable form, that quantity times the square of its weight or, as this formula is more commonly known, E=MC2. (That’s not the actual formula, but it’s the only one I can still remember from the Physics course I took in college.)

For the record, a disclaimer: Don’t just buy something based on my advice. I have no idea what I’m talking about. Most of the technical stuff I know was learned when I was a teenager from aliens when my tin foil hat was blown off during a freak electrical storm. Ask around and do your own research. …There. My son’s an attorney. I don’t want him to worry.
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The Proposal

Short Fiction for Guests of the Wordfeeder
Monday, November 7, 2011

It was late, almost 8:30, too late to walk home and go back out for dinner, and something about the light rain on a cool fall night made the thought of getting carryout even more dismal than usual. Tonight, he would unwind at this bistro, in the middle of the block on one the local streets that wound their way between the boulevards.

“Hey, Bobby.” It was Carla, on her way to the bar to pick up some beers for one of her tables, one of the waitresses who recognized him as a regular.

“You know my name isn’t ‘Bobby,’ don’t you?”

“Yeah, I know,” she smiled back at him. “It just feels right whenever I say it. ..Go ahead. Sit anywhere you want. I’ll tell her you’re here.”
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The Elevator Trilogy

Sunday, October 23, 2011

Part 1: Going up.

Our story begins the morning after the night when the crew from Otis started renovating the other elevator. There were only two. True, the building was relatively short, a mere 28 stories tall, having been built in a era before downtown property values pushed buildings to the sky, but the elevators were soooo slow, so crowded, stopping on virtually every floor, they were the prefect place, you guessed it, for love.

Of the twelve people waiting in the lobby, two of them, unbeknownst to each other, were about to meet. For the sake of discussion, we’ll call them Bob and Jane, not because I’m trying to protect their identities, but because those were their names. Their names may have been ordinary but, trust me on this, they were not.
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The Ladies Room

Short Fiction for Guests of the Wordfeeder
Monday, October 17, 2011

“I don’t understand why everyone’s so upset.” Alisha, now Assistant to the new CEO, stood outside the outgoing CEO’s office, talking fast, the way she did, in a loud whisper to her girl friend, Mel, whose arms were full of supplies. By outgoing, in this case, we mean “dead.”

“I know.” Mel widened her eyes and tilted her head in agreement. “Sure, he founded the place. I get it, but the guy was like over 90 years old.”

“Even so, you know, he was in great shape, for his age I mean. You know Wendy in Accounting?”

“Sure. We used to chat when I was on her floor, until her hearing started to go.”

“Well she’s employee number eight or something, definitely less than 10, and she says the old man was never a day sick, not so much as a cold.”

“I’m no doctor, but I’m thinking you’re less likely to get sick if you never leave the office.”

“True. He did work hard, right ‘til the end. ..He may have been old, but he seemed fine to me, until his head hit the hardwood.” Alisha rolled her eyes in the direct of the bookcase inside the old man’s office where his body had been found.

“Shouldn’t there be a chalk outline or something?”

“That’s only if he’d been murdered.”
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“Zip-A-Dee-Doo-Dah…”

As some of you already know, this blog is called the “Wordfeeder” because I do most of my writing sitting at my kitchen table, looking up occasionally over the screen of my laptop, out our bay window at the birds that live in the woods behind our house and who hang out at the bird feeder on our deck. They’re my buds, these birds, friends of the family whose presence somehow makes writing make sense no matter how much other stuff I should be doing.

I’m not a birdwatcher mind you, but I do enjoy seeing different kinds. This Blue Jay, for example, has been stopping by on and off for the past few days. He’s too big to eat from the feeder, but enjoys the black oil sunflower seeds I spill along our railing. He’s fast, and doesn’t stay long, but today I managed to get two reasonably good pictures of him.

My thanks to Uncle Remus for the lyrics. He had an Eastern Bluebird on his shoulder. Me and my Blue Jay, we have a more modern relationship.

“…Zip-A-Dee-A. My oh my, what a wonderful day!” …Ok, press “Publish” and now I have to do the dishes.

-wf

New York, New York

Saturday, October 1, 2011

Hi. As those of you who follow my blog know, my favorite daughter – Don’t panic. I only have the one, daughter that is. – has very recently given birth to her first child, my first grandchild, Miles. (Miles is 11 today. 11 days old, that is, but he’s very bright, so just in case he’s reading this, “Hey, Miles. Wuzzup?” Note to self: Get Miles his own iPad2 so we can FaceTime each other.)

Miles was born in New York, the city of big signs, great food and teaming hoards of wonderfully diverse Americans. The place literally oozes with people, in a good way. As soon as my daughter went into labor, my wife and I went into gear. A few hours later, most of it on the New Jersey turnpike – “And they’ve all come to look for America,” according to Paul Simon – and we were at the hospital setting new records for fawning over a sleeping baby. To Miles credit, he’s own man and pretty much ignored us.
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“Gesundheit!”

Short fiction for guests of the Wordfeeder
Saturday, October 1, 2011

The street was busy that evening, as usual. Three narrow, unmarked lanes, one of them for alternate street parking, the one on the other side blocked by a delivery truck here and a service truck there. The pavement was still damp from the late afternoon rain, just a bit of steam rising where the sun breaking through the clouds was doing its job. There was still and hour or so of daylight. People, mostly young in this neighborhood, were coming and going in between and around each other, avoiding garbage bags that wouldn’t be collected until late that night, and the occasional piece of throwaway furniture left at the curb. Racks of fruit, flowers and other stock protruded from the front of stores that were thriving on the flow of locals coming home from work. It was noisy with the sound of traffic and of people talking, too many to hear what any of them were saying.

Stepping quickly across the street, between two badly parked cars and onto the sidewalk, she walked up to the door to the right of the Gyros place that was in the bottom of the converted tenement where she lived, five tall flights up. Without looking left or right, she put her key in the lock, the key with no chain to help find it, turned it, pulled back the heavy metal door and stepped into the dimly lit hallway, looking ahead to a brighter light at the bottom of the staircase.
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Today is Miles’ birthday. He’s 0 years old.

A personal note.
Tuesday, September 20, 2011

Congratulations to my amazing, my favorite daughter – I have just the one, but I’m nonetheless crazy about her. (You too, Son.) – and her wonderful husband. No simple explanation mark at the end of that first sentence can do the love, respect, the hopes and dreams I have for them justice. An already very clever, highly creative person, as I noted in a post 9 months ago, she has now successfully completed her most ambitious arts and crafts project to date, the making of a human being. Very well done. Now comes the hard part.

Yes, today, at 8:04 AM ET, my grandson, Miles, all 7lbs 10oz of him, gave up the security of my daughter’s womb to dive head first, literally, into the tough, relentlessly anxious, generally wonderful world of the “air-breathers,” aka you and me. He is now among us, and life, for not just my daughter and son-in-law, but for everyone Miles touches will never be the same.

(Have you ever noticed how we always give the weight of newborns when we introduce them? Maybe I should add my weight to the “About” tab of my blog. ..Maybe not.)

Despite Miles’ tumultuous transition – which culminated in his having been born only a scant 14 minutes after my daughter and son-in-law arrived at the hospital, Miles seems very cool about it all. Very poised, very collected. This bodes well for the future of civilization in which I am certain Miles will be a major player.

For the better part of 8 hours today, I hung out with the three of them, Miles and his parents, plus my wife and Miles’ other two grandparents watching him sleep and occasionally open his eyes and smile at us. I’m told he’s not really smiling, but probably has gas to which I reply, “Get lost. I know a smile when I seen one.”

By the way, did you know that “Miles” is an anagram for “smile”? I told you my daughter was clever, didn’t I? Madison Avenue’s best couldn’t have picked a better name for this kid if they had made it up from scratch.

The highlight of the day, other that just plain seeing Miles and my daughter – proof positive of how beautiful a woman can look without makeup – was watching my son-in-law change his son’s second diaper, a courageous act if ever there was one. It wasn’t easy and the results were a tad imperfect, but with encouragement from his wife and Miles’ grandparents, and under the supervision of one very experienced nurse, he got the job done. Good work. Between you and me, I’ve seen fewer people change all four tires and fuel-up their team car in less time, but then that’s NASCAR, a walk in the park compared to cleaning up what Miles did in his pants. Miles is staying on the 11th floor of the hospital. Even so, I’m fairly certain several pedestrians passed out on the sidewalk below during this particular pit stop.

And so tomorrow, Miles takes on day 2 of his life. With the same fearless verve and courage that will characterize his long and wondrous life, he’ll try to make sense out of everything, from how his part parts work to those noises everyone around him keeps making from their mouths. Go Miles! You can do this. How do I know? Because I had two of you once and look how great they turned out.

I love you. Happy birthday! Let’s do lunch, as soon as you can eat solid food.

-wf

Imperfect Together

Short Fiction for Guests of the Wordfeeder
Monday, September 5, 2011

“You know,” Greg mumbled into his pillow, wondering if he’d been drooling, “I can feel you staring at me.”

“That’s not possible,” Georgia responded from where she was sitting up against her pillows, her knees up, one hand on the TV’s remote control waiting to see if she should change channels.

“Are you staring at me?”

“Well, yes. Sort of.”

“How did I know?”

“Because you can feel the intensity of the anguish emanating like laser beams…”

“Like red laser beams.”

“Right. Like red laser beams out of my electric blue eyes.”

“That’s it exactly.” Sitting up, Greg grabbed and stacked up his pillows against the headboard, fluffing them just so, scrunched his tush up and interlocked his fingers while staring mindlessly at Jimmy Fallon’s monologue. “Okay, I’m up. What’s bothering you?”
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