Extra Pedestrian

    “So, what happened?”     “Well... someone broke in and stole a bunch of my stuff.” ----- I ----- Our family dog, a miniature schnauzer named Shimmer, used to sleep in a recliner beside the front door when nobody was home.  This may sound sweet, the idea of her waiting as close to the door as possible for her humans to return, but we know that wasn't the case.  For one thing, I'm fairly certain she was more immediately concerned with the view out of the nearby window than she was with our return.  And then there's also the fact that she was never in said recliner when any of us came home.  Because that was against the rules, and she knew it. Shimmer was only allowed on the couches if she was with one of us -- which was indeed often.  But rare were the times when you might find her relaxing on the sofa alone, catching up on her soaps.  Because she knew the rules (and because she didn't watch soaps).  So when ...

Convincing myself it was a courtesy, I scraped the head of the match against the coarse side of the box, my eyes widening with pyro-maniacal joy as it sparked to life; the initial, hissing flare ultimately settling into a more subdued and silent flame. --- We had guests -- long-time family friends, currently seated on the back patio, chatting with my mother.  The concrete patio, covered in the flaking green paint applied by a previous homeowner, spread out to the right from the back door in the kitchen, nestling into the corner of the L-shaped home, a large sliding glass door on the adjacent wall.  Azalea bushes of varying size and shape isolated the patio from the otherwise sizeable backyard that lay beyond. Immediately to the left of the backdoor was a slight drop-off to ground level -- only a few inches lower, really, but a decent spot for laying pavers beneath the outdoor faucet and connected hose.  This side of the patio, near the drop-off, was typically res...

I've been told I have a great memory, and to a large degree, I believe it. I see very vivid images and feel very powerful emotions left over from endless childhood, teenage, and adult memories, many of which still drive many of my peculiar habits, fears, likes, peeves, and so on. I can recite, often in great detail, things that happened in my life as far back as my Spy Era -- which, as I so often do in regular conversation, I must now make an abrupt 90-degree turn to explain. I read Calvin & Hobbes comic strips and books religiously as a child, and likely into my early teen years. I could spend a lot of time talking about the brilliance of this particular corner of the comic strip world, but the internet is already full of information on, praise for, and philosophical waxing about young Calvin and his pet tiger, Hobbes. While a large part of author Bill Watterson's genius resided in his ability to bring legitimate philosophical ideas into such a medium, he was al...