Thursday, August 18, 2011
Kindergarten Memories
I can not remember things. Things like where I put my keys, what we ate for dinner two nights ago, and the last name of any of my neighbors (thank Heavens for my neighborhood directory).
Sunday, July 31, 2011
I've Been Thinking
I’ve been thinking. I try to do that every now and then. This think is about clichés. I have noticed that a lot of people, including myself, talk in clichés. When I make a statement it is not uncommon to be answered with a cliché or to answer with a cliché.
One of my favorite clichés is “Opportunity doesn’t knock twice”. When I hear those words I always wonder, why not? If it came the first time, surely it could drop in the 2nd time. What happens if I’m in the shower and I don’t answer the door when opportunity knocks? It wouldn’t be fair if opportunity only knocked once. If that were really the case then no one would ever take a shower and then what a stinking world we would have.
I know it’s just a cliché and cliché’s are just a bunch of words tossed into a pot, stirred around and then extracted by a word witch or just to be fair a word warlock. But people really do believe them.
What would have happen if they stirred the pot and extracted, Opportunity doesn’t knock twice”? Would that change the meaning? What if the pot had popped out “opportunity only knocks once”? Would that change the meaning?
Or maybe they forgot to tend the pot and the words just kept popping out. Then the cliché might be “Opportunity knocks twice, three times or if you are not careful opportunity will come knocking every night like a love stricken teenage boy mooning over your giggling teenage daughter”.
You hear the knock and you scream, “Get the hell away from my daughter!” and it turns out to be that pesky old opportunity. Then the cliché could be “opportunity keeps knocking until you chase it away with a shot gun.”
No, I guess that really wouldn’t work. Clichés need to be short and to the point. Something like, “black dogs don’t talk”. You could fit that one into any conversation you want to.
Let’s say someone wants to borrow some money. All you have to say is, “They tell me that black dogs don’t talk.” You’re home free. Who in their right mind would challenge you and claim that, “black dogs do talk”? The statement is correct. Black dogs don’t talk. They might ask, “What does ‘black dogs talking’ have to do with borrowing a buck or two?” But most people won’t do that. People are afraid to challenge clichés. They do not want to admit that they don’t have the slightest idea what you’re talking about.
I once said to a young friend of mine, “It’s tough to make ends meet”.
He thought for a minute and responded, “I guess when you do you can barbecue them.”
I thought for my minute and said, “No, I’m going to boil them.”
He changed the subject and I wasn’t sure if he was pulling my leg (there’s another one of them critters) or whether I was pulling his leg and I really didn’t want to ask because, as you know “black dogs don’t talk.”
S. Beatty/7-26-11
One of my favorite clichés is “Opportunity doesn’t knock twice”. When I hear those words I always wonder, why not? If it came the first time, surely it could drop in the 2nd time. What happens if I’m in the shower and I don’t answer the door when opportunity knocks? It wouldn’t be fair if opportunity only knocked once. If that were really the case then no one would ever take a shower and then what a stinking world we would have.
I know it’s just a cliché and cliché’s are just a bunch of words tossed into a pot, stirred around and then extracted by a word witch or just to be fair a word warlock. But people really do believe them.
What would have happen if they stirred the pot and extracted, Opportunity doesn’t knock twice”? Would that change the meaning? What if the pot had popped out “opportunity only knocks once”? Would that change the meaning?
Or maybe they forgot to tend the pot and the words just kept popping out. Then the cliché might be “Opportunity knocks twice, three times or if you are not careful opportunity will come knocking every night like a love stricken teenage boy mooning over your giggling teenage daughter”.
You hear the knock and you scream, “Get the hell away from my daughter!” and it turns out to be that pesky old opportunity. Then the cliché could be “opportunity keeps knocking until you chase it away with a shot gun.”
No, I guess that really wouldn’t work. Clichés need to be short and to the point. Something like, “black dogs don’t talk”. You could fit that one into any conversation you want to.
Let’s say someone wants to borrow some money. All you have to say is, “They tell me that black dogs don’t talk.” You’re home free. Who in their right mind would challenge you and claim that, “black dogs do talk”? The statement is correct. Black dogs don’t talk. They might ask, “What does ‘black dogs talking’ have to do with borrowing a buck or two?” But most people won’t do that. People are afraid to challenge clichés. They do not want to admit that they don’t have the slightest idea what you’re talking about.
I once said to a young friend of mine, “It’s tough to make ends meet”.
He thought for a minute and responded, “I guess when you do you can barbecue them.”
I thought for my minute and said, “No, I’m going to boil them.”
He changed the subject and I wasn’t sure if he was pulling my leg (there’s another one of them critters) or whether I was pulling his leg and I really didn’t want to ask because, as you know “black dogs don’t talk.”
S. Beatty/7-26-11
Sunday, July 24, 2011
Funky Music
Play that funky music white boy.
Lay down the boogie and play the funky music.......until you die.
What if you don't play any funky music?
What if someone else plays the Funky Music?
Do you still die?
Death…death weighs on me this week.
"How do you mourn the loss of a brother? " He asked.
Ask Amy. No one knows better than Amy how to mourn that kind of loss. But my friend asked me, not Amy. Amy would have had the answer. But he doesn't know Amy so he asked me.
Did I have the answer?
Do I have the answer?
I cried, I told him. I cried but that didn't help. I wrote a poem I told him. I wrote a poem but that didn't help. I didn't know how to mourn the loss of a brother so that's what I told him.
How do you mourn the loss of a brother? How do you mourn the loss of a friend? My friend, his brother…both gone but I didn't hear any funky music.
Losing a parent is tough but if you are mature and they have lived a long and good life, you expect to lose your parents. It hurts and you cry or you play tough and you don't cry but you hurt.
Losing a brother? Somehow that's different…more personal…a brother...my brother…his brother…your brother…your sibling… a child… they are part of your soul and buried deep within your heart…they are expected to be there…they have always been there…why would they leave…now?
They weren't playing any funky music.
Amy's brother played Opera...Classical...Musical
Maybe God played the funky music or someone, some angel, some devil, maybe one of them, maybe all of them just turned on the funky music and my brother…his brother…Amy's brother…my friend…maybe they are in another dimension trying to turn it off.
Losing a friend…hurts the heart…confuses the mind.
Mike died?
Was he playing funky music with my friend's brother?
Did Mike have a brother? No brother to be confused about mourning? Sure I'll mourn for Mike. That's easy for me. He was a friend…a good friend…But Mike needs a brother…a brother to have a slice of his heart cremated and buried. A slice of his heart to be cremated and buried like my heart was sliced and buried… like Amy's heart was sliced and burned...like my friend's heart is being sliced and buried.
A brother is gone.
A friend is gone.
Another piece of the heart is gone.
Please someone…turn off the funky music.
S. Beatty/7-19-11
Sunday, June 12, 2011
do i believe
is it possible to
write something that I value
is it necessary
to expose my inner thoughts
put them in air
to float endlessly
and not fret that
they will circle
the interstices of time
and come back
to slap me
no
not care that
they come back
to slap me
and cause me
to truly evaluate
that
what I believe
Saturday, June 11, 2011
God came Knocking
I see Christopher Hitchens as an intellectual snob. He was born in Portsmouth, England and educated by some of the best schools in England. He is a very intelligent and a very successful writer. Although, he doesn't profess to be a homosexual, he did have an admitted fling with homosexuality as a young man. Also, when he was a young man, his mother committed suicide because she was caught in an adulterous affair.
I have no idea if these events had any cause and effect on his beliefs but Hitchens is a professed atheist. He dances with other professed atheist intellectuals as they still argue with St Thomas Aquinas about "How many angels can dance on the head of a pin?" Or, more than likely, they argue 'that no angels can dance anywhere because they do not exist'. They love to write about their suppositions and interpretations of how god can not and does not exist.
Hitchens arguments against a God are based on the several reasons...the number of people killed by religious zealots from all religions, the fact that no one can logically prove that god exists, he questions word meaning, he parses sentences, he challenges biblical interpretations and he questions translations from Christian writings.
Admittedly, I am not the intellectual that Hitchens is and I found his arguments and theories to be on the same plane of intelligence as Steven Pinker's "The Stuff of Thought". In other words he loves to argue things like, the meaning of 'is' and what the word 'event' actually means.
I fell asleep trying to decipher Hitchens words.
I opened the gate to face two young Mormon missionaries. I simply said, "I'm surprised that God sent you. But now we have to determine whether he sent you to save me or for me to save you."
They both looked amazed and the short one asked me if I was Elder Beatty. I said that I was "the right Jack Mormon Elder Beatty" which In Mormon speak means that I no longer go to church.
I invited them in to share a glass of water and an intellectual conversation.
"See," I said pointing to the Hitchens book. "There is a book I am reading about atheism. Maybe God is worried about me. You don't think that it is a mere coincidence that you rang my buzzer just now, do you?
"I have lived in Southern California away from the church for over forty years and this is the first time a missionary has ever knocked on my door. I don't believe it was just by chance. I believe that he sent you here for another reason."
The taller one wondered what other reason God would have than to get the 'Jack Mormon, Elder Beatty', to return to the flock.
"Well", I replied. "I came to peace with God some years ago when I agreed that he was really there and he agreed to let me worship in my own way. So, since then, he and I have gotten along quite well.
It is probably one of you or maybe both of you that will have your faith tested."
"Mr. Hitchens, his atheist friends and all of those that cannot accept God, will continually be asking you to prove that your God is real and you will not be able too do so, because all you have is faith. For every argument and miracle that you can provide that God really does exist, they will provide better proof and better arguments that he cannot and does not exist. "
"So, my young missionary friends take this word of advice from an old man that has been there. Do not try to prove that God exists with the words that come from man because it cannot be done. If it could be, then your faith and your trust in God could never be tested. God would never know the depth of your belief."
"When the question of the proof of God comes up, simply ask them to prove that he does not exist. They can no more prove that he doesn't exist than you can prove that he does."
"Also, when you challenge them to prove that God does not exist, challenge them to determine how many Angels can dance on the head of a needle."
They left somewhat perplexed with me and my words.
They were supposed to return me to the flock. I challenged them to remain in the flock.
You may not believe that God came knocking at my door and I am not going to try and prove to you that he did.
However, you cannot prove to me that he didn't.
Saturday, January 29, 2011
A Retrospective
- Funky is an unwashed armpit
- Funky is the blues with an upbeat
- Funky is brightly colored threads
- Funky is an over stuffed chair covered with an Navajo blanket
- Funky is getting down to the rhythm of the beat
- Funky town is Saturday night with strobe lights
- Funky is the laid back feeling after making love
- Funky is our body odors intermingled and shared
- Funky is the bottom of the clothes hamper after wet was left too long to lie
- Funky is that place between sick and well
- Funky is dreadlocks, caftan shirts and painted beads
- Funky is as Funky does
- Funky is the 1960s bleeding into the 1970s
- Funky is a jeweled roach clip, a leather headband and the peace sign painted on my jeans
- Funky is those favorite jeans, too thread bare to be washed again
- Funky is Janice Joplin’s voice singing “Me and Bobby McGee” at her gravely lowdown best
- Funky is the inside of my car after a month long road trip
- Funky is Otis Redding, Oscar Brown Jr. and Creedence Clearwater Revival.
- Funky is a bad moon rising
- Funky was and Funky is a song, a dance, a time, a place that I can’t get back to any more. I’ve lost my way to Funky.
Saturday, January 15, 2011
Promises to Keep
Mark Twain said, “New Years Day is the accepted time to make your regular annual good resolutions. Next week you can begin paving hell with them as usual”.
This year I WILL succeed!
I felt I circumvented that eventuality with last week’s declaration that this would be the year of no resolutions. Very clever, I thought, but here I sit with no resolutions to break and it just doesn’t feel right. I am fairly itching to make a list. Why not make a list of what I resolve not to do this year. I’m so much better at not doing things. Inertia is my constant companion.
1.I will not pierce my nose, tongue, belly button, eyebrow or God forbid my nipple.
2. I will not drive the L.A. freeways in a Smart Car. It’s just not smart.
3. I will not go clubbing with Paris Hilton or Lindsey Lohan, not this year!
4. I will not volunteer to chair any committee, not going to happen!
5. I will not freeze my face with Botox.
6. I will not attempt rock climbing, hang gliding or bungee jumping.
7. I will not stop by Victoria Secrets to see if they have stocked my size yet.
8. I will not join the Red Hat Society, I’d rather have my teeth drilled without Novocain and that’s not going to happen either.
9. I will not belly up to a sushi bar or eat tofu in my burger.
10. I will not pose for Playboy.
11. I will not take lessons in tap dancing, juggling, or playing the Kazoo.
12. I will not adopt an ostrich, a llama, or a kangaroo.
There that is twelve resolutions one for each month of the year, committed to paper and promised with steely resolve. I can now move on, venturing into 2011 with confidence and spot on tenacity.
My New Year Anti-Resolution
New Year’s Eve in the Hacienda Senior Citizen Mobil Home Park is quiet, but that, I’m sure goes without saying. Each of us tucked in our beds long before midnight, double paned windows shut tight against the cold. Those who couldn’t sleep will be the first at the clubhouse to drink the free coffee and eat the day old bakery items donated by local merchants. They will complain loudly of the horrible night they passed and once again prove the old adage that misery loves company. I resolve not to be among them.
This is a time to be thankful. Thankful first and foremost that I no longer feel like I’m missing out if I do not join in, accept or extend invitations. I no longer have to; in any way, participate in a night of false gaiety with or without funny hats and noise makers. I no longer feel a need to watch the ball drop in Time Square, with or without Dick Clark. I seek neither midnight kiss nor gluttony in food or drink. I do admit to seeking a televised showing of “When Harry Met Sally”. It’s my favorite News Years movie and I might hum along to “What Are Doing New Years?” and “Old Laud Syne” but that’s only because I want to, not because I have to.
When I was young I was thrilled to be allowed to stay up until midnight, by middle age I felt duty-bound to stay up but now I’m blessed with the freedom of advanced age. I am free to not stay up, to not make resolutions, and to indulge in our only ritual, make a pot of soup with the Christmas Ham bone and take down the Christmas decorations and putting them away for another year. How sweet it is.
In years long gone by, I made and promptly broke resolutions. I now resolve to not resolve. Weight loss was always at the top of my list in one form or another, to join a gym, try a new diet, or join Weight Watchers yet again. Good news, I recently read that there are more people overweight in America than not, doesn’t that mean that overweight is the new average? I’m quite satisfied with being average; I can’t begin to tell you all how happy I am that you’ve all caught up with me. Welcome to my world!
If I was going to make a resolution involving food, I would resolve to try at least one new restaurant per month. If I was going to make a resolution involving personal appearance, I’d resolve to wear only long flowing brightly colored Muumuus and perhaps let my hair grow as long and as silver as it pleases. I would resolve to seek laughter and the company of those who laugh. I’d resolve to give more books away, to leave them in Starbucks, in doctor’s waiting rooms and on park benches.
Those are excellent resolution but I’m not inclined to set myself up to fail. Let’s call them, instead, “New Year’s Ideas” and I resolve to think about, thinking about them. No pressure, just my very best wishes for the year to come.
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
Dissolute Idealism, The College Years
It was a time of possibilities, a time of optimism and noble causes. It was a time of new ideas and precarious ideals. It was 1964.
I was 21 and still living at my parent’s home but I was never there. I was a full-time student at Cal-State Long Beach, I was working at Disneyland, I was volunteering at an inner city tutoring center and I was falling in and out of love. I was, for all intents and purposes, living in my car.
I prized my car simply because it was mine but it did not translate to tender loving care. The car was seldom washed, it was filled with trash, books, papers, hamburger wrappers and coffee stained paper cups. The ashtrays over flowed, the headliner was ripped and taped but it fit the times. It was my world. I existed on cheeseburgers, fries, black coffee and cigarettes. I was thin and appeared even thinner because I wore all black, stirrup pants, black boots and black turtle necks topped with a ratty old trench coat, rain or shine.
I listened to folk singers under the campus trees and tried to understand what was going on in Viet Nam. My brother was in basic training we knew he was going. Jane Fonda called the boys in uniform “baby killers” but I knew that couldn’t be right. Tim was just a baby himself, he wouldn’t hurt a fly. But still I wondered why we were there. Pete tried to explain it to me. He was finishing up his graduate work at Berkley and he would call me from a pay phone there to a pay phone on my campus that way we both could talk as long as we liked and then walk away without paying. We didn’t see the immorality of our actions; Ma Bell could afford it, right?
I marched and partied all night at the state building in support of the freedom riders in Alabama. Every morning I bought a newspaper as soon as the coin-op dispenser was filled and then piled the rest on top of the news rack so no one else would have to pay. That wasn’t stealing it was “power to the people”. It wasn’t how I was raised, it isn’t how I live now, it was a part I played complete with costume and studied rhetoric.
One night I sat at the reception desk at the tutoring center answering phones until long after dark. Mine was the only white face to be seen, inside or out. The director walked me to my car and said, “I’ll be glad when we don’t need you little white do-gooders any more”. I looked up at him in confusion and he grabbed my shoulders and tried to kiss me. I backed away and he called me a bigot.
It was 1964 and as Bob Dylan said, “The times, they are a-changing.”
Sunday, January 2, 2011
Mr Elephant
While writing for a prompt in our class I came up with sort of a child's tale about an elephant in a tree. I have written and re-written an addition to that tale. I posted an article over on "Burned Toast and Coffee" about writing garbage. This is the story I was refering to. Coniie commented that she would have to read my story to decide if it garbage or not.
Here it is.
Mr. Elephant
Early one hot summer morning I was walking through the woods when I came across a small babbling brook and decided to soak my weary feet in the cool water. I sat beneath a sprawling Oak tree next to the inviting water. I removed my shoes and socks uncovering my tired pink toes and began to dip them in the inviting water.
"Ahem" I heard someone say.
I looked but I could not see anyone.
"Ahem" the voice said again. "That certainly is not perfume I smell. In fact I smell a smell that is awfully stale."
I looked again but still there was no one to see.
"I'm sorry," I said. "I thought I was alone. Where are you?"
"Up here," the voice said. "Above you."
I looked up to see who was above me.
I coughed and sputtered, snorted and gagged because I could not believe who I could see in the tree above me.
I couldn't manage a word but the voice in the tree above me said, "What is wrong? Have you never seen an elephant in a tree?"
"Of course not," I replied. "Elephants do not belong in trees and are never seen in trees. Certainly you cannot climb a tree. How did you get in the tree?"
"I put myself here."
"How," I said. "I cannot believe that you could put yourself in a tree. But, if you did, why would an elephant want to be in a tree?"
"I did put myself in this tree and I did so to hide from the little boy that lives over that way," the elephant replied indignantly pointing through the trees with his trunk.
Then I heard a tiny young voice echoing through the woods, "Oh, Mr. Elephant, where are you?"
"Shush," the elephant said.
I put my shoes and socks back on my stinky feet and left the two friends to finish their game of hide and seek.
I walked back toward the place I call home until I came across another part of the little brook and decided that I still needed to soak my weary feet. I sat on a rock and looked into the tree above me just to make sure there wasn't another elephant in a tree.
I removed my shoes and socks and placed my weary tired feet into the cool water and sat and thought about the elephant in the tree.
No, I thought, you didn't see an elephant in a tree and I convinced myself that it was not true. I could not have seen an elephant in a tree. I was just tired. I must have fallen asleep and was dreaming.
I relaxed and my feet began to feel better, and then I heard the little boy's voice again,
"Oh, mister elephant, where are you?"
Oh, no, I thought. Maybe I wasn't dreaming.
I listened to his searching voice hoping he would go into another direction. But his voice got closer.
"Oh mister Elephant, where are you?"
When he saw me, he gasped in his surprise to see me dangling my bare feet in the running water.
He paused for a moment and then decided it was okay to speak to me. I am sure he thought I could be of no harm to him with my bare feet dangling in the water.
"Have you seen an elephant?"
"As a matter of fact I have."
"Could you tell me where he is?"
"I am not sure if I should."
"Why not?" He demanded. "It is important that I find him"
"I sort of promised mister elephant that I would keep his secret."
He came closer and said in a soft low voice, "If you tell me where he is, I won't tell him that you told me."
"That wouldn't be honest."
Well, maybe not, but I have to find him and I have looked everywhere."
"I am very sure you haven't looked everywhere. Have you looked under the rocks, or in the bottom of the brook or even in the trees?"
"That's stupid, I know you're teasing me because an elephant is too big to hide under a rock and an elephant is too big to hide in a brook and an elephant cannot climb a tree."
"Maybe and maybe not. He could be a magic elephant. Maybe he used his big ears and flew up into a tree."
He paused for a few seconds and then he took his shoes and socks off and dangled his feet in the water about 10 feet from where I was dangling me feet in the water.
"My mother told me never to get to close to strangers. Do you suppose this is far enough away? I am not to close, am I?"
"No," I smiled. "I am pretty sure you're safe where you are."
He was thoughtful for a few moments and then said, "I never considered an elephant flying with his ears. Do you really think they can do that?"
"It's possible. Elephants are not supposed to talk either, but mister elephant talked to me."
His eyes got wider, "Really, what did he say?"
"He doesn't like my stinky feet."
"Is that why you're washing them?"
"No, they were sore, but they feel better now."
"If you will tell me where he is I will give you half of my peanut butter and jelly sandwich."
"Do you have any potato chips"?
"No, but I have two Oreo Cookies. I will give you one of those."
I decided that was a fair offer so we struck the bargain for the cookie and then we went back down the path to find mister elephant in the tree.
"Is he really in a tree? How did he get in a tree?"
"It's true. He told me he put himself in the tree."
"Oh," was all the boy could say.
The boy and I walked side by side looking for the tree with mister elephant.
When we arrived at the elephant tree, mister elephant said, "Oh it's you mister stinky feet. I guess now I will have to call you mister squealer with the stinky feet."
"I guess that's true. I did show the boy where you were, but he was very worried about you."
"He sold you out for an Oreo cookie."
"Figures, he's probably some kind of politician."
"Hey elephant," a strange voice said. "What are you doing in a tree?"
"Oh, hello donkey, I'm hiding from the boy."
"It looks like he found you."
"No he didn't. The man with the stinky feet sold me out for an Oreo cookie."
"He must be a politician."
"I am not a politician. I was just concerned for the boy."
"You're it mister elephant," the boy said. "It's my turn to hide. You count to one hundred while I hide."
"I can't."
"You can't count to one hundred mister elephant," the boy and the donkey said in unison.
"Don't be ridiculous, I can count to one hundred," mister elephant said with disgust. "But, I cannot get myself out of the tree."
"Why not?" I asked. "You put yourself in the tree so you should be able to get yourself out of the tree."
"That is not necessarily true. Just because I was able to put myself in a tree doesn't mean that I can put myself out of the tree. It happens to cats all the time."
"This is not good," the donkey said.
"Let's call the fire department," the boy said.
"No," both the donkey and mister elephant yelled in unison.
"Why not?" the boy asked.
The donkey said, "Because of the press."
"What's the press?" the boy said.
"The press is the newspapers and the TV reporters," I answered.
"Are they bad?"
"No, they are not bad," mister elephant said. "But, they will tell the world about me in this tree and donkey on the ground and then someone will say donkey put me in the tree because I represent the Republicans and he represents the democrats."
"And then someone else will say it's not fair for mister elephant to be higher up than me," donkey said. "Then someone will put me in a tree."
"Then," mister elephant said, "They will put me higher up the tree until the branches won't hold me anymore and they will break and I will fall out of the tree. Then someone will blame donkey because he represents the Democrats. I would rather stay in the tree."
"What are we going to do?" the boy said.
"I'm hungry," mister elephant said. "And I'm thirsty."
"You can have my peanut butter and jelly sandwich and Oreo cookie," the boy said.
"I ate my Oreo cookie," I added. "But, I'll get you a hat full of water."
"Great," mister elephant said. "A baseball hat full of water, an Oreo cookie and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich are not what I would call a gourmet meal for an elephant!
All of that should last me about thirty seconds."
"Look at me folks I am an elephant. E-L-E-P-H-A-N-T…elephant. I usually get about a ton of hay per day."
"I wouldn't be so uppity if I were you," I said. "You put yourself in the tree. You only have yourself to blame. You do not want us to call someone that could help so you'll have to eat what we can give you until we figure out how to get you out of the tree."
Another voice entered below the tree. It was the boy's mother and she was very, very upset. "Young man, you were supposed to be home one hour ago. I was worried and upset."
The boy in his own defense testified that he was helping his friend, mister elephant. The mother was leery, very leery. "I do not see an elephant. I see a mangy old donkey, and a man with a wet baseball cap."
Mister elephant said from the tree above her, "Ma'am, do you suppose you could fix me a few peanut butter and jelly sandwiches?"
The mother looked up and saw mister elephant in the tree above her and fainted.
"Oh great," the donkey said. "Now we have an elephant in a tree and a dead woman under the tree. We better hope the fire department doesn't show up now. We will all be arrested for murder."
"Is my mother dead?" the boy gasped.
"No," I replied. "She just passed out. Sprinkle some water on her face and she should be okay."
The boy was very gentle. He did not sprinkle water on her. He took his shirt off and got it wet from the brook and slowly wiped her brow until she woke up.
She sat up and looked back into the tree. "Oh my God," She said. "There is an elephant in the tree. For lands sakes how did an elephant get in the tree?"
"I put myself here," said mister elephant. "How many times do I have to say it? Do you have any more of those peanut butter and jelly sandwiches? I am really, really hungry. But, I don't want any more of those Oreo cookies. I seem to be allergic to chocolate."
Then he sneezed and the whole tree shook.
Of course the donkey couldn't resist. "Now I suppose we will have to call the doctor? If the doctor comes then he will call the paramedics and they will call the fire department and they will call the police and the police will call the reporters and the next thing you know, we will have fifty news vans parked everywhere. Man, talk about an ecological disaster."
Mister elephant was becoming agitated. "Be quiet donkey. Why don't you take the boy's mom to make me some peanut butter and jelly sandwiches? I think about three hundred should do it."
"That's the solution," donkey said. "We'll just feed him until his fat rear end breaks all the branches and he falls out of the tree."
"That's just fine by me," mister elephant snorted. "Just get me food, any food. But, I really want some of those peanut butter and jelly sandwiches."
The boy's mom took the boy and they went to find some food for mister elephant.
Mister elephant said, "Please hurry, my stomach's killing me."
I sat down by the babbling brook and said, "I've got a head ache and my feet are still killing me."
Mister elephant said, "Don't take your shoes and socks off. I don't want to smell your stinky feet again. Go somewhere else and practice one of your political speeches."
"I am not a politician," I yelled up at him. "I am a retired undertaker."
"Great," Donkey said. "Take your shoes and socks off and let your stinky feet kill him. When he falls out of the tree, you can bury him and we can all go home."
"Funny, funny, funny," mister elephant groaned. "I don't have to smell his feet; your jokes are killing me.
Just then one of the boy's friends came to the tree and started laughing.
"It's really true," he giggled. "There is an elephant in a tree, and an ugly donkey."
"Are you really a politician?" He asked me.
"I am not ugly," donkey said.
"I am not a politician," I groaned.
"Yes you are," mister elephant and donkey said in unison. "You sold out for one lousy Oreo cookie."
The boy's friend couldn't wait to tell everyone about the elephant in the tree, the ugly donkey and the politician. The neighbors had never had a politician in their neighborhood and certainly not an elephant in a tree so they all had to come to see the politician, the ugly donkey and of course the elephant in a tree.
And the word was out. The boy's friend told his mom. His mom called her brother who was a local newspaper reporter. The reporter came with a photographer and the evening paper had a picture of a frightened hungry elephant setting in a tree.
The headlines read: "LOCAL POLITICIAN PUTS ELEPHANT IN TREE".
Naturally the story was picked up by the twelve oclock TV news and by mid-afternoon there were news vans from every major news source in the world.
Nobody bothered to feed the poor hungry elephant. Everyone wanted an interview. Every person in the neighborhood was being interviewed on one channel or another all across America and the rest of the world.
Animal cruelty was being reported. Political tricks were being reported.
The donkey was accused of kicking his political rival into the tree.
The undertaker/squealer/politician was asked what office he held. He was asked to run for Governor and finally one group wanted him to run for president.
Everyone knew the "real" story and every "real" story was different than the other "real" stories and they were all wrong. However that didn't bother the news media because each and every one of them had a "scoop".
The Republicans accused the Democrats of demeaning their national symbol. The Democrats put an ad on TV disavowing the "ugly donkey" as their symbol. Their donkey was somewhere in main stumping for an election in that state.
The Republicans adopted the "elephant in a tree" as their new campaign slogan to show the entire world the cruelty of the democrats.
The Democrats accused the Republicans of campaign lies.
The elephant was still hungry and decided no one was going to bring him any peanut butter and jelly sandwiches so he decided to do what he should have done before the whole mess began.
He put himself out of the tree simply by jumping. He did what all tree jumper outers do. He put his feet over both eyes and jumped. He landed with a great thud but all the news people were so busy gathering news that they did not see or hear mister elephant when he landed.
Mister elephant walked away without a word to anyone.
I could hear him mumbling to himself, "I wondered if she made my peanut butter and jelly sandwiches yet.
The donkey walked behind him mumbling something about being called ugly.
I took my shoes and socks off and soaked my feet in the cool babbling brook.
And the News Media...you see them every night reporting on the political baloney (or would that be E.B. as in Elephant Baloney)
Here it is.
Mr. Elephant
Early one hot summer morning I was walking through the woods when I came across a small babbling brook and decided to soak my weary feet in the cool water. I sat beneath a sprawling Oak tree next to the inviting water. I removed my shoes and socks uncovering my tired pink toes and began to dip them in the inviting water.
"Ahem" I heard someone say.
I looked but I could not see anyone.
"Ahem" the voice said again. "That certainly is not perfume I smell. In fact I smell a smell that is awfully stale."
I looked again but still there was no one to see.
"I'm sorry," I said. "I thought I was alone. Where are you?"
"Up here," the voice said. "Above you."
I looked up to see who was above me.
I coughed and sputtered, snorted and gagged because I could not believe who I could see in the tree above me.
I couldn't manage a word but the voice in the tree above me said, "What is wrong? Have you never seen an elephant in a tree?"
"Of course not," I replied. "Elephants do not belong in trees and are never seen in trees. Certainly you cannot climb a tree. How did you get in the tree?"
"I put myself here."
"How," I said. "I cannot believe that you could put yourself in a tree. But, if you did, why would an elephant want to be in a tree?"
"I did put myself in this tree and I did so to hide from the little boy that lives over that way," the elephant replied indignantly pointing through the trees with his trunk.
Then I heard a tiny young voice echoing through the woods, "Oh, Mr. Elephant, where are you?"
"Shush," the elephant said.
I put my shoes and socks back on my stinky feet and left the two friends to finish their game of hide and seek.
I walked back toward the place I call home until I came across another part of the little brook and decided that I still needed to soak my weary feet. I sat on a rock and looked into the tree above me just to make sure there wasn't another elephant in a tree.
I removed my shoes and socks and placed my weary tired feet into the cool water and sat and thought about the elephant in the tree.
No, I thought, you didn't see an elephant in a tree and I convinced myself that it was not true. I could not have seen an elephant in a tree. I was just tired. I must have fallen asleep and was dreaming.
I relaxed and my feet began to feel better, and then I heard the little boy's voice again,
"Oh, mister elephant, where are you?"
Oh, no, I thought. Maybe I wasn't dreaming.
I listened to his searching voice hoping he would go into another direction. But his voice got closer.
"Oh mister Elephant, where are you?"
When he saw me, he gasped in his surprise to see me dangling my bare feet in the running water.
He paused for a moment and then decided it was okay to speak to me. I am sure he thought I could be of no harm to him with my bare feet dangling in the water.
"Have you seen an elephant?"
"As a matter of fact I have."
"Could you tell me where he is?"
"I am not sure if I should."
"Why not?" He demanded. "It is important that I find him"
"I sort of promised mister elephant that I would keep his secret."
He came closer and said in a soft low voice, "If you tell me where he is, I won't tell him that you told me."
"That wouldn't be honest."
Well, maybe not, but I have to find him and I have looked everywhere."
"I am very sure you haven't looked everywhere. Have you looked under the rocks, or in the bottom of the brook or even in the trees?"
"That's stupid, I know you're teasing me because an elephant is too big to hide under a rock and an elephant is too big to hide in a brook and an elephant cannot climb a tree."
"Maybe and maybe not. He could be a magic elephant. Maybe he used his big ears and flew up into a tree."
He paused for a few seconds and then he took his shoes and socks off and dangled his feet in the water about 10 feet from where I was dangling me feet in the water.
"My mother told me never to get to close to strangers. Do you suppose this is far enough away? I am not to close, am I?"
"No," I smiled. "I am pretty sure you're safe where you are."
He was thoughtful for a few moments and then said, "I never considered an elephant flying with his ears. Do you really think they can do that?"
"It's possible. Elephants are not supposed to talk either, but mister elephant talked to me."
His eyes got wider, "Really, what did he say?"
"He doesn't like my stinky feet."
"Is that why you're washing them?"
"No, they were sore, but they feel better now."
"If you will tell me where he is I will give you half of my peanut butter and jelly sandwich."
"Do you have any potato chips"?
"No, but I have two Oreo Cookies. I will give you one of those."
I decided that was a fair offer so we struck the bargain for the cookie and then we went back down the path to find mister elephant in the tree.
"Is he really in a tree? How did he get in a tree?"
"It's true. He told me he put himself in the tree."
"Oh," was all the boy could say.
The boy and I walked side by side looking for the tree with mister elephant.
When we arrived at the elephant tree, mister elephant said, "Oh it's you mister stinky feet. I guess now I will have to call you mister squealer with the stinky feet."
"I guess that's true. I did show the boy where you were, but he was very worried about you."
"He sold you out for an Oreo cookie."
"Figures, he's probably some kind of politician."
"Hey elephant," a strange voice said. "What are you doing in a tree?"
"Oh, hello donkey, I'm hiding from the boy."
"It looks like he found you."
"No he didn't. The man with the stinky feet sold me out for an Oreo cookie."
"He must be a politician."
"I am not a politician. I was just concerned for the boy."
"You're it mister elephant," the boy said. "It's my turn to hide. You count to one hundred while I hide."
"I can't."
"You can't count to one hundred mister elephant," the boy and the donkey said in unison.
"Don't be ridiculous, I can count to one hundred," mister elephant said with disgust. "But, I cannot get myself out of the tree."
"Why not?" I asked. "You put yourself in the tree so you should be able to get yourself out of the tree."
"That is not necessarily true. Just because I was able to put myself in a tree doesn't mean that I can put myself out of the tree. It happens to cats all the time."
"This is not good," the donkey said.
"Let's call the fire department," the boy said.
"No," both the donkey and mister elephant yelled in unison.
"Why not?" the boy asked.
The donkey said, "Because of the press."
"What's the press?" the boy said.
"The press is the newspapers and the TV reporters," I answered.
"Are they bad?"
"No, they are not bad," mister elephant said. "But, they will tell the world about me in this tree and donkey on the ground and then someone will say donkey put me in the tree because I represent the Republicans and he represents the democrats."
"And then someone else will say it's not fair for mister elephant to be higher up than me," donkey said. "Then someone will put me in a tree."
"Then," mister elephant said, "They will put me higher up the tree until the branches won't hold me anymore and they will break and I will fall out of the tree. Then someone will blame donkey because he represents the Democrats. I would rather stay in the tree."
"What are we going to do?" the boy said.
"I'm hungry," mister elephant said. "And I'm thirsty."
"You can have my peanut butter and jelly sandwich and Oreo cookie," the boy said.
"I ate my Oreo cookie," I added. "But, I'll get you a hat full of water."
"Great," mister elephant said. "A baseball hat full of water, an Oreo cookie and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich are not what I would call a gourmet meal for an elephant!
All of that should last me about thirty seconds."
"Look at me folks I am an elephant. E-L-E-P-H-A-N-T…elephant. I usually get about a ton of hay per day."
"I wouldn't be so uppity if I were you," I said. "You put yourself in the tree. You only have yourself to blame. You do not want us to call someone that could help so you'll have to eat what we can give you until we figure out how to get you out of the tree."
Another voice entered below the tree. It was the boy's mother and she was very, very upset. "Young man, you were supposed to be home one hour ago. I was worried and upset."
The boy in his own defense testified that he was helping his friend, mister elephant. The mother was leery, very leery. "I do not see an elephant. I see a mangy old donkey, and a man with a wet baseball cap."
Mister elephant said from the tree above her, "Ma'am, do you suppose you could fix me a few peanut butter and jelly sandwiches?"
The mother looked up and saw mister elephant in the tree above her and fainted.
"Oh great," the donkey said. "Now we have an elephant in a tree and a dead woman under the tree. We better hope the fire department doesn't show up now. We will all be arrested for murder."
"Is my mother dead?" the boy gasped.
"No," I replied. "She just passed out. Sprinkle some water on her face and she should be okay."
The boy was very gentle. He did not sprinkle water on her. He took his shirt off and got it wet from the brook and slowly wiped her brow until she woke up.
She sat up and looked back into the tree. "Oh my God," She said. "There is an elephant in the tree. For lands sakes how did an elephant get in the tree?"
"I put myself here," said mister elephant. "How many times do I have to say it? Do you have any more of those peanut butter and jelly sandwiches? I am really, really hungry. But, I don't want any more of those Oreo cookies. I seem to be allergic to chocolate."
Then he sneezed and the whole tree shook.
Of course the donkey couldn't resist. "Now I suppose we will have to call the doctor? If the doctor comes then he will call the paramedics and they will call the fire department and they will call the police and the police will call the reporters and the next thing you know, we will have fifty news vans parked everywhere. Man, talk about an ecological disaster."
Mister elephant was becoming agitated. "Be quiet donkey. Why don't you take the boy's mom to make me some peanut butter and jelly sandwiches? I think about three hundred should do it."
"That's the solution," donkey said. "We'll just feed him until his fat rear end breaks all the branches and he falls out of the tree."
"That's just fine by me," mister elephant snorted. "Just get me food, any food. But, I really want some of those peanut butter and jelly sandwiches."
The boy's mom took the boy and they went to find some food for mister elephant.
Mister elephant said, "Please hurry, my stomach's killing me."
I sat down by the babbling brook and said, "I've got a head ache and my feet are still killing me."
Mister elephant said, "Don't take your shoes and socks off. I don't want to smell your stinky feet again. Go somewhere else and practice one of your political speeches."
"I am not a politician," I yelled up at him. "I am a retired undertaker."
"Great," Donkey said. "Take your shoes and socks off and let your stinky feet kill him. When he falls out of the tree, you can bury him and we can all go home."
"Funny, funny, funny," mister elephant groaned. "I don't have to smell his feet; your jokes are killing me.
Just then one of the boy's friends came to the tree and started laughing.
"It's really true," he giggled. "There is an elephant in a tree, and an ugly donkey."
"Are you really a politician?" He asked me.
"I am not ugly," donkey said.
"I am not a politician," I groaned.
"Yes you are," mister elephant and donkey said in unison. "You sold out for one lousy Oreo cookie."
The boy's friend couldn't wait to tell everyone about the elephant in the tree, the ugly donkey and the politician. The neighbors had never had a politician in their neighborhood and certainly not an elephant in a tree so they all had to come to see the politician, the ugly donkey and of course the elephant in a tree.
And the word was out. The boy's friend told his mom. His mom called her brother who was a local newspaper reporter. The reporter came with a photographer and the evening paper had a picture of a frightened hungry elephant setting in a tree.
The headlines read: "LOCAL POLITICIAN PUTS ELEPHANT IN TREE".
Naturally the story was picked up by the twelve oclock TV news and by mid-afternoon there were news vans from every major news source in the world.
Nobody bothered to feed the poor hungry elephant. Everyone wanted an interview. Every person in the neighborhood was being interviewed on one channel or another all across America and the rest of the world.
Animal cruelty was being reported. Political tricks were being reported.
The donkey was accused of kicking his political rival into the tree.
The undertaker/squealer/politician was asked what office he held. He was asked to run for Governor and finally one group wanted him to run for president.
Everyone knew the "real" story and every "real" story was different than the other "real" stories and they were all wrong. However that didn't bother the news media because each and every one of them had a "scoop".
The Republicans accused the Democrats of demeaning their national symbol. The Democrats put an ad on TV disavowing the "ugly donkey" as their symbol. Their donkey was somewhere in main stumping for an election in that state.
The Republicans adopted the "elephant in a tree" as their new campaign slogan to show the entire world the cruelty of the democrats.
The Democrats accused the Republicans of campaign lies.
The elephant was still hungry and decided no one was going to bring him any peanut butter and jelly sandwiches so he decided to do what he should have done before the whole mess began.
He put himself out of the tree simply by jumping. He did what all tree jumper outers do. He put his feet over both eyes and jumped. He landed with a great thud but all the news people were so busy gathering news that they did not see or hear mister elephant when he landed.
Mister elephant walked away without a word to anyone.
I could hear him mumbling to himself, "I wondered if she made my peanut butter and jelly sandwiches yet.
The donkey walked behind him mumbling something about being called ugly.
I took my shoes and socks off and soaked my feet in the cool babbling brook.
And the News Media...you see them every night reporting on the political baloney (or would that be E.B. as in Elephant Baloney)
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