Sol's Random Stories

Our Teddy was feeling sad and lonely, all of us so busy with our lives. So, we got Teddy a kitten! You can see how pleased they both are now.

Defying the odds, the critics, maybe defying rationality, Elon Musk has successfully opened tbe first cafe on Mars. Certainly a dubious accomplishment, but its blue neon lights are seen as an alluring, and eventually inviting interstellar watering hole- but there are no plans underway yet for employees or customers, or how to serve everything at -81°F.

Child: "But, then why does God make so many different flowers?" Mom: "Do you mean like God makes so many different people?"

Call it a group mystery, a rare, shared lapse of attention. But, no one could explain how the entire crew could miss the letter R.

Everyone around the world can see it, the strange splash of light seemed to move closer to earth with every passing hour. Governments and media urge people to remain calm, as frantic scientists scramble to identify the ominous mass. Some reports of illness have not been confirmed, while sources cite evidence of emerging public fear. Religious figures are proclaiming miracles at hand, while others suspect interstellar attackers. The truth is that nobody knows. Almost nobody. Thinking he probably better call someone official soon, and still quite in shock himself, one panicking Gary Becham of Springdale, Utah- amateur illusionist- well, he knows.  

Aaron began his twenty-fourth day in total seclusion, the forest his anonymous host, remaining hidden to meditate and pray. He looked over notes from the hours before the day had re-awakened: "Arrival may be sudden, or realized from slow distance of gradual acceptance, no one can know the final corridor before entering, it will be different for all, uniquely designed, no one can know what incense may burn, or scent of spice or oil, or softly echoed chime of psalm heard amidst silence, no one can know this world's passage, instant or lingering, on its designated day." Then, Aaron boiled water for his morning tea.  

He adjusted his collar without thinking. He knew one thing for certain: he felt frustrated in nearly every part of his life. Cornered by details, trapped both by his own tortured fears and circumstance. He was in full turmoil, and felt weak to fight it alone, although he knew that wasn't true, just a mirage of dysfunction. During the day, he was exhausted. At night., he lay awake, unable to sleep. How many years have passed? So many twists and traps, he's made so little progress, still enslaved by his own quiet terror. Then, he reflexively glanced at his watch, 5:45, much later than he thought. The morning was striding forward, he had to quickly prepare. At 6am, his early risers would arrive, unpacking their burdens and expectations. Soon, Father Wills would begin another day of services, counsel of compassion, and public prayer.

Oh no! It can't be! A grey hair?

Driving back home Sunday evening, she thought again about the morning sermon, and the reverend talking about trust, the need to trust the folks around us. She considered how sensible this was, and so much less stressful. Turning into her townhouse driveway, she soon would settle into her nightly routine: short workout, bath, snack, then sleep. Patient and methodical across the way, home all day in his townhouse, he quickly settled into his nightly routine: taking the lens caps off his six cameras and scopes, adjusting each one just so, then brewing up some coffee.

"Yeah okay, workaholic, whatever, I've heard it before. Never from downstreamers, they appreciate me, so it's always relative, right?"

"We're both MENSA material among our feathered brethren, what's the big drama?" "Nothing. Just stupid identity politics."

"Simply another narrative. Of course, they completely misunderstand. Sometimes, we want to forget, just like everyone."

"You never express anything, Elgin. It's time you..." "Please dont say it, Ruth."

Started with a single line on a mirror at someone's party, a few grains hardly enough to sneeze over, only one short year ago. But this new crowd moves faster, soon grams become ounces, now pounds and kilos like it's so much Wonder flour, enough to spill, waste, even laugh over, shiny crystal poisen death powder.

Ghost me back to earlier times, A&W beach summers, shorts and caps in roller skates with my double burger and fries, hang that tray on the driver's side, big Pontiac wings and flair, plush seats and vibro speakers, 1964, your girl's grinning ear to ear, and Chuck Barry croons and swoons a new, restless America with no particular place to go.

Remotely isolated between two tall mountains, Arial was a town that no one visited. And, there was another reason, a dark cloud so old that even the town's elders couldn't know for certain how it all began: the whole town feared the moon, even the moon's light. It had always been so in Arial. There was an old rumor of a  flood that swept thru the region in a horrific wave of destruction, wiping out nearly everyone, all in one horrible day. Some surviving witnesses recalled how right before the catastrophic night, a bizarrely massive moon appeared doubly-large and drifting closer. Then the moonlight somehow turned to raging volumes of rushing waters, bringing sheer devastation to all. The moon had warned, but death came quickly. The elders passed down these vague, frightening stories, and  the whole town got a fear about night- no one trusted the moon, no one went out after sunset, even with the great orb invisible. It was irrational, pervasive, and intractable. Fear- ...

Nothing more real, but maybe it was the ocean's sharp breath, charged with fresh ions that may play tricks on the mind, but who cares even if so? Or, maybe it was his first name Hai, which means "from the sea", but he knows what he heard, although not the source, the joyous laughter of his beloved grandfather with his same name, as when he brought Hai there so long ago, then in a moment's echo his kind voice gone, back to depths of memory.

"Okay now, Widgie, don't start going weird dog on me." Holly saw the strange collie continue to gaze deeply at a certain spot in the night sky. Nothing there. But, the seemingly random area rivoted the dog's attention to a sidewalk staredown- but, with what exactly? Good grief, she thought. Another fun walkie with mom's peculiar poochie, but hey, it's also 2021- everything is strange.  Passing her neighbor Mr. Merrick, Holly had halted abruptly at his porch when the dog froze up. "They hear things we don't. Two different worlds.", the elderly neighbor offered, as they both watched the dog's prolonged and concentrated fixation. "Maybe radio waves, or messages from extraterrestrials. Or, your dog found the Hole In Space." Hole in space? Right. Holly thought this was loony, but politely smiled, shaking her head as young girls do. Now, she was staring, too.

What the...? No one asked ME about bringing home a kitten.

Everything is playing hide-and-seek now. Keys, wallet, names...

No one ever talked to him, they thought him too strange. They thought he wanted to be alone. They thought him an ogre of sorts, the kids in the building would tease and laugh. They only saw him in the hall with his bag of trash. He had everything delivered. Someone said he spoke once to the manager. Neighbors were certain he liked being a loner, but even his cat knew that was wrong, the times when he cried quietly in the dark.

"Of course I know my name. I simply choose not to respond."

Do they dream of honeycomb and trout?

His re-occuring dream came a fourth time, same scene: Paul, pizza delivery guy and college student, steps into an elevator, realizes too late there's something wrong, then both open door and red alarm buttons go dead. Paul looks at the other buttons, blank. There's always a pizza that fits the corner in some perfect cartoon physics.

"Loved is when your dad puts in a new floor that looks like you!"

The customary family ritual of courtship, called Görücülük in the Turkish tradition, was often a stressful event for all involved. The future groom's family visits the bride-to-be and her parents to officially ask for her hand. All are intensely observing as the two families become acquainted. It's so stressful because nothing less than the entire future was at stake, and a lifetime of happiness the prize. Zehra looked over to her love Ahmet as he chatted with her parents on their old, French Colonial couch. She was always startled anew by how handsome he was, how his strong and kindly voice alone quickened her heart. Everyone seemed to get along, and Zehra prayed their home was acceptable to her well-to-do future in-laws. Her own parents seemed at ease, and the cordial atmosphere of friendly hospitality prevailed. Zehra had always learned that welcoming guests to the home was the signature Turkish value, the most important custom going back to ancient times.  The momen...

This was even more than Easter, this year, for one very small child. Cathy Lewis grew up in the 4th floor Chronic-Rehab ward, it was just home to her. The dangerous congenital blood disease she had needed careful, constant monitoring. So, for her first three years, Cathy saw her parents and brothers only at the Children's Hospital. Then, a month after her birthday, there was a beautiful breakthru- an experimental DNA-based enzyme process had yielded stunning results- the blood disorder had been stabilized, maybe for good. Soon after, Cathy was safe to go home for the very first time, and just in time to collect some new joys that her most grateful parents had only dreamed of.

They are shocked and frightened. What has happened, they wondered, not believing their own eyes. Some knew. Others were confused. Their minds and hearts furiously turned in anguished amazement. What does this mean? Yet, it's true. He is gone!

"Who loves to train? But if we nail it, this stack in flight stunt wins it all for us next year."

"Your mom is gone for awhile, we can practice our flip move."

R emotely isolated between two tall mountains, Arial was a village that no one visited. There was another reason, a dark cloud so old that even the town's elders couldn't know for certain how it all began: everyone feared the moonlight. It had always been so in Arial. There was a rumor of a flood that swept thru the region in a horrific wave of destruction, wiping out nearly all in one horrible day. Some surviving witnesses recalled how before that catastrophe, a bizarre moon appeared, drifting closer. Then the moonlight somehow turned into raging volumes of water, floods bringing massive devastation. The moon had warned, but death came too quickly. The elders passed down these vague, ominous stories, and  the whole town got scared about the evening- no one trusted the moon, no one went out after dark. The belief was irrational, pervasive, and intractable. Fear- including mass fear- needs no truth to thrive; only practice, repetition, tradition. Fear quickly becomes an ins...

Various moons sleepwalk their arcs across star-pocked heavens, strands of cirrus cloud awaiting dawn. Deserts don't harbor secrets with the dark core of a galaxy's solitude. What is clearly invisible around us could fill an expanding universe.

Well known by nearly everyone in the river valley, Elie Moon was very active, seeing many folks per day. Elie was a fine healer, and part-time forest fairy, often found among the lush folds of flora and secret critter spaces, where smallness is a desirable attribute, and harmony of nature, the daylong song. For decades friends, neighbors, even strangers came to Elie Moon looking for relief. She healed with her kind words, rare herbs, and her hugs, long, medicinal hugs when the healing powers are re-absorbed. But then, a scourge of pain began to overshadow Elie's typical joy. Too many toddlers hoisted to her shoulders over the years. All the valley's doctors argued over her worsening state. They debated the best course, but Elie distrusted their certainty. She realized her own healing must be whole, self-generated- doctors only know what they know, or guess. But, Elie Moon needed something she'd not named or yet identified. Her own herbs had helped, but the pain persist...

As always, Pat listened patiently to her elderly eccentric neighbor.  "You know why? I don't. Measure our life by birthdays. Makes no sense when you're nearly a year old after getting born. Right? I count by summers. Eight-nine summers! Anyway, thanks for the cake, and happy birthday, dear." That was the last slice to deliver to neighbors, as she walked back to her Craftsman-style bungalow, completing her own annual task. That's who Pat has always been. Her birthday comes around, she's up the night before baking a cake for others. Always her best gift. But now, her thoughts turned to a certain long-tailed backyard resident, also having a birthday. Soon, her old buddy squirrel scooted across the wooden fence, looking for her. Pat placed some cake crumbs nearby, but the critter wasn't at all interested. But then the squirrel's tail stood straight up at the sight of the shelled nuts Pat pulled out of her pocket. Her special day had started well. ...

 Marjorie closed the family photo album and went back inside. Winter stepped into the evening all at once with sharply cold air, and a light tinge of frost crystal. She thought of the last year, the roller coaster of dread and hope. The tranquil, nearly blissful end. Alone now, she resisted the urge to feel wronged, cheated by fate. They did indeed have twenty long years together that were perfectly happy, fulfilling beyond their best dreams. Then, the unexpected diagnosis, the rapid onset and decline- a year, then he was gone. Since she was a little girl, then throughout her life, and mixed luck with relationships, Marjorie wanted only one thing: to know just one true love, one kindred soul, joined spirit of sacred bond. Just one precious, joyous rose.

The past must work its way thru. So, your sidewalk shadows will not endure, there's clarity ahead.

2031, after a decade of the whole world adjusting to the shocking and cataclysmic event, folks have relaxed enough to accept a new reality, even starting to enjoy the no longer frightening sight.  Yet, despite all the scientists' tireless efforts of investigation, no one knows how the planet Saturn and our Moon exchanged their celestial places, or why.

"And they called it puppy love Oh, I guess they'll never know How a young heart really feels And why I love her so"

No majesty of expansive tones, or splendor of artist's pallet, no splay of crimson purple orange. Just a dreary blue-grey hue, the sun appearing smaller, setting faster on Mars, hustled under the horizon in a rude bum's rush. The bleak Red Planet dusk suggests that no life has ever witnessed the uninspiring show.

The divinely unexpected charge, known in the moment, grace: neither by good acts nor faith- only receive.

The repeating themes and patterns, the seeming repetition, but that's illusory. Everywhere, signs of the same sun. The ubiquitous fingerprint of nature.

Light years away from the forest now. But, what can I possibly find here?

Freedom or censor? Liberty or tyranny? Sunrise or sunset?

The month of furious Hell arrived, driven nations continued bloody war, while the whole world lit up in a final glow of flaming horizons- behold the pyre of humankind.

"What? I just told him two's company, etc."

Always the free spirit, Howard was not one to follow crowds or trends.

Left near an unnamed star at the far edge of space, unreported missing, waiting to be rescued yet no one is searching, your marooned and exhausted heart.

There comes a day you have to ask yourself the hard questions. What's the point of this life? Not all sun baths and buzzy flies. Sometimes, you gotta bust out. Your way, but shake it up, hop off that cozy lilly pad, all your favorite comfort zones are overrated.

Do we know it is spring? Did we miss a sign this time, emerging from pandemic of fear? Do I remember not being afraid? Didn't seasons change as before? So many left us thru this long winter, families crushed with loss, thrust into a new year, nothing waits or pauses, a sky of tears fall upon petals of those who have gone. But, do we know it is spring?

You are here in the light for a moment, the rest is illusion, the persuasive phenomenon of time. The moment stretches across years, decades of distinct days. Everyone is faked out by the slow physics of the present, you're not alone, mass maya is ubiquitous. You're a wisp of fragile existence, from womb born to airborne, thru random hours  of grief and mirth, one wind gust back to the earth.