By force of habit I pick the leaves or branches or little round things as I walk past trees and bushes.  Given time you can always tell which trees and bushes I walk past because of the bare branches within my reach.  Last night it was quite dark as my dog and I approached a random tree in the park.  I subconsciously raised my hand to snatch a leaf.  Like a Venus Fly Trap I closed my hand on the first touch of something, only I hadn’t quite made it to the tree yet; whatever I caught was flying, or suspended on a thin web.  It was substantial too, not like a gnat or mosquito; it was round as a small marble for the split second before I smashed it and juices spilled onto my fingers.  Either a black widow or large horse fly I thought.  It struck that in the millions of times I’ve been subconsciously picking leaves, nothing that crazy had ever happened.  I said, “Oh my gosh.”

As I was wiping the insect guts off I read the words on a laminated banner hung on the hedge to my right: “Will You Marry Me Danille?”  I turn to the left and there’s this guy on one knee proposing to Danille.  “Oh my gosh.”

I’m thinking, “How on earth could these once-in-a-lifetime events happen simultaneously?”  I turn the corner and begin walking east along the south end of Kiwanis park.  On the adjacent road a Hummer passes.  Not an H2 or H3, but an old respectable Hummer.  Part of me wants to catalog this Hummer with the other two bizarre events, but I decide against it.  The next car which passes is an Audi convertible.  You see plenty of these, but not when they’re screaming at 90mph in a quiet neighborhood.  Still these two ‘automobile occurrences’ weren’t enough to grant acceptance into “club crazy”.  Just then I said, “Oh my GOSH!”  A brand new silver Ferrari came from behind and cruised up the hill.  That solidified it.  This was without a doubt the most fantastical night.

I approached the two church parking lots which mark the extremity of my walk when I said without hesitation or premeditation, “Oh my gosh.”  I saw a couple walking toward me which I had seen at the first leg of my walk.  They had two small dogs making quite a racket in the simple act of breathing; probably young Pugs or British Bulldogs, but they were so loud and humorous I actually said, “Those dogs are loud” to the couple as I walked past.  They smiled and we parted ways, never to see each other again.  Because who on planet earth would choose the exact elongated rectangle path as mine, and walk it clockwise to my counterclockwise on the same night?  Yet there they were walking towards me in the parking lights.

Suddenly, a blood curdling scream came from the giant wooded lot south of the two churches.  “Oh my gosh” I said in fear.  I approached and stood silently, hoping to hear “Over here!” or “Help me!”  The couple with the dogs heard it too, but we both decided they must be kidding or dead, and we parted ways.  I smiled at their noisy dogs. 

Completely perplexed at the odds of such weirdness, I approach the final stretch before my house.  On the sidewalk between a patch of trees and a parked truck I hear this wild and ferocious hiss.  “Oh my gosh,” I shout.  A cat was under the car, and when my dog Allie approached, the cat attacked.  Not necessarily something crazy and rare, but another genuine “Oh my gosh” added to the tally. 

Thinking is conversation
Self-esteem is consensus

A house looks best right before you sell it.

Ear Plugs

I would leave this post as is, but I know some people will take it the wrong way. The sound doesn’t disappear, it just goes from AC/DC to Mozart. Here’s two examples: at night when they’re sick, and when you’re driving. I recommend keeping a stash of earplugs in your nightstand and both your cars.

I was driving to work in the fast lane, freeway wide open. As I approached this white car it doesn’t move over. While I signaled to pass it on the right I observed two internal phenomena: a surge of adrenaline and a twitch in my left middle finger; both acting entirely without my consent. As if two daemons standing behind my eyes — one for my middle finger and one for my adrenal glands — pass their own judgments, subverting my authority. I should flip you off, Flip-Off-Daemon.

I finish this thought as I’m passing and look over. Obese. Red hair. Cut short. And Spiked. ON HER PHONE.

This disturbing imagery produced two more self-motivated characters: Mr.-Fist-Who-Punches-Horn and Flip-Off-Daemon’s twin brother who lives on my right hand. All four ordered an attack. Full scale mutiny.

The thought occurred to me: how many criminals are behind bars right now because they obeyed the orders of impulse? They joined the charge of their nervy, reckless, inward storms? As commander-and-chief, I wish I could sack some of my fight-or-flight strategists, architects of this road rage. I’m sure on a stressful day those tyrants are impossible to defy.

Still, get off the phone and out of the fast lane Sea Witch.

A really nice old couple walks around the neighborhood and stops to talk with everyone. The guy has this look on his face; like a mix between Santa Clause and Socrates. I’d trust him with my newborn. For all I know the guy beats his wife and drags her around to impress his neighbors, but one glance and you think he’s Gandhi’s inspiration. Can someone fake that? If you want to, like I do, here’s my neighbors mystic spell for the appearance of wisdom:

• Smile
• Be Kind
• Be Intelligent
• Optional: Be old.

You know how there’s things people say you have to try? “Read Emily Dickenson” is one I recently heard. Either I’m a total ignoramus, or she only wrote poems for Einstein and his immediate offspring.

Fundamentalist Mormons need a new P.R. rep, because somehow nobody sees an issue with Hugh Hefner’s polygamous compound.

A spark is a beautiful thing. But few catch fire.

I walk a lot with my head down. It’s not because I’m depressed, but because I’m tall and didn’t learn about good posture until I was getting a physical and the doctor noticed the problem. He told me to stand flat against a wall and then walk. But it was too late. I sometimes remember and then find a wall, but I mostly walk with my head down.

Walking like that provides an excellent view of three things: sidewalks, gutters and grass. Like a film critic or poetry professor, I know what I like in sidewalks, gutters and grass. Gutters I like to be clean, with no build up of sediment or weeds in the cracks. I also like when sidewalks don’t have weeds in the cracks, but I especially like when the sidewalk shifts over time, and then the city smoothes out the uneven edges with some machine – which I still can’t imagine how it performs such a function.

Most home owners are not sensitive to how their lawn looks to someone walking on the sidewalk with his head down. They usually keep it watered and mowed, but all the lawn mowers in the world won’t stop a lawn from raping a sidewalk’s perfect edge. It’s especially grotesque when you can tell the root system of the lawn is somewhere on top of the sidewalk.

That’s why when I was finished mowing my lawn for the first time with my $200 self-propelled Honda mower from Costco, I got in my car and drove to Home Depot to buy a trimmer. I got the $225 yellow and grey Huskvarna, not because I knew it was the best, but because it was the most expensive. But I soon realized why they’re called ‘trimmers’ and not ‘edgers,’ because no matter what angle you position it, or the handle, or your body, it’s impossible to create the perfectly parallel grass edge with a deep one inch divide.

So I made a return trip to Home Depot and bought the $300 four wheeled Briggs and Straton edger for the same reason I bought the trimmer. Twenty five minutes later I had the same perfect edge as all those lawns that I enviously despised because they had a better lawn then every body else.