My Naked Dylan Dream

We chatted for an hour about brownies. I would make a big batch and bring them to the gig.

At some point I got out of bed, still on the phone, opened the door, and walked through the next room toward the kitchen.

He was sitting, no clothes at all, on the bed by the window, sunrise streaming across the white sheets. He stopped talking as I walked through, but he didn’t look at me.

Before I got to the kitchen I woke up.

… more … “My Naked Dylan Dream”

Persistent Time

Continued from a previous post

It was too easy.

The intense moment of exhilaration passed, leading to saner thoughts. Reason, not emotion.

Perhaps I had only delayed their meeting, not prevented it altogether. Return to 2019 and see what family history said? Certainly, but if you’re already at the store you don’t go home to see if there’s something else on your shopping list.

city-streetThis version of wandering the store to see if I’d forgotten eggs or cheese meant following one of my erstwhile grandparents.

He had seen me. She had not.

Rushing through the crowd as rudely as I’d pretended to be to my grandfather, I saw her. May as well follow her to be sure.

Up East Lane toward Main she moved in and out of sight, the crowds from the train station being thicker here. The crowds dispersed at Main Street, walking east or west or climbing into carriages or sparkling automobiles. Once we crossed Main Street she and I were virtually alone. She turned left on Oak Lane, as I’d assumed she would.

Before we got to the grand Victorian at the corner of Oak and Third, she stopped, whirled, and came back my direction. Since she had no reason to know who I was, I simply continued walking, and made as if to pass her, tipping my grubby cap as she approached.

“Why are you following me?” Her voice was loud in the empty street.

I tried to step past, tried to remain calm. This was not what I’d expected.

“Why should I follow you, madame? I’m simply enjoying the sunshine and fresh air, and we happened to be going the same direction. I apologize if I startled you.”

I took another step. She blocked my way.

“You were at the station. I saw you accost that man. Now you’re following me. I ask again, why?”

Time for action, not words. I tried to step around her but she grabbed my arm. I put my hand on her wrist, trying to gently pull it from my own, but her grip was stronger than I’d expected.

“Take your hands off her, you thug.”

Surprised, I let go and turned to face the speaker, whose voice I recognized, of course. My grandmother covered her mouth with her free hand. A tiny squeal escaped past her fingers.

My grandfather, for the second time that day, punched me square in the face. This time it was hard enough to knock me down, bloodying my face. By the time I got up and cleared my vision, they were gone.

So that’s how you want to play it, eh, Time? I accept the challenge.

I set out to prevent my grandparents’ marriage, even if it killed me.

And I Didn’t Disappear

sharp shoeIt was reckless, but I had nothing left to lose, and if I was right, everything to gain.

As he stepped off the train, I accosted him, rudely.

“You’ve trodden on my shoe, sir.”

He stepped back, knowing well he’d done no such thing.

“I’m most sorry sir.”

As he made to pass by, I stepped in front of him.

“It was freshly polished.”

I’d moved from inconvenience to annoyance, meaning, he took notice of me as a person, not only a noise in his way. Looking down, he could tell my shoes hadn’t been polished in a very long time.

“That is difficult to believe, sir. Let me pass.”

I pushed.

“You’ll pay the tuppence to have them shined again.”

“Tuppence? If you paid a ha’penny for that shine you were diddled. I, on the other hand, will not be.”

“Pay, sir. Or shall I call a constable?”

“Step aside. Let me pass. I have business to attend to, fool.”

Of course, I didn’t step aside, and of course, he drew back his fist and hit me, hard, in the face.

I knew my grandfather’s temper. I knew my grandmother’s eventual abhorrence of it. I knew that if she saw it, from just over there where she awaited her prospective (but not anymore) husband, she would leave the station and never look back, as she’d always told me after his unmourned death.

What I didn’t know, when I shifted painfully through the ether of time from early 2019 to the date of their meeting in 1937, was whether preventing their meeting would, in fact, alter my physical existence as one of their progeny.

As I said, nothing to lose.

But now, knowing what I know, everything to gain.

Expectations Are Reality So Know What You’re Delivering

Just spent a frustrating hour on the phone with AT&T. Normally, they’re just fine. We’ve had our cell service through them for years, and everything has been simple and obvious and working.

Sunday, I called to order a new line and a new iPhone. They let me choose a new number I liked.

It was easy; too easy . . .

… more … “Expectations Are Reality So Know What You’re Delivering”

Why Doing the Right Thing is Hard

My column on why I’m losing weight struck an unpleasant chord with some folks when I first published it. It’s common to hear stories of people trying unsuccessfully, sometimes for years, to lose weight.

Another angle on the same issue: When your income gets an unexpected and temporary boost, through a bonus at work or a project you hadn’t expected, do you bank the money, or reward yourself with a new toy or dinner out?

We experience it every single day of our lives: even though we know what’s good for us, day after day we do what’s fun, what’s easy, instead of what’s healthy and rational and good for our future self.

Do you ever stop to wonder why?

red thoughts
… more … “Why Doing the Right Thing is Hard”

You Can’t Hit What You Don’t Aim For

Engaging in what might euphemistically be called a “lively” conversation often gets the better of me. Someone makes a statement I find patently ridiculous, and I feel the need to educate them.

As I’m writing, I can already envision their response, to which I’m already formulating my rebuttal.

My what? So, I’m already assuming they’re going to argue with me? Well, if that’s my attitude, it’s no wonder what I wrote garners an angry response.

taking aim
… more … “You Can’t Hit What You Don’t Aim For”

Don’t Silence the Voice in Your Head, Replace It

the voicesWe all have ’em, the voices in our head that tell us we’re not good enough, whatever words they use to say it. We’d all love to silence the voices.

You can’t.

But there’s still hope.
… more … “Don’t Silence the Voice in Your Head, Replace It”

The Balancing Act in Your Brain

Your brain is a battlefield. Two warring forces wage a constant struggle for dominance.

Okay, they’re more like a couple teenagers fighting over who gets the window seat on a long drive. Chances are, you keep giving the same kid the window seat.

And putting the other kid in the trunk.

balancing act
… more … “The Balancing Act in Your Brain”

A Second Chance for First Impressions

We all know the cliché: “You don’t get a second chance to make a good first impression.” Opinions formed during the first moments of a relationship are usually long-lasting. This leads to all sorts of social manipulation to make a good impression: dressing your best, smiling a lot, leaning forward in your chair, all that stuff the job-hunting websites write about.

Recent science teaches us that’s less effective than the advice your mom always used to give you: “Just relax and be yourself!”

Why do first impressions matter? Do we have any control over them?

surprise: not the best first impression
… more … “A Second Chance for First Impressions”

Primed for Icebergs

Some months ago the Megan Elizabeth Morris of Upmarket approached me about writing an article about gratitude — always a worthy subject, and certainly connected to finding why. It was the November issue of another Squidoo magazine, connected inextricably to Thanksgiving.

Why I didn’t write that article is the point of this one.

primed for icebergs … more … “Primed for Icebergs”

Time is . . . Memory?

Fiction author Edgar Rice Burroughs was a prolific writer, publishing nearly 70 novels in his 75 years. Burroughs was the creator of Tarzan, a much better series of books than the video representations and popular culture would lead you to believe. He also wrote the story of John Carter of Mars which is finally coming out of the obscurity it never deserved. He wrote seven different science fiction adventure series besides numerous western and historical fictions. His work revels in experimentation, with the question, “What if things were very different from what we believe them to be?”

time is . . . memory? … more … “Time is . . . Memory?”