“O” My!

Posted on October 9, 2021 by hdh

“O” my!

One has to be observant as a writer. You need to be aware of what is happening around you both visually and auditorially, for that is where you get your ideas from to create. Thinking about it, you need to be cognizant of all of your senses for your muse needs this sustenance to guide you in your writing. 

Of course, it helps to be open-minded to ideas from your muse, whether they be old or new.  You don’t just want to create something that is just okay, but rather something that will inspire. Your stories should not be obvious, otherwise, your readers won’t want to read them. 

Take something as simple as myself being OCD to obsessing about eating oatmeal every Saturday morning and in a particular way, from the front of my bowl to the back. Not very exciting, but add having breakfast with an octopus where some oaf comes by and turns my bowl around, and your story changes. That is not what one would call routine or usual and might capture the interest of your audience. 

Once, I was sitting under an oak tree listening to an Oom-Pah-Pah band marching down the street when an odd thing occurred as one of the tuba players started to turn red as if he was being influenced by some occult ritual. “OMG!” I shouted. I decided to write down what I was happening, being optimistic that there was a story here somewhere.

It was the sounds of people screaming, the sight of the tuba player as he was burning up, the smell of burnt flesh, my skin crawling as I clutched my pen and wrote. That is what a writer has to be aware of as the story unfolds. That is what will engage and captivate your readers.

Then again, some of us like the mundane, the routine, the historical significance of personal stories. To each their own. 

Oh my! My creative muse tells me my October Library writing time using a list of  “O” words has ended for today. Till next time. Readers out there, keep in mind I’ll be looking out for you, pen and notebook in hand. My muse is hungry.

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Jill

Posted on October 8, 2021 by hdh

Jill

      Will looked at his youngest daughter, Jill, and just shook his head. “Why are you so lazy?” he asked. “You should be like your older sisters Wendy and Tess. They at least do work and help out. They’ve each got a plan for their future and are going to be something in this world. You’re just like your Uncle Jack, good for nothing, You’ll never amount to anything.”

     Jill thought to herself, “Yes I will.” She failed to point out to her father that a lot of the work that Wendy and Tess got credit for, was actually her doing it for them. She also didn’t want to mention how her sisters always played tricks on her and treated her rather poorly. Why would being like Uncle Jack be so bad? He was certainly well off. Things always seemed to fall his way. Jill decided that she would visit him and find out why. 

     Jack was pleased to see his niece. Looking at her reminded him of himself at that age. Always dreaming of adventures to go on, saving princesses, defeating giants, slaying dragons, and finding hidden treasures. Jill told her uncle what her father had said and asked Uncle Jack what it was like growing up with his older brothers Will and Tom.

     Uncle Jack went on to relate some of his stories. He told her how Will and Tom were always the favored sons. How whenever their daddy needed something done, or when someone offered a reward for finding something, he would only ask Will and Tom. In fact, Jack had to beg to follow along with his big brothers. And every time he did go with them, they would play tricks on him and try to get rid of him so they could beat him to whatever prize was offered. Jack pointed out to Jill, that just being kind and helping people and animals in distress along the way, was what gave him the knowledge and special items he needed to succeed. He was indeed a jack of all trades but didn’t need to be a master of any of them, because he always had help.

     It was the next day that the king made a proclamation that whoever could capture and tame the wild golden stallion known to inhabit the Enchanted Woods would win a great reward.

     Wendy and Tess loved riding horses and asked their father if they could try and find the horse. Will, knowing what hard workers they were, said yes. Of course, Jill asked to go too. Reluctantly Will agreed. Her sisters, not too pleased with Jill tagging along, told her that she must do everything they said. No surprises there.  

     It didn’t take long for Wendy and Tess to lose Jill and be miles ahead of her. As was the case in these types of adventures, Wendy and Tess were only focused on obtaining the prize. So helping the old woman who was hungry, untangling a dog that was trapped in a bush, and freeing a bird that was caught in a net was not something they would entertain to do. Needless to say, they got hopelessly lost in the Enchanted forest. 

     As for Jill, she did follow the path her sisters took. When she met the woman in need of sustenance she shared the meager food she had. She was rewarded with words to use to tame the horse.  When she untangled the dog, it thanked her and told her when in need, she just needed to say his name. When she freed the bird, it too, spoke and said it would guide her to the horse. 

     And so it happened. Jill found the horse and tamed it, and rode it back to the king. 

     Of course, the king did not believe her tale and gave her a test to prove her story. She was to bring back a hidden gem that was kept in the king’s treasure vault. The king however neglected to tell her anything about the gem, where to look, or what it looked like. She was told that she would be executed if she did not return in an hour with the gem, for that is what was done with liars. Then she was taken to the treasure vault, and locked in, and told she would be released in an hour. The vault was large and filled with countless gems in the form of jewelry, trunks full of gold and silver, lavish clothing, and priceless objects. 

     Things looked bad for Jill. She may have been a jack of all trades, with all the things she had learned and done for everyone, but for sure, was a master of nothing that she could see to get her out of this dilemma. It was then that she remembered the words of her Uncle Jack. “Be kind and help people and animals in distress along the way.” 

She called out the name of the dog she had rescued and it suddenly appeared in the vault with her. She explained the situation she was in and the dog immediately sorted through all of the gems in the vault and returned to her with an emerald ring. 

When released from the vault at the end of an hour she returned to the king and presented him with the emerald ring. She wasn’t even asked how she found it. The king having given many tasks like this over the years to suspected liars, accepted Jill as being truthful and excused her from the usual three tasks needed to prove herself. 

Her reward was such that she now had enough riches to go out on her own and seek out new adventures. Her only request was that the king send out servants to find and guide her two sisters back home. After all, she was her Uncle Jack’s niece, and that’s what he would have done. 

 

Jack was nimble, Jack was quick

Jill learned well and did his schtick

Neither needed to learn a trade

Through kindness, they both did find aid

Though siblings thought to give them stress

Their stories ended with success

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The Dreamcatcher

Posted on October 2, 2021 by hdh

The Dreamcatcher


    According to some Native American traditions, dreamcatchers were hung above cradles as a way to protect the infants that were in them. Its purpose was for the dreamcatchers to absorb those evil spirits that might want to inhabit the child’s dreams. At least that is what I thought dreamcatchers did until the day I was convinced, at a week-long Native American celebration I attended, to take a dreamcatcher that was offered to me by a rather authentic-looking person.

   “You look lost,” they said.  “Take this dreamcatcher. It has magical powers. It is meant for you.”

   And I took it. 

   I got home pretty late but managed to have enough time to hang the dreamcatcher above my bed before I collapsed and fell asleep. 

    I have been known to have very strange dreams. This was one of them. I found myself somewhere I had never been before. The ground was arid and cracking. There were stone buildings all around me, that had seen better days. It was as if I was in an ancient village on some alien world. Looking up I saw two moons. I was not in Kansas anymore. 

    My clothing was not what I would have been wearing in my own time. It was more like rustic armor. I was a warrior. The armor was only a piece of the puzzle; the weaponry I carried completed the outfit. Attached to the scabbard on my back was a long broadsword. In my leggings and at my waist there were knives of assorted lengths, all quite sharp. And I was carrying a quarterstaff; this was not for walking, but rather for hitting things with when attacked. 

    The people in the village I was in looked human enough. They cowered inside their homes as they stared at me. I could read the fear on their faces. It was then that I saw the gang of creatures coming my way. I stood ready to fight. 

    I was quick in my movements and strikes. The fighting forms I apparently knew flowed easily from one strike to another as I defeated the intruders. Then came the second onslaught. This time the attackers had help in the form of fire-breathing dragons. Though my armor might protect me for a while, it does get toasty when fire continually broaches it. 

    It was at this time that I realized I was dreaming. As exhilarating as this was, I wanted out. No matter how hard I tried to wake up I couldn’t. This was becoming too real. It would appear that my dreamcatcher, instead of absorbing the bad things and keeping them entrapped and keeping them from my dream, had worked in reverse and absorbed me into the dream, entrapping me in it.

    I was literally stuck inside a video game nightmare where I was the main character. Why couldn’t it have trapped me inside an Animal Crossing game? I could’ve dealt with that. I hated violence and battle games. My only experience was watching others play them. 

    The fight lasted a long time and I wasn’t doing very well. The more the creatures attacked, the weaker I became. Though I managed to defeat two groups of attachers, by the time the third foray happened I died. 

    Well, I should say I lost a life, for the next thing I knew I was back where I started at the beginning of the dream and had to do it all over again. Each time I restarted, I retained the knowledge of the previous battle. Though the enemies’ tactics didn’t change, I could adapt mine by learning from my previous existences. Though I made it further in each retelling, new experiences occurred to ensure my demise. The worry I had was whether I had a limited number of lives. If I lost them all, would my real life also die? My hope was that if I could defeat these creatures, the dream would end and I would be released. 

    During one of my lives, I chose to run away instead of fighting. Needless to say, I was caught and killed without a fight. 

    My last strategy involved co-opting the villagers. If they could help by creating barricades while I fought thus limiting the number of creatures that could attack at once and also separate the combatants, it would give me more time to destroy them. Though it took longer for this scenario to play out, I didn’t die and the attackers were defeated. I was heralded as their savior. We mourned those that passed and I woke up. 

    What seemed like days to accomplish this task, turned out to be instantaneous in my real sleep day. It was 7:30 a.m. the next morning when I woke up. I was covered in sweat. My bedroom was in shambles. The only thing that seemed undisturbed was the dreamcatcher. This was not an experience I wished to relive again. As I said, I have strange dreams. 

    I took down the dreamcatcher and thought about what I was going to do with it. Should I put it in storage and lock it up? Should I destroy it? The person who gave it to me didn’t lie to me; it was magical. Would destroying it make something bad happen to me? I decided to do exactly what was done to me. Since the Native American celebration where I was given the dreamcatcher ran for a week I still had one day. So back I went. This time I was the giver. I found a lost soul and offered them the dreamcatcher. 

    “You look lost,” I said. “Take this dreamcatcher. It has magical powers. It is meant for you.”

    And they took it. 

 

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Pick a Door

Posted on September 27, 2021 by hdh

Pick a Door

It was the grand opening of a new museum in New York City, The Metropolitan Museum of Self Awareness. It was the first of its kind. I read the brochure describing the museum, but it didn’t make any sense. “This museum is dedicated to the knowledge of self. Explore the past as only you can experience. 

I had nothing planned that Saturday so I decided to go and check it out. I convinced some of my friends from my writing group to join me. 

As we arrived I saw that the outside looked rather plain. Inside there were a number of chairs with people sitting in them wearing virtual goggles and headsets. I could hear the people talking, laughing, crying, and making an assortment of hand and arm motions. Other than that there was nothing special to look at. 

After paying our admission, which I must say was quite expensive, we were all given virtual goggles to wear, a noise-canceling headset, and they attached some sort of patch to our skin just behind our necks. We were told to find an empty chair, put on the goggles and headset, and say the word “Start”.

The chair was quite comfortable. After placing the goggles and headset on, I sat back and said, “Start”. There was a brief moment of darkness and then I found myself in a room filled with lots of doors. Above each door, there was a number. The numbers went sequentially. I was instructed to pick a door and go through it. I chose the first door which was closest to me and was numbered 1950. As I stepped through the door, my world changed.

The clock on the wall read 4:37 a.m. and I was in a hospital. I was in a delivery room. The woman that was giving birth looked familiar. It was a boy being delivered. I listened as the baby took its first breath and the doctor said, “Mark the time, September 13, 4:38 a.m. healthy male child by vaginal delivery,  height: 17 inches, weight: 6 lbs. 4 ozs. No complications. It didn’t take me long to figure out where I was. I was witnessing my own birth. A bit more information than I needed.  I quickly exited that room and looked at the rest of the doors in the main room. 

There was a door numbered for different years of my life. I decided to pick another door to see where it took me. I chose 1963. As I walked through the door, I found myself in a synagogue. I guessed where I was. Not being a very religious person, there is only one reason I would be in a synagogue in 1963. It was my bar mitzvah. I was impressed. I looked small in front of everyone but was confident enough to say all the things that I was supposed to say. It wasn’t the Hebrew that I was supposedly reading that impressed me, ln actuality, I had written out everything that I had to say that day in English phonetics prior to learning it. I don’t remember if I had the phonetic translation with me on that actual day, or whether I memorized my part. What impressed me was that I could sing those words, using and remember the tune. I stuck around for the reception afterward, it looked liked I had a lot of fun.

The next room that I tried was 1985. I found myself at a party. This is where I would meet my future wife, Christina. It all played out just as I remembered it. The dancing, the conversation, the walk to my car as I was leaving, our first kiss. I wanted to stay a little longer and go back into the house to see what she experienced and did after leaving me, but I guess I was only allowed to follow my timeline, not someone else’s. 

The next door I went through was 1993. I was back in a hospital, and watching the birth of my child. I guess when you are in the moment you don’t get to appreciate all that is happening around you. In this case, I saw it all; It was quite an experience.

 

The last door I went through was 2013. It was November and I was with my sister, Leslie, her husband, and my newly found half-brother, Franz, and his wife, at my father’s grave. I watched as Franz took a good luck/health stone from his pocket, that was given to him as a gift after surviving some serious health issues, which he always carried with him, and placed it on the headstone of our father. That, too, was quite an emotional experience.

My time at the museum had run out without even having to leave the room I was in. The doors disappeared and the view went black, a voice thanked me for visiting the museum. I was told to sit quietly and wait for museum personnel to come and retrieve their equipment. While I was waiting I was told to reflect upon the visit.

I thought about telling everyone else what I saw. But then again, why would they be interested? It was my life, not theirs. They must have had their own memories to visit. I was curious about which rooms they decided to go to. Maybe someday they will write about their experiences and share them with me. 

We all got together when we were done and just looked at each other for a while. Some of us looked happy, some not so much, some even had a touch of anger in their visage. We did talk about whether or not we would want to go back to the museum. Feelings were mixed. My guess is that once word got out about what the museum really was, there would be a long wait before you could get in. 

In fact, within a week, the museum was shut down. The mayor and city legislature found that it caused too much traffic and disruption. The last I heard it moved its location. The only problem is nobody knows where.

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The Unexpected

Posted on September 12, 2021 by hdh

The Unexpected

Standing outside the doorway, there was not a sound to be heard. We had some trepidation as to what was to come as we all gathered in the hallway outside of her apartment. This would be the first time we ever attempted to break in through the door to complete a goal. 

I was supposed to be in charge of the break-in but knew that there was much dissension among the ranks of followers.

 “What if she was home? Would she hear us and call the police?”  This was our greatest fear. The silence was broken by more whispers from the dissenters. 

“We need to stop before it goes too far.” 

“If she doesn’t expect a thing, this could put her over the edge when she finds out.” 

Others began to join in with their opposing views. 

“This will work. Our friendship might depend on it.”

“If she weren’t so stubborn, we wouldn’t need to do this.”

The time was now. I slowly pulled out the spare key that she had entrusted to me, slipped it into the lock, and turned the key. Pushing the door as quietly as I could, I tiptoed in, looked around, and felt that the coast was clear. We all started to move through the open door until we were all in the living room. We shut the door and locked it and then began our preparations. We placed all the decorations around the room. Found suitable places to hide, making sure all of the lights were out, and waited. It looked like this surprise party would be a success. 

Time passed and we became a little anxious. What if she doesn’t show?

All of a sudden we heard footsteps in the hallway. Our eyes were unaccustomed to the dark as they were focussed on the door.  

Then without warning the lights lit up unexpectedly and there was a loud “Surprise!” shouted from behind us, as out of the bedroom she came, scaring the daylights out of us. 

It is for this reason alone that I hate surprise birthday parties. This was to be her surprise party, not mine.

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Follow the Cook

Posted on September 10, 2021 by hdh

Follow the Cook

The trouble with some recipes is that they are too hard to follow without visuals. Whenever I am baking something brand new, I want to follow the recipe to the letter, just to make sure that I get it right. After the first attempt, I’m more willing to adapt the recipe to my needs, having succeeded or failed. 

Pictures and videos do help to know the steps and what things should look like. But I should caution you, the pictures that are in cookbooks and magazines that represent the finished product are not what you are going to achieve most of the time. 

In my late teens and on into adulthood. I got interested in cooking some of the things that my mother used to make.

  One problem with my mother’s recipes was that they were not written down, nor from a cookbook, they were all in her head. The only way I could learn was to watch her do it. I would write down what she was doing hoping to recreate the dishes when she was not there. This worked some of the time.

Another problem with my mother’s cooking was that she rarely used measuring devices. She had a feel for how much salt, or sugar, or flour went into the preparation of the foods. Cookbook recipes don’t usually tell you to add enough baking soda until it feels right: there are clear measured quantities. (Granted, sometimes they will tell you to salt/pepper to taste.) So when watching my mother make foods I had to estimate what the actual measurements were when I wrote them down. This, again, sometimes worked. 

Two dishes my mother made which were my favorites were Fruit Fritters and Cherry Soup.

Fritters are pretty simple to make in terms of ingredients: 4 eggs, 1-8oz. Cottage cheese, 1-8oz. Sour cream, 3 cups of flour, 1 cup sugar, 1 tsp. Baking powder per cup flour, and fruit (with my mother that would be apple, banana, or blueberry). Like other fritters you might get at restaurants or bakeries, these fritters were not deep-fried in oil, like doughnuts. They were cooked like pancakes. I once wrote down the recipe for our Synagogue’s Cookbook. I attaching my mother’s name to the recipe. After listing the ingredients, the first line in the instructions I wrote was, “Mix the ingredients to glop type consistency.” I’d never seen pancakes being cooked before since my mother didn’t cook them, so I had no frame of reference for what the consistency of the batter should be other than what I saw. “Glop” sounded like the right word to use. I also wrote down one incorrect ingredient. Instead of Baking powder, which is the correct ingredient, I wrote Baking Soda. I have no idea how that changes the recipe, but luckily I was never around when anyone tried to make it from the cookbook. I still make fritters for my family. Usually during the summer and fall months when the fruits are fresh. I’ve added peaches and strawberries to the fruit ingredients and none of the fritters I make use of only a single fruit. Strawberry/Banana and Blueberry/Peach are our favorites. 

Cherry Soup on the other hand I was never able to master. The recipe calls for sour cherries (at the time usually found in cans, different from when my mother made it back in the day with real sour cherries), water, lemon juice, cornstarch to thicken, 4 egg yolks added while the soup was hot, and beaten egg whites mixed in when it was cold. This was served cold usually as an appetizer prior to meals or afterward as a dessert. It was delicious. I could never master the cornstarch in cold water and then add to the boiling sour cherries and water part. I never could get the right consistency for the finished product. My version tasted about the same as my mother’s did, however where her soup was a fluffy, light, just short of a pudding consistency product, that looked very inviting, my end product looked like vomit. Trust me, no matter how good a dish that you make tastes, if it looks like vomit, no one is going to want to eat it. 

The days of watching my mom make meals and desserts are passed. Though I still have my sisters to go to when I question how something was made. Together with my sisters, we manage not only to recreate those foods but improve upon them. I’ve even developed the feel as to how some things are done without having to measure accurately. It’s the only way to cook.  

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Park and other things (revised)

Posted on September 2, 2021 by hdh

The Park and Other Things

Original writing 1/11/2016 revised 9/2/2021

The apartment house that I grew up in in the Bronx was situated next to a small local park. The park was simple, with some trees and benches in the main part. There was a brook that divided that part from the wooded area, which itself was bordered by the Old Methodist Home for the Aged. There was an asphalt walkway that went up a hill on the other side of the park. On the one side of that walkway was a large hill that, up until someone build a house there, was covered with dirt and rocks and boulders. My apartment building which was built on that hill had two different levels of entrances. You could enter the apartment building through the basement or lobby level which was at the bottom of that hill facing Manhattan College across the street or on the 6th-floor entrance which was at the back of the building facing the uphill side. 

The park and areas surrounding it were used as places to relax for older residents and games like punchball, hide and seek, and hounds and hares (my favorite) by the kids in the area (which sometimes made it difficult for the older residents to relax).  The asphalt walkway was used mostly during the winter months when snow was on the ground as a sled riding course. We would build some speed bumps mid-way through the path not to slow us down but to give us a little lift and speed as we hurtled down the hill. 

Summertime and warm weather didn’t stop us from sledding. Part of the hill where the apartment was on was pretty much a dirt hill. It was pretty steep also. So we would gather old cardboard boxes and sit in them as we slid down the dirt hill. This proved to be more dangerous as our speed was infinitely more uncontrollable than going down a snow hill with a sled that had steering. It was a memorable experience until that person built his house right toward the bottom of our track and terminated our ability to dirt slide. By that time I was older and probably wasn’t doing much sledding anyway.

The boulders on the hill became our forts for war games and hide and seek. 

They were also great places to place chalk arrows for trails when playing hounds and hares. The stone walls that separated the Old Methodist Home and our wooded area, were great in the fall as leaves began to pile up. It was fun jumping off of the 5-foot walls into a pile of leaves. At least it was a lot safer than jumping off the other side of the wall which was probably about 20 feet above a concrete driveway. 

The climbing, jumping, playing, and probably even the rat chasing (which is another story) all make up the memories of the place that I grew up. I miss those spots. I can still see the tree that was first base, the middle of the edge of the sandbox which was second, and the large rock which was third (the one you had to avoid when there was snow on the ground and you were sledding down the walkway heading for it on your sled). Though I don’t have many pictures from back then, the images are etched in my mind where they will remain in my memory photo album that I enjoy visiting as I age. 

 

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Timing is Everything

Posted on August 28, 2021 by hdh

Timing is Everything

I’m considered somewhat of a mild-mannered person. I rarely if ever yell. In fact, that has caused some difficulty with people that are angry at me. They start yelling their opinions and vent all of the hostility they are feeling. What they are expecting back is a fight. Not a physical one, but one in which my yelling back at them will allow them to vent more of their built-up anger and frustration. 

Unfortunately, what they get from me might be a slightly emphatic voice, but not the yell that they need to play off of. The end result being, I stay slightly frustrated but calm, and they have to internalize their vents, since yelling does not accomplish the end result they desired, becoming even more frustrated. It’s kind of a win for me, not that I expected one, but with no one to satisfy their yelling need, their yelling diminishes and usually turns into a sulk. 

I should point out that this is my nature, I do not do it purposefully. 

As for yelling, do I have the capability of yelling and I do yell on occasion. One non-angry version of me yelling has to do with crowded places where I can’t be heard using any normal voice. For example, a crowded, noisy trip to New York City where between the traffic and the crowds you can’t hear the person walking next to you. I’ve even been known to yell in restaurants, like Applebees, when the noise of all the talking is so loud that the person next to me can’t hear me. But in those instances, everyone else is yelling too, adding to cacophony, so no one notices. 

When I was coaching my son’s soccer team, I was also known to yell. It was the only way I could get some of the players to hear me from across the field. In hindsight, probably not the best coaching strategy to yell at 6-10-year-olds and afterward tell them we are playing soccer just to have fun. 

As a teacher, I sometimes yelled in class. The reason for the yell usually had to do with students not paying attention for an extended period of time to what I was saying. In most cases, this yelling exhibited anger, frustration, and hostility. Something my students rarely ever saw from me, remember I was a mild-mannered person. For the most part, it was an act. If I needed to get their instant attention, a loud angry outburst was needed. Besides yelling, there was slamming the door to the classroom or smacking a yardstick (and later a meter stick) very loudly on a desk, usually close to where an offending student(s) were sitting. It immediately got everyone’s attention. At that point, in a calmer but still loud voice, I would explain the reason for my outburst. 

For this method to be effective, I had to rarely use it, maybe once or twice a year, and time it right depending on the situation. This was not taught in any of my methods classes in college. Of course, there were a few times that my frustration did overflow after the outburst and my calm demeanor did involve some tears, on my part. This was not an act. This did remedy their behavior, for a short period of time. 

The act of yelling is an art if one is in control of the situation. It requires an awareness of what you are doing and perfect timing. Knowing when to yell and when not to yell helps maintain control. Losing control of yourself when you yell is a just losing battle. Ask anyone who wants to get into a shouting match with me. 

 

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The Game’s Afoot

Posted on August 25, 2021 by hdh

The Game’s Afoot

Being a security guard at the San Diego Zoo has its perks, especially when you’re on the night shift. Basically, your job is to sit in a room watching a series of monitors and make sure nothing unusual goes on. Every once in a while you get some exercise by walking the grounds to do a visual inspection of the zoo. All this you log into your secure iPad. In addition to all the cameras throughout the zoo, there are hidden silent alarms that go off if anyone does manage to evade the cameras.  

My job was to watch the Africa Rocks, Outback, and Urban Jungle sections. Most of the time I just sit, read magazines, play solitaire, or binge-watch shows on my own iPad (which the execs at the zoo can’t monitor). 

Things became a little different about a month ago. It was a Friday night. The zoo closed at 9:00 p.m. as usual. After the visitors and staff had gone, I did my usual routine. I made sure all was locked up. I did a walkthrough of the grounds, which took a while, checked all of the exhibits in my section, and said good night to the baboons. They’re always the most fun animals to interact with. You know, reaching through the bars, trying to mess with your hat and clothes, checking you over for an occasional banana I happen to have stashed in a pocket, and putting on quite a show. It’s a fun way to end the circuit. I go back to my surveillance room, grab a Coke, and sit back to enjoy a quiet evening. 

This is how I started off that Friday night. It was about 11:00 when I closed my eyes for just a moment. All of a sudden one of the alarms went off. Intruder alert! I checked the monitors only to find that they all looked fine. If I had looked more closely I would have realized that all the monitor pictures were still framed. Normally there would be some movement in at least one of them. I decided to do a walkabout. 

The first thing you’re supposed to do is check the gates, which I did. All of them were locked and gated tightly. Next thing is to check the animals’ habitats. The first place I went to was the Urban Jungle. When I came to the Rhinoceros’s habitat I did a quick headcount and to my surprise one was missing. I looked all over the area and he was nowhere to be seen. The giraffes, the koalas, the kangaroos were all present and accounted for, but not the Rhino. I notified the other security guards at the other sections to be on the lookout for a Rhino. I was expecting a response of “THE What? and was sure they were going to laugh at me when instead, they responded that I should be looking for a panda, a gorilla, an orangutan, a tapir, a polar fox, and a number of missing birds.

This was no coincidence! Considering that all the gates had been locked, that meant that the release and theft of the animals either happened before the zoo closed or they were all somewhere within the confines of the zoo. So it was back to the Safari Park to look for clues. 

Checking the ground inside and outside the environment with my flashlight I specifically looked for footprints. There were none other than Rhino ones inside the environment, and most of the ones outside the environment were just random kids’ footprints from the visitors that day.  I was about to look elsewhere when I happened to find not only a rhino’s footprint outside the area but a set of footprints that shouldn’t have been there at all. They looked more like fat handprints than footprints and there were sets of four of them instead of two. I recognized the shapes. I radioed the other guards and told them to look along the outsides of their habitats for similar prints. If my suspicions were correct, I knew the whereabouts of the thief. I headed for the baboons. 

Though it was relatively quiet, I did notice that at the entrance to the exhibit there were a number of animal footprints that were definitely not baboons nor people. As I went to unlock the security entrance access, I also discovered two other important clues. One, the access door was unlocked, and two, I was missing the two particular keys from my keyring that would have unlocked that door and the Rhino’s access door. 

I stealthily made my way past the climbing area and rocks, past the water trough, and into the baboon house. I wasn’t sure what I expected to find. I was afraid that there might be some carnage with animals attacking other animals. Again, had I thought about it, which I didn’t, most of the missing animals were herbivores, not meat-eaters. 

What I found was a circle of animals each intently looking at what appeared to be playing cards and playing what appeared to be poker.  Don’t ask me how they were doing it, but I just stood there for a while and watched as one animal after another, would stomp on the ground, somewhere between one and five times, and an orangutan would come by and take that many cards away from that animal and replace them with an equal amount of cards. I saw the arctic fox at one point use his nose just to flip all his cards over in disgust. I saw an oxpecker bird, one that is noted for being in a symbiotic relationship with the Rhino appear to peck in the Rhino’s ear just before the Rhino put his foot on his cards and patted them nicely. At this point, all the animals left in the game showed all their cards. Based on what I saw, the Rhino’s full house beat all the other players. A baboon then proceeded to give the Rhino and the oxpecker a treat before a gorilla went around to collect all the cards, mixed them up between his hands and feet, and was about to deal out a new set of 5 cards to everyone. 

It was at this point that the flamingo spotted me. All the animals turned in my direction. I was convinced that I would be killed in a stampede as the animals rushed to escape. Instead the baboon, clearly the organizer, came over to me and took me by the hand. In his other hand, he held the keys to all the missing animals’ enclosures. Clearly, I was not the only security guard to get frisked by the baboons. He led me over to an open spot in the conclave of animals and the gorilla proceeded to deal out the cards, including me in the game. 

The zoo management has yet to find out about these Friday night poker games. The baboon no longer needs to steal the keys, as all the guards are now involved in the games on a rotating basis. I mean somebody has to mind the store while the game’s afoot. To me it makes the Friday night shift a little more fun. Us guards also add special treats to the pot. We thought of inviting the sloth but decided the games would take too long with them included. As for the Rhino, I’ve noticed he wins a lot more hands than any of the rest of us. I’m pretty sure the oxpecker is cheating on his behalf, but I haven’t been able to catch him at it yet. I have won a few hands myself. All I can say is that the baboon gives a really relaxing shoulder rub, whenever I win. We make sure everyone is back in their own environments come Saturday morning. 

As I said, there are some perks to this job, especially on Friday nights. 

 

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A Lesson Passed On

Posted on August 19, 2021 by hdh

A Lesson Passed On

Old Hark lay in his bed, thinking about who he was. He had been a hard worker, had married the woman of his dreams, and raised a family, a boy and a girl. The children would grow up and have families of their own someday. He wasn’t rich, in a monetary sense, however, he was rich in spirit. He had earned enough money over time to live comfortably, not decadently. But the end of his timeline was approaching. He knew it, his family knew it, as did his friends and neighbors. 

Not having much in the way of material objects or money to pass on to those he left behind, he needed to think of something to leave them with. A number of his friends had made secret videos of themselves that were to be shared with their families upon their death. Hark was not a secretive person though. If something was important to share with someone, he just shared it. The best thing about sharing something told with someone else was watching their reaction and seeing if they understood what they were being told. But the idea of leaving a video did intrigue him, so this is what he did: 

Old Hark called his son, daughter, and wife to his bedside. He had a video camera set up which was to record everything he would say. But instead of it being shown upon his death, it was being recorded with all of them present. 

They all gathered around him as he spoke these words:

“As I’m about to take my leave of you, I need you to think about who you all are. Are you strong, independently thinking people? I believe you are. Do you care for yourselves and others, through kindness and empathy for all living things? In my opinion, this is also true.  Even though you are independent, you still look out for each other and support one another. Your care for me, for the poor and downtrodden, and the world we live in, is evidence of your compassion.

These are all great qualities and serve you well. 

Note, you have all faced adversity and become stronger for it. Your quest for knowledge is boundless as is the curiosity deep within you that drives your learning. You seek not power, but peace. 

It is my hope that my love and teachings have had some part in this. For that is what I leave with you when I’m gone. Yes, remember the times we spent together. The joys we had and the places we saw. Yes, recall the stories we told and the songs we sang. The pictures we took will always be there to remind you of times gone by. But remember also who you are. What you are capable of accomplishing, And that part of me will always be in there with you. 

Remember me for who I was, who I am, and that part of me that is you. If you can do that then there will be no need to grieve, for I will not be gone. 

If you feel you are losing faith in yourself, or not capable of moving on in an endeavor, then play this video again. I’ll be there to remind you that, ‘Yes you can.’

Love is boundless. It traverses both life and death. I will always love you and will never let you down.”

At this point, the video camera was turned off. They came together and hugged one another. Old Hark had shared what needed to be shared. Copies of the video were digitized and share with each family member. Two weeks later, Old Hark passed on. 

Some people might take a video like that and store it away in a secure vault, with wills and other important documents, never to be looked at again. Some might just toss the video onto a pile of other videos and over time forget all about it. But Old Hark’s family was different. His video was always placed in full view of anyone that visited their home so that visitors would ask about it. He would not be forgotten. And as his son and daughter grew up and had families of their own, Hark’s video was not only visibly displayed as a reminder of what he had said to them that day but also played to reinforce that which he had shared with them. And to honor that part of him that was still with them all. 

I would not be surprised if it continues to be shared with his grandchildren and great-grandchildren and so on. For everything he said was a message for us all. Always remember the good of who you are and never forget those that came before, that contributed the building blocks of the good person you became.

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