Monthly Archives: November 2023

I Hear an Echo

Horace was excited to show off his new technology to Grant. Horace and Grant had a long history of one-upmanship, and Horace knew Grant would be quite jealous of the new system he owned. Less than one hour after Lou, Horace’s son left Horace’s house, he called Grant.

“You won’t believe what I got from my son for Christmas.” Horace proclaimed over the phone.

Grant answered. “It’s not even Christmas. Heck, we still have our Halloween decorations up.”

“Well, it’s the middle of December. Your house is the laughing stock of the park. But back to my present. You need to come see it.”

“It’s probably a new pickleball paddle, right?” Grant asked.

“Why do you say that?” Horace wondered.

“Because I just got a new paddle, and every time I get something new, you go out and get something better. That’s been going on since I bought that new battery-powered leaf blower back in 2010.”

Horace thought back to the time he did in fact buy a new battery-powered turbo leaf blower, just to out-do Grant. “Well, it’s not a pickleball paddle, and I’m not going to tell you what it is. You’ll just have to come over to see what it is.”

Ten minutes later, Grant rang Horace’s doorbell, a funny-looking device with a black circle in the middle and the word ‘Ring’ etched across the top. Without looking out the front window, Horace yelled “Come on in, Grant.”

Grant stepped in and asked, “How did you know it was me?”

With a beaming smile, Horace responded, “I just asked my Echo device. She’s hooked up to my new doorbell, who ran facial recognition, and then informed Alexa you were at the door. Alexa informed me. And now you’re inside.”

“How can I help you?” Alexa asked.

“Alexa. Never mind.” Horace said.

“Cute.” Grant exclaimed. So what’s this new gift of yours?”

“That’s it. Alexa. And her friends. My son Lou set it up today, and now I’m in the twenty-first century.”

“Would you like to watch Friends on TV?” Alexa asked.

“No thank you.” Horace replied.

“I have an echo device too.” Grant replied. “I can ask it to do things, like play music, set an alarm, or play Jeopardy, and she’s always ready to obey my command.”

“Just a minute.” Horace interrupted. “Alexa, could you please dim the living room light, play a mix of smooth jazz, and tell me Grant’s horoscope.”

The light in the living room dimmed, Miles Davis’ Kind of Blue filed the room, and Alexa said “Look for opportunities to fully experience life under the Gemini full moon, dear Taurus, moving through the day with all your senses turned on. These vibes are great for embracing simple pleasures and breaking up tasks with moments of luxury.”

Grant was astonished. “How does Alexa know my birthday?”

“I’m sorry. I don’t understand what you’re asking.” Alexa said.

“Don’t say her name unless you want something from her.” Horace added. “You’ll only confuse her.”

“I know how she works.” Grant replied. “I have an Echo also. So what makes you so special?”

“My Alexa has all the bells and whistles . . .”

“I’m sorry. Can you repeat that?” Alexa asked.

“Don’t say here name unless . . .” Grant responded, mimicking Horace’s voice.

“I know.” Horace stated. “Anyway, my house is fully connected. You-know-who does whatever I ask. I also have the Amazon app on my phone. As long as she’s connected to my Wi-Fi, I can have her do things from anywhere in the world.”

“So all you need is to be connected to your Wi-Fi to get her to obey your every command?” Grant asked.

“No. She needs to be connected to my Wi-Fi. As long as I know my password, she’ll do anything I ask. Pretty nifty, eh?” Horace asked.

Grant told Horace of the horror stories he’d heard about privacy, big-brother, and the Deep State. “Don’t get too caught up in all this technology. Just remember. Watch what you say. Alexa is always listening.”

“Can you please say that again?” Alexa asked.

With that, Grant smiled and headed toward the door. “Don’t call me to bail you out when the FBI knocks your door down and hauls you off to jail. Alexa. Play Hell’s Bells by AC/DC.”

Grant walked out the door just as Bob Scot screamed, “I’m a rolling thunder, pouring rain
I’m coming on like a hurricane.”

Horace called out to Grant as he headed home. “Let me know if you ever need help moving from the Dark Ages.”

Later that evening, Horace was home with Henrietta. Horace sat in the Arizona room reading. Henrietta called to him from the back bedroom. “Horace. Why did you turn the bedroom light off?”

“I didn’t.” he replied. “Just a minute. Alexa. Turn the bedroom light on.”

The light illuminated. “Thank you.” Henrietta said.

“No problem.” Horace responded.

As the words left his lips, a familiar yet agonizing voice blurted out God-awful yodeling from the kitchen. Slim Whitman’s voice crooned Cattle Call softly from the Echo.

“What’s gotten into her?” Horace wondered. “Alexa. Stop playing music.”

“Okay.” Alexa said.

Horace grabbed his phone and called Lou. Horace started to ask Lou why his Echo acted up. From in the bedroom, Henrietta yelled, “Horace. Did you mess with the thermostat again? It’s awful hot in here.”

Horace walked to the new Nest thermostat. It read eighty-eight degrees. “Just a minute.” he said to Lou. “Alexa. Set the temperature to seventy degrees.”

“Okay.” Alexa said. “Would you like to set a schedule?”

“No. Just quit screwing with the settings.”

Horace continued the conversation with his son. “There must be a bug in the system. Alexa is going crazy.”

Just then, Crazy, by Patsy Cline began playing. Horace yelled into the kitchen. “Alexa Not that Crazy.”

“Okay.” Alexa said. Crazy, by Gnarls Barkey filled the air.

“ALEXA. STOP THE MUSIC. WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?”

The music stopped. “I’m just fine. How are you?” Alexa asked.

The doorbell rang. “Lou, I gotta go. Someone’s at the door. I’ll call you back. Possibly to ask you to come over and take my gift back.”

Horace opened the door. The porch was empty. Horace slammed the door, just as Henrietta called out again. “Horace. It’s cold in here.”

Horace had enough. He was on his way into the kitchen to unplug the Echo. Before he could, though, Alexa began speaking. “You’ll feel many emotions under the Gemini full moon, dear Pisces, though some of the sensations that run through you could be rooted in what others are feeling. Take care to protect your heart with verbal, energetic, and internal boundaries.”

Across the street, and two doors down, Grant sat in a recliner in his Arizona room. He held his mobile phone, and smiled as he typed commands into the Amazon app he had open.

So Long, My Love

We had a prompt in our writing group to write about our worst date. This is my attempt to tell a mostly true story about a date I had years ago.

Two score and four years afar.
 I met a girl in a disco bar.
This lovely lass was oh so pretty.
Young a wise and very witty.

We danced to the Bee Gee’s Staying’ Alive.
She liked my moves. She dug my vibes.
Then wouldn’t you know it. It was just my luck.
She got down and waddled to Disco Duck.

Her dancing was hotter than a can of Sterno.
When the deejay spun Disco Inferno.
I thought to myself, it really seems.
I’d found the girl from my wildest dreams.

I got up the nerve and asked her out.
She said yes. I gave a shout.
I said I was free on Saturday.
She told me Saturday was a busy day.

She had an early job interview downtown.
But she didn’t have a car to get around.
It was an all-day affair with the L.A. Police.
If she could get there on time, in one piece.

I told her I’d pick her up before eight.
Drive her to the academy so she wouldn’t be late.
I’d come back before five and I’d sit there and wait.
Then I’d take her on our first date.

She lived with her aunt, on Second Street.
Only two miles from my one-room suite.
I wanted to show her that she need not despair.
 I arrived on her street with ten minutes to spare.

I waited outside for thirty minutes or more.
I never saw her walk out of the door.
I looked to see if she’d gone astray.
I didn’t want to be the cause of delay.

How long would I sit in my car and wait?
Did she skip out on our very first date?
I saw a street sign and let out a foul word.
I was one block over, sitting on Third.

I sped around the corner and stopped by her house.
Feeling as low as a lowdown louse.
I explained my demise as I opened her door.
I’ll still get you there and your faith I’ll restore.

I drove like crazy at a swift tempo.
Pulled up to the academy with mere minutes to go.
Work hard at the academy. I’m sure you’ll survive.
I’ll be back there to meet you no later than five.

I did arrive early. No way I’d be late.
I didn’t want to screw up our first date.
I picked her up as I said I would do.
Then took her out to dinner for two.

We had a fine meal and laughed over wine.
She told me her story and I told her mine.
The evening was splendid; we had a great night.
Our future together was looking quite bright.

We walked back to my car but to my dismay.
One more time I’d lead her astray.
I’d left my lights on. The battery was dead.
I could tell my presence she’d started to dread.

It took an hour to get on the road.
It was midnight when we reached her abode.
She said a quick goodnight as she ran from my car.
By the time I responded, she was quite far.

So much for the first date. The next would be better.
Next time, I’d be a real go-getter.
But alas, I turned out to be a bird-brain.
For I never say the young lass again.

Winning Isn’t Everything

The Celtics were up by one. One second remained on the clock. I was the one who had the last shot. Would I make it? Would I be the hero for the Lakers and their wild fan base? Would my winning shot go down in the annals of basketball history?

I rose. Their best defender was all over me, blocking my view of the rim. The buzzer was ready to blare when the ball left my hand, arched toward the basket, and . . . .

I woke up. What a frenzied dream I had. I didn’t play for the Lakers, although that was one of my lifelong desires. I grew up in LA, had a brother who worked for the Lakers, and watched as many games as the limited television stations aired. Laker purple ran through my veins. I spent every moment thinking about the Lakers, except for those moments I thought about girls. The Lakers were royalty, and I lived in their kingdom.

That was back in the 1960s and 70s. Those were the days of Wilt Chamberlain and Jerry West and Gail Goodrich. The 1980s arrived, and my adoration of the Lakers, now staring Magic Johnson, Kareem Abdul Jabbar, and James Worthy never waned. The early nineties were lean, but the emergence of Shaq and Kobe brought more glory to the City of Angeles. Every time the Lakers hoisted a championship trophy, I too held the trophy in my hand. I was a Laker, or at least, their truest fan.

All Laker fans have two things in common; their love of the purple and gold, and their loathing of the Boston Celtics. The rivalry between the two teams went back to the 1950s. When the two teams squared up in the 2008 finals, the Celtics owned one more trophy then did the Lakers. We, by that I mean the Lakers and me, had a chance to even the score. We were ready to win it all.

That didn’t happen. Game six took place on June 17th. I rode my bike to my favorite sports bar to watch the game with a few friends, ready to watch the Lakers beat the Celtics and force a game seven. Instead, the Celtics demolished the Lakers, beating them by a hefty 39 points. It was hard to watch the game, and harder to ride my bike home. I felt defeated – let down in a humbling way. It was the worst feeling I’d had in quite a while.

I slowly rode home, draped in the doldrums of despair. That feeling though, only lasted a few blocks. As I peddled through the dark streets of Boise, a new feeling hit me, like a behind the back pass to the face. “Wait a minute.” I thought to myself. “I didn’t lose that game. I didn’t miss out on a championship ring and the glory that accompanies it. No extra money did I miss. No picture of me on the cover of Sports Illustrated did I forfeit.”

I realized in that moment that I was just a fan. I realized that basketball, like all sports, is just a sport. I learned to love the sport, to enjoy the sport, and more importantly, to put the sport into perspective. Since that day, I still watch the Lakers (and the Dodgers, Kings, and Rams – when they play in LA) and I hope they win. If they do, I’m happy, If they don’t, well, I’m happy too. Life is too short to be unhappy, especially when you cannot affect the outcome of what causes unhappiness.

Last night I had a dream. The Celtics were up by one. One second remained on the clock. I was the one who had the last shot. Would I make it? Would I be the hero for the Lakers and their wild fan base? Would my winning shot go down in the annals of basketball history?

I rose. Their best defender was all over me, blocking my view of the rim. The buzzer was ready to blare when the ball left my hand, arched toward the basket, and . . . my shot was short.