Shit La Merde
So, there I was. Jobless, due to my career as a columnist being cut short by a column I wrote, and in search of a secluded place to write whatever it was I had cornered myself into writing. I ran a classified ad in my former newspaper, “Writer seeking quiet place to write.”
I got multiple offers, all of which blew up for a series of very strange reasons, which included a place on a farm, which offer was rescinded when they discovered I had a dog. Apparently, this was a strictly “no dog” farm. I didn’t even know there was such a thing. And she was a farm dog on top of it.
Another offer fell apart, canceling a proposed 6 month trip to Europe, because their son fell off a mountain in Colorado. This was a very sad incident, but I couldn’t help but wonder, how many people fall off mountains in Colorado? Granted, more people fall off mountains in Colorado than in Nebraska, but it still couldn’t be a very high rate of incidence, could it? I was getting a little suspicious about my escalating failure rate at acquiring a bucolic setting.
Finally, the call came. Would I house sit for a beautiful home located on a river down a scissor canyon in a remote area populated by more horses than people and surrounded by a National Forest? Twist my arm. OK! My dog and I packed as fast as possible. Actually, I packed and she watched.
Shortly after the move to paradise, I bumped into a former client from my days at publishing the Healing Arts supplement. She was a former Hell’s Angels Harley Biker who decided to become a New Age healer, and was very good at it even though she continued to dress in black leather. I told her about my great fortune of being gifted this gorgeous house in the wilderness. She said, “Oh, you mean you are out there where all the ETs come in?” to which I answered, “Huh?!?” She scrutinized my baffled facial expression and then said, “Damn, everybody in this state knows that.” I appeared to be the sole person in the state who did not know that. (I must have missed the inter-office memo that everyone else clearly received.) Oh, oh. I began to sense where this might be heading.
Very shortly after that scintillating conversation, I had an audio-visual demonstration of what the Lady in Black Leather was trying to tell me. Out on the porch one spectacular night, I was staring enraptured at the clouds caught in moonlight and yet the stars still blazingly bright in the sky. I was particularly fixed on this one very large and luminous star. Then a big cloud started drifting its way and I watched expecting it to soon block my view of this beautiful being. Surprise! The cloud passed behind it and the star stayed right there.
As the locals would say, “Jesus, Maria y Jose, esta estrella no es una estrella”, but I instead slipped into Canadian because I once lived among them and said, “Shit la merde, what’s wrong with this picture?” (They’re bi-lingual up there.) Without another word, I went inside, closed the porch door and decided not to deal with it.
“Jesus, Maria y Jose, esta estrella no es una estrella” / Jesus, Mary and Joseph, this star is not a star.
“Shit la merde, what’s wrong with this picture?” / Shit shit, what’s wrong with this picture?
Author’s note: My webmaster informed me that 300-600 words is the ideal size for an article because after that you all keel over from Attention Deficit Disorder. At that rate, this story may take awhile. My special apology to Matej in Switzerland. Just hang on, Matej. We’ll get there….
Continue to the next exciting adventure of, I Will Blend No More Forever – Part IV.