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My ancient past . . . in three locations. Petroglyphs (essentially, writing on varied stones) in Rome, the Colosseum; in Frijoles Canyon, my New Mexico; and in Hawaii, on black lava flows, sometimes as prayers for the crossing.
images: Rome, Gustave Baumann lithograph of Frijoles Canyon, Hawaiian Petroglyphs © Tor Johnson
Uncharted seas ahead . . .
with words to buoy us,
keep us on our course.
image: Christie, collage page
“When he died, their father had two requests. First, that his ashes be taken to the palacio on the river the third week in September, on what would have been his 90th birthday. And second, that the whole family be there to take part in the scattering. Or, as he put it in the codicil, quoting his favorite poet, Walt Whitman, and underlining the words twice, ‘These are the days that must happen to you.’
That second was the sticking point, of course—though he'd cunningly left generous funds with Daniel Kim, his dexterous executor and sandcastling buddy, to cover travel from their various boltholes across the world, and made it clear that only if they carried out that dire last commandment would there be another cent. But even so, could they forget their rancor, their cherished pet peeves, and tolerate each other's company for three interminable days?”
Thus begins another story inspired by a prompt from The First Line. (Yes, there are many yet to come!) This was published yesterday by Eucalyptus Lit, who had this to say:
“Today is the winter solstice: a natural pivot in the seasonal cycle, aligning with our exploration of change in this issue. Allow yourselves to be changed, inspired by the work of the community around us. Great art is meant to be enjoyed—to be shared—so please feel free to spread the word about our issue to your friends, family, and fellow literature enthusiasts.”
I told them when it was accepted, "It is especially nice to have my story published by you, since eucalyptus has graced much of my life—from the Mills College campus to the foothills around Palo Alto where I spent some thirty years, to the park here in Santa Cruz whose eucalyptus shelters long-traveling Monarch butterflies.”
And it was fun to spend some time in the Carmel Valley with this peevish family over three days, along with Walt Whitman, and see where all of us came out.
Here’s another of my wilder whimsies, a.k.a. "What Should We Do with the Body?", in response to a prompt by The First Line—who (in more sober frame of mind) did not accept it for publication. It’s been picked up instead by Cerasus Magazine, appropriately situated, as is the story, in England.
For those who enjoy whimsy involving Punk rockers, Paladian bridges, Polish chickens, an early Renaissance stiletto, and a stray cassowary (or, indeed, as an editor I once worked with once enthused, for “anyone with an interest in anything”), a paperback copy of Issue #11 can be purchased from Amazon, or the pdf can be downloaded here.
I’ve imagined that an ideal film version of this story would star the following:
John Gielgud as old retainer
Ken Stott (Rebus) as Digby
young Stephen Fry or Simon Callow as Aiken
Ian McShane (Lovejoy) or David Jason (Frost) as Man with Clipboard 2
Richard Briers or John Cleese as Lord Ashenden
Bill Nighy as Parson Q
Peter Vaughan as the Major General
But that's just further whimsy, of course . . .
Image: Palladian Bridge, Prior Park, England
