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On Choosing A Cool Last Name
One of the things that my future wife told me when we were engaged was that she wanted her married name to be Swan (actually, лебедь) and that she’d dreamed about it since she was a little girl. At least the cards were stacked in my favor. “Well,” I said. “Then let me tell you a little story about how I almost didn’t get this cool last name.” The surname swan isn’t all that rare and comes in several flavors. One “n” or two. We are of the two “n” variety. You see, my last name was pure happenstance. Or the fulfillment of a little girl’s dreams. My father was…
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Pennsylvania Or Bust
Why local place names can be deceiving Dad and I had finished installing a new heater for one of his customers. We were headed home north on the interstate. When we exited, we saw two people walking on the side of the road. Which, at the time, was strange. First, it was freezing, even for South Alabama. Secondly, the Interstate construction ended at that exit. It would take another thirteen years to complete the Interstate through the Mobile River Delta onto Montgomery and beyond. There was a large green sign at the previous exit that stated: “For Local Traffic Only.” In other words, it was a dead-end road. Dad pulled…
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Was The Groundhog Paid Off?
It’s been thirteen days since the little guy in Pennsylvania “allegedly” didn’t see his shadow, thus promising an early spring to a waiting public. I have concerns. And I don’t mean to be harsh. After all, this cuddly little critter has been called upon for years to announce either the arrival of an early spring or continued misery for at least six weeks. It is the latter that I now wish to discuss. It’s cold today here in central Arkansas. In the northern part of the Natural State, it’s snowing. Snowing! This should not be happening. The little guy promised an early spring by not seeing his shadow. It ain’t…
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The Face
As I move my head backjust a few inchesTowards the open doorI see her face againBefore I continueDown the hallwayInto the awaiting day.And for an instantOne magnificent instantThere is pure joyDancing in her eyesPirouetting along the curvaturesof her tender smileThat powers the morningDrive and strips away the mundaneWork and ordinary tasksSo that when the evening sun returnsPainting the horizonWith hints of lavenderAnd laughterThe closed door opensAnd I find myself againin the overwhelming presenceOf the face of love
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The War That Followed
A Short Story A firm Spring breeze swept deceptively across Camp Shelby’s old Vietnam War-era barracks. Within minutes, skies darkened, and a calm quiet blanketed the entire post. Most of the local inhabitants of the Gulf Coast knew the drill. Listen for emergency sirens, stand on the front porch staring at dark clouds in the distance, continue to gaze at the horizon as if you’re welcoming an unlikable distant cousin, and finally go back inside to watch TV like you were doing five minutes earlier. There was usually no point in seeking shelter because, often, no better shelter was available in these rural enclaves of South Mississippi. The weather prognosticators…
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New Roads Home
I like taking new routes home especially roads I’ve never taken before on clear nights Tonight the sky looks like Crystals Diamonds Sparkling beyond the trees And I’m driving home From Kentucky and a sign says, “Golden Bayou” Who are they kidding? it’s just a creepy swamp And I’ve never felt an affinity for creepy swamps at night. But, tonight I’m going home a different way It’s late and I’m tired My eyes refuse to stay open So, I’m listening to every song on my iPhone’s playlist Every single one! Who does that? Large amounts of caffeine, Taylor Smith, and Three Dog Night Or is it Swift? I’m too tired…
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52 Week Short Story Challenge
You may have noticed that I have published several short stories. A few months ago, I enrolled in Dean Wesley Smith‘s short story challenge to write one short story per week. At the end of one year, I’ll have 52. I am hoping to do more than that, but 52 is a good goal. I plan to publish some novels after I learn to write a decent short story. Please click, read, and leave a comment. Thanks – Paul
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The Race to a Better Matchstick
A long time ago, I went to Russia. I met, fell in love with, and married my translator. Not long after we got married my Russian bride and I were at home just getting to know each other. For some reason, she really wanted to know the location of military outposts nearby. Crazy, right? One day, she was trying to light a candle with a little book of American-made matches, which she didn’t know how to operate. Really. To be fair, she had never seen a book of paper matches in her life. She grew up in Northern Russia and they just didn’t have paper matches, only superior wood matchsticks.…
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Visa Application
For a long time after the American Embassy in Moscow denied her request for a visa, I thought about getting my fiancé (somehow) to Mexico and then crossing the southern border into Texas — um, legally — illegally — I didn’t care. Only because I didn’t know. Really! Then we could get married and everything would be perfect. I don’t know how I would have gotten her to Mexico. I don’t think I gave it a lot of thought. I had fallen in love with my translator and had asked her to marry me that same year at a place that was close to my heart, a place where I had lived when I was four…
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Gas Station
I’m probably 15 or 16 years old, riding around the metropolis of Saraland, Alabama, with two guys I knew from our neighborhood. While I don’t remember the exact car we were in, I do remember that both Jerry and Derek were hotrod aficionados. And they were really into fast cars. Probably a 1970 Chevy Nova or something like that. But it really didn’t matter because in a matter of seconds, neither we nor half of the county would be around to tell our children the difference between a 350 short block, a slant-six, or a Lego-built truck. Jerry and Derek were regular consumers of nicotine and, as such, needed a…
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Managing Expectations
I tell my wife and daughters all the time to manage their expectations. Whether it’s a new job, new boyfriend, new car, fast food, new conspiracy theory, or new Girl Scout cookie flavors, manage your expectations. You get the picture. I recommend managing expectations about pretty much everything in life. Don’t have unrealistic expectations (positive or negative) of anybody or any place or anything. Don’t believe that Wendy’s commercial about their food. Here’s why: Once, I accepted a new job in East Tennessee. Now, East Tennessee is beautiful and sometimes I miss living there. I even learned how to speak a little Tennessean during my time there. But I grew…
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Not a Singer
At the end of the year in elementary school, the band teacher at the middle school arrived to test us, fifth graders, to see who had “the music.” If you had the music, you could be a part of the middle school band the next year. If you did not, then you took woodworking. We lined up by the stage. The band director played a few notes on the piano. It was strange to be in the cafeteria when it wasn’t time to eat. Every sound bounced off the floor and empty tables. Some students hummed in tune. Many were off. If you hummed in tune, the director would then…
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Never Rescue Frogs (They’re Evil)
I am sitting on the couch in the lobby of our local gym because I rescued a frog. Now, normally, I’d be upstairs working out — in the very limited way that I do. My wife is upstairs in the torture room she calls “exercise.” Healthy people walk by with their frou-frou water on the way to the weight room, racquetball, or one of the other torture rooms. They look at me smugly as they sashay by. Maybe I remind them of a mangled car wreck. It sure looks that way by their looks. Meanwhile, one of my lower back disks is continuing to press upon the sciatic nerve going down my…
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Russian Gasoline
My translator’s mother, who had a broken leg at the time, hops into the small Russian made car, which looks like a cheap ripoff of a 1970s Toyota Corolla. Her grown daughters also make their way in. We pull out of the parking lot and fifty yards down the narrow snow-packed road, the engine stops, and I know why. At this point, the oldest daughter informs me, in her direct I-will-kill-you Russian way, to make the car “go.” “Make it go American!” She motions with her arm to make the car go because one, we’re all hungry and two, her mom has limited walking ability. She can’t understand just why…
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Broken Legs and Priorities
The impact threw me from the motorcycle into the air in the opposite direction of the way we had been traveling. Physics is funny like that! I landed on my right leg, which snapped like an unlucky baseball bat in the hands of an angry Bo Jackson, who just struck out. Things were worse for my friend Tim, who lay screaming on the ground because the car’s chrome trim had peeled off and sliced into his right leg, making just a big mess. Let me back up a bit: We’re in the eighth grade at Adams Middle School (now Saraland Middle School). And I’m struggling academically, which was par for…
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Hello New Zealand
My dad is on the top of a 40-foot pine tree next to our house, but it’s okay. No, really. He has emphysema, a bad heart, 40 year’s worth of very hard-living, an unfiltered cigarette addiction, and clearly a lack of trust in others. He believes he is the only person who can install a new CB/short wave antenna even if it is at the top of a 40-foot pine tree. CB (citizens’ band) radios were a big thing then in the 1970s. Once he installed it, he could talk to new friends as far away as New Zealand. He’d sit in his room with a large shortwave radio shouting:…
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Tunnel Vision
There were no signs warning me not to drive into the tunnel with an empty gas tank. I was driving my mom’s Ford Focus, which was embarrassing enough. The next embarrassing thing was that the gas needle was on “empty.” There were no signs necessary because the state highway department assumed that I had the intelligence to fill up my gas tank on occasion. While the last thing the highway department wanted was to have some punk teenager run out of gas right in the middle of the busy tunnel and stop eastbound traffic, the state department of Transportation did not care about my automotive fuel needs. Running out of…
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The Blaming Game Starter Pack
I am probably five or six years old. I’m sitting at a table with other preschool kids. The teacher is Mrs. Payne and it’s almost time for the bell to ring and dismiss a hoard of wild little kids to trample anything on their way to the school buses. Mrs. Payne is going on about something. By my right foot, I see a piece of lead, which had broken off from a pencil. Maybe it was my pencil. Maybe it was someone else’s pencil. Does it really matter? It could have been Philip, a little guy that I’d probably just met that day sitting right beside me. For some reason,…
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Russian Sweet Tea
“You’re doing this wrong.” Don’t you get tired of these stupid headlines? I do! You’re Eating Apples All Wrong You’re Making Beans All Wrong You’re Eating Pizza All Wrong You’re Cooking Meth the Wrong Way I could go on. Regardless, let me share why it’s important that you make sweet tea the right way. You’re welcome! Once, I was in Russia and I wanted sweet tea. That’s all. As it turns out, they don’t drink cold sweet tea in Russia, or pretty much anywhere else in the world. I don’t know why, because sweet tea done right is awesome. We stayed in a dormitory in a college town in the…
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Living on Russian Time
Ivan Ivanov (not his real name) was a pretty important person in his little town in Russia and was involved in a lot of building projects. I’m not sure if his work included the statue of Lenin near the airport (or the one at just about every street corner in town). This project was to be completed by the end of the calendar year. Which sounds reasonable. Unless there just isn’t enough time to complete said project by the end of the year. Then, there could be problems. The government was making an addition to the hospital and it was crucial that the project must be completed before December 31.…
