Shouldn't…but Do

I am lucky to find writing work that pays, extremely lucky.  It follows that I troll the internet for news and timely information to inform myself and the topics on which I write.

I am never alone.  There is Cathy, Mark and Marion.  Oh and Steve.  You have seen them,  homogenous, attractive faces in floating pop-up boxes that appear on website pages asking to chat.

I am busy, please stop asking me to chat.  Please stop drifting in front of information I am reading, and when I say no, I mean it.  When I flatten your box, please do not expand yourself on the next page — and why is it that on one website your name is Gregg and elsewhere you are Mark?

Danielle, you are sweet but please find something else to do.  Judy, I wish I had even half as much perk as you project and Brett, best wishes for your career, you should consider modeling.

And Steve?  I know you mean well, but please go away.

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The wind flows thickly through an oak who still holds leaves close.  Snow melt runs loud, sun shines.  It is good.

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Lights in the darkness exude their own type of silence.  Merry Christmas and happy holidays to you and  yours.

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Words and worries build up, drift like snow.

Snowfall early this morning on roads of commerce and mind.  Untouched in some places.  Something to see, something further to get through.

I will be the tracks in the snow.

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The first time I saw Longshot, he, she or it was a caterpillar.  The second time I saw Longshot, it was a chrysallis.  The third time I saw Longshot was this morning, and he is a butterfly.  Sort of.

Proving prescient, the name Longshot is a good one.  Unobserved, Longshot fell from its spent chrysallis this morning and lay on its back until discovered.  Once righted, he immediately scaled the netting of a habitat I constructed.

Unfortunately, his tightly furled wings relaxed, but did not stretch.  As afternoon wears on, I fear those beautiful orange and black wings will not gain their structure or their purpose.

But a butterfly is not merely wings, and Longshot is clearly of good heart and sound legs.   His lack of ability reflects lack of opportunity – it is too cold now for Longshot to fly south.

Flowers, warmth, nectar, sunlight and space – these things Longshot will have lifelong, if not the companionship of his kind.  Earthbound butterfly, your story is far too familiar.

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I am an unabashed fan of The New York Times.  It started with the Science Times, branched out to Dining, then Business Day.  Those more articulate than me speak glowingly of  the breadth of the publication, I just agree.

For years I conducted forays to local outlets to search out  the newspaper and when home delivery came to my town, I signed on.  Now, even in greatly reduced financial circumstance, I maintain that one last vanity – a home subscription to The New York Times (not the Sunday edition).  It means, and delivers, the world to me.

Online too, it rarely fails to deliver.  But yesterday was one of those days.  I received a message informing me my ten free articles for the month have been viewed — subscribe now…

Digital content is part of the home delivery package so the message is a technicality for me.  It means I am not recognized.  Usually I log in again and the world, and the news, flow on.

Not so this time.  The first tier  of NYTimes customer service could not solve the problem, so I was passed to technical support – both in Florida.    And in another shameless plug, I will point out NYTimes customer service – real people – are available on weekends all day.

The technical representative I spoke with was in Florida by way of Ohio.  She does not care for the hurricanes of Florida, nor the deep snows of parts of Ohio – but seems to prefer the Buckeye State.  We discussed the underground threat of earthquake  in the west verses above ground threat of tornado and hurricane in the Midwest and East.  A question of whether you prefer warning with your natural disaster.  But I digress.

With polite proficiency, the technical representative assessed and addressed my problem.  The software inexplicably showed I had not logged out for years, and recognized me only as who I was.   We are none of us, especially me, who we were and sometimes it takes a glitch to remember that.  Deftly handled, the software now recognizes who I am, and the world once again streams across my computer screen.

I thanked the rep and she thanked me for the conversation.  She said many people are agitated at technical problems.  I told her I thought her skill set should get her wherever she wants to go in life – even back to Ohio.

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Update: Longshot is still hanging around.

First observed in chrysallis form on October 28, Longshot remains green and silent.  Unless eyes deceive, part of the chrysallis may be darkening.  Decay or destiny?

A pocket of unseasonably fair weather has descended, Longshot appears to have a weather window between now and  Thanksgiving. Odds remain long.  Stay tuned.

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And for all of you that live stateside, today is the day. Don’t forget to get out and rock that vote.

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I visited my hometown last summer, stayed with old friends.  You know it doesn’t get better than that.

Early morning I was up before the rest.  At a window, night wind passing on, making way for sun not yet over the mountains.

A breeze and ten, twenty, years passes.  Wind lifting, testing the strength of tree branches.  Trees age like us, weaken, die.

But wind lives forever, cycles more rapidly than water.  Touched my face in this place when I was young, swirls back these memories to me now that I am not.

Down the street an elderly man walks.  Dressed casually but well.  Stooped, with blue ballcap, matching blue backpack.  Alone on his way, like you, me, and the wind.

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