You are one, the first number that is the beginning of       Arithmetic and geometry’s starting point–Solomon ibn Garibol I spoke to him last… Read More »Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania: October 27, 2018

by Sinthop Katawanij

The end of a meal was our least favorite and for reasons other than the ones you might think–the moment when we’d all have to stand in judgment and decide which recycling bin to choose for our garbage. Neither Karen or I expected a hand to reach out from the slush pile and grab us, but still, it was unnerving. Lady and the Tiger stuff.

But Tammy never hesitated. She had recycling down pat. The kind of person who knew exactly in which green, blue, red, or gray bin to chuck her left-overs while the rest of us warily approached each designated station before leaving the cafeteria.  She tossed her coffee cups and soda cans with abandon, deposited her leftover dinner into each appropriate bin creating an avalanche of French fries as they met their bonded fate together with ketchup; the slide of paper plates, yogurt containers, Styrofoam cups, napkins rushing to meet their unmaker; beans, taco chips, and the dribbling of chef salad toward a different tributary. It happened so quickly. Who could keep track?

But Fanny was a girl who knew her stuff. A recycling monitor throughout middle school, she had attended a summer camp where campers pitched different items into their respective bins from 10 yards back. At  summer’s end, she returned home with a certificate. But in all other regards, Fanny had developed into a normal eighteen-year-old. She wore jeans with the correct number of rips and tears, had sports T-shirts that she’d inherited from two drop-dead gorgeous older brothers, and said disparaging things about her parents that any one of us would have loved to have traded for our own.

Karen and I relied on her expertise as we finished dinner and lined up with our trays in hand before we began the trek to our evening college classes. Fanny relieved our misery. She said, “Here, let me help you,” and dispensed with our refuse. We were grateful. But if ever she got sick, or on one occasion had broken her arm, immovable and useless in a plaster cast, we ordered soup and avoided the need to recycle altogether. Instead, we stacked our bowls near the kitchen and carried away any napkins deep inside our purses. We had to do something with the cutlery. On those rare occasions, she stood behind us and told us where to put them. “There! There! Not there!” Sort of a nostalgic Gertrude Stein moment.

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Read More »The Recycling Genuis

Reba McIntire’s smile and her buoyant faith The Great British Baking Show and Banbury Cake Walking along Leona Canyon in the dripping rain Frogs singing… Read More »OMG

After 15 years of working at the wildlife refuge, my boss said I’d been furloughed, nonessential he laughed, the guy who always answers visitor questions about waterfowl.

“Consider it a paid vacation,” he said.

The last shutdown had dragged on for about a week; this looked like a repeat performance coming at the height of the migratory season when thousands of snow geese rise up in the air before settling back down on the wetlands like a white tablecloth, maybe giving me a chance to do other stuff— like build a ramp for Cathy. We’d been living together for five years now. She was the most graceful girl I’d ever met, long arms and legs. Should’ve been a ballet dancer. Instead, she worked at senior centers as a hairdresser.

I left the Visitor’s Center. Checked that the tractors were locked and parked in the yard, watched a Snowy Egret flap its fringed wings and plunge into the sky. The marsh was always the one place where I could think clearly. Now I didn’t know what to think…

By the time I pulled into the carport, Cathy had heard the news. She was never one to get upset, even when the surgeon told her that it might be a year before she walked again if she walked at all. “He doesn’t know me,” she said, insulted that he’d underestimated her will power.

I knew she had a strong spirit, but I was afraid. There had been the accident…Some uninsured kid driving back from the mall with a bunch of friends texting on their cellphones had rammed into her rear bumper. And to make things worse, another car had hit her door.

Ever since the accident I’d been worried about paying for Cathy’s physical therapy. My medical plan didn’t cover those bills. The shutdown didn’t help. I tried to get work. But I was the guy who answered questions about waterfowl. Some dunce suggested I volunteer at the airport. Which made me head out to the refuge just to watch the geese, shovelers, pintails, egrets and herons, the coots bobbing in and out of the water, listened to their comforting cacophony.

On day five of the shutdown, I sat at the kitchen table. Cathy wheeled herself around from the TV and faced me. “How long do you think it’s gonna last?”

“Don’t know. But it feels like forever.”

“Wish we could fly away.”

“That makes two of us.”

Her face became contorted. “If I leave before you do, will you promise to find me?”

“Don’t be morbid,” I said. “You sound like one of those seniors who can’t wait to die.”

“I just don’t want to be a burden.”

She talked about moving to another city, another part of the ongoing discussion we’d had so many times before. But that wasn’t an option,  especially not right now.

Cathy was in front of the tube listening to CNN. “They’re arresting families. Kids are dying at detention centers.” She folded her fingers and held on to them, sawed them down at the knuckles like they were itchy.  The shutdown had been going on for exactly a month now.

“You cold?”

“Just doing my part to cut down on the gas bill!” Cathy was buried in blankets up to her chin. She smiled, and uttered an odd cry, pressed down on the chair’s armrests and balanced in the air for thirty seconds, hovered there. I couldn’t move. She was covered in white feathers sticking out from her arms. She kicked open the door and threw herself outside.

I ran after her. “Cathy!” But I was too late. I watched her fly away to another world.

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Read More »Fly Zone

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Excuse me, sir, but need an assist? I can see that you’re sitting around like a hang-dog watching the water recede from your porch like someone’s pulled the bathtub plug and it’s going to shit. Pardon my potty mouth. If you didn’t live so far out, maybe one of your neighbors could lend a hand. All I’ve got is an extra cold beer. Take it. Let’s say I have my own private stock. But what I really wish is I had something stronger to offer. Me? Like to drink whiskey on a couple of unsteady rocks.

See that you’re working in the refineries, got that company logo on a blanket pulled around your shoulders. I always loved to watch the loons away from the sound of those catalytic reformers and desalters. Fuck, this place stinks. Always has. Always will. Curious about what we’re drinking? Watch out. Curiosity killed a cat. Got it from one of those microbrew places in Austin. Glad they didn’t get washed out, and hallelujah to that!

Names for all those machines come to me second nature. My daddy was an engineer, mom a registrar. Now ain’t that a trip?

See you have a few guitars still left standing.

Back in the day, I sang with a white python wrapped around my neck. Wore sequins. No, didn’t come here for some benefit concert. FEMA workers running around with clipboards. Red Cross workers unfolding cots faster than you can say, Open Sesame. I’m here for your benefit.

You feel me? You play?

I wanted to see if that marker in front of my old house got washed away. Curious, I guess. The city called me a misfit. City expected me to refine this shit. You got that right. What we got on our hands is a Biblical flood. We need to build an Ark and sail away.

Like what you’re playing. Cool licks. Sounds like the rain and the wind having a hissy fit. Glad I stopped by to cheer you up. Aw, let me give you a kiss. Take a little piece of my heart now baby.
 

Any readers from Texas? Let me know in the comments box!!!

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