Huckleberry, Buzz, Mikey, Joy and Hud.

Image of Beloved Huckleberry a Flipside Cat by Joy Aoki

The 1980s:

Cats are a part of my life. They always have been and always will be. This is a short story about Buzz the grey feral cat. He is surrounded with a cloud of mystery and synchronicity. I do not know what became of him. I trust that my ex-husband and staff took good care of him after I left. Buzz was last visited at my ex-husband’s house about 22 years ago. As noted in the image above. At this time Buzz did not accept me anymore and so I let him stay.

Cats are transitory little beings. Domesticated cats are 10 % wild and 80 % domesticated. Buzz was 90 % wild and 10 % domesticated. He grew up to be a hide & seek cat. He was not social with humans. In the mid-1980s, he was my cat and came to me only. I was about 80 % wild and only 20 % domesticated. Buzz and I had a lot in common. So, the story goes…

Once upon a time there was a highly intelligent cat named Sir Huckle Berry Finish Raoolish Maximus. We called him Huckleberry or Huck for short. He was a gift from our photographer friend named O who hung out with the punk band M.I.A. Huck was a grey American short hair. We loved him.

One night we had a party at the house. I left to go get some more party supplies. Huck got out and followed me. On the way back I saw him lying in the street near my home. It was a hit and run. We took him to our veterinarian. They did all they could do to save his life. He passed away. This was an incredibly sad time for me.

I watched a series on Nick at Nite Nickelodeon called Route 66. The original TV series was aired in the 1960s. The main characters Tod and Buzz traveled the land in their Corvette sports car. One day at the local thrift store after the death of Huck I found a vinyl LP called George MaHaris Sings. On his album George sings Moon River.

“Two drifters, off to see the world.

There’s such a lot of world to see.

We’re after that same rainbow’s end, waitin’ ’round the bend.

My huckleberry friend, Moon River, and me.”

The song Moon River is the song that inspired me to name this cat Huckleberry. I did not know that George MaHaris sang this song, but he did play the character Buzz on the series Route 66. I felt captivated by Huck when I found the LP. I listened to the song over and over and cried. I missed my Huckleberry! I did not know it then, but two cats and a song were about to make my life come together in a remarkably interesting way.

The same day I found this LP I later took a walk and noticed across the street some kittens and their mama sunning their bodies. I thought this was cute. Then I noticed that it was right across the street from where Huckleberry was hit. With my eagle eyes I focused in on a little grey cat. This kitten looked just like Huck. I was amazed. All this coincidence hit me hard it had to mean something.

What could all this mean? The record with Buzz /George MaHaris singing Moon River, the place where Huck died, and the little grey cat across the street, all came together through the process of synchronicity. I then planned. The next two weeks I studied the mama cat and her kittens. I saw a pattern. They lived under an older house on the street.

They only came out at certain times for a sun bath, sleep, and play. The kittens always stayed awfully close to their mama.

I then made my move while the feral cats were sleeping out in the sun. I walked down the street, crossed, and slowly approached the cats. I quickly grabbed the little grey kitten and made a run for it. That mama was on my tail for three blocks. She yelled like a wild animal. She clawed and bit my feet and ankles. Then she gave up. I do not blame her, but her wild little grey kitten was mine now!!

It took some time, but the grey kitten learned to love his new home. We took good care of him. The other cats became his family. I named him Buzz or sometimes Buzweld when he was bad, which was not very often.

Rosey, Buzz and Hud 1990.

Joy Aoki

Joy was known to dance with us round the wild circle in our living room at Halloween parties, and we did the same at her Otis College dorm.

I think it was 1985 when I first met Joy. She was at a rather small punk gathering. She had a camera and awfully long hair. Hanging at the punk scene is always a great way to meet other punkers. We talked and grew to enjoy her company. I remember the gifts she gave me. One was a blue masque she made in art class with blue feathers. Very Mardi Gras!

“I made this for you Hud!”

“Oh, OK!?”

I really did not know what to do with it. I was embarrassed. I took it and kept it for many years. Another gift she gave me a few years later, that I still have, is an image of a flying Ostrich with an Asian/ Indian woman riding it. It is a large art piece that I have framed. It now hangs in my bedroom. I enjoy it immensely. It is an encaustic painting on a silk material. I guess these gifts were her way of wooing our friendship into existence. It seemed to work. Joy worked her way into the Flipside house and became a punk woman of integrity. Her art, shit work and journeys with us to gigs amplified the Flipside crew experience and we all enjoyed her presence.

We met her while she was attending High-School, and then she went onto Otis College of Art and Design of Los Angeles, and then to the prestigious Art Center College of Design of Pasadena. Yes, she grew up right in front of us developing skills I can’t even imagine.

I did not ask her about her family, but she told us stories. She volunteered her time with us, so I figured if she attended college her expenses were all paid for. She was not the struggling artist, and she was not guilty or shy. One story she shared with us is about the relationship between her parents and the atomic bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Her parents received yearly health-screenings because they moved to California after the war. My dad is a purple-heart veteran that served in WWII. He bombed Japan. Forty years of time and once known enemies are now friends. Amazing!!

It was not easy making it into the ranks of the Flipside house. We had our tests. Joy passed them all and I am proud we were friends

2021: We have a kitty now named Mikey. He is a short haired grey cat, and he reminds me so much of Huck… so I thought I would share this amazing story about three cats …. they are so much alike… yet uniquely a part of my life…. at different times… I am not so wild anymore … about 90 % domesticated and the rest wild… kind of like Mikey.

Mikey and Hudley

My writing on my Website…

“The soul should always stand ajar, ready to welcome the ecstatic experience.”

~ Emily Dickinson

Christine Blasey Ford

I am not a professional editor. I find that I do reread my postings and continually make corrections. When I first post my posts are based on the emotional inspiration that comes up. This is when I am likely losing all sight to imperfections and grammar and misspelling. Then I try to edit my writing as time goes on.

My goal is to be as perfect as I can be. I know the truth about having work published in books, magazines and profession web sites. In these cases all work gets edited many times by many editors. I respect their discipline.

Editing is not my forte but writing a good story is. I try to catch an image or archetype and then write it into being.

I know this may sound simplistic but I will write it just the same. Once while watching an episode of Little House on the Prairie, Pa tells Laura about writing,

“There are those educated at the best universities, these are the ones we learn to respect. There are those that learn by nature, these are the ones we learn to love.”

My writing is somewhere between the two. I am not too interested in being respected. Being loved is much more fulfilling to me. Yet, I am not too sure on how homogeneous the two go together in this world of ours.

I am always open to suggestions or editorial insights. Maybe I will not agree but I will think about it. I also know that Emily Dickinson gave her editor a hard time… aren’t you glad she did !!!

Dear Lynn here comes another Autumn I can feel it and you…

The smoke filled her brown VW bug from her little pipe. It was something I never tried before. We then entered the theater to go see the 1977 horror thriller Suspira.
“Come on Holly you will love it. It is the scariest movie you will ever see.”
“Lynn where am I?”

Lynn is here. At the front door of my parents home. 1977

Lynn’s house is between the 6th and 7th hole of the local Golf course. It is a private golf course, but this did not stop the kids from playing on it. We lived in the San Fernando Valley where we played football, baseball, and golf every day. Saturday and Sundays, we sold Lemonade. I experienced many years as a child growing up with my friend Lynn. I lived a mile up the hill from her.

The best times together were when we were adolescents. We did not see each other as teenagers but Lynn did drive us to school in her brown VW Bug. We would often listen to the band Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young on car radio.

As we grew older Lynn became competitive for men, friends, and drugs. She came between many of my new friends. She would spend time together with the bullies at school sometimes as well. She had an exotic look about her. The long dark hair and dark skin made guys like her. This was extremely irritating to other girls. Yet, we were remarkably close as kids and we played with the flowers and walked home from school together on rainy days. Then there were the foggy mornings when we could not see two feet in front of us. The smell of eucalyptus trees scented our stories as we searched through the morning.

Life was so easy then. All we had to do was to get to school on time. I wonder how we did this while telling scary stories on the way to fourth grade.

One scary thing we liked to do had our fortunes told by the Ouija board. We asked everything. We knew when we were to be married, how many children we would have, and when we would die. The Ouija board even materialized a dog.

My family once had a dog named Peepers. She died a few years earlier. She was a red collie. One day while playing with the Ouija board our hands held tight on top of the planchette, the indicator below slowly spelled out Peepers on the Ouija Board. Lynn and I were spooked about this. We never contacted a person or animal that died. Later, I walked home from Lynn’s house to mine.

It was just getting dark, so I ran most of the way. To play it safe I sometimes would jump from the street and roll down the hill if I heard a car coming. No cars passed as I walked home. Instead, I saw a red collie. She looked very much like Peepers. She licked my hand and followed me home. I felt safe with her. She was sweet. When I arrived at the back door of my house my mother let me in.

“Holly, whose dog?”

“I don’t know Mom; doesn’t she look like Peepers?”

My mom tried to shoo her away. I got a bowl of water and put it outside. I looked at that dog from the window all night. The red collie was gone by morning never to be seen again.

The funniest dog adventure Lynn and I had been when a pet bulldog escaped from a neighbor’s home. We were eight or ten years old. The hills around our neighborhood were open and there were lots of trees to climb and dirt hills to dig in. We happened to be digging in the dirt when a pet bulldog came at us. Lynn and I ran away from it. I fell to the ground on a big dirt hill.

Lynn pulled me up and went underneath me. I pulled her up and went underneath her. We did this as if we were screaming and grabbing at each other and hitting each other. The dog was racing towards us and barking.

I guess it would have been something to see at a distance. Years after this event, even when times get rough between us, this story always makes us laugh. I can still see Lynn screaming and running away from the bulldog. She passed away a few years ago before her 50th birthday but this story still brings good cheer to me.

Lynn and I irritated our older brothers. They built go-carts that were so cool. We followed our brothers everywhere with their go-carts. One day they took the go-carts up to the hill we kids called big bruiser, which is the biggest hill that all the boys dared each other on. Lynn’s brother Mark and my brother Gus would not even acknowledge we were there because they knew we wanted to drive their go-carts down the hill. They kept saying no.

“Come on Mark…just one ride down big bruiser?”

“Yes, Gus you both got to let us ride them!?”

We must have watched our brothers go down big bruiser fifty times. Then they got tired and let us ride the go-carts. We were only half-way up the hill when we started out. They yelled,

“Ready set Go!”

Bang and roll and it was over. Lynn and I wiped out. It only took a few minutes, but our blood was everywhere. Lynn and I went home crying. We totaled their go-carts. That was the end of it. Gus and Mark did not talk to us for weeks.

The magic and mystery I felt growing up with Lynn is still with me. Autumn is her favorite time of year. Lynn lived her life exactly the way she wanted to. She always was joking with me even at eight years old.

“Here Holly try this. Put your nose up to it and smell it.”

“Cough, choke… what is this, Lynn?”

“Ginger Ale.”

Lets See Your Homework or Mama forgets a lot these days.

Shyane and Holly 2001

We passed Bob’s Big Boy several times on the way to school. I looked over and his eyes got bigger as we passed by.

“OK Shane we will go before the four-day Labor Day weekend. We will make it this Thursday!”

He gave me back his love looks and meowed like a kitty.

We did go yesterday, on a Thursday. It was good. A Boys Big Boy unique in this part of town. I did not even know this one was here. Later, the night came on and my husband John and older son JF were now home.

“Let’s see your homework,” said JF to Shane.

“Tomorrow is the first day of a four-day weekend. I do not have to do it,” said Shane. “

Then it got rather noisy in the house. The debate being that maybe the following weekend is the four-day holiday. All eyes turned to me. As a mama I often get blamed for these things.

“I am sure the message on the phone said this weened?” I said nervously.

“So, Shane, you have homework, ” said Jf. “Yes, I do and a test to study for.”

The house broke out into a debate once more.

I silently went to the computer, sat down in the chair, and put on my earphones. Then I thought to myself.

“This damn perimenopause…!”

Standing On Guard ?

“Come here Mr Po Po it is time for a bath!” His big blue eyes gazed into mine.

“Yes beautiful Himalayan cat, yes people smart cat. Papa and Shayne say you smell bad!”

My son named the cat after a Aminma cartoon character from Dragon Ball Z.

I put warm water, Mr Po Po and soap into the bath tub. I closed the shower door, except for a wee bit of room for me to do my scrubbing.

The wet cat did not meow or scream.

“Soak your feet white kitty” I said.

He trusted me until the bath ended. I picked Mr Po Po up and wrapped him in a towel. Mr Po Po went outside to dry.
Outside the water sprinkled everywhere in all directions as his pink tongue came out and the sunshine came down.

Standing on guard Mr Po Po’s comrades Mr Flash, Miss Football and Miss Dudea did not say a meow.

(OK this is harder than it seems…)

She Is Wearing A Gold Head-Piece

The wind held one wisp of hopeful autumn in the 100-degree weather we were having. It was a late Sunday morning. Son was already on the computer watching Star Wars. I felt uneasy about this as I put the dishes away. I made up some coffee.

“Mom, come here!”

I just sat down with my coffee and was talking to my sister on the phone and did not want to get up.

“Mom, there is someone sitting on the white chair in front of the house? He said nervously. “They are smoking?”

I looked out at the beige blinds and saw someone. I saw a person with a dark hoodie over their head smoking a cigarette. It was very strange. I was not familiar with what I was seeing.

I told my sister I had to go while thinking to myself, “maybe I am seeing a gangster?”

I dialed 911,

“We will have a police officer drive by. Please do not make contact with this person. Dial 911 if they come up and jiggle the door.”

“But…I am feeling threatened!” I said with a nervous voice.

Son and I waited about a half hour as this person slowly smoked their cigarette. Then something strange began to happen. The gangster was not wearing shoes. I saw sandals. I looked closer and then I saw purple pants.

“Mom, I think it is an older women smoking in the chair!” I then replied,

“Yes, it looks like an older woman with a hoodie over her head. Maybe I should go out and talk to her?”

“No!” son said. “She may have a knife or something, just wait until the cops get here.”

I then told my older son who was sleeping in bed. He did not break his sleep for a moment, but to say,

“A strange woman is sitting in the front yard…”

“Mom she is leaving.”

Son and I got ready to hop into the car to follow her and see where she was going. Before I got into the car I looked up the street and could see that it was a woman indeed. She was wearing a dress as well and she walked slowly. She was now at the end of the street, and I could only make out her silhouette. I then son,

“Let’s head down Main Street and then turn right and see if she is walking back to the retirement home for the elderly. I see many of these folks take walks past our house.”

“Mom, maybe she went down the alley before Main Street?”

We drove a circle around the neighborhood and up and down all the streets. The woman was gone. Son and I wondered. How could a slow-moving woman disappear so quickly? The cops arrived later. We told them the whole story.

“Maybe someone is looking for her. Maybe she is an old woman with dementia, lost?” I spoke.

The cops said they would drive around and look for her.

Now, as son and I think it over, we realize that I was a bit foolish to call the cops. What is the danger of an old woman sitting in a chair enjoying a cigarette?

“When she took her hoodie from her head she was wearing a gold headpiece, maybe like a scarf,” said son.

The only thing that now remains of the mystery lady is the cigarette- butt below the white chair. I kicked the butt aside into the green lawn because the desire to smoke one myself still pulls at me. I had a feeling as if seeing a wild thing. Sometimes wild ducks come and swim in our pool and now and then we see coyotes, possums, and raccoons. Maybe she was a wild crone?

Yes, Someone Keeps Leaving Flowers On My Front Doorsteps.

1989

It was my true days of independent living on the east coast where I learned to be truly responsible for others besides myself. I was alone living in the maid’s room converted into an apartment of a four-story lovely old Victorian house.

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“Can I buy you another coffee?”

I said to the man I called Desperado.

Walking to work I often saw Desperado. He also shared a room at the Victorian house. He hung out at the local coffee shop otherwise he hit the booze. He symbolized the furthest I have been away from California dreaming. That song synchronized embarrassment every time it played on the radio.

“All the leaves are brown, and the sky is grey. I have been for a walk on a winter’s day. I’d be safe and warm if I was in LA, California dreaming on such a winter’s day.”

Rochester, New York has humid-hot-thunder storms in the summer and freezing in the winter. Walking through tunnels made of snow made me shiver; sometimes the two native American chiefs were lying on the street. One evening they recited Edgar Allen Poe’s The Raven. Broken bottles framed around them as they shouted,

“Vainly I had sought to borrow,

From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore.”

Then they chanted together,

“We went to the best colleges in the country!”

They made me laugh.

I just listened and observed that autumn and winter. The only time my eyes lit up was when I went to the local bar. One, two, three, four shots turned upside down. Neat upside-down.

It was not to set me up for a quick date. It was a friendly gesture of east coast drunks. I felt safe here where the men danced together.

My white nurse outfit and nurse shoes took me to the untouchables of the city. I was not cared about, so I tried to care about others, those that were almost dead to the world.

One late evening while walking back to my apartment from work, a New York detective greeted me. The neighborhood was blocked off with yellow tape.

“Nurse, could you step over here I need to talk to you?”

“I am not a nurse. I work at the local Visiting Nurses Association as a Home Health Aide.”

He then asked where I lived, and I told him.

“Miss, a woman was murdered across from your home. Have you noticed anything unusual over the last few days?”

“Yes, someone keeps leaving flowers on my front doorsteps.”

He smiled, but Mr. Detective did not seem interested and then said quickly,

“A body was dumped in the large trash dumpster across from where you are now living… we need you to call this number if you see anything unusual.”

He handed me his card.

I was screaming in my head as my heart raced. Thinking to myself,

“That dark alley… the one I walk by every night?”

I had enough of serial killers on the west coast. Did they have to follow me here as well? I was not so far away from home as I imagined.

Darkness is everywhere.

Meat for the Giants

“Mom, read me a story tonight.”

“Well OK, I will read you a Grimm’s Fairy Tale.”

I opened the book to wherever the giant book of fairy tales would take me. I just happened to open the book to Ferdinand the Faithful. I sat underneath the white metal bunk bed on the red futon and began to read the story to my son.

Of course my head was racing with thoughts while reading the story to him. Tomorrow is going to be my son’s first day in middle school.

This was as strange to me as the fairy tale I was reading. Here there are talking fish and talking white horses with magic pens and keys to open up a castle standing on a heath. A heath what is that? Oh yes, a tract of open and uncultivated land.

That is what I was feeling, uncultivated land? My eleven year old is going to make a new start away from me on a new adventure, and unless I find an invisible cloak tonight to follow him, I must let him go on his journey … alone.

I am hopeful because Ferdinand made friends and they helped him along his adventure while riding his white horse. He even outsmarted the bully Ferdinand the Unfaithful.

Life is like a fairy tale. I have taught my son much of what he needs to know about life. The story helps too, it even eased the tension in me and helped my son go to sleep.

If he is honest, helpful and strong my son will have meat for the giants and bread for the birds. He will have a flute to call the fish for help.

“He, however always rode on his white horse, and once when he was seated on it, it told him that he was to go on to the heath which he knew and gallop three-times round it. And when he had done that, the white horse stood up on its hind legs, and was changed into a King’s son.”

~ Ferdinand the Faithful, Grimm’s Complete Fairy Tales. Fall River Press

A Lark down Hollywood Blvd with Marilyn Monroe

I wanted to be treated as a human being who had earned a few rights since her orphanage days.

~ Marilyn Monroe

Ruth took this picture. Holly with Flowers at 14.

The Crusstos moved into the neighborhood when I was twelve. This meant saying goodbye to my best friend Wayno who left the house they moved into.

I was sad. The neighborhood parents talked about the new neighbors John and Ruth. Later they all became good friends!

Ruth had beautiful red henna hair and a slim figure which she always showed off. I heard she once was a dancer in Las Vegas. I did not always listen to her stories.

I wish I could go back now and listen more intently. I do remember what she told me about Marilyn Monroe.

Ruth also came from a troubled past. She met Marilyn when they were living at a boarding house for young girls without families.

Ruth declared bravely,

“Norma was her name then.”

“You knew an actress like her?” I spoke.

“Norma always was a little dramatic with her gestures, she was not an actress then. We were just a couple of teenagers who liked going out on a lark.”

“What do you mean?”

“Norma and I would often break out at night and walk Hollywood Blvd and have so much fun together.”

fin

Minor Threat,The Beatles & Straight Edge~Twinkies or potato chips.

Punk Rock Colleague & Historian

Hudley Flipside

This is an embellished non-fiction memory. I am always open to comments that differ from my memories. The eighties went by fast and so much happened; besides there were countless bands we dealt with on a constant basis… my mind does play tricks on me.

(Based on my memory…some of it may be embellished by events that are merged together… Fugazi guys…. like Twinkies or potato chips).

“Black, white, green, red, Can I take my friend to bed? Pink, brown, yellow, orange, and blue, I love you.”

Humongous as it was on the wall and in my life.

All this is my way of indirectly sharing currently in this strange Beatles narrative. At the time in the 1980s the Beatles seemed so far away from my lived experience.

Now both Ian and the Beatles seem so far away from my lived experience. I can patronize them both now and so be it. I am older, wiser, and forward moving now… yet I still enjoy their eternally youthful songs, every now and then, and all together now!

When I think about the few times the Minor Threat/ Dischord boys came to visit the Flipside house, I think about how they were, such as the color of Ian’s eyes while waiting in their traveling Van. The waves crashed as we sat there not speaking. Everyone else was surfing and yes, they are a beautiful blue.

The boys wanted to go surfing with Al. I smile at the debates we had over being Straight Edge. Yes, they were Straight Edge, but the van was filled with wrappers from terrible sweets like Twinkies and cans from drinking soda. Salty potato chips too. I was not Straight Edge because I like to drink beer.

I stressed that this did not stop me from my goals or my path but eating sweets and drinking soda would kill me. We debated about crazy stuff like that.

So much time has passed, and memories come and go but what I am sharing today is a funny piece of punk rock history.

I knew that Ian MacKaye liked the Beatles. I sent him some stationery that I made up just for him. I forgot about it. A year or so later he sent me this letter with this check. I kept it all these years in a journal.

I wonder if Dischord Records or Al would mind if I cashed it now?

I wish all of us old punks stood by each other.. sadly this is not always the case..

Beer and Burlesque

Burlesque is a literary, dramatic or musical work intended to cause laughter by caricaturing the manner or spirit of serious works, or by ludicrous treatment of their subjects. The word derives from the Italian ‘burlesco’, which itself derives from the Italian burla – a joke, ridicule or mockery.

I made lunch for my husband and older son one summer day,

I announced,

“I want to take five weeks off and learn Burlesque!”

“All right, that would be great to get you out of here,”

Said my son.

My husband was silent and seemed perplexed but calm. I went on to tell them about a program in Seattle Washington that teaches Burlesque. It is for all ages. I began to tell the history of Burlesque and about Vaudeville. We happened to be watching Gypsy the 1962 musical. This film is about the famous Burlesque star Gypsy Rose Lee. They walked in on me and the film before lunch.

“I really don’t walk to hear this” said my son a couple of times.”

So, he went into the computer room to Skype out with his game-scary fiends. I then continued to talk telling my husband that as an older woman of fifty-four I think it would be curious to contact that fun and sexy side of myself again.

“Five weeks is too long,” he said.

I said with a convincing voice and with great concern,

“As a woman gets older, she becomes invisible. She is not a maiden anymore and not a grandmother-old-woman yet, and because I only have a wee bit of estrogen in my left toe, I think it would be fun to get those female juices going again?”

“But five weeks,” he said again.

I then went on to tell him that after I learn the art of Burlesque would not it be fun to open a small Burlesque house. We could have a bar that serves local microbrewery beers and even food.

I yelled!

“Hell, we could have bands play and bring back Vaudeville. We could ask comedians and acts to perform as well!!”

Then the twenty-year-old son yelled from the computer room,

“Why would you want to make a fool of yourself like that, you are insane but getting you away from here for some time would be great.”

“Five weeks is a long time,” said my husband for the third and last time.

Silence fell on the topic as my husband and I finished watching the film.

“Gypsy.”

I then said with passion,

“Ya see it is fun and they just tease. These women are interesting they are not slimy strippers that take all their clothes off in a degrading way. It is an art form… it is Burlesque. In a way it is making fun of all that in a creative way.”

The conversation stopped but I was still dreaming and thinking how fun it could be. I then whispered with a giggle and sly grin,

“Beer and Burlesque sounds good to me!!”

Two Praying Mantis non-fiction short stories.The Gossamer White Praying Mantis and The Crystal Bowl:

Praying Mantis Mandala

Gossamer White Praying Mantis

A dream:

In this dream I came upon my cat Flash trying to jump up to capture and then eat a big beautiful white Praying Mantis. She was resting on some crawling rosemary in front of the house. I was focused when the Praying Mantis spoke to me,

“Do not be concerned with me and what the cat is doing!”

I was concerned because I witnessed the eating of a few Praying Mantis this past summer.

She whispered to me,

“I am a huntress too!” Cat and I both hunt for food and that is a wild part of our nature.”

I then realized the truth of what she said. She was not afraid of my cat nor was she afraid of death.

“I know your cat. He has been hunting in this garden for many seasons, as my family has. Didn’t you see one of my babies eat a butterfly?”

I had to agree with her, and I was not pleased with that.

Then a breeze blew on us and she spread her white gossamer wings and flew away. I awoke remembering this dream.

The Crystal Bowl

When we first moved into our house I was amazed how the pesticides used created such an imbalance with the insects, birds, and animals in our garden. It took me many years to reach the balance that I have today.

We once had an avalanche of crickets and black widows galore. Yet with time I befriended the Praying Mantis.

This is a short story about my first encounter with a Praying Mantis. The Mantis has helped in the balance of our garden without pesticides.

One day while dusting the house, I dusted a big crystal bowl on the kitchen table. It was usually filled with fruit and vegetables. I looked outside the French windows and saw a big golden Praying Mantis resting on a white plastic chair.

She was gazing in the house at me. Every day throughout the summer Praying Mantis would come to visit on the chair. I did not know the focus of this Mantis’s gaze. I thought maybe me. I soon found out what it was.

A few weeks later I dusted the crystal bowl and reached behind it. I heard a loud screaming shriek. Looking with amazement I found a Praying Mantis there. I looked around and saw that the door was open to the back garden. She came into the house to be near the crystal bowl.

The light of the multifaceted crystal must have fascinated this, Mantis.

This is only the beginning of my many experiences with the Praying Mantis from my garden. I think our life together, on this planet, is about nature and the changing seasons.

She shows me the cycles of life, death and rebirth and affirms that I have nothing to fear!

The Haunting Flash Mystery

It was a late spring night leading to the hot nights of summer. Sunday at BJ’s got the old appetite going just right. Arriving at 10 pm seemed like an easy sitting for some food and a few beers, yet this was not the case. We were handed a restaurant blinker and the wait began. We went outside to wait under the night sky sitting on the red brick. We watched women in their stilettos, young men and their dates, groups of computer nerd men and happy families coming and going from the late night pub. This evening something strange happened. I did something I usually do not do. I started to scan the hotel Hilton a couple of parking lots across the way. I would say this Hilton is a 20 story high Hotel. Some nagging thoughts came to mind,

“Look at the lights in the rooms” and “I wonder if I could see any people in these rooms?”

As I scanned the now black and white hotel I realized how the rooms looked fairly empty. Some curtains were drawn and some open, a few lights on. Then one room pulled me in as a focus magnet. It grabbed me in. I could hear my family talking besides me. Yet, time blurred and I felt time slow down as well. In my view was a large big screen TV monitor which was the size of the hotel room. It was unique and the image was set back but I could tell what it was. The image was the movement of soft hues of blue and it was moving around and around in the dark room. I thought to myself,

“How strange it is to see this, There are not any other room like this one!”

Flash. I saw a flash. This flash lit up the room like an electrical storm, and then I saw the flash again and again go off. My senses were on edge and my focus was even pulled deeper not knowing at first what pulled me like water down a drain into this drama that was unfolding before my eyes. My over curious mind told me,

“I know that light, it is the flash from a camera, and it is quick and bright and blinding.”

Seconds later the lights in the room were turned on and I viewed the back of a man. No one else was in the room that I could see. He had on a white shirt with long sleeves, a black tie and he had black hair, wavy black hair. He was a husky man. The room was still dimly lit. Then he took some more shots with his camera. It looked like he was taking his pictures on his camera towards the large TV screen from different angles. The light from the room went off completely in moments. He continued to take more shots with his camera. Then it stopped. I was slightly aware of talking next to me again and of people coming and going around me. I clearly said to myself,

“This is so strange and I feel awkward about this, why am I continuing to stare?”

In another moments time he took another picture in the dark. It flashed and lit up the room. I noticed him clearly behind the flash of the camera. He was taking the shot in the direction towards the outside of the hotel room. I woke up and my mind yelled,

“What? He has turned around and is taking pictures from his hotel room of this town, of this restaurant?”

I was shocked like the electric flash of his camera.

“Has he caught me looking at him? Is he communicating to me by flashing his camera my direction?”

The room was far enough away and high enough not to catch my gaze from the inside of a hotel room. Yet in my mind I was thinking,

“Oh my, he has sensed me, he found my interest. Why is he taking these pictures, of whom is he capturing in his camera in the room? I see no one else there?”

I did not want to watch anymore so I slowly with great strength moved my stare away from the room. I noticed from my peripheral vision that the flash went off a few more times, and as my gaze stopped so did the flashes. The room faded and the restaurant’s blinker went off. Our time had come to go into the restaurant. We waited only 10 minutes, but my heart was racing from this awkward experience as we walked into BJ’s. The black and white of the night died to the warm bright colors of the pub inside and as I took my first drink of beer I let my paranoid thoughts melt away.

“Will he be waiting for us when we leave; was I a witness to something unspeakable or on the edge of the diabolical?

Unpublished Works@ Hudley Flipside June 2012