Let's Do The Time Warp Again

Anthony Brooke woke up feeling a bit groggy and disoriented.  His surroundings were not strange, but they were totally unfamiliar to him.   Something was not right .He was in bed in a small bedroom with vintage furniture (that looked brand new) .  He was still dressed as he was in his last memory of driving his Kia through Kansas to get to Wichita for a appointment the next morning.  He recalled his car suddenly failing , the engine stalling, and the lights going dark.  He looked out at the dark starry sky on this lonely road wondering how he was going to get help out in such an isolated area, and then, suddenly, he woke up to a sunny day in this house.  It was quiet.  Getting up, he looked out the window, seeing a small town in the desert. No trees.  No sounds.  He looked next door into the neighbors window.  There were people sitting at a dinette set up for a meal.  But they did not move.  The kitchen looked like something out of 1950, all turquoise and chrome.  It was like a tableau in a old Department store window.  Tony went to his kitchen.  The cabinets were all full of food , unopened.  He opened the fridge.  No light came on.  No power.  Empty.  Light switches also nonfunctional.  Walking out the front door to outside , he was puzzled finding more of the same- brand new cars just sitting idle.   People , no, mannequins of people,  standing immobile. 

Tony took out his I-Phone, having just enough  time to see there was no signal, when he heard a piercing siren coming from a tower in the center of the village.  Soon came a blinding light, horrific wind, and then... nothing.

Now, there are three things I need to relate at this juncture.  One- on May 5th 1955, 65 miles outside of Las Vegas, Nevada, a  top secret project named “Apple-2" detonated an atomic bomb from atop a tower centered in  a specially constructed model town built to evaluate the effects of an atomic explosion on a typical American community.  There is no record of anyone inadvertently left behind at the site that day, but, of course, if someone had been there, they would have been incinerated instantly .

    Two- May 4th, the evening before the blast,  there were numerous reports from pilots over Nevada, and many calls from concerned Las Vegas residents, of heightened UFO activity observed.  Accounts were dutifully recorded and filed away “Top Secret” by the military.  They remain secret to this day.

Third, and perhaps most pertinent to my story here; the question,  “How am I able to tell you all about this today? “

I know you probably have more questions , but I’m late for my ride home right now.

                                                       Perhaps... another time?  

                                   

The Gift Message

The trouble with a lot of comparisons to physical objects are too simplistic . Even the nametags are misleading like "wormhole"  or "event horizon"  It takes a physicist or Unified field theorist to get a handle and even then, not.

Some of the forward thinkers even are extrapolating metaphysics into equations . Think sort of modified Chaos Theory.

I had an experience that made me open my mind. A couple years ago my upscale Santa Cruz pals gave me a birthday present of an "alignment" with their message therapist. I am thinking "quack"  and even more, but so as not to offend them (well her anyway) I enter this place which is all new age music, bamboo plants,chimes,and dripping water . Oh, and colored lights. A grand venue for an acid trip on another occasion..  O.K, I'm in and they have me up on this table that I fear falling off from, it's so narrow. "Whew, clothes all remain on" 

I look around. About 5 other tables occupied with masseuse women in sarongs or such talking to clients as they work them with hands. I have been contracted to appointment with "major domo" or "swami," but who in touch with his modernity, likes to be called  just "Bill"  I find out he is a licensed therapist that I silently educe to myself that , in California, means he is a Sierra Club member and gives money to "Save the Whales," Oh, and he wears Birkenstocks and a "Renaissance Faire blouson shirt," But since the shirt is so loose I can see his is very muscular and has a hairy chest.  He is very good looking. He also has a voice like James Earl Jones drenched in thick molasses, hearing his telling me he is finishing another client and he will be right back with me.  Things


are looking up. Was Mary too cheap to spring for a naked message, I wonder?   

So I lie on my rickety table and let my gaze fall upon a lady on the next table and under his spell. She has jeans that are two sizes too small making me more comfortable that I will be O.K. on this table holding up for awhile.  Bill is running his fingers down her back and precipitously close to her ass crack. She lets out a little whimper every time his fingers reach their lowest travel. Oh, Hell- as he presses on, she's now moaning.  I'm now apprehensive. He finished "stuffed pants lady" to her effusive praise and gets a warm (too much so?) hug from Bill.  I smell patchouli. 

He comes to me. I ask just what this will entail and he relates that he will align my spirit energies and ascertain "blocked  points."  Will this be a "deep tissue message?"

"No, first I  will feel your energy flow and then note the nexus. "  

He begins running his hands over (not touching)  my back .  I feel no disruption to my "energy flow"   It's like Reiki but I don't ask cause I don't want to seem ignorant.

Bill asks " Is this O.K. with you so far?"

As long as you don't touch my ass crack, I'm all good."  

"I sense your resistance to this . Are you a skeptic"

"Oh, yes." 

"That's O.K... It would make it a better experience for you if you could relax."

"I'm sorry I just see no science in this, it's all a baseless tribal ceremony for money in my book. I don't want to offend you as disrespectful but I disbelieve, and am feeling nothing from this, other than discomfort"

"I understand , as your first session I am really doing what would be a metaphysical determination as a basis for future therapy. We'll do this at your comfort level. O.K.?"

At this point with "metaphysical" entering  the talk, a dialogue begins. He tells me he is working with Stanford University physicists in experiments on the relation of metaphysical to physical .Holy shit.  Now I'm interested and explore what he is saying. He uses a example of having a MRI. The pounding generates magnetic waves , at first of such electrical intensity, that they vibrate the whole body - tissue, and bone. The actually align the flow in a directional linear filed much as a laser makes coherent light.  Geez, Bill isn't at all a nitwit.   When the body is aligned in charge, the MRI machine bombards with different varying vibrations that disrupt the electrical charge alignments and creates a distortion that can be displayed as an X ray can.These varying frequencies actually create an image that can be read by trained professionals.

He goes on that these measurable magnetic resonances can be extended to "see" physical operations, and his work is in that area determining if "affliction" can be visualized by disruptions in the body's magnetic fields.  The University theorists are working to determine if this is phenomena that can be measured.  He uses the example of how animals can "sense"  a carcinoma , a blood disease, or other event. This is where the metaphysical side enters in.

In the end I see a gimmer of light that is cutting edge for now, but no longer to me a silly dalliance of  the wealthy .While I would not go back fir more, I had to admit this sent me to thinking. I don't think, however that I got a $450 revelation out of it . Now perhaps, if there was a naked option on this therapist , I'd be all in .  Seriously it made me realize I need to keep an open mind about the unknown and there may, (correction; "can") be connections and causality beyond conventional thinking.  

So I am more open to certain people touching my ass crack at the very least !

Is this 500 words?

Varian Gamma machine treatment video

Unmitigated Anger

A barrage of vile bile pours forth from my keyboard in my letters to the editor, whether taking out some climate denier,  castigating drivers speeding to pass me and cut me off as the lane narrows in a construction zone.  Taking all to task and eviscerating them all for their indiscretions, impositions and plain rudeness , afflicting the quality of my life.  And then, after finishing my vicious invectives, placing them in an envelope,  thinking about them and my reactions...  then throwing them all  into the trash?

Oh Hell no,no, NO- I pound on upside down flag stamps and get those suckers into the mail pronto, in my maelstrom of vented anger.

One of the grand rewards in creeping curmedgeonism is the release from throttles and safeguards of propriety and constraint .  It is but small compensation for having to get up to pee every two hours in the night.   No longer shackled by the bonds of “political correctness,” I am freed to gambol freely in fields of outrage, indignation, and  vented anger.

A barrage of cabbage induced flatulence clouding toward the damned kid who will not stop kicking the back of my seat on a seven hour flight to London.  Take that, you little rug rat !

To the woman with a Las Vegas buffet piled cart,  in the 15 items or less grocery line, flipping thru her double cross- indexed partitioned portfolio of coupons delaying further  the long line (in which I take up the rear) growing behind her dalliance, I loudly inquire - “I guess you pretty much slept thru remedial math in your school, huh?”

Reserved for the jock oaf who pushes past me in my actuated handicapped door entrance- the new knowledge that I have become very adept at my cane insertion between rapidly moving past me ankles.

That vexing child who was a endearing precious precocious darling at 4 and now has become a snotty loudmouth tedium at eight, insinuated by doting parents into ADULT gatherings, will surely enjoy the hades hot capsaicin-laced treats especially destined by me for her Halloween basket.

For the troll who flashes me in the restroom of the convention I am attending, the flip comeuppance, “Yes, it has a cute resemblance to a penis, only smaller.”

And to the “augmented” eye candy offending an entire Wal Mart in her straining top and barely confining pair of fushia spandex leggings (forever staining my gay fashion sensibilities) - “ I must compliment you on your outfit dear, it’s too bad they didn’t have it in your size.

Yes, the freedom of being able to direct all this bad energy into the ether is soothingly cathartic.

But, surely you do realize I am not capable of any of this at all, don’t you?  I’m w-a-y too much a wuss.  Condemned to my stifled  life of “grin and bear it.”

And this is what  REALLY pisses me off !

  Old Man Wendt 470 words

Best Weddings

# 1 Best Wedding- I forget her name but she was the daughter of a privately held Fortune 500 Company . Dad had died and Mother was heir and arranged her wedding to a Greek shipping Company President’s son.  My Company VP knew her but I was tasked with her honeymoon so I got a wedding invite.  Honeymoon was Concorde to Paris , then private jet to Nice a week at  Hotel Du Cap, Private jet to Rome, boarding a Silversea cruise of the Med 14 days.  On the cruise two things that were hard.- One Mom wanted 4 dozen hot pink roses at every port.  Europe has red roses, white roses, yellow roses, white roses and even pink roses, but NOT hot pink roses which are a US product.  So I had to arrange a foreign expediter to work with the florist I found .  Besides the customs issues, I had to arrange fresh timed for arrival at each destination port and make sure the flowers were in a refrigerated truck.  Each port shipment was thousands of dollars . O.K. second problem the Greek groom was 6'7" and didn’t fit in the standard king cruise bedding which is usually two queens together.  Not only did I have to find a custom mattress maker but regulations are strict about a marine certified mattress by the Europe Maritime commission.  So I had to find a custom ship EU Maritime certified  mattress maker that had experience helping to get it shipped to the boat and coordiate the whole thing with the Cruise Line and get it taken off the ship after ( Mom thankfully didn’t want it shipped back to the Us, so I had to get it off loaded by a salvage company) .  That cost her a pretty coin.

The actual wedding.Mom is based in Atlanta but chose Chicago for the reception. Ritz Carlton Ballroom .Respectable enough but “Mom” didn’t like the drapery fabric and the banquet chair upholstery, so she had designer fabric made for all the ballroom floor to ceiling windows .  I forget who but I think it was Ralph Lauren.  She also had the cahir upholstered in matching fabric.  Thank God that all was done by the wedding planner ( Who had totake it all down and put back the original fabrics

It went off well .  I heard she offered a big tip but Jeff said “no”  

Ritz Carlton Chicago Ballroom

# 2 best wedding.  My bosses daughter wedding at the Intercontinental Hotel Michigan Avenue.  Marriage in the ballroom and then out to an ante room for appetizers and Hors d'oeuvres.  It was set up with different stations .  There was a
“Homestyle” which had burgers, Mac n Cheese, Chicago style hot dogs, fries .  A frensh station with braised scallops, escargot, lamb lollipops, stuffed mushrooms, and asparagus stuffed puff pastries. An Italian station with mini pizzas, prosciutto wrapped melon, Salami and fig crostini, and Caprese salad cups.  And finally a Chinese table with egg rolls, cocunut shrimp, won ton and plum sauce, and potstickers.  

Then back into the rearranged ballroom lit on two levels with candles, an orchestra on stage with two vocalists and three gorgeous women violinists.  A multi course dinner was served with breaks for the talent and dancing.   At the end a sumptious Jewish dessert table laden with unimaginable treats.  It all was black tie and I heard that ll the Michigan Avenue boutiques were sold out of designer gowns

Fame

I only learned about “Street Fare Journal “ after the fact.  It wasn’t as much a “publication,   like a book,  but rather 102 11x28" typeset posters/placards of opaque black with translucent white lettering, that were placed in the above seat advertising slots on elevated trains and busses.  It started in 1984 and ran to 1997 in major US Cities,"arguably the largest and most successful public art program in U.S. history, delivering striking combinations of literature and visual art to an estimated 15 million riders daily in 16 major cities.  This story involves one of the first ever put up.

In 1984 , travelling on a Chicago Transit bus on a cold morning, I saw this poem slotted in on the lighted advertising banner on my #56 bus.  I was immediately drawn to the message.  It was a poem entitled “Fame” by Evanston (Chicago collar city) poet John Dickson 1916- 2009.  I immediately knew I could not live without this poem in my life.  It was right by the rear exit door.  Upon leaving the bus, I purloined the placard slipping it out of the retaining slots and putting inside my coat by my chest like a protected treasure.  

That poem resided in my home bathroom translucent paneled ceiling for almost 25 years, until I moved. I only had to look up to read it.  Now, it is in the kitchen window of my farm home , where it catches the light right in front of me as I stand at the sink.  Getting a bit scratched in the 35 years I have had it, it still provides inspiration to me and remains my favorite poem ever.
Every fall I am even more reminded of its meaningful message.  I have included the original here along with a more attractive readable version from Dickson's (now out of print) volume

So , here is the full powerful little poem that I have lived with for so many years- "Fame"

Daniela Mercury

CLARÍN  The New York Times International Weekly
Brazil

Daniela Mercury, a hurricane of music and ideas
In addition to experimenting with new rhythms, the singer has emerged as one of President Jair Bolsonaro's most visible opponents

The Afro-Brazilian traditions of Salvador de Bahia are the root of the music of Daniela Mercury (Nathaniel Wood for The New York Times).

By JAMES GAVIN

Watching a show by singer and dancer Daniela Mercury, one of Brazil's top stars for almost 30 years, is to immerse yourself in a hyper energetic fantasy of her hometown, Salvador de Bahia, possibly the most African city outside of Africa. The stage is filled with dancers dressed in Afro-Brazilian costumes; the drummers sound the axé rhythms, the native percussive pop of Salvador that Mercury made famous.
Almost all the letters have messages against discrimination, tolerance, women's rights, maintaining internal strength. These feelings resonate more deeply than ever now that Brazil is going through one of the most divided times in its history in political matters.
"Brazilian society is fighting for democracy, fighting authoritarianism and fighting
 for education," said Mercury, 54. “We have to fight to defend nature, indigenous people, minorities. Human rights. It's very important".
To that end, Mercury is a Goodwill Ambassador of the United Nations Children's Fund and a UN Equality Champion. In 2018, he helped lead a social media campaign, #EleNao (# ÉlNo), before the election of Brazil's far-right president, Jair Bolsonaro. Many of his followers boycotted her with her own hashtag, #ElaNao (#EllaNo).
Five years earlier, Mercury, who has an ex-husband and two children, declared herself a lesbian and married Malu Verçosa, a journalist. This year, the couple spoke in favor of gay rights at the National Congress in Brasilia. They finished their speech with a kiss.
Mercury retains tremendous support; Last year, about 1.5 million people saw her at the San Pablo Carnival and toured the United States this summer.
When I was a child in Salvador, Mercury was immersed in dance. He learned it from local black students, from candomblé practitioners, Afro-Brazilian ritualistic religion, and in dance classes.
Mercury was fascinated with the Afro blocos, drummers from the neighborhoods of Salvador with a social mindset. From them arose the axé, that fused the samba, the reggae and other African, Brazilian and Caribbean rhythms.
After directing his own band, he became a soloist. His second album, "O Canto da Cidade" ("The Song of the City") released in 1992, produced four number 1 Brazilian singles and presented the axé to a national audience.
Mercury is experimenting with purer musical forms. Its electropop sound has practically disappeared. On a tour in 2016, he performed his hits only with voice and acoustic guitar.
Meanwhile, it continues to cause controversy, sometimes unintentionally. Last December he released a video, "Black Panther Deusa" ("Black Panther Goddess"). Mercury sings about "The only race / the human race," and adds: "Brazil is black / And white is black / And the Indian is black." Then he sings: "The beauty and sounds of infinity are from Africa."
Weeks later, Larissa Luz, a young singer and black actress from Salvador, made accusations of cultural appropriation, announcing to her fans: “Who is black is black. Who is not, is not. This music is ours! ” People on the Internet labeled Mercury as the target of those statements, which Luz denied.
In all these conflicts, Mercury said, she strives to remain calm. "The problem is never just government, it's society," he said. "But we need to talk about this in an educated way, fight in a civilized way, anything else is brutality."

TWISTED

Such a darling thing. Wrapped in this precious softness of pastels- pink, yellow and white duckies and encircling blue background, blissfully asleep, unaware of ensuing salvation.  Oblivious to uncaring wretched parents who care not for their spawn.  Undeserving custodians.  Leaving this  pinked cheek, moist lipped, curling eyelash, wispy golden haired child, to stinking bake, left in locked car, in scorching summer sun, while the driver shops.   I walk away to the sounds of people coming and going in titanium tubes roaring away in blissful ignorance of the coming of angels down below them.  His will be done.

How dare they, He or she, these shit stained mongrels from Hell, think that their luck in making this beautiful thing is the end of responsibility.  They are damned and should be regarded as scabs on society.  There is no justice in their creating this small blessing , only to let it languish to death.  They should be punished for this travesty.  The reward of a child so carelessly left like this, when so many spend sleepless nights mourning the inability to have such wishes for a child unfulfilled can be called reckless. Something needs to be done.  The needs to be some atoning action. I feel the very Voice of God telling me there needs to be retribution.  These parents must be accounted for to set the scales even again.  I am directed. It is my commanded destiny.

I  jacked the car door open and took this sweet smelling thing of rosy cheeks and silent slumber from the SUV  in the Orchard Mall parking lot , and I drove away,  motion lulling the child to further sleep.  To O’Hare Airport. Long term parking.  I looked upon the designated altar of the Lord,  a 2011 Corvette.  Red.  Large rear window through which my parcel of divine intervention could lay in display to Heaven,  reflecting the baking sun amidst automotive congregation in this asphalt sea .  Through jacked open door, I laid my offering into the hands of God in that Corvette. The child  began to feel discomfort that I knew would grow, so that the coroner would report resounding torture before there was a eternal peace.  A torture that the biologics would feel  ten-fold as aghast grief for their dammed offense.  Karma. They would know the consequences of affront to God.  The wages of sin is death.  ‘Inevitable’ I thought as I drove home.

Presently, I am happy  knowing things have been put right.  The scales are balanced. There is Justice.  I know this as I see her now; her name is Nancy Cardwell, damned bitch; on my TV; all crocodile tears and phony remorse, reporters asking how she feels and how horrific it all is.  I remain content to know in time she will feel real pain. It will haunt her as it should.  As I watch in fascination, "breaking news,” it pleases me that I have done this in the Lord’s name.  Justifiable destiny-  Every channel repeatedly extolls that I am but penitent servant.  They use the term “twisted.”  “Hah, little do they understand what has transpired.”  I am calm .  Divine intervention .  His will has been done   Amen.

Breaking news

Police discovered an unattended child left in a SUV in the Orchard Mall parking lot Tuesday afternoon at 2pm.  The temperature outside was 92°, but inside the vehicle it was 115°.  Sargent Tyler Tribe reported freeing the infant was a fortunate circumstance as the child would have soon perished.  Mother Nancy Cardwell, in tears, reported to police she had just gone to pick up a few things and her mind was diverted in forgetting to take her child .  Tribe stated that Cardwell will be charged with child endangerment and neglect.  A bystander who had called the police reported that she saw a man intently looking into the car, but that he rapidly moved on when she asked what he was doing.  As the SUV was discovered by police to be locked when they arrived, no further action in this regard will be taken .  This makes the fourth incident of leaving a young child in a car in hot sun this summer.  Police caution drivers must take care that their vehicle be vacated totally, including pets, before leaving it parked and locked on a hot day because the temperature in a closed car rises rapidly with lethal consequences

Early  Tuesday evening, Ted Morgan and Ulysses Jefferson were in the O’Hare Airport Security Office’s lockeroom relating to other workers an amusing (to them) story of getting a call to investigate a complaint made by a Jerome McGinty, who, upon returning from a 2 week business seminar in Denver on Tuesday discovered a dead cat on the parcel shelf behind the seats and under the window of his red 2011 Corvette Stingray.  Morgan related that the car was locked , and nothing had been stolen or otherwise vandalized. They said McGinty old them he had never owned a cat and would have seen if one had entered his car either at home when he left, or when he got put at the Airport two weeks ago, so he had no idea how it got there.  When asked if he wanted to file a report, McGinty told them “no,” being anxious to get home.  Ted and Ulysses were also at shifts end and didn’t want to stay over filling out what they knew would be loads of copious paperwork, so they took out and disposed of the cat and let McGinty go on his way.  They laughed that it had to be a long ride home for McGinty with the windows open to rid his car of that awful stench !  The entire matter was forgotten in a few days

Thursday morning residents of the 3000 block of Old Glenview Road in Wilmette found the utility poles and trees in their neighborhood plastered with small posters offering reward for information or sighting of a (pictured) cat “Snuggles,” a mottled tan Abyssinian cat owned by Saundra Stein who lived on that street. The animal had disappeared sometime after Late Tuesday afternoon. Miss Stein was perplexed as Snuggles rarely left his repose on her front porch enjoying a sunny spot.  She didn’t realize that she would never again see Snuggles.

-Jerry Wendt 2019

Talia's (Jerry) Greek Salad

Talia’s Greek Salad
Ingredients:
Large Finocchio (fennel) bulb with reserved fronds, thin sliced to crescents
large red onion thin sliced to crescents
10 oz jar pitted Castelvetrano olives whole
10 oz jar pitted Greek Kalamata olives whole
2- 14 oz cans baby artichoke hearts
2-  6 oz tubs crumbled feta cheese
1 ½ lounds 80-90 count salad shrimp
4 oz large capers
2 large carrots , peeled, sliced into discs and steamed semi soft
1 yellow bell pepper, diced
1 orange bell pepper, diced
1 large English cucumber, peeled and sliced 1/4 inch slices
2 cups cherry tomatoes ( I used a rainbow menage)

½ cup snipped fennel fronds 

Mix all together in large bowl

serve with dressing below and Braided Challah bread with sesame seeds

My signature Isoelectric dressing
( originated from winemaker Martin Ray via his enologist Dr Edward Wawkiewicz, who swore me to non disclosure until after his death which was 2011) ingredients may be doubled or tripled

12 oz (can) Carnation Evaporated Milk ( NOT sweetened condensed)
12 OZ KRAFT Mayonnaise ( MUST be KRAFT as it alone has proper PH)
1/4 cup fresh squeezed lemon juice
fresh ground pepper (I used Pohnpei peppercorns  from Micronesia)
With mixer on high, mix together milk and Mayo

grind pepper over top to cover surface densely

Mix in well

second pepper grind over top

Mix again

third pepper grind over top

Mix again

With mixer on, drizzle in lemon juice until dressing congeals to creamy consistency
Place in fridge overnight


This dressing is versatile .  It becomes creamy and can be served hot or cold.  It can be infused with herbs (like tarragon, thyme, dill, or cilantro) and can be finished off with Paprika.  It is superb over asparagus , fish or crab and even summer melon. 

-Jerry Wendt July 2019

Recipe is called "Talia's Dressing" as Talia was part of the story I wrote and dedicated to Doris Stanek reading it  July 28th 2019.Talia made the salad in he story and so as she is my dramatic creation ,the salad was actually my real assemblage.

The Fabulous Wallendas

My Fabulous Wallendas

Being much too tired to clean up after my dinner party; I arose the next day to complete the necessary housekeeping chores. On the kitchen tabletop, I noticed the candy dish I always keep full was completely empty.  “They must really have a sweet tooth,” I thought, and went on to dishwashing.  When next I saw the previously invited friends, I jokingly asked them if I was remiss in not feeding them enough at dinner because, after all my food, they still had to raid the candy dish.  One demurred, saying they hadn’t eaten any candy. One admitted to one piece and the third accused the fourth of being the glutton.  I forgot the incident.

One week later; another dinner party.  Several of the same crowd.  Same scenario.  The candy dish was again empty the next day.  This was bothering me.  The next time we gathered I made a point of asking who was hitting my candy dish so hard.  This time one guest was miffed and said she hadn’t eaten any, “but if I didn’t want it eaten, why did I put it out?”  Another denied any indulgence and said maybe I had mice.

“Silly, silly, silly,” I thought, “The table sits in the center of the kitchen. No mouse could reach it from the side countertops. It is on a pedestal, so even if a mouse could climb the leg, it would be unable to climb upside down on the table bottom to get to the top where the dish was. And there were no candy wrappers in evidence.  Only a wrought iron chandelier is situated above the table and there would be no access from that unless the mice were trapeze artists.”  This was a dilemma.
The following week I had no social events at all.  Yet, the candy dish again appeared empty after one night.  “Was I sleep eating?” I questioned myself, “this is really strange.”

In preparation for my next dinner, I pulled the pan drawer under the range open to get out a sauté pan.  I saw a glint as I pulled out the pan and shards of gold were revealed to me.  “What the...,” I exclaimed, immediately recognizing candy wrappers. As I remove more pans and covers, I see the drawer is full of candy wrappers, all torn and shredded.

I have mice!  Not much of a revelation living in an old farm house. They come seeking warmth.  But how are they getting onto the table and then getting the candy out of the dish and dragged across the floor, under the stove, and into that drawer?

I decide that I must have the Wallenda family of mice. The troupe must be swinging on a spider silk rigged trapeze across the table top, swiping up candy and handing it off to another grounded partner.  A veritable nighttime circus.  Of course, spoiler friends reveal mice are capable of climbing upon the side chairs and jumping three feet across to the table.  It’s still a major feat to get that candy out of the dish and down on the floor and quite a distance to drag each piece across the floor to hide it in their under-stove banquet hall. Not to mention they have to do this numerous times to empty that dish. 
I choose instead to regale myself with the visions of my graceful mice in little sequined leotards, swinging and swooping netless in a nighttime extravaganza of circus acrobatics.  My very own Wallenda mice.  However, I am very protective of my candy. The family has had to sacrifice members of the team to my own peanut butter temptation devices. The Wallendas are a big family.  The count stands at 10 and my candy dish remains full.

©Jerry Wendt 2011

Visiting Mona

I was determined but very much fearing the unknown.  It was April 1972, and my first ever trip abroad. Alone.  I had a very ambitious itinerary and much wide eyed anticipation, but, like going off to college years before, there were nagging worries about coping with a very big world out there all by myself. 

I boarded TWA 770 at O’Hare nonstop to London.  This was an auspicious beginning, coddled in first class with Chateaubriand , ice cream sundaes , and alcohol to mollify any trepidations ...until we landed early morning. Then into the hubbub of Heathrow, taxi downtown, and getting situated at the Grosvenor Hotel in Mayfair. Getting my clock reset to a 6 hour time difference, I went to bed, setting off the next morning on my grand adventure.  London Tower, Westminster, St Paul's, Harrods; all had my neck aching from all the gawking, but it  went exceedingly well  exploring the captivating city.

Onward on BEA ( aspic of quail eggs inflight breakfast- UGH ) to Amsterdam where I guested at the famous Amstel Hotel and was guided about the area by Dutch friends of my back home co-worker, Anita.  Spring blooming Keukenhof gardens and Volendam, Rijksmuseum, Chinese food downtown, and making new friends made for another grand adventure there.

Next was Dusseldorf to visit Werner, a friend who was earlier exchange student back  in high school.  Werner was an activist/artist living in the old bombed out district of  town.  It was an artists garret he shared with a Lufthansa stewardess who was also a mountain climber ( Like Mt Everest kind of climber) .  We did a street protest, watched the Apollo 16  lunar landing at a tavern ( where, as American, I was the center of attention to an awed crowd.) Poetry slams in German, new wave music and beers were part of this segment; but mostly it was about a hamster.  Werner had no gas service in this old part of town.  He had a old stove but it was nonoperational and they used it as domicile for girlfriend’s pet hamster.  The hamster was let out to play in the morning and it evidently shat upon my toast when I was distracted. By the next day I was caught in the throes of stomach distress.  But I pushed onward on a short flight to Paris. 

I have no idea how I managed to get myself to the noted Hotel Meurice on Avenue George V, overlooking the Gardens Tuileries.  This 5 star landmark immediately responded to my distress, dispatching the house physician to my suite.  He give me some meds and proscribed two days of bed rest and fluids.  So, my first spring visit to glorious Paris in a grand suite with a balcony overlooking the Louvre and Gardens, was spent lying in a sweat reeking couche and spending a lot of time in the salle de bains. By the third day I was queasy, but much better, ordering some toast and tea.  Being a five star hotel, each floor had a room service kitchen that produced a feast served by two liveried waiters while sitting in my stinking bedclothes.  As sumptuous as it was, my delicate stomach allowed only for the toast and tea.  But I showered , dressed and set out determined to see what I could of this “City of Light” in full springtime bloom in my remaining few days. 

Being so close, I set forth to the Louvre.  A period structure more like a labyrinth than museum, I strolled and marveled- so much beauty, that I had almost become numbed after awhile.  I was about to leave when I turned a corner, and, all alone in a gallery was one painting, inside a bulletproof plastic box with humidity control and surrounded by roped stanchions preventing closer inspection.  Here was “Mona.”  There were surprisingly few people there along with me. 

I was saddened.  This famous icon had but a solitary sentinel in her dark room, alone, with this glorious blossoming city outside.  Yet, she smiled in knowing enigma.  Much, much smaller than I had imagined , her simple countenance was overtaken by this huge ornate frame unbefitting her simple purity.   Maybe it was overwhelming awe, but my memory of that moment recalls thinking of pity; that this famous woman was imprisoned for eternity , unable to let her smile escape to fullness , captured for all time as a frozen object of adoration .  I was transfixed in remorse.  I stood for some moments, until a German tour group boisterously destroyed my mood.  Having no further use for roaming the Louvre (That would wait until my next visit years later,)  I went outside and taxied over to the Eiffel Tower area to roam in the spring color of Champs-de-Mars gardens before a lovely early dinner and show at the Lido de Paris .

Next morning up and hotel limo to DeGaulle for TWA 707  Ambassador service  back to the US. I was still trying to sort out my feelings of  Mona Lisa.  She was not at all what I expected, but she sure  had left a lasting impression.

-Jerry Wendt 2019