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For Asher (2009 - 2026)

Great use of words that laugh of yours Could ring within me for a week The ramblings and hypotheses Unique thoughts that you would speak Latest of trends the jokes and games From a stone that just kept rolling Though in the idle moods I knew The gears were always whirling You spoke in a code echoed a room Some kind of constant fidget spinner Who will now chuckle up at me For the time I upchucked dinner There was that one day in a store When you knocked over displays I said out loud you weren't with me Then we swiftly walked away A word scrawled on a dumpster Cracked our funny bones with glee It spoke to us far more than Art in a next door gallery Saying "squishy-fishy" on repeat Is now lodged into my brain We were on the way to the zoo Just one of many such refrain Odd reflections in a window Sad balloons stuck in a branch Hunched over our creations The gift of life in just a glance

(May 2026)

Football Logo as Fan Folk Art

It's in cherry red on the side of a small white shed along a low stretch in north-central Missouri farmland. I bet nobody had it on their to-do list. But that's okay. For decades now I've found it endearing - that hand painted logo. Decades has a personal "ancient" ring to it. It's rendered endearingly sloppy, and likely from memory, of a brand one's praised a particular allegiance to by proximity of place, and thousands of times. Seasonably. Annually. Highs and Lows. Maybe it fades on an old t-shirt to wash the crud off the car. My forever intent to snap a photo while at the stop sign where a roly blacktop spills into a hwy - a decent and unblurred image - had eluded me until now. This time I prepped for it a half-mile out. This time I was not behind the wheel. This time I did not internalize, "Another missed photo opportunity." Who says this to themselves? Apparently, I do. Some shoot from the hip. And some shoot with a shifted hip in the backseat of a cousin's car. I'm guilty of both. It is now done. Buttoned up into the files of a phone. This is where it lives now. At least until I know where to put it. From there I was content, insistent on emptying a sleeve of half-day old M&Ms, spying herds of deer grazing in golden hour fenced in corners of fields as if right on schedule. All while in-between countless tries at capturing the sun in how I was actually seeing it. Sloppy. Still-born. Yet worn. It's just that the memory has the better production value.

(01-17-2026)

On the Old Tube TV With the Huge Switch-Knobs

Graduation party inside the high school home economics room. Orange plastic chairs stacked in a corner. There's a photo album left sitting out and I begin to flip. I see my parents' house. I'm invested now after slipping away from the group movie night. I just wanted to watch it alone on the old tube TV with the huge switch-knobs. I began to write something. The thoughts/words were spilling. No strainer. I ended up going to a picnic table outside next to the driveway. More privacy, I guess? However, I made a detour through my childhood bedroom. An older man (a friend of my folks now long deceased) commented how it must be nice to be young and have money and so many nice things. I said that I was a collector and how that was not as a result of money nor want of "nice" things. I left the room. He frustrated me and my mind needed focus. I was still writing frantically, tearing out tiny blank paper scraps to make fresh blank full pages in my little notebook nearly filled up with writing, page after page. The results were in a pile on the table. I was trying to make detailed notes to myself regarding retrieval of the photo album, a big trash bag of clothes and something else that was important. A blue four door Chevrolet sedan pulls up and a kid jumps out. He must be about eighteen. There's two older women and a younger kid. The youngest must be six. I'm assuming the two boys are brothers. I turn to go inside as I wanted peace. Very hard to come by at the moment. They seemed interested in the history of the property. I said I didn't grow up there but that it was my parents place. I was just visiting. I turned and then heard commotion. A scuffle. Apparently, the older kid had just now stabbed the younger kid with a knife! I hadn't seen it as my back was turned, but it really alarmed me. The older kid threw the knife on the ground. He said the little kid was bugging him. Reason to stab him? He turned toward me and I saw the little kid pick the knife up and suddenly jam it in the big kid's back. I said, "That's it! I'm calling the cops!" as I lingered in the doorway of the house. However, something told me that I didn't have a shirt on, despite having one on earlier. I wanted to get a shirt on before making any calls. I then wrestled with even calling the cops as it would mean I'd have to make a statement and likely go "downtown" to talk for hours and hours as a witness and my whole night would be ruined when all I wanted to do was write and watch a movie by myself. My whole class was somewhere at the house watching the movie altogether. Anyway, I did not go inside for my shirt. I went back to the table but I could not find my things. Thankfully, I realized my shirt was already on (phew) but my things (mostly the scraps of paper) were shoved off the table and scattered in the grass. I was furiou. Assuming they were to blame, I told the two women and two kids that this was unacceptable. I was going to call the cops now! The older kid rushed towards me, pulled the knife from his back, waved it about and said, "You go ahead now and call the cops! I dare you!"

(June 2024)

Probably Problematic

The kid crawled over on the patch of public grass (the smallest of National Parks) to put a fistful of earthworms next to me. Why ME? I'm minding my own business. On vacation. I still can't think about visiting Howard Finster's Paradise Gardens without that little "Hey! Mister!" kid following me around in areas that were not exactly structurally sound. No waiver was signed. I was constantly trying to ditch that kid! Here we go again. Worms now. When will it stop? Some, the circumference of a pack of Lifesavers. Dang. These worms eat good. I was sitting on the ground and I never get comfortable sitting on the ground. I also hated Duck Duck Goose. I'm not a fan of most games played with others. Now, this. Not the worms ... as for the worms I am much obliged. Worms are cool. If the credits had been just worms, then so be it. As a child there was a spot in the woods, just over the fence, where we could barely scrape and a whole seepage of wigglers would arrive. That was then. Simpler times, so they say. Rather, it's the child here in front of me now that I can't quite get behind. I'm nervous. Whose kid even is this? Like keeping a loose kid or cat from running into traffic, I felt a strange responsibility as a man of a certain age. Instincts. Guilt. Ethics. Good citizenry. Getting caught on camera. Call it what you will. So, there we sat. But I soon began to worry about this kid sitting next to me. Should I try to match him up with the various pockets of people around me? People just minding their leisurely business like I just was? To top it off, I'd be bringing worms into the equation! Also, would someone accuse me of stealing this kid? NO. Absolutely not. Time is passing. My vacation will be over before I know it. The grass beneath me was forming a mo(i)st perfect impression of worrisome buttocks. There is a small woman walking around a little anxiously. I wonder if she belongs to this kid, and the kid to her. She scoops it up. The kid. No questions asked. They seem like a match! No longer my problem! Phew. Dodged a huge one. But now I must interact and make small talk. Okay, this may be worse. I'm actually less equipped to make small talk with grown people. We poke around in the variety pile of worms the kid had gifted me. Why not? I mean, the conversation invites itself: WORMS, huh? The kid still clutched them ... and I mean clutched to the point some bits of worm were breaking off, creating even more worms. He was destroying and creating all in one. Biblical! A few worm pieces spilled to the ground, their natural habitat. Can you imagine (your whole) being clutched in a child's hand? And here I detest the backs of sticky church pews. Let me grasp worms on the other six days, I guess? With an update in company around my own age, a couple of these worms now looked like suggestive lady parts (I dared not say this out loud but I'm pretty sure we were both thinking it) and we both determine them to be leeches, not worms, and leave them be. She asked what other kinds of animals were native to this park. I shrugged and said, "Rattlesnakes." I then became concerned because we were lounging in the grass. There could be snakes everywhere. Thankfully, we were not in Texas. However, she thought this was awesome and started poking around the shrubbery. What a lunatic! I then directed her attention to a medium-sized, much more manageable (I think), creature on a bare patch of the lawn, "They also have lizards."

(11-11-2024)

A Couple From One Year Ago

At the beach. Joe is sitting in a hand-scooped hole. Suddenly, a tiger "springs" out underneath him! Joe instantly "springs" a good 50 feet into the air, crashes and collapses heavily on his side in the sand. He is a crumpled mass, yet still breathing. Naturally, we are all frightened and humored greatly. Pretty sure I spill my lemonade and possibly soil myself. The tiger is our least concern. It ran down the coast and is someone else's problem by now. Oh, and Joe seems okay.

(Feb. 2025)

. . .

Found a snake by the side of the road at a state park. An extremely BIG snake that sorta floats on top of the tall prairie grass in the ditch. Not to mention it was dragging a large corpse tightly wrapped like a mummy/spider's prey. Could've been a horse. Most likely a large man. Not a lot of horses in these parts. I had to scare-scamper up an embankment. I move quickly when curiously startled. This one (embankment) had some eroded rocks per the blacktop road curve-carved into it. Not a big road, just a passing through variety in the park. You know, to look at the landscape and spot large snakes, I guess? But its weeds had been freshly whacked. I found a proudness in the look of this land. I turned around to watch the snake float into the distance, still dragging its stickless bindle of supposed bloat. I rubbed a "whatever" from my hands, shrugged, and followed my nose to a cookout about 25 yards to the southeast. More hungry for food than telling what I just saw, I didn't say much.

(Feb. 2025)

Undisclosed Location. Undisclosed Age (But somewhere in Missouri. Somewhere Between Boys and Young Men).

You and I are stretched out on the carpet (bellies-down, and in our blue jeans) in front of a bulky 1970s-'80s cabinet/console television on a Saturday morning. We're buzzing - Saturday mornings rule! During a cartoon commercial break (undisclosed show) the energy in the room suddenly shifts, and now even better than it already was. We hear the most righteous music pumping out of the black fabric covered TV speakers. As if creeping in for the kill, we crawl on elbows to inch closer to the TV in excitement. We look at each other. What IS this? It's an ad for a concert coming to town. It's a group called Bruce Springsteen & The E Street Band. Multiple camera views and a highlight montage of an amazing live concert are flashing on screen. It looks incredible! What happens next can't be helped. We weep tears of complete joy and inspiration.

(03-25-2025)

Travel Notes: KS-OK-TX (Front & Back) | April 2024

#travelnotes #typography

2024.01.02

Gas pump said membership expired but after some anxious button mashing, and restarts, it still allowed a fill-up. At least one more until I paid my dues. I looked at the card, a photo of the member in a silly hat. I don't recognize this member. It didn't ask me if I wanted a printed receipt, as I always hit NO, it just assumed so, and the spitting noise emitted caused a spark in me to glitch. Something had changed, and not the number on the year's jersey. The screen's words now in ink tell me to renew my membership. Car in front of me did not stop at the tracks like the red light sign said to. I always stop at the tracks. I always think of "Blood on the Tracks." Cleaner at USPS grunted a reluctant "'morning." in response to my sitcom entrance. Unsure if it's a good one or not. Morning, that is. Seems more an incredibly okay one for he and me. I saw him in a Nirvana shirt once. Their iconic face logo one. Kurt Cobain was a janitor. In high school shop class I made a large foam carbon copy of said logo. I often wonder where it went, something I rarely wonder as I don't throw much away, but I have a picture of it. Nonetheless, I miss being in his cleaning shoes, a janitor (such a dirty word to so many) but anything more than pleasantries had me mostly hiding / working my job around others. Guess I'm still like this. Dawns on me once again that the longer you know me the less you know me. I didn't design it this way. It just is and I am always sorry for that. It was on a flying machine where I met John and Yoko and a very young Sean chilling like normal passengers on a brown padded bench as I hid in a small hallway passage, peeping around the corner. I tried to be irreverent in which to make John laugh. He did. Grinned something great, and maybe because I did not point out his celebrity to the other passengers. Not many, but I just wanted to keep it cool. I don't know where we were going, but all I knew is that I got on the flying machine (which I first assumed I was entering the saloon doors of an amusement park funhouse) to simply look for the black leather backpack I wore to college daily. Then, the ground got further from the fog-scratched windows, and I knew I'd for certain make those whom I had left behind with a, "Wait one second, as I look in here for my backpack." upset that I had once again disappeared like I do. I also did not have a way to let them know my detour would be more than one second. So, onboard I searched for an escape hatch to get back. Gotta be like the movies, ya know? J & Y & S were quite content, and watched me open a door and walk inside what turned out to be a very large industrial clothes drier. I knew better than to shut the door behind me. My cats crawled into the dryer at home and it was like a Kubrick movie up in there for them. I doubt the same for me. As a youngster I assumed the machines would win. Power windows, key fobs included. I never wanted them. I still don't prefer them but this is the world we're in now. Mine is more and more temperamental. Key fob (why do I hate this word fob?), that is. Tends to not want to let me in when exiting the postal box especially. Trying to open with my actual "key" had me feeling foreign, or as if I was attempting a break-in on my own belonging. I couldn't quite figure it out. I never can.

Image: Kurt Cobain

Travel Notes: South Missouri

Sep. 2022

#travelnotes

An Early Alice Cooper

In Dreams (June 2022)

Walked dilapidated Kansas City streets and was soon trailed and asked what I was doing passing through these particular neighborhoods. It was starting to get dark and it reminded me of being in Paris, trying to get "home" before it got dark despite the city not sleeping. I took a sharp left and stopped outside an Italian cafe to read the paper. Suddenly, my wife and several friends showed up. So strange as the sun sets. Now there was hope and I would not have to walk home in the dark. I followed them in. Reluctant to infringe on their girl-time, I hung back. A song played overhead inside and one woman in the group quickly pointed out that it was an early Alice Cooper. I told her good ears, as well as I had no clue she was into his work, much less those excellent early recordings. Parting ways, I quickly realized we were both wrong - it was an early Kinks song and I felt like a huge bonehead. In my defense there is some crossover in songwriting style, but it's night and day, really, when it comes down to it. I spent the rest of the evening trying to find her to tell her it was The Kinks, traversing the giant grandstand-like set-up of this tiny cafe. The place was huge inside. I then missed my plate of spaghetti and meatballs served to the group's table because I was checking the entire place out. Finally, I gave up trying to find her, gave up letting her know who actually sang the song, sat down and ate my food cold. Which, I actually preferred and I cut it up with my knife and fork just like Grandpa did. Also preferred to finally sit at this point as many people were gone and the cafe was putting chairs on the table. No other music played overhead. I no longer had a ride home.

-djg

#dreams

Nothing Much (Uncle Richard, 1940–2022)

“Hello Uncle Richard.” as I sat down on the swing Another sun was setting on a family gathering In the yard of both our boyhood home, so much of it had changed We’re both doing decent, feeling fine and everything’s the same Always questions kept so simple, none too big on deeper stuff “What’s going on in your town?” He’d shrug, “Nothing much.” Nothing much shared on the surface, yet there was something to him I can relate to some degree swinging from that family limb Comments on big city dwelling and relaying what he’d heard “All the drivers are insane and the violence so absurd.” Then he’d ask, “What are you driving now?” And, “Is it any count?” “It must be.” I would say, “It got me here without a doubt.” Reversing years to Halloween, looking forward to the last stop Donna’s homemade treats and candy filling up our pumpkin pots Their grown kids out of the house, a quiet night, remote control The children of his young brother piling through their humble door Suddenly the house much smaller, the last time that I went His mom was there, his grandkids too, a handshake-smile gladly spent When planning a family party you could bet who’d show up first Extra early they’d arrive and we’d help carry the dessert Often speaking in thick mumbles, hard to decipher what was said One time my wife picked up the phone to hear, “So-and-so is dead.” Sometimes we chuckle-quote that call or talk of a wedding gift A six-foot ladder used a lot courtesy of Uncle Dick The last time that we spoke was succinctly through a text Recently I got his number and traded words the Sunday next I’d missed them on my family trip and at the Easter lunch I asked what was going on and he replied, “Nothing much.” Just a couple of days later someone else chimed on my phone Uncle Richard had a stroke last night and now not far from my home He looked different in that little bed, big city dweller now was he Surrounding bells, whistles and alarms without much a guarantee I did my best to trade with him words longing for to linger At this time I’d just now noticed half was missing from his finger I pointed to it with surprise and he shrugged like it was nothing Here was a story much unknown and that to me is really something The days and weeks and months they passed like it was nothing much Numbers and grains to give our time some kind of weight to crunch As I’m pushing half a life and marking paths along this earth Men like Richard don’t spill all the beans to prove something is of worth I think he got that from his father, and his brothers just as well Sometimes the best we leave behind, our feet and hands do show and tell -DJG, 2022 / Photo: DJG, 2007

#tribute

Overheard at a Restaurant (07-10-2022)

"Is THAT order in the plastic bag mine? Looks BIG! Alrighty, I'll take it! If it ain't mine give 'er right here anyway! Biggest is the BEST! You tired? You stay up late partying? Young people like to be partying. I know I would if I could! Doing shots 'til 1am? I bet you were! Maybe even later! But this is the best place to be right now. HOT out there. I got NO plans today. NONE. Just gonna stay inside. Yes sir! Here's some trivia for ya. Listen. You know what this here place was when I was a little boy? Used to eat right here as a boy. I did! Know what it was? Here's a hint: NOT a Mexican place! It was a completely different restaurant! Can you imagine that? I even used to know the cook! How much I owe ya? I live at the old folk apartments up the way there. But we call it the loony bin! Ha! Get it!? Hahaha! Cuz we're nuts over there! Funny, huh? Got any kin over there? Maybe you do? Say, guess ain't many latinos there. A few blacks, yes. Hmmm, it's mostly old people who look and talk like me! Ha! Oh, I guess we do got us some Russians. But not every one of them is friendly. NO! In fact, those Russians are the least bit friendly of all people I've ever come across! And to be honest I wouldn't mind kicking their asses back to damn Russia! OK. I'll get outta yer hair. Hey! Excuse this man who walked in the door just now. That was VERY rude of him! He should've let this woman come in first. See ya! Phew - it's HOT!"

Illustration: Ren & Stimpy

At the Mother-Daughter Thrift Bin Dance

Man walks a long road w/a long flag pole like a cane. Man said to tell him to move his big ol' behind. The all knowing / annoying. Annotations to a celebration. I sit in the car and await another's far off transaction. He thought I was up to something. Watched the tiny spider from cilantro. Hollow drum sound teeth chomp gum pound. Open door slowwlllyyyy. Doc. was awkward after peering into orange mouth. To the right is the impression of an "X." Marking nothing but caught my attention. Woman w/suitcase on head is going south against traffic flow. Sweep the leg in a dream - trash can topples. Prophets shared. Butterflies scorched in the sun. In the acid pits of stomachs they flourish. The Hi-Def rights to defend. Green goo on the snow top. Fat black parking lot birds piecing together a nest of plastic as I continue on a path of this push button life. For the wheel. For the plow. For the ladder. For the cow. Returned a lighter found in the bins. I didn't want a child to get it, most adults as well. He was confused with me. Nothing to it. I pulled out into the street and stopped for the garbage truck doing a 180. Right of way is all his. I didn't feel like crushing my can today, kicking the down spout. "SURVIVE" is scrawled in black spray on plywood storefront. A backdrop for your graduate? Who is that kid in the photo? They're talkin' '80s hair metal favorites all the same. I can talk shop to some degree, but never like this. One of 'em is my age ... with seven children. I nearly spat a burger looking out the little window as if I’m recognizing cars. Look to the left on the exit ramp and four men huddle around another man. What kind of confrontation, as a dog looks on to be included? They are in prayer. Hands on shoulders and back. One man, a man's length away, sits on a crusty bucket holding a sign. I can't read it, but the triangular traffic island has been read and lived-in. I’ve had visions. Man load's a van in the parking lot on the next stop. I avoid all eye contact as I've just watched "The Silence of the Lambs" for an umpteenth time. I do my best homework at the movies. Archaic computer diagnostic signage. Handpainted. Many misspellings. I applaud it over any new Apple product or moonshot. Giant shark swims in the bin next to a passing grade wire sculpture portrait. Hedge-clip the copyright and call it good night.

Hhhot Ccchocolate Iiice Cccubes

That getting on is a fine thing. JC Pennies to the money lender wing. Manicured to perfection - don't throw off the recognition. Upon invitation to escape persecution. Suffering. Buffering. Crime Dog McGruffering. Watch a couple carry a huge couch on a sidewalk. Is this all a dream? I suspect the real show is when they try to get it through the door. A freakish rent. Monkey mask in the shopping card of "go backs." Cowboy in the shape of ear wax in the canal fixin' water gap. All the undeveloped / underdeveloped photos. The ones with the big "obstruction" or "fail-like" sticker to say the photo did not "take" or it "sucks" or "something-other." Mostly just "amateur." But, those are the best to me. I remember those the best. Scanned swirls and blurred middles. I startle as the numbing device takes hold. I try to slur out a, "But ... but ... you can't fold one side of my glasses, you see? I can't see well right now. They are broken and I've yet to get them fixed." The guy then came in, having already worked his morning's tail off, and asked in a thick Eastern European accent (best deciphered by my own experience), "Hello, buddy. Can I ask for your help with ladder? Thank you, buddy." And just like ... we were buddies. I hadn't made a new friend in years! Though, he had the sniffles. Or, maybe it was all the dust back there. Likely. I didn't know the now perceived social etiquette updates and what they would be. I went for it, anything to help a buddy, constricted my body in a weird way and we got it done. That ladder was HEAVY. It all turned out okay, at least on my end. I haven't seen my buddy since, but I suspect he has way too many buddies to keep them all in line. Back in the sleepy trenches. Sicknificant. Dog snot carpet fingers. Bend to pinch a piece of dirt and yard muck and it moves swiftly under the machine. A spider! Let it be. Kite crash. Long ramp. Look over to see a boy w/no pants. Sheesh. Future most wanted. The timing was just right and it wasn't my fault. I was just driving, trying not to end up on the curb. Rather I'd look out the skylight, stationery to stationery, watch the bird soar and followed by a jet. There was the time a friend and I went into a smouldering building. We were teens. Many adults were there. Everyone pitched in to help put all the belongings in the front yard. It was not a very organized thing, but what is in that situation? Hope nobody thought it was a yard sale. I was wearing a new oversized illustrated football mascot t-shirt of the newest team. I didn't want to stretch out the collar to protect from the inhaling of smoke. I did it anyway, or at least when people were looking. Later I looked in the mirror, accessing the day and myself. I was different. I had a deeper connection to another surface of sadness. Maybe all I care to see ... to truly look and to be ... to see the poorly painted finch on bench back as garage door lowers. Wanted to shoot a photo, but it's okay as I can't stop looking at it.

All Recalled at a Daily Constant Since Never Finishing the Epic Novel

Drive by slowly, look out the window and someone drops keys to the street. Walk thru the grocer door, look over at a sign and it falls down. Turn right at random for a cut-thru and a sizable magnolia branch and bloom blows across the road and stops. It has turned over in my mind. (Now w/Sweaty Psalms) In rooms yet always in ruin. One sock. One shoe. One foot at a time. Discards of several sliced braids in the center stripes. Wood chips scattered to wind. Raked and swept. Like everything one day. Either rain or goose or both. Hear a tin man sounding "Sweet Child O' Mine." Look and see a dad pushing his son. Another son was walking and talking about his shoes. Stared deep at the tiny check date drawn, quartered and scripted in the comic strip - it was the day of my birth. Taco Bell Buyer's Remorse. What are the shortlist odds across the downhill snow drifts of the midwest? Never a distant runner, but there I was, starting to transition, to unfold and un-drape as snow to car window might in the just right condition. All the elements aligned. Starting to love, hate, dream and doubt. Well aware of shortcomings since inches high. Out in the yard. Crawling through cages. Under the house lights reflecting upon idols. Back of a classroom as yet untitled. Needle scratches. Just knew it was something I wasn't ready for and likely never would want to have in store. The faux wood panel pockmarks of prayer and early morning rearrangement. Look over in a greater comfort to see the naked squirrel, days old and already lifeless. On the sidewalk for a runner's shoe to banana peel or new mother's buggy wheel jam. Maybe snack time for dog or bird. He'd make for a friendlier and sweeter ghost, now or later. I'd save him if I could. Just like that 100 degree day years ago, and all the ones to come.

The lunch room at the school I attended in kindergarten doubled as the art room. It was tiny and quite bothersome. It troubled me as to why there was not a proper place to create art at school. The school seemed big enough for everything else. Simultaneously it amazed me this was even a thing - art in the same place we ate lunch? It further troubled why I couldn't sit and create in the exact same assigned lunch seat and table I'd been at an hour prior. I was accustomed to that spot. Now, I had to become acquainted with another? Nonetheless, I was now hugging close to the wall - my art spot. I would soon prefer this spot, and wonder why I couldn't sit next to the white cinder block wall at lunch like I did at art. Sometimes there'd be a student or faculty member still eating nearby while we were making art. Why were they eating so late? Often it sounded as if there was a wrestling match with the dirty dishes instead of washing. Upperclassmen ("giants") usually "worked" this clean-up process. Why? I never wanted to be them. I was scared of them and what they must have to deal with in this life. I hoped I'd never have to wash school dishes. I only wanted to make art.

On my 2nd day of school I was lost in more ways than usual. The halls had emptied much swifter than the previous day of orientation and lining up for direction against the wall. I just thought this is what we would do daily, line up against the wall just inside the side door. Bells rang in the hall. No more chatter, the last shoes and hinge squeaks dissipating. Doors closed to muffle authority. A new day was official. Bells started ringing in my head. It was weird that today was not like the day before. Why? Was this life? I was surely going to be in big trouble. Eyes watered, cheeks red. I had no clue where to go. How did the other kids know where to go? I panicked and wanted to leave the school, but knew that was forbidden without prior authorization and/or recess and end of school day. Suddenly, a kind upperclasswoman "giant" with curly brown hair in a red shirt and blue jeans offered assistance. "Ahh, poor kid. You're lost, aren't you? Don't cry. Let me take you there!" I nodded confused, and could not get any words out. Where? There? I stared at unusual color tile patterns that I couldn't quite understand. Assuming I had a huge "K" on my forehead, she took my hand and off we went to the gymnasium. I let go of her hand after a bit. The rest of the classrooms were "regular" in the long hallway line of facility use. However, this unusual and out of the way kindergarten set-up has always baffled me. We walked across the gym hardwood, over the painted dragon at center court, turned the corner at the basket near the wall of chicken coop wire shrouded windows and then disappeared behind the stage area. She stopped there and let me ascend the tall stairs to the kindergarten room. I probably managed a, "Thank you." At least I hope I did. I also hoped I'd never have to see this person again. I'm sure she told the school about me. I was so embarrassed and thought I was in deep trouble for being late to class. Did this make her late as well? Why did she stop to help me? I wonder where she is now. Or, if she's still alive. If so, she could even have grandchildren in kindergarten. Or, older. Maybe none.

That same year I participated in an "adopt a grandmother" program. I already had two of them, so I didn't understand it at all and why I was being farmed out for another. Not to mention this concept is very disconcerting to reflect upon - I was dropped off alone with a strange woman I'd been assigned to spend the afternoon with. I was a little scared, mostly anxious, but also a little bit okay as my parents had signed off for it. At least I think they did. I was dropped off by a school bus to a little house surrounded by pastures and a couple barns. The house door opened for me. The old woman was kind, pushed a plate of homemade chocolate chip cookies in front of me at her dining room table and then gifted me a wrapped rectangle. Wow. What did I ever do? I just walked through a stranger's door and sat down! I didn't say it upon unwrapping the toy truck, and wasn't sure the etiquette to the situation, but I had received an identical orange and blue truck from my aunt and uncle for my birthday earlier in the year. I thought I could just keep it in the package and maybe even return it to Wal-Mart. Perhaps even a trade-in for a "Star Wars" toy!? (And maybe I could get a Tauntaun toy just like the one I'd excitedly seen abandoned on the school playground next to the sign near the side entrance weeks back! I could've easily finders-keepers claimed it as my own. Instead I let it be as I thought its owner would return and knew I'd feel awful if I lost a Tauntaun.) I put the truck on the table. The TV was on. I looked at it, then at the carpet, a shade of green with a slight shag. I decided to lay down on the carpet. My "adopted grandma" got out the scissors and cut the plastic straps and cardboard package to free the truck. She seemed excited to watch me play with it. Odd. I rolled it on the floor where I lay, reluctantly and anxiously, not liking the feeling of being watched while playing or doing anything. I can't remember what we talked about. I know she commented on my eyes and hair. She looked at the clock and said something about how time flies. I agreed, not knowing what that even meant, looked out the window, thought about flies, and then saw a yellow school bus driving up the lane. Phew. I never saw her again, and in all fairness to the grand scheme she likely died a long time ago. Sweaty hands clutched the unreturnable truck and the extra cookies sacked in plastic wrap when the bus picked me up for the remainder of the school day. The other "adopted grandchildren" on the bus were wide-eyed at my hands full of take-homes. I took a quiet seat near the middle-back and gathered I was the only one who got cookies and a toy. I tried to hide my possessions, but everyone already saw them. I didn't dare open the cookies on the bus. As we drove down the long gravel lane I felt guilty, like I should not have accepted these gifts because nobody else had.

The whole thing probably only took 90 mins, an eternity for an anxious child. I was filled with relief when the day was over. Back at the weird classroom above the stage in the gym. I put the cookies and truck in my little locker. An attempt to "hide the evidence" to any embarrassment or questions surely to come. It was the same locker I had quickly stashed winter boots lined with bread bags my actual grandmother made me wear to school on a cold and wet morning that winter. She always had cookies waiting for me.

-djg

Image: Kenner, 1980

In Dreams: 10-15-2021

Alien abduction. Holding complex by quadrant (NCMO).

Pre-warned of this in church by JM sermon. It was that someone escaped the inescapable to come back and warn the public. Warning didn’t last as we soon were plucked, taken.

People there: KE / DD / MMG / DG ... and people from college I knew of but didn't really know. You know the drill.

Lumped into multiple "dorm-like" housing divided by gender, but with neutral ground common areas. Movie rooms and activities. Room full of bean bag chairs. It was a lot. All I could think of was how my childhood cat left a yellow puddle on our royal blue bean bag.

Several phases of "drugging" and adaptation of loss, security measures, etc. If outside compound and advance perimeter = internal combustion / heart failure. D and I thought we were "free" only to nearly explode so we turned back. No clue how one guy did it, to escape and share with the rest.

Tried another route, advancing through to what ended up being a gravity fed roller coaster for alien employees. I climbed one fence, hopped another. A couple aliens even saw me and let me by. No clue why. Perhaps they were tired or felt pity? Finally, before getting on the ride one of them had enough of my snooping and escorted me back. No repercussions. Back in the holding place. Aliens were "grays." Appeared short and human-like, but one took its mask off for me. I didn't know they could do that. Mostly friendly, but with evil motives to rid Earth of humans.

1. Rounded up and confused a bit.

2. "Drugged" to be put in a trance.

3. Former "Earth" life is completely erased.

I was "drugged" and quite happy-loopy-amused by it all. I was cognizant of surroundings and what was happening (to some degree, that is), but I was walking funny, waving arms weirdly. Everyone else seemed annoyed and/or unamused by me. I kept bugging people, tapping them on their shoulders. I thought if I keep this up, the aliens would find something special in me.

Tried to find MMG, so we could be together, and finally came across her in one of the movie rooms. I was very anxious to go in and walk in front of the movie screen to get her attention, and disrupt the movie as I don't like that. I finally got her attention. We went to her shared dorm room, but soon had many others with us and I was uncomfortable. We left.

#dreams

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