hugh maverick haller
Friday, January 5, 2024
“We got married in a fever, hotter than a pepper sprout.”
Tuesday, December 26, 2023
Family Ties...
I try to
please her most of the time, but it's not enough. Her need is more visceral,
deeply imbedded by shared DNA.
Best I can
do is to take her to the source of her longing, watch her drink deeply of that
linear connection, past, present, and most importantly, future.
Carla's
active mind drives her too hard, too fast. Exits and opportunities blur. But
not here, not now.
These peak
moments allow her to pause and be present, completed by a human connection as
old as our species itself, a bond that answers all questions of purpose and
path.
Peace.
Saturday, November 25, 2023
Thanksgiving Morning
At 9am, this four-olive bloody Mary assures me of getting the healthy breakfast I need… packed with liquified vegetables, it's hard to beat. (Yes, Hannah, I went to the gym first.)
Two is
better than one. Eight olives. Like them, I’m stuffed!
Later today,
the club will deep fry 20-30 turkeys for people who booked a space on the
sign-up sheet. Then at 3 o'clock they’ll serve a full turkey dinner for any
AMVETS members who want one.
Carla is
working eight hours today, gets an hour off from 5 to 6 tonight, and then she goes for
24 hours straight at a different job. So I'm coming back this afternoon to get
a to-go box.
We’ll have a
nice sit-down 20-minute Styrofoam Thanksgiving dinner together.
And yes, I’m
very thankful!
Mexican Turkey
Apparently,
turkey tastes better there. Maybe it’s the water but let’s hope not. Given the news
of increasing cartel activity with heads stacked neatly in pyramids pointing
the way to the snow cone machine, I expressed concern. Ruth assured me that the
resort where they were staying had long ago been leeched clean of the slightest
hint of cultural relevance. Zero Spanish would be spoken, and the kids would
learn nothing new to expand their worlds, other than the quickest path to the
waterslide.
Sunday, October 8, 2023
The Meaning of Life...
We are born in bumper cars, bump into stuff randomly for
70-80 years if we’re lucky, and then the power shuts off.
The end.
Tuesday, March 14, 2023
Billy the Fisherman/Perfection in a Bowl...
Perfection
is the goal; balance is the key. Everything seeks balance: the moon and stars,
opposing magnetic poles, heat sufficient to melt mountains squaring off with a
deadly frigidity of space, the salinity of our oceans and our cells, a swirling
interplay among all ingredients of our lives stirred up in a bowl.
Our physical
and psychological well-being teetering on a balance beam.
Perfect
moments can reveal themselves in the unfolding dawn of a new Spring Day…as the
retreating chill of night cooled breezes are banished by sunbeams that stab
eyes and recharge exposed skin.
I look for
balance, perfection, somewhere in every moment I’m given, if for no other
reason than the reassurance that it’s out there.
Then along
comes Billy the Fisherman with his generous gift, a container of his
much-acclaimed fish chowder.
An all too
rare example of perfect gastronomic balance.
Much more
than just a bowl of warm soup. The pyromaniac sun rising in the East lights
scarlet fires in the hair of a distant tree line as I break my fast among the
gods of balance… with perfection itself steaming promise up to me from an
oversized ceramic mug.
Many thanks
to Billy the Fisherman for reminding me once again, that perfection wears many
faces, all most welcome.
Dental Sadism...
3 hours in the chair, using a drill bit on loan from a defunct mining company in Oklahoma...go deep... just to see if we can make the pulp scream.
Conjures bad memories from kid-hood.
That long-ago dentist trained under Dr. Mengele. He hurt me on a regular basis. I believe he enjoyed it.
When I asked him about Novocain, he said: “that's fine for the little ladies”.
I made a mental note to wear a skirt next time.
Some kind of gender shaming going on there. It's like when Carla and I go to a steak place and they ask me if I want the King cut or the Queen? What the heck do they expect most men to say…even if they secretly want the smaller portion? Manly men huff up and act like for them, the King is the only possibility.
Not falling for it, I ask: “Is there a petite queen cut? Something cute?”
Yes, I would like to have a steak, but it doesn’t matter. I’m only drinking my meals today anyway.
Where’s Danny Akroyd’s Bass-O-Matic when I could really use one… to make a nice grilled sirloin smoothie?