Fractured- an incredibly short story

        


         I know Mr. Charles doesn’t like me.  You can see it in his beady eyes and the way his lips curl ever so slightly when he stops by my cubical.  He won’t look straight at me.  How can he when the hostility just oozes from him like putrefied garbage?  Thumbs locked under his braces, he rocks back on his heels and you can hear the breath hiss out of him.  A viper about to sink his fangs.  And he asks such inane questions.  “How is the project coming?  Is your wife going to attend the office Christmas party?”  Like he really understands my project, or really knows my wife.  That whiney voice is a dead giveaway.  He should be shot and I don’t mean metaphorically.

         I’m working on the same project I’ve been working on for the past two weeks.  Every Monday morning and every Friday morning, I send a full complement of charts and graphs that fully explains the situation.  It isn’t easy, but of course he wouldn’t know that.  He always calls me, right after the meeting he has on Mondays and Fridays with Mr. Fimburt, and he always implies my work is somehow incomplete.  Next time he comes in my office, I’m going to gut him.

         “What are the results we can expect if sales drop less than one percent in the quarter?”

         “Graph three, sir.”

         A pause, a shuffling of paper.  “That graph is of somewhat limited value.”

         “It’s the one you asked for.”  I told him the graph was useless when he asked me to make it, but of course he ignored me.

         Pause.  More paper movement.  “Perhaps we should rethink the relevance of putting projections and hard number columns on the same page. It’s confusing.”

         “I can easily separate them, if you’d prefer, sir.”  It was my idea to separate them in the first place.  His tongue should be ripped from his head.

         On and on it goes.  Half my life is re-answering questions and rearranging the same figures on new charts, in the futile hope of penetrating his fogged mind.  Fat chance.  I tell you, the man doesn’t like anything about me.  It’s true I got a hefty raise, but that was only because he couldn’t very well turn his back after all the things I’ve done for the company.  No, my raise was just to cover his own backsides.  He thinks I’m fooled by it, but I’m not.  Not even for a minute.  He’ll soon find out how unfooled I am.

         And the bit about the Christmas party?  What a crock!  If I asked him, Mr. Charles wouldn’t know my wife’s name if I branded it on his chest.  I may do just that.  He’s met her at least four or five times!  Where does the company find these cretins and why do they put them in charge?  I remember Mr. Charles’ wife’s name.  It’s Emily.  Not that I ever call her Emily.  I always call her Mrs. Charles, but at least I know her Christian name.  I know his children’s names and his street address and his home phone number.  Once when I was in his office and he kicked off his shoes, scattering them all over the place, I glanced down and noted his shoe size.   Oh, yes, I know lots about our Mr. Charles and he can’t even remember my wife’s first name? Harriet.   Not an especially tough name to remember is it?

         Come to think of it, Mr. Charles may not even know my first name.  He always calls me mister, then pauses to look at the nameplate on my desk.  He’s shifty and hides it well, but I can tell what he’s doing.  He’d probably deny that.  He’d probably lie.  My first name is Jerry, just so you don’t have to thumb through your Rolodex or type my last name into your computer.  I’m paying you enough that you should at least remember my name.  See, I even know how much you make per hour.  It’s more than you know about me.

         I saw the picture of your wife on your desk and it’s signed ‘Rita.’  The soles of your shoes are worn.  You can obviously afford a new pair, but you just don’t have the time.  Am I right? So, do you even remember what I just told you?  Do you know my wife’s name?  Emily?  Very poor.  That’s Mr. Charles’ wife’s name, numbskull.  You’re not paying attention.  I could tell earlier.  Do you know you shift in your seat a lot?  You’re a squirmer and squirmers don’t usually pay attention.  You know what they say:  if a person can’t remember something it’s because he’s trying hard to forget.  So, maybe you know my wife better than I think you do.

         Look at that!  You dropped your pen.  Very significant if you ask me, and your wafer thin, half-smiles don’t change my opinion one iota.

         Paranoid?  When you call me a name it’s just a weak attempt to change the subject.  You may not think it's important, but I find it not only important, but personally insulting.  You don’t like me, do you doctor?  Well, get in line.

         Here’s another tough question for that giant, doctor brain.  What’s my name?  Jerry?  Very good.  Very, very good.  Maybe I’ll remember to send you your check after all.

         Do I make you nervous?  God, my collar is tight.  Just reach over here and loosen it. Well, answer my question!  Do I Make You Nervous?  The question isn’t that difficult.  Ha, ha!  You’re more nervous when you drive to work.  Very funny!  Do realize you’ve picked up your water glass twice without taking a sip?  What does that tell you?

         What do I think about my wife?  What the hell kind of question is that?  And by the way, I’ll thank you to call her by her name.

         Well, she’s very intelligent for one thing.  She has a Ph.D. and don’t think for a minute she ever lets me or anyone else forget it. Oh, I know the name of the university all right, but it makes me want to puke when I say it, so I won’t say it.

         The other day she told me, “Getting an advanced degree was a burden, but it was worth it and I thank you everyday for putting up with all I had to go through.”  That’s a laugh.  It’s just another way she has of belittling me because I don't’ have Dr. in front of my name.  But, you already know about that, don’t you DOCTOR!

         She’s published in some high-powered journals and got her picture on the cover of Newsweek magazine.  I mean it wasn’t the whole cover.  She was with a group of twenty-five or thirty people.  There she was.  Big, bold smile.  That smile hides a lot.  Ask me anything you want to know about her.  IQ?  Shoe size?  Favorite foods?  I could tell you all about those little trivialities.  Just don’t ask me about sex.  I won’t talk about that even if you are a doctor, you pervert.

         Well, you’re right.  This hour is supposed to be about me, not about that crone I’m married to.  She can get her own shrink and don’t think she couldn’t talk his ear off!  Talk?  That woman makes Larry King seem autistic.

         Why do I call her a crone if she’s beautiful?  The eye of the beholder and all that for one thing.  For another, she hates me.  Hate may be a tad too strong.  The woman is so vapid she’s incapable.   Hate, I mean real hate, takes time, energy, concentration, and most of all emotion.  When it comes to my wife, her bucket of energy and emotion is as dry as an AA meeting.  Anyway, she dislikes me.  That makes her very, very ugly, at least where yours truly is concerned.  I wouldn’t make love to her on a bet, even though she’s always begging for it.  Oh, yeah!  Well, I mean, she doesn’t come right out and say it, but a man can tell, can’t he doctor?  Those chance encounters in the laundry room when she just happens to be hanging up her delicates?  Not a chance.  She’s too ugly where it really counts, on the inside.  She’s got a nice figure, pretty well rounded, if you know what I mean.  But, I just can’t do the deed. 

         Oh, I know what you’re thinking, but there’s nothing wrong with the old equipment. The woman dislikes me, with a capital D-I-S.  Would you make love to a woman whom you know can’t stand you?

         So, doc, when are we going to make some progress?  I’m waiting on progress and at the rate you charge, progress should be riding a bullet train.  You say you want to ask a few more questions?  There always seem to be a few more questions.  Long on questions, short on results is what I’m saying.  You ever been castrated, Doc?  Just wondering if you’d like to know what it feels like.

         Mr. Charles? You keep changing the subject.  I can’t believe I need to go into more detail.  More useless trivia.  You know, I’m starting to get the idea that you’re not any more fond of me than he is.

         You think I might need a referral?  To whom?  Another shrink?  I don’t care whether you like that term or not.  This isn’t about you; it’s about me, you moron!  Besides, after the nut cutting, you won’t care one way or another.   Sounds like another racket to put somebody else on my payroll.  What the hell do I need with another doctor?  And these straps are really getting tight.  I’m starting to feel like Venus de Milo.   Loosen ‘em up, meathead.  You really do dislike me, don’t you Doc!  Have you been talking to my wife, or maybe to Mr. Charles?  What the hell are you doing with that needle?

Dirt Dabs by The Careless Cook

 

Dirt Dabs by The Careless Cook

 

No dirt in the recipe, so no shovels required.  Sit back and be prepared to bake delicious and deliciously easy cookies that you can just drop on a baking sheet and pop in the oven.

 

As usual, The Careless Cook did not use a recipe.  Some of the recipes he found were not to his liking, or were too sweet, or he didn’t have the ingredients and he was too pressed for time to race to the closest grocer.  He had a flock of hungry, older ladies depending on his charity and you know how demanding they are. One against many. No chance. Better get those cookies in the oven.

 

But NO recipe?  Well, once you know how to make cookies, you have the basics.  Flour. Sugar. Salt. Butter. The rest is up to your imagination.

 

The Careless Cook lacks a lot of things, but not imagination. For one thing, he talks too much.  So let’s get on with it!

 

Dirt Dabs

Heat the oven to 350ºF or 180ºC

Get a couple of baking sheets ready, spray very lightly with vegetable oil.

 

Ingredients:

 

2 cups flour

½ teaspoon salt

1 cup raisins, plumped (toss the raisins in simmering water, just long enough to get them soft.)

½ cup unsweetened cocoa powder (This is the Dirt!)

½ cup white sugar

½ cup brown sugar (either dark or light. I used light.)

1 stick  (1/2 cup) melted butter

2 eggs

½ cup rolled oats

½ teaspoon cardamom powder

¼ cup vegetable oil 

 

Puttin’ It Together

 

Mix all the dry ingredients, including the raisins.

 

Mix the wet ingredients. 

 

Mix well the wet and dry ingredients.

 

Plop the mixture, tablespoon by tablespoon on the baking sheets.

 

NOTE:  You can make the Dirt Dabs large or small.  I chose small and mine took about 10-12 minutes to bake.  Hey, I was baking for ladies!  If you’re baking for lumberjacks who eat with both hands, you will want to bake the big ones and they need to bake longer.  Either way, when the edges barely start to crisp, the Dirt Dabs are done.

 

And so are you!  Time to be so pleased with yourself you sit back, sip your Irish Coffee and wait for the compliments to flow.

 

Depending on how The Careless Cook is feeling, he may keep the Irish and give up on the coffee.

 

 

I Have a Thousand Poems

 

I have a thousand poems suffering to get out

 

If only I could find the voice to cut and slice and shout 

 

To the heavens look at me 

 

I have visions you should see 

 

Of how I lived and loved and flew 

 

Through blissful clouds and storm clouds too 

 

And shook the earth with such a roar 

 

That woke the heavens as I soared 

 

Now the mighty thoughts have fled 

 

But sometime as I lie in bed 

 

I dream again of blue stretched skies 

 

And once again my spirits rise.

Scones with Macadamia Nuts by The Careless Cook

 

Scones with Macadamia Nuts by The Careless Cook

 

As my three faithful readers know, The Careless Cook is a proponent of regarding a recipe as a mere starting point, a rough guide, a batting of beautiful eyes from across the room, not a date, not a marriage, nor the last word on what goes in the oven.  No change in attitude when I first looked at this scone recipe.

 

The original recipe called for an egg.  I didn’t have an egg.  Of course the Kitchen Warrior did not let that stop him, and neither should you.

 

Then, there was another item that was not on hand. Heavy Cream.  Can you really make scones that taste like scones without something so essential as Heavy Cream?  Yes.  Will it taste OK?  Yes again.  Better than OK!  Rave reviews!

 

So, hopeful readers, what are the secrets to guide you to success?  Only a few: ingenuity, creativity, and no fear of failure.  Don’t worry about the last one, I got you ready! And ditto, you can skip the first two as well.  And if you don’t care for The Careless Cook’s standby ingredients and prefer to go back to the traditional way, he’s got you covered for that too. 

 

Time to stop the chatter and get cookin’, but first heat the oven to 400ºF!

 

Ingredients

 

2 cups all purpose flour 

½ cup sugar

½ teaspoon table salt

2 ½ teaspoons of baking powder

½ stick butter, chilled (straight from the refrig)

1 cup of oat milk (or ½ cup heavy cream and one egg)

(more oat milk or heavy cream for painting the scones before baking)

1 ½ teaspoons vanilla extract 

About 70 whole, salted Macadamia nuts (this bit of salt joins wonderfully with the sweetness of the scones)

 

Puttin’ It Together

 

Mix the dry ingredients in a bowl. Use a box grater to grate the butter and add the butter and work it into the flour mixture.  I used a dough cutter, but a couple of forks will work.

 

Mix the wet ingredients in another bowl.

With me so far?

 

Pour the wet ingredients into the dry ingredients and stir with a spatula or your fingers or anything else you have handy.  Keep mixing until you have the dough completely blended.

 

Using a tablespoon, drop the dough, spoonsful by spoonful onto a baking sheet.  This made 23 small scones for me. But don’t worry about the small size, they SPREAD while baking.

 

Paint the scones with oat milk or heavy cream.

 

Lightly mash in three macadamia nuts on each scone.

 

Place the scones in the oven and set your timer for ten minutes. Check to see if the edges of the scones are browning, as well as the macadamia nuts.  EVERY OVEN IS A LITTLE DIFFERENT, TEMPERATURE WISE.  I needed another 3-5 minutes.

 

The scones will flatten while baking and may stick to the baking sheet a bit.  I used a metal spatula to loosen them and gently lift them onto the counter to cool.

 

Time for a second cup of coffee. Don’t be ashamed to sip in a slosh of your favorite gift from Scotland.

 

I made these for a ladies group. Older ladies. Very grateful ladies, insuring that I will bake for them again and again.

 

A Fresh Look at Cruising

 

A Fresh Look at Cruising

 

Just got back from a month long cruise. Fantastic!  So you probably think I’ll be writing about experiences and cathedrals and museums that YOU MUST VISIT!  Nope.  Lots of that around.  But, as your cruise director I will offer some photos, just to get you in the mood.

 

If something is outside my experience, I won’t mention it except in passing.  And if you’re a cruising veteran, skip this post, settle in, and slosh down another martini. You don’t need me!

 

First things first:  Can you cruise if you get seasick? I don’t know and I’m not a medic, so I won’t suggest pills or discuss whether you’re drinking too much.  Never been seasick, so I can only tell you that any ship will wobble a little bit from time to time, but today’s cruise ships have great stabilization systems.  Calmest time to cruise depends on where you’re cruising.  Just got back (Sept to Oct) from a cruise across the Atlantic and the Western Mediterranean.  Smooth as glass.  Could waterski! 

 

Lots of information on weather and seas on the Internet. But, if you can’t keep your balance walking through your living room, skip cruising and think twice about ballroom dancing, and riding a bike.

 

Second things second: Which cruise line?  I’m not going to name names, but here are things to consider.  Kids or no kids? More formal, or flip flops and rude messages on your t-shirts?  Enjoy dining, or stuffing food down using both hands? Where do you want to go?  Yes, some cruise lines tend to cover specific areas, while others cover the globe.

 

And what about entertainment?  Some cruises, especially those with many sea days, offer lots of entertainment, with comedians, fabulous lectures by well known authorities, floor shows and a lot more.

 

Here’s something else about cruise lines to consider:  All inclusive, or not.  It’s not as easy a choice as you’d think.  On our last cruise we paid about $5500 per person….don’t forget it was a month long cruise.  Then we had to pay for drinks and excursions. That added another $2000.  Some all-inclusive cruises would have covered everything for about the same price that we paid.

Along with which cruise line is big ship or small ship.  I've been on both.  Purely personal preference, but beware.  Can't know unless you've done both, but even then it can depend on the cruise line. Big or small can be great or lacking.

Small group in the foreground, large group in the background

Third things third:  Excursions. Most excursions offered by cruise lines are fifty passenger bus tours.  Too cumbersome for my taste.  I much prefer small group excursions. But doesn’t the cruise line give you a price break?  Sometimes, but it pays to check out both cruise line and private excursions.

 

Things I like about small excursion:  I can hear the guide much better than a big excursion guide who took lessons from a bus station announcer.  And, when you’re off the bus, you may be at the back of the crowd of fifty, or are separated from the group.

 

I suggest you find out the specifics of the tour. Too often it’s, step off the busy, take a snapshot, and get back on the bus.

 

If this is your first time cruising, of course you want to see everything and don’t want to miss anything.  Understandable.  But, that can lead to an overdose. One guide taking me to a relatively unknown cathedral gave me a whole list of dates and unknown historical figures, from which I took away. “This is a old cathedral.”  When is the wine tasting?”

Of course some places are not to be missed, Pompeii, the Coliseum in Rome, or the Vatican, or Gaudi’s Basilica Sagrada Familia in Barcelona for example, but again a small group is the answer, especially when you need/want to ask questions, or even have a discussion.  Large or small, often it is better to go via a tour group than on your own.  Tour groups usually have tickets that turn hours of waiting to minutes.

 

A secret:  At the most historic places (Coliseum), you can find folks who will sell you reasonably priced tickets to help you cut the line, however you’ll be on your own, without a guide.

 

Fourth thing fourth:  As a long time cruiser, I skip many of the excursions in favor of ambling the streets, finding nice coffee shops and mingling with the natives. I love melding into the everyday culture and too often an excursion uses up limited time.

 

Just one example of strolling the streets and a lessor known, small group historical tour:  Four of us found a small tour.  The guide was excellent.  Herculaneuam is almost in downtown Naples and was rediscovered before Pompeii.  The tour was not offered on the list of cruise excursions.  I liked seeing Pompeii, but liked Herculaneum even better. Ash had buried the town and saved a lot of tiles and much of the structures. The guide knew his stuff and was never more than five feet away from us.

 

Even so, don’t take a tour if you don’t want to. One of our new friends we met on our last cruise was a middle-aged woman who never took excursions, just hopped on the bus to town and walked the streets.

 

Speaking of which, after Herculaneum, my wife and I wandered the streets and while walking up a narrow street, a guy wearing an ‘Eat at My Restaurant’ sign, told us it was close by.  It was.  Tiny place, with four tables set on a narrow patio, on a narrow street. The server was an Italian guy who’d lived in Miami. Freshly fried sardines from the fish shop about twenty feet away and a Neapolitan pizza I’ll remember to the end of my days.  Local wine so good I wanted to bring home a barrel.  Felt like I was carrying one back to the ship!

 

While we ate, a motor bike came racing by, three feet away from us and as he got to the cross street, he almost hit a police car.  The cops didn’t get out, but gave a few angry shouts that I think was something to do with his mother, and hand signals that even I could understand.  The guy on the motorbike gave the puppy that just peed on the carpet look of mia culpa.  He was riding the wrong direction on a one-way street.  The cops pulled away and the guy blasted off still going the wrong way. Welcome to Italy!

 

You can’t buy memories like this on a fifty person bus tour!!!

 

Dang that wine was good!  So was the pizza!  I might even buy a motor scooter.

Rusted memories

 

She knelt  with ease on golden sand 

Blue striped towel, sweet, soft hands 

A dream I saw,  glimpsed in repose 

The stretching limbs, the pointing toes 

That aimed her beauty toward the sea 

The queen of all desires 

And all that love inspires

Those pining thoughts of used to be 

Her silken hair grown silver now

And wrinkles crease the once smooth brow 

Vision she was, a tortured thrill 

In floating clouds of memories still

That flit like fishes in the sea 

Oh, memories how  you comfort me 

Rusting thoughts when life was grand 

Treasured visions, sun blessed sand.