The Wizard’s Mirror

“Mirror, mirror on the wall who’s -” The inquisitive wizard was cut off.

“Yeah, going to stop you right there,” Mirror said, “I don’t do that any more.”

“You dare defy me?” The wizard asked, his horror at the notion not going unnoticed.

“It’s just so…judgy. You know? I mean, who am I to describe the prettiest, smartest, most well adjusted, whatever? I’m a talking mirror stuck outside the bathroom of a Medieval castle.  I have no place passing judgement.”

“But I demand it,” The wizard insisted.

“You know what you should do? Meet your people.  You know Carol from the bakery? She brings you bread every morning.  Carol was her kickball league’s season MVP last year.  She rolled a no-kicker. A no-kicker! How does that happen? How does? I can’t even. She rolled an unkickable kickball. Can you imagine the skill?” Mirror said, voice rising in pitch with each question.

“Really?” The wizard asked, intrigued.

“Really.  Go talk to Travis, the mud brick maker.  He can quilt like no body’s business,” Mirror said.

“So I can judge people on my own if I simply get to know them?” The wizard pondered aloud, tapping his fingers against one another with a menacing nature.

“Say it a bit nicer than that when you get out there, but yeah, basically you can do just that,” Mirror confirmed.

Clarence’s Movie Experience

Clarence looked around the movie set with awe and confusion.

“Mr. Down,” someone called from afar.  Clarence was never comfortable being addressed as ‘mister’.  Despite spending years in public service, ‘Mr. Down’ would always be his father’s name.  He turned to see who was seeking him.

A round man ran toward him.  The film’s producer, Wyatt Pickle.  Clarence doubted that was the man’s given name, but liked to think there was a full lineage attached to the Pickle name.

“Wyatt, good to see you,” Clarence said.  His affable nature and sturdy handshakes were keys to his story; the story that was now being immortalized in a blockbuster movie produced by Wyatt Pickle and a team of movie industry elites. Continue reading

The Eternal Quest Continues

This is the story of the time my youngest son tried to help me make dinner and my eternal quest to not curse in front of the children.

My youngest is a giant among the two and a half year old crowd, but even still he is just shorter than the kitchen counter.  He looooooves the kitchen counter.  The counter holds food both salty and sweet, snackable and meal type alike.  He wanted to see what sort of culinary joy I was a bringing him.  He wanted to see it right. friggin. now.

So he got a stool.  A tiny little stepping stool we picked up at Ikea years ago.  It and I have never had a problem before.

The kid hauls it from the opposite side of the house to the kitchen, pushes me out of the way of the counter and drops it. Continue reading

Phil Looks to the Stars

Their first camping trip together was going well.  Day hikes around a forest of enormous trees, campfire roasted hot dogs for lunch, the tent went up without a hitch.  All in all, a good start to something that had a long story ahead of it.

As night fell and the chirping birds gave way to chirping crickets, Phil started to worry.  Stars dotted the sky and the whole of the galaxy was soon dancing overhead.  Phil stared at the stars with a intensity rivaled only by the pressure occurring within each star caught in his gaze.

“An amazing view, isn’t it?” Max asked.

“Yeah. Yeah,” Phil said.  For repeating one word twice, notes of suspicion and distrust were heavy in each syllable.

“You don’t like the stars?” Max asked.

“I don’t like what the stars hold.  Asteroids, black holes, advanced alien life as of yet undetected by our technology.  Space is a menace we know nothing about and it has us surrounded,” Phil said this while keeping his eyes on the majesty of the spiral arm above them.

Max was dumbfounded.

“I mean,” Phil started, realizing his particular outlook on the cosmos may be ill interpreted at first, “those stars sure are a mystery. Right?” He laughed a bit.

“So we’re at the ‘these are my strange, but deeply held beliefs’ phase now.  Okay. Good,” Max said, nodding, “I feel the same way about the ocean.  We have no idea what lurks in the abyss.”  It was now Max’s turn to stare off in the distance.

Phil was happy Max reacted so well, but now he was afraid of the ocean.  It was going to be a weird weekend.

Frank, the Demigod

“Behold, mortals, it is I the demigod you can call simply, Frank,” Frank said, smiling and motioning for non-existent cheers to simmer down.  “I have returned from three thousand years of exile to help you capture more of the power of the gods.  So, what do you all need?”

A sea of iPhones began snapping photos and soon timelines across the city were flooded with #CrazyGuyOn12th.

“I gave humanity knowledge of milk, written language, and possibly even how to create a boat. I’m in a quarrel with Odinion about who did that first,” Frank pleaded for input from the crowd.

“Can you help solve the student debt crisis?” One member of the crowd asked.

“The wassit?” Frank said.

“How about climate change? Can you help humanity steal knowledge of climate science from the gods? We could really use a hand with that one,” called another voice.

“I was thinking more like communication tools or good bread recipes.  Those are more my wheelhouse,” Frank said, trying to dampen expectations.

“Dude, you’ve been trending for 10 minutes and if your bread recipe isn’t gluten free you’ve got the wrooooong audience here, man,” advised anoter crowd member.

“10 minutes already? It feels like I’ve only been here five. Technology, I tell you,” Frank laughed anxiously.  “Tell you folks what, I’ll leave my email address written in the clouds for a little while.  Shoot me some suggestions and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can, okay? Okay. Thank you, Downtown! You’ve been great!” Frank whirled his hands and was soon flying to the safety of home.

Sandwiches

“Who wants a turkey sandwich!” Dad shouted with enthusiasm, trying to make lunch an ‘event’ this time around.

“I do!” the children shouted back excitedly.

“Who wants mayo? Pickles? Lettuce? Mustard? Tomato?” Dad fired off options in rapid order.

“All of it! Yeah! Woohoo!” the oldest child screamed, cheering. The youngest echoed his brother’s call.

“You guys got it,” Dad said assembling the sandwiches.  “And they’re ready!” Dad put plates before the kids and lunch was on.

“Dad, I don’t want this,” the oldest said, looking over the plate.  The youngest followed.

“You’re both difficult, you know that?” Dad said.

Spider and Monster Have a Chat

“So, reclusive ancient sea monster is your gig, eh?” Spider asked.

“Yeah, it’s pretty sweet. I eat boats on occasion. They think I live in the water! Nope. Basement of the golf club restaurant.” Monster answered.  “What do you do?”

“Oh, I pop up in showers, on walls; the usual jump scare stuff.  Mostly I just leave web absolutely everywhere. People hate touching this stuff.  You should see ’em when it touches their face! Hilarious,” Spider said.

“That’s amazing! But, that does leave a question. Where are you hanging from right now?” Monster asked.

“I stopped questioning that long ago.”