I told you the other day that my daughter had started her first ever oil painting. So she has… but I failed to show you the picture of the green basketball that she intended to be a cactus. Well, that wasn’t entirely me being forgetful. I wanted to show you what it looks like once it has undergone the full treatment and transformation into a credible cactus. I wasn’t trying to make fun of the Princess, but rather encourage her in learning to paint with oils.
Here is the finished cactus;
She does still have cactus spines to paint to make it look less basketball-like, but you can certainly see the progress here already.
The house was called the Gingerbread House by all Norwall kids because back in the days of the original Pirates, the old German Lady, Grandma Gretel had lived there. She had been a survivor of Bergen Belsen concentration camp during World War II, and was so full of life as a result that she baked endless piles of gingerbread to feed to the local kids. She had treated them like her own grandchildren, the grandchildren that she would never have otherwise, thanks to the dragons of the Third Reich in Nazi Germany.
Mazie Haire had bought the Gingerbread House in an estate sale after the old German Lady had passed away with no heirs. Not only did the mysterious Ms. Haire move in, but she totally changed the fundamental nature of the place. It still looked like a gingerbread house on the outside, except for the horrible face on the door knocker, but the inside was like a Gothic horror novel. The walls were now bare gray brick, like the inside of a medieval dungeon. The wall that once separated the living room from the kitchen had been knocked out, leaving only a support pillar in the center of the big room. The fireplace had been expanded into a considerable hearth, all of gray stone. In the center of the hearth was a massive black cauldron where she apparently did all her cooking. In fact, Val knew that she would only use specific kinds of wood under that cauldron because Daddy Kyle had made the mistake of offering to sell her wood for her fireplace a couple of years ago. She had made him search all over Iowa for the amount of dogwood she needed and for sweetbriar that turned out not even to be from a tree. She wanted the apple-scented flowering plants with hooked thorns to burn in her fireplace, but the ones she planted in the yard of the Gingerbread House wouldn’t be ready to harvest for two years. After he finished that difficult job for her, he never volunteered to do such a thing again… even though she always seemed to have plenty of money and offered to make it worth his while.
“Hold that ice pack on the lump, girl,” Mazie said when
Valerie accidentally let it slide a little to one side.
“Thanks for helping us,” mumbled Danny, “but if Val is
better, shouldn’t we be going? I mean…
err… you are going to let us go, right?”
Danny glanced nervously at the silent black cauldron on the
hearth.
“Afraid I’m gonna cook ya and eat ya, are ya?” Mazie cackled softly.
“No, um… “
“Don’t you worry none, Danny Murphy,” Mazie said. “I don’t need your pushy old mommy meddling
in my business any more than she already does, so I believe I won’t eat you and
give her reason to fret. I have baby-sat
for your little sisters and brothers. I
didn’t eat them, did I? Cooking don’t
make Murphy’s taste any better than they do uncooked. I’m likely to get food poisoning.”
“You don’t really eat people do you?” asked Valerie,
nervously.
“I might eat you, sweet girl. Especially if you go around committing sins
like spying through people’s windows.”
“You’re one to talk!” growled Danny, “with that telescope of
yours in the attic room.”
“Oh, for goodness sakes, child. Get yourself up to the attic and see for
yourself.”
Mazie pulled the folding ladder down from the ceiling. She forced both kids to go up, at the same
time forcing Val to press the cold pack against the aching lump on the side of
her head. She followed them up.
The telescope itself was fairly large. It sat on its tripod in the middle of the
single upstairs room. It was pointed out
of the dormer window. It was pointed up
at the sky.
“That is not a spy
telescope. It’s a stargazer.”
Valerie looked all around her at the many pictures on the
walls. Most of them were fanciful
drawings of constellations done in colored marker, and using both five and
six-pointed stars.
“Well, you could point it at windows in people’s houses,
couldn’t you?”
“Sure I could. Try it
young Murphy. Find a window to point it
at.”
Danny took hold of the telescope and pointed it more towards
the buildings that faced the Gingerbread House on that side. There was the back side of the Fire
Station. There was also the back side of
the Post Office, Kingman’s Grocery, the old Brenton Bank, Victor Martin’s Bar
and Grille, and Stewart’s Hardware store.
He could also see the ground under the water tower and the front corner
of old Cecily Dettbarn’s front porch.
“Not much to see, huh?”
“Well… If the windows
were open…”
“How many windows do you count, boy?”
“Not counting the windows on the Dettbarns’ porch?” asked
Danny.
“Not counting them…”
“Two.”
“One is the window in the back room of the fire station, and
the other is on the back side of the Hardware Store. And, as you can plainly see, that one got
broken a few years back and is covered from the inside with wood and
cardboard.”
“Yeah, um…”
“There’s no x-ray vision knob on there anywhere, is there?”
“No, ma’am.”
“There most certainly is not. I do not use that thing for spying on
people.”
“But my dad says you are always up here watching everything
with this during the day.”
“I don’t generally watch people. Here, look at these.” Mazie opened a drawer in the sideboard and pulled out a sketchbook. It was filled with pictures of dogs and cats. Mostly different pictures of one dog and one cat… one very ugly cat.
“That’s Billy Martin’s dog,” said Danny. “That’s Barky Bill. I don’t know the cat, though. It’s a really ugly cat!”
“The cat’s true name is Scraggles,” said Mazie.
“True name?” Valerie asked, “what’s a true name?”
“It is said, mostly by me, that if you know a cat’s true
name, the name he calls himself, then you can divine that cat’s thoughts and
personality. Scraggles is what you might
call a devil cat. He is somewhat evil
and works to further the causes of Chaos.”
Danny looked knowingly at Val as she continued to hold the
ice against the throbbing half of her head.
“A witch, right?” he whispered.
“You may call me a witch,” Mazie said as if she heard Danny
clearly in spite of the whisper, “but people who have the knowing are important
to the community. They can steer you
down the road where your destiny lies.”
“Erm, sorry, Miss Haire,” muttered Danny. “I didn’t mean to be rude.”
“Yep,” said Mazie, almost to herself, “If there is one
admirable quality about that Mary Murphy with her great big personality and
loud ways, it’s that she is good at teaching her children to be sorry about the
wicked things they do. Now, if only she
could do the same for that vile old grandpa of yours.”
Danny frowned at that.
Val almost laughed at the change in emotion on his face… flustered
embarrassment to confusion to indignation to almost speaking out, and back to
flustered again.
“So you don’t spy on people with the telescope,” said
Valerie. “How is it that you seem to
know so much about the people in this town, then?”
“It’s the knowing. You are a clever young girl and could have it too if you just paid more attention to what you are seeing. Try it. Use it to solve the mystery of Billy Martin. He needs you two, you know… just not in the way you believe now because of what you thought you saw.”
“How do I use it?” asked Valerie, wrinkling her nose in
disgust. “I don’t know how it
works. I don’t even know what it is, or
what you mean when you say it.”
“Try it on the cat.
On the way home. Look old
Scraggles in the two mismatched eyes.
Try to figure out what he’s trying to tell you. If you can do that, you can begin to use the
knowing as a force for good in the world.”
Val nodded as if she were agreeing, though, in reality, she was merely anxious to get away from this strange old lady. She didn’t even care anymore if she ever found out the answer to what a witch wants.
There is a dark future hanging over us all. No, I am not simply trying to bring you down with the idea that we all will face death sooner or later. I am going to bring you down with an all-encompassing dread. Because, of course, that’s what humorists do. We try to introduce uncomfortable truths into your lives with a suddenly-revealed truth that takes you by surprise and leaves you with nothing you can do about it but laugh… laugh insanely.
Here’s a bummer. The government of the United States is dissolving into chaos because corrupt people have taken over all the political power due to the fact that they are legally allowed to spend whatever amount of money they want to change the laws and the people who make them.
And this did not begin with President Pumpkinhead. It has been a while since a Mr. Smith could go to Washington and actually make a dent in the armored juggernaut of evil. Why do you think nobody in the President’s party is working to remove him in spite of the clear evidence of corruption in how he incompetently goes about not doing the job he was elected to do?
I often turn to Answers with Joe on YouTube to make myself feel infinitely worse about these things. This video does a good job of explaining how stupid people like me are doing it wrong, not learning to field a meteor shower of informational fly balls that burn holes through your figurative baseball glove and the hand inside it if you actually catch one. And because we don’t know how to fact-check what we’re seeing inside our Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram bubbles that are built out of malevolent algorithm-directed soap, we have all failed to learn how to learn and protect ourselves from infectiously poopy facts. We have all become stupid people and are the ones Goofy Dave makes fun of in the cartoon above. And if you think that makes you feel bad, remember that I was once a teacher. What you haven’t learned is, at least in part,, my fault.
And it gets worse. Suppose for a moment the Mayan calendar wasn’t wrong about the world ending in 2012, but merely has a typo in it. Maybe it was supposed to say 2021. Ice in the Arctic will soon be gone from the global warming that stupid people don’t believe is established science. All of the carbon locked in the bottom of the Arctic sea and in the permafrost of the Northern Hemisphere will soon be free to enter the atmosphere as carbon dioxide and will be capable of turning our planet into Venus with thousand degree temperature days on the surface of the earth. I hate to say this, but my air-conditioner can’t handle that. Neither can yours.
But I am not like George Carlin, using humor to make you feel so low you have to look up to see the soles of your shoes and then leaving it there after the last black-humor joke-bomb has burned away your sole… er, soul. There is still hope. A massively important breakthrough in technology, or, more likely sociology, will have to be made and implemented really fast. And it will require some magnificently genius-level smart folks to do some magnificently genius-level problem-solving. But there are still very smart people on this planet. And they can’t all be corrupt, can they? And I really can’t imagine they have anything more important to do right now than save all life on the planet. But we can do our part too, you and I. We need to notice all this darkness around us, and light some danged candles!
My daughter, seen here in this oil painting of me and her, she’s the one trying to talk to the spirit elk in a previous lifetime, has started painting oil paintings. She started with a picture of a small cactus growing in sand. I have to admit, when she showed it to me for the first time, I thought it was a green basketball. But she has worked out the details since and it is beginning to actually look like a cactus. Now, you might think I was making fun of her in this post, calling her an oil painter who makes cactuses into green basketballs, and using my oil painting of a nude and overly-white Native American girl to illustrate her, but actually, this post is praising her abilities. She is already a much better watercolorist than I will ever be. And she is learning to paint green basketballs… er, cactuses, in oil paint at a much faster rate than I ever did. This semi-competent oil painting of mine took many practice paintings and many years to achieve. Far slower than her mastery of the medium coming into focus before her eighteenth birthday. And besides, she is leading the sacred spirit elk into the safety of the lake and away from the stormy darkness of the background, while I, as my Native American self, can stand hamming it up and looking at the artist as I have my vanity-project portrait done in oil paint.
Okay, so this is not a perfect essay, and it is not 500 words. But painting in oils and trying to be a real artist is hard enough without you criticizing. Be kind in the comments, or I might cry.
I was trying to think what I would post today, and coming up blank. I have a pathological need to keep posting here, especially since my brain is currently switched to editing mode for my novel The Magical Miss Morgan. One can’t keep a sacred oath to write every day if there is no writing going on other than editing (which doesn’t count because no new creative thoughts are being generated and the fertile spore-producing areas of my mental storage shed may grow sterile for want of fresh garbage being piled there). So I went looking through my file of photo Paffoonies to find something I haven’t already inflicted on potential readers to the point of making them gag and doing something sensible like shutting off their computer for a while. Unfortunately all I found was this potential gag-inducing library photo of the time the Mighty Thor got drunk…
The truth is sometimes Mickey tells lies. For instance, the title of this post is intended to lure you in with expectations of a juicy something that doesn’t actually exist. There is no controversy on the internet over this particular Mickey. He hasn’t done a very good job of keeping it secret that he tells a lot of lies. In fact, most of the most embarrassing and terrible secret things that he had been keeping secret for going on sixty years are now published in this blog. Talk about a life being an open book!
Of course, being a lover of internet conspiracies and ufo’s and junk, there is always that other Mickey to talk about. Yes, Disney has generated its share of conspiracy theories.
Everyone on the internet knows, for instance, that when Walt Disney died, he had his body frozen cryogenically so that he could be re-animated once…
It is, of course, one of the most powerful, masterful, and best-known pieces of music ever written.
Mozart completed the “little serenade” in Vienna in 1787, but it wasn’t published until 1827, long after Mozart’s untimely death.
The Serenade is incorrectly translated into English as “A Little Night Music”. But this is and always has been the way I prefer to think of it. A creation of Mozart written shortly before he hopped aboard the ferryman’s boat and rode off into the eternal night. It is the artifact that proves the art of the master who even has the word “art” as a part of his name. A little music to play on after the master is gone to prove his universal connection to the great silent symphony that is everything in the universe singing silently together.
It is basically what I myself am laboring now to do. I have been dancing along the edge of the abyss of poverty, suffering, and death since I left my teaching job in 2014. I will soon be taking my own trip into night aboard the ferryman’s dreaded boat. And I feel the need to put my own art out there in novel and cartoon form before that happens.
I am not saying that I am a master on the level of a Mozart. My name is not Mickart. But I do have a “key’ in the name Mickey. And it will hopefully unlock something worthwhile for my family and all those I loved and leave behind me. And hopefully, it will provide a little night music to help soothe the next in line behind me at the ferryman’s dock.
Besides these two novels I am already working on, I have ideas for several more that have been building in my mind and my notes for as much as 40 years……………………………..
………………………….
………………………….
And I have forgotten to add in things I have in the works that are not exclusively Home-Town novels, including whatever I can make out of the mess that is Aeroquest, and the graphic novel fairy tale, Hidden Kingdom.
So, there’s my shameless self-promotion for my growing body of fiction that no one ever reads. And, as you can plainly see, no explanation of the productive spate I have been going through is offered. I am in too much of a daze right now to figure that out.
Canto Eight – Strange Sounds from the Martin House
The Martin house on Elizabeth Avenue was a very square and
Republican sort of Victorian-style house.
It was Methodist plain and practical.
Yet, there was a very unfortunate aura of trouble hanging over it
now. It had been super respectable in
the old days as the Campbell house, but now it seemed more like the brooding
sort of place where murderers might live.
Val and Danny watched it from the safety of the hollyhock stand in the
neighbors’ yard.
“Do ya think anybody is in there?” Valerie whispered.
“Yeah. The car is out
back by the shed, and it’s too early in the day for the bar to be doing much
business. The old Vicar ain’t there. But Billy’s dad and aunt will both be there.” The Vicar was what everybody at the bar
called Victor Martin. A vicar was a
British preacher or something, and everybody told their troubles to Victor
Martin at the bar… that explained the name as far as Valerie knew. And the names sounded almost the same. Iowans weren’t really that clever about
nicknames.
“And Billy?”
“Yeah, he would be there.
I don’t know where in the house, though.
I’m not ready to go knock on the windows anywhere.”
“Knock on the windows?
Really?”
“We aren’t going to the front door and knocking, are
we? That’s what the old witch wants.”
“Do you think you could lift me up high enough to look in
the side windows on the West side?”
“Yeah, maybe. But
that would be like spying or something.”
“Well, isn’t that the kind of thing Pirates do?”
“Yeah, I suppose.”
They walked over to the window on the West side of the
house. Both of them were hunched over
when they walked and extremely careful about being quiet, as if walking in that
silly manner somehow made them harder to see or hear as they trampled the lawn
in broad daylight.
“Okay,” said Danny, “You sit on my shoulders and I’ll lift
you up so you can see.” Danny got down
on all fours and Valerie put one leg on each side of his head. He wobbled like a scarecrow in the wind as he
strained to lift her up. His hands
gripped her thighs tightly, but if he had wobbled too far in one direction,
then he would’ve merely succeeded in dropping her to the ground head-first.
“Careful, there, Buckaroo.
You’re gonna drop me.”
“I got you, Val. I
will never let you fall.”
After almost falling at least two more times, Val finally got a look into the first-story sitting room. Richard Martin, in all his raggedy glory, was lying on the couch watching TV. He had on a stained and dirty-looking T-shirt, boxer shorts, and he had an open can of beer balanced on his ample stomach. He was a blonde man with a very ugly face, and he looked rather drowsy as he watched what seemed to be the Phil Donahue Show.
Suddenly there was a loud banging sound coming from
somewhere below, possibly in the basement.
“Damn that stupid brat!” Richard cried out suddenly. “He’s beating up the damn house again! Kelly!
Stop that kid from breaking stuff!”
“He’s your bratty kid. You stop him, stoopid!”
“I locked him up in the basement again to keep him outta our
hair! But maybe you gotta go down there
with your old broom and swat him around a little.”
“Well, if he’s in the basement, he can’t hurt much. Everything in the basement belongs to either
Billy or Vic.”
“You have a point. We
don’t care that much about Victor’s stuff, do we?”
“I don’t. But he’s
your son. You can do the explaining
later.”
Then they all heard a power saw grinding through wood, both the residents who were supposed to be there and the Pirates who were spying.
“Good gawd, Richard.
That little creep might be gonna cut us all up and eat us some night.”
“I know he ain’t supposed to use that saw, but it belongs to
Vic. So, we’ll let him get it away from the brat.”
The sounds of a hammer and nails came next. Valerie looked down near Danny’s feet and
noticed the grimy cellar window was open a crack.
“What’s going on?” asked Danny in a hoarse whisper.
“Billy is locked in the basement, and he is building
something to take revenge on his family.”
Valerie almost didn’t believe it herself. Billy was the kind of kid who would curl up
in a ball and mew like a kitten if you just looked at him too long at a
time. Valerie never took him for an ax
murderer before. But you never knew
about those quiet and meek ones. You
never knew what they were really thinking.
“I see you didn’t take my advice.”
Valerie fell on her head and briefly saw stars. It was possible Danny had dropped her.
“Oh, no! You made me
kill the most beautiful little girl ever born in Norwall!” Danny cried.
“Pick her up and bring her with you. Follow me.”
As Valerie shook her head to shake the cobwebs and sand out
of her ears, Danny fumbled around picking her up from the ground and soon had
her on her feet.
“Quickly now, before those two horrible harpies come out to
see about all the ruckus in their yard.
You are both trespassing.”
To Valerie’s utter horror, Danny was following the old witch
Mazie Haire, and dragging her, wobbly-legged, toward the witch’s own
Gingerbread House.
Plumbing the Darkness
There is a dark future hanging over us all. No, I am not simply trying to bring you down with the idea that we all will face death sooner or later. I am going to bring you down with an all-encompassing dread. Because, of course, that’s what humorists do. We try to introduce uncomfortable truths into your lives with a suddenly-revealed truth that takes you by surprise and leaves you with nothing you can do about it but laugh… laugh insanely.
Here’s a bummer. The government of the United States is dissolving into chaos because corrupt people have taken over all the political power due to the fact that they are legally allowed to spend whatever amount of money they want to change the laws and the people who make them.
And this did not begin with President Pumpkinhead. It has been a while since a Mr. Smith could go to Washington and actually make a dent in the armored juggernaut of evil. Why do you think nobody in the President’s party is working to remove him in spite of the clear evidence of corruption in how he incompetently goes about not doing the job he was elected to do?
I often turn to Answers with Joe on YouTube to make myself feel infinitely worse about these things. This video does a good job of explaining how stupid people like me are doing it wrong, not learning to field a meteor shower of informational fly balls that burn holes through your figurative baseball glove and the hand inside it if you actually catch one. And because we don’t know how to fact-check what we’re seeing inside our Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram bubbles that are built out of malevolent algorithm-directed soap, we have all failed to learn how to learn and protect ourselves from infectiously poopy facts. We have all become stupid people and are the ones Goofy Dave makes fun of in the cartoon above. And if you think that makes you feel bad, remember that I was once a teacher. What you haven’t learned is, at least in part,, my fault.
And it gets worse. Suppose for a moment the Mayan calendar wasn’t wrong about the world ending in 2012, but merely has a typo in it. Maybe it was supposed to say 2021. Ice in the Arctic will soon be gone from the global warming that stupid people don’t believe is established science. All of the carbon locked in the bottom of the Arctic sea and in the permafrost of the Northern Hemisphere will soon be free to enter the atmosphere as carbon dioxide and will be capable of turning our planet into Venus with thousand degree temperature days on the surface of the earth. I hate to say this, but my air-conditioner can’t handle that. Neither can yours.
But I am not like George Carlin, using humor to make you feel so low you have to look up to see the soles of your shoes and then leaving it there after the last black-humor joke-bomb has burned away your sole… er, soul. There is still hope. A massively important breakthrough in technology, or, more likely sociology, will have to be made and implemented really fast. And it will require some magnificently genius-level smart folks to do some magnificently genius-level problem-solving. But there are still very smart people on this planet. And they can’t all be corrupt, can they? And I really can’t imagine they have anything more important to do right now than save all life on the planet. But we can do our part too, you and I. We need to notice all this darkness around us, and light some danged candles!
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