Tag Archives: garbage

Random Friday babbling, before I start writing

I saw another bald eagle along the Boise River. These have always been good omens for me. They seem to indicate success in whatever I'm striving for at the time. Looking forward to accomplishing some small goal this week.

I talked to my employer, and we're going to see if the city will come haul the trash out of the stream behind the office. I wrote my vignette and have no more use for whatever old chicken coop it turns out to be. They like to remove anything that impedes the flow, because of flood potential. They may clean up some of the branches where the wood ducks hang out too, but the ducks can find new ones.

I seem to have timed my commute this week so I fall behind a lady from Canyon County. She likes to hold down the fast lane, and guarantees our safety by driving below the speed limit. Cars flow around her like a bolder in the stream, but on the right hand side. This is dangerous. I have no problem with her anchoring the fast lane, but she should at least drive the speed limit. Even then, she'll be the slowest person on the road, but at the speed limit, I really can't complain. (I still will, but it won't be justified.)

Larissa N. Takahassi followed me this week. (Again) She seems to follow me about every two weeks. Larissa has an online makeup store of some kind. I don't buy a lot of makeup, so I don't follow her back. Seems to me that, barring WordPress disasters, you only have to follow me once.

This is a game. She's out there following people at random, possibly to get those who automatically follow back. Then she unfollows. I suspect this is a game designed to eventually sell her online makeup store and use the number of online followers to indicate value.

I checked this morning, and she is not among my followers today. Maybe she didn't like this week's posts. Maybe I should exorcise her by writing her into a horror story.

Otto is snoring beside me in my recliner. He usually gets restless and jumps down after about twenty minutes of poodle time. That gave me a chance for this random babble. Then I need to saddle up my yak and head for the steppes.

Maybe a progress report later today, if the eagle omen works out.

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Out my window again

I took this picture at work today. Looks like the thaw, combined with the rain brought us another piece of junk. I hate it when people drop things in our waterways. Still, one man’s junk is another man’s story prompt.

junk

Fishing was lousy. Seven turns of the glass at least, and it rained the whole time. The scarf I used to cover my head was soaked before I cast out my first shrimp. One sand dab wouldn’t feed my sisters, let alone me and ma. Logs drifted past on their way to the bay, and I imagined the fish hid under them to get out of the rain. Then one came by that didn’t float right. It rode low in the water, and barely broke the surface. It had square corners too.

It rode until it lodged in the sand. I dropped my stringer and pole on the shore and ran after it. Maybe someone tipped a wagon upriver, and dumped something valuable in the water. Whatever it was broke loose and drifted again, but not far. The snag of a tree root grabbed it and anchored it until I could catch up.

Its lid was gone by now, and I looked inside. Something looked back.

A skull, not bleached and white like a proper skull, but muddy and covered with sand from upstream somewhere. I approached on tip toes. I’m not superstitious, mind you, but this isn’t something a kid finds everyday.

It was a casket. Nothing fancy, just a wooden box, and the person inside not more than a skeleton but for a few bits and pieces. Those pieces were covered with crabs, and none of ’em were big enough to cook. I looked at the poor skull, and it wore a big tricorn hat. The head rolled toward the sea, and revealed the fellow’s broken neck bones. “So it’s the sea you want, is it?”

I flipped the crabs into the bay. Sometimes people gets buried with coins and such. He didn’t need ’em, and my ma could sure use ’em. I patted down his rags, and found iron shackles around his wrists. I poked and prodded, but turned up nowt.

I looked around his eye holes, ’cause sometimes that’s where the coins goes, but there weren’t any. His hat was oily and stiff, but nothing was tucked inside. I tossed it on the shore. He wore better leather boots than I did, and be damned I decided to take ’em.

They were tall and fine, and turned over at the knee to make a large cuff. I tossed ’em beside the hat, and decided to push the box toward the sea. Better the sea than ¬†another hole in the ground for this one. When the water reached my belly, I let him go. He rode higher in the waves somehow, like a small boat. Almost like he appreciated me setting him on his way.

I wrung the hat out first, and it weren’t in bad shape. Maybe after it dried, I could make some use of it. I poured another crab out of the first boot, and knocked the boot against a rock to make sure there wasn’t any more.

A couple of bones poured out of the second one. Could be I tugged too hard getting it off, but these boots were mine now, by right of salvage. At least that’s what I told myself. I reached inside to make sure there weren’t more pieces. I pulled out a soaked piece of parchment.

The parchment had some kind of writing on it, but it made no sense to me. There was a drawing of the local area too. I recognized the old West Road, and Barrow Point, but not much more. That and a big drawing of a skull, with an X to mark something north of Barrow Point. Maybe ma could read it after it dries out some. She used to know the letters, and maybe she could remember some of ’em. Might be it’d tell who he was, and I could make him a little marker of some kind.

***

Okay, so my favorite Superbowl ad was the one for the new pirate movie. Somebody needs to come haul their junk out of the stream.

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