My pre-school years

were spent at the

Torino apartments, in

San Carlos, California,

***

For those unfamiliar,

San Carlos is about a

full days journey outside of

San Francisco by ocean

liner. By rocket ship

it is much faster.

***

Those years total some

of my most beloved

child-hood memories.

***

Even if, after all this time,

they are less whole memories,

than they are just un-connected,

fragments of things—

that I am fairly certain

once happened to me.

***

Nevertheless, I can

still remember a few

people from that

apartment building.

***

First there was Josh. He

was a year older than me,

and lived in an apartment

up-stairs from my own.

***

The way I remember it,

Josh had more Monopoly

money than anybody I

had ever met— before

or since. And he liked

to flash it around, too.

***

Then there was Mette,

she was a younger than me,

and my most complete

memory of her was that

she always seemed to

have a couple of lego-pieces

handy, if needed — and

indeed, quite often we did.

***

Then there was

the Gargling Man …

he lived next door to us,

— much much older than me,

***

We only met once, but

he remained one of the

great mysteries of my life.

At least, up until that time.

***

Part Two

***

“… And the Gargling Man

gargles.

Gargling his life away.

How many times

did he gargle to-day?

1 … 2 … 3 … 4 …5 …“

(from a 19th century French children’s jump rope song.)

***

Part Three

***

Now there are two

schools of thought

on who and what of

the Gargling Man.

***

1. The Rationalist Theory

It could be that, in the

design of the

apartment building,

his bathroom was

close to my bedroom,

and so, it goes to say,

the only time I would

have been aware of

his presence was when

he was in the bathroom,

getting ready for work,

or, preparing for bed.

***

Or, …

***

2.The Irrationalist Theory 

And this is my particular

school of thought.

Simply:

Maybe the Gargling Man

was always gargling.

***

Which is correct?

No one can say. 

My mom swears I am

totally exaggerating

the entire thing.

***

In particular, this

next part, which she

claims I

“cut from whole cloth”.

But I know what I saw.

***

For this one time,

I happened to be coming

out of my apartment,

when at the exact same

time, the Gargling Man

was coming out of his.

***

Startled, I took an

immediate step back.

There he was, as tall

as a tree, head-cocked,

mouth wide open,

minty smell. … Gargling.

***

I squeaked a hello.

He glanced, nodded,

and said, “Hng-gar-o”.

***

I swear that is true.

***

But then, just like that,

one day the Gargling Man

was gone.

***

I’d lie in bed at night

and listen for the

telltale sounds,

… but there were none.

***

“What will become of the Gargling Man?”

I would ask my dad.

But he would just look

at me funny and say,

“I have no idea what that boy is talking about.”

***

Then, I guess, I forgot all about it.

***

That is, until one night,

many years later.

I was much older, having

just returned home for

Winter break from college.

***

I happened to be up late,

watching a popular late

night-host on TV, when

the announcer said,

“Next up, actor, Mike Lookinland.”

***

But I must have mis-heard him,

because for a second,

I thought the announcer

had said,

the “Gargling Man”.

***

And for that one moment in time, …

I was so fucking proud.

.

---

The author circa the time of the story

---

Keep circulating the URL

I once joined a UFO cult.

***

I recall my initiation

was very brief:

***

I signed over my

bank accounts

& credit cards.

***

I was fitted for

a red velvet robe

and sneakers.

***

I was introduced to

the Grand Fountainhead.

***

And then they

passed around

a celebratory

Dixie-cup full

of poison.

***

“Poison?” I said.

“Woah! —

Wait a moment,

wait a moment…

***

I thought we built towards that!”

.

.

---

2.

“Taughannock Falls”

by Mary Cellini

©2020

---

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Say, friend, did

you know that the

stabbing pain you’re

feeling could mean

one of two things?

***

1. You have Postherpetic neuralgia.

***

2. You are being stabbed!

***

Here is how you

decide which it is,

and which it isn’t

***

Ask yourself — Does my

family have a history of

postherpetic neuralgia?

***

If no, then ask,

Is there somebody stabbing me?

***

If the answer is Yes,

then it’s time get

the facts about “Stabs”

***

THE FACTS ABOUT THE STABS:

***

Q. I’m a vegetarian.

A. Stabs don’t care!

***

Q. I exercise daily

A. Stabs don’t care!

***

Q. I am Julius Caesar.

A. Stabs don’t care!

***

Q. I don’t have a history of being stabbed.

A. Stabs don’t care!

***

Get checked! Someone just may be stabbing you!

 

---

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I remember the day I

returned from school and

my dog Pepper did not

greet me at the door. 

***

Then my father sat me down

and reminded me that Pepper

had been with the family

since before I was born

***

And — as such, Pepper decided

it was time for her to

retire to a farm upstate

***

Furthermore, my dad said,

“Pepper told me to tell you, personally — Good-bye. And thank you.”

***

I started to cry,

but then mom appeared

and presented me with

a new puppy!

Which I named, Pepper 2.

***

And just like that all my

suspicions faded away.

***

— Until later that night.

It was just a past my bed-time,

when the phone rang.

***

I answered it.

***

It was Pepper.

***

She barked and whimpered into the phone.

***

“Pepper, is that you? I asked.

“Are you ok, girl?”

***

Then a voice:

“Get that receiver away from Pepper!”

***

And then the line went dead.

***

It was then I knew father had lied.

.

 

 

 

I awoke in my bed and

suddenly remembered

I had left a pie

cooling on the windowsill.

***

So I got up, went

into the kitchen,

opened the light, and gasped!

***

My delicious pie

was covered in ants!

***

This surprised me.

For though I was aware

I had an ant problem,

I didn’t think they

kept such late hours.

***

Nevertheless,

as a result,

now I had a major

ant problem

***

And what to do? I had not a clue

***

I remembered a friend

telling me —

“Ants hate cinnamon.”

***

And while that

is quite shocking,

I wasn’t looking

for another reason

to hate ants.

***

It was time to take action.

(to be continued)

*

---

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---

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— g.

01/26

My father had

a system for

removing loose teeth.

***

First, he’d take some string …

***

Loop it.

***

Then tie one end

of the string to

the tooth.

***

And the other end

to a doorknob.

***

Then he’d chuck

the doorknob out

the window.

***

We’d all watch the as

the doorknob and tooth

sailed across the yard

***

Then a clinking sound

as it hit one or two of

the other doorknobs.

***

“That’s one for the fire,” he’d say.

.

---

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I told my enemy,

Alexamenos, that if

I should out-live

him, I would dance on

his grave.

***

“Over my dead body you’ll dance!”

said Alexamenos.

***

“Exactly,” I responded.

***

And, lo! I out-lived him.

And I danced on his grave.

Dear reader you have never

seen such

graceful grave dancing.

***

But here is the strange part.

***

For when I had

finished dancing.

I swear to you —

I thought I heard

muted applause!

***

And that was

when something

occurred to me —

***

That in the end,

I may not have

liked him,

but the guy knew

what was good.

.

---

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I grew up in a poor family.

***

Poor, but un-happy.

***

I remember, most-days,

we didn’t have two

nickels to rub together.

***

But I remember, too,

those times, when we

did have two nickels

***

And how we’d

rub them together

all night long. 

.

---

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One evening,

while driving down an old highway,

I picked up a mysterious hitchhiker.

I asked him where he was headed,

and in a deep voice,

he told me he was going to Memphis

to see his mama.

***

Now this hitchhiker was very polite,

always replying with a

“Yes, Sir”, or a “No, Ma’am”,

depending on the question or

how the lights of the passing cars

reflected off my eyes.

***

I asked him his name, and

he laughed softly to himself, and replied,

“Let’s just say it rhymes with Presley.“

Then he gave gave me a wink.

***

I immediately began making guesses,

“Tresley?

Quesley?

Frezley?

Schlessley?

Zezzley?”

But the mysterious hitchhiker only

winked again

and asked me to stop making guesses.

***

He told me that life had taught him

a valuable lesson,

which he would reveal to me,

if I was willing to listen.

***

I said, no, but

he began to weave a tale, anyway,

which I will relate to you now:

***

The mysterious hitchhiker

told me that many years ago,

he had willingly given up the

august spot-light,

and the adulation of millions

for anonymity and adventure.

He traveled the world several times

and again, solving crimes,

and exploring mysteries,

like, living for forty days and

forty nights in

the Pacific Northwest wilderness,

searching for Bigfoot!

***

At the end of his journey,

with no sightings of the mythical beast,

the hitchhiker concluded,

that maybe Bigfoot was a thing

that could only be ‘found’

when searching within oneself.

***

Nevertheless,

when the hitchhiker returned home,

he found a note from Bigfoot

that read,

“Just stopped by to say, Hello. But you were out.

Yours,

‘Bigfoot’“

***

But then, as an afterthought,

on the flip-side,

Bigfoot mentioned that he hoped

the hitchhiker was not hiding out

somewhere

in the Pacific Northwest wilderness

just to avoid paying back

the $40 he owed him.

***

This, of course, was not true, for as,

the hitchhiker had previously noted,

it was he who had been looking for him!

***

 Unfortunately, for the hitchhiker,

Bigfoot, had taken the opportunity

to crash at the hitchhikers pad for

several weeks: eating all of his food,

breaking all of his chairs,

and doodling all over his

expensive personal stationary.

***

What was worse,

Bigfoot

had run also off with his ‘old lady’.

***

This surprised the hitchhiker

the most of all,

because he had always thought

his old lady worshipped the ground

he walked on.

And, in a way, he was right,

as she would eventually leave Bigfoot,

and move in with

a piece of ground.

.

PART TWO

.

***

The hitchhiker grew sullen and he

turned his attention back to

looking out the car window.

***

As we passed though a small town,

the hitchhiker interrupted my whistling

and asked if I could let him out

near a Ralph’s supermarket.

“I need to pick up some-thing for my mama,” he said.

***

I obliged, and pulled into the Ralph’s ample parking lot,

but after I had parked the car,

I suddenly realized that I was all alone.

The mysterious hitchhiker was gone!

***

What could it all mean?” I asked myself.

Then I noticed something on

the passenger seat.

It was the hitchhikers,

Ralph’s value club card.

Had the hitchhiker been trying to teach me

a lesson about savings?

It was just all too much for me to process.

***

Nevertheless,

I went into the store,

used his Ralph’s value club card and

saved fifty cents on paper towels,

and box of microwave sushi.

***

“Savings.” I said confidently,

as I walked my discounted loot up

to the counter.

***

As I paid for my items,

the grocery checker looked at the name

on the receipt

and said, “Thank you, Mr. Nestlé!”

I nodded,

struck a rock n roll pose,

curled my lip

and said,

“Thank-you-very-much.”

***

“Oh, all right,” said the checker.

.

CONCLUSION

.

***

Exactly ten years later to the day,

I was on the same road again,

and happened to stop at old highway diner

for breakfast.

***

There I overhead three truck drivers

talking about a

mysterious hitchhiker

they had all individually encountered.

***

“Trying to get home to his mama.” Said one.

“Disappeared into thin air” said the other.

“Looking for his Ralph’s value club card,”

said the third.

end.

---

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Were you aware

that you and I

are breathing the

same molecules

once breathed by

Nebuchadnezzar,

Julius Caesar,

& Abraham Lincoln?

***

It staggers the mind.

***

Just those three.

***

Who can know why?