Memoirous

Here is a small "speculative" story, a flash that is apropos of the time we're in Before the World Changed I remember when we used to take things for granted. When we threw away the heels of bread, left lights burning all night long, and traded in for a new car every four years. Before the terrorists hit. I remember when recycling was cool, when reusing a bag was simply being green, when it was trendy to bike to the coffee shop and request the china mug instead of the disposable paper cup. Before the crash. We thought about having kids. Before you lost your job and I lost mine. We started saving things like old toothbrushes to use for cleaning; we made our own laundry detergent from an on-line recipe. I used the Swifter cleaning clothes multiple times, front and back. Those slivers of soap—I microwaved them and pressed them together to make a new bar. Before when the going got tough, the tough got going. We kept the car parked and walked. On long road...

The one whom I loved has turned to clay.-- Epic of Gilgamesh, translation by Kent Dixon There are days . . . months, a year . . . or two where we are challenged. The solidness of this world turns flimsy. Where what is up is suddenly down and down is up. We can no longer trust our senses or past experience. I remember as a teen at church singing a song about sinking sand. I am drowning in quick sand. That house set on a firm foundation, sucked under, the timbers cracking and splintering. I can smell the wood pulp in the air. And, I ask myself, is this how it has always been? We blame smart phones, social media, big government, the deep state, the media, Democrats, Republicans, our parents, our kids—but none of these seem to resolve the feeling, the reeling. The transience around me. It’s not just the boy scouts going bankrupt, the church going down the toilet, pastors and priests—it’s all of us and everything that comes under question. Is this the existential period ...