Thursday, 25 February 2021

Mankind vs Tardigrade

 

by Dawn Knox

water

 

One day, Earth’s conditions may become too hostile for human survival.

When deserts are scorched, land is flooded and temperatures plummet or soar, making life impossible… the Tardigrade may become the dominant lifeform on Earth.

Tardigrade?

An alien species?

Or science fiction?

Neither.

These microscopic creatures have inhabited Earth since Cambrian times. They’re ugly, wrinkled, eight-legged, creatures which withstand desiccation, boiling, freezing, crushing and radiation—yet still survive.

Mankind, with its intelligence, empathy and creativity, seems unwilling or unable to respond to the threat of climate change.

Our negligence may result in our destruction.

Then, Tardigrades will inherit our World.

 

Dawn’s blog https://dawnknox.com

Wednesday, 24 February 2021

Gremlin

 

 

by  John Young

fizzy lemonade

 

A sunny Sunday morning: Chris, still in his twenties, single, frequently stalked but now no longer captured by what he calls his ‘anxiety gremlin’, sits on a bench beside a slow-moving river about to commence his mental exercises. From the small gestures of his hands and shoulders, the hint of movement of his lips, a close observer would guess - and guess correctly - that he is engaged in some form of inner discourse. 

The gremlin, as always, is clamoring for attention, drumming, and fluttering in its place beneath his ribs, insistently pressing its message about the world. ‘Be alert!’ it seems to whisper ‘What risks lurk out of sight? You are fragile!  The unknown is threatening. This new task, this project, is large. It is really much more demanding than you think. New challenges may prove to be beyond your abilities. You need to worry about that possibility.’ 

Chris concentrates his attention on a bright speck of reflected sunlight dancing on the surface of the river, holding the focus, until, as it seems, the sharp single point of light infuses the rest of his being.  

‘I am what I choose to concentrate on,’ Chris whispers. After several moments he pivots his attention to the tip of a leaf of a nearby weeping willow attempting to pick out the smallest detail. Now he focuses on a blackbird singing in a nearby bush, then a point in the river where the water is gurgling around a rock. 

Next, he turns to the sensations of his inner world, to the itch on his right ankle, the feeling at the tip of a finger, his tongue and at other parts of his body, ‘I am what I focus on,’ he intones, as he scrutinizes each sensation briefly but intensely.

Chris takes a few slow deep breaths and returns to his routine, closely scrutinizing in succession one tiny fragment of experience then another: the sunlight on the river, the warm breeze on his face and his forehead, the spaniel darting through the trees. 

As his thoughts turn to the tasks lying before him in the week ahead the gremlin churns beneath his ribs. He observes it, casually noting its presence, no longer regarding it as his enemy, but rather as a transitory fragment of experience in the ever-changing mosaic of his life. He smiles. ‘Call again soon’, he murmurs, as for the moment the gremlin retreats and fades away.

 An office colleague’s recent query comes to mind.  ‘What’s happened to you, Chris? You seem to be much more relaxed. Are you taking pills or something?’

 ‘No pills,’ he replied, taking pleasure in the acknowledgment of his progress. ‘Just looking at things a bit differently.’

‘I am what I focus on,’ he murmurs as he starts to walk home. ‘I am what I choose to be.’ 

About the author 

The author is an old chap living in St Andrews, Scotland, an ancient town, with an ancient university, home of golf and (allegedly) many ghosts.

 

 

Tuesday, 23 February 2021

Moonlight Drive

by Ethan Blumhorst

Black eye espresso

Heading home from a meal with friends, I wish I had hearing aids so the duties could be abolished.

You were a drunk buffoon, you didn’t back my arguments, the way you ate was utterly disgusting.

Resembles her pillow talk. 

After fifty years of verbal masochism I figure would be used to it.

While she continues berating me, I see an almost glowing path to the right of the bridge.

It feels essentially like being lifted by the arms of an angel until we strike the surface.

The cold water begins to fill the car; matching our hearts. 

About the author

Ethan Blumhorst is a former carpenter, firefighter, and Airborne medic. He has settled into the Illinois Ozarks where works as a therapist with the Department of Veterans Affairs. He revels in the gift of language and the stories from which we are able to tell. 

 

Monday, 22 February 2021

Jana

 

by  Elaine Barnard

cheap white wine


I looked for her everywhere; Jana, my daughter was eighteen when she left. No use contacting police. “She’s of age,” they’d say. But she’s never been of age. She’s always been well…how can I say it, backward, shy, challenged?

We’d had an argument, not our usual kind, this was worse. I suspected she’d been seeing someone. She denied it at first, but I knew something was going on. She’d come in from the job she had at 7-11 stocking shelves looking flushed, excited like it was her birthday or something. “Jana,” I’d say when she plopped down in front of the TV to watch some late-night horror show, “shouldn’t you take a shower and have a bite before bed?”  She’d give me that smug look like she had a secret, but she wasn’t telling.

“I’m not stupid,” I’d say, “something’s up. Now get your fat ass into that shower. You smell like that dump you work at.”

Jana never answered, just kept her eyes glued to that dumb screen. And speaking of dumb, she sure was. She only finished high school because they pushed her through to get rid of her. They’d spent enough taxpayer dollars trying to educate her, but she was so dense nothing took. “Your daughter’s a sweet girl,” they’d say at parent conferences. “She just doesn’t seem motivated to learn.”

I’ll motivate her, I’d think and drag her home, sit her down, open her books and yell, “Now study, damn it.” Do you think I was successful? Think again. I wasn’t. That’s how she ended up at 7-11. But what really began to worry me was when this Pandemic hit. Jana was in the front lines so to speak. No way could she isolate herself. 7-11 needed that merchandise, those shelves of beer and colas, bread, and cookies. Besides, she couldn’t afford to stay home. We needed that job. She wasn’t eating here for free. No way. Most of her pay went for board and room. What was left she could use for those trashy magazines she stored in her closet. I tried to get rid of them, but she knew every single one. She’d accuse me of stealing which wasn’t true. I was just straightening up, so to speak.

Now she’s not here I’m concerned not only because I’ve lost her paycheck which I’d come to depend on but also because of this virus. I mean if she’s infected and comes back home, I’d be infected too. We’d both be quarantined. What good would that do us?

So, I started searching every 7-11 I could think of. She wouldn’t tell me which one she worked at now. She was constantly being transferred between stores because she was too slow or too tired or the boss didn’t like her, or he liked her too much. I put on my mask and drove to the nearest one where I hoped she was still working. I’d recognize her anywhere, mask or not. Her eyes were big blue discs in her crazy head, big blue discs behind bottle glasses. They made her look like ET’s sister or some zombie from outer space. When I finally found her, I’d keep my six-foot distance for sure. I’d use the sign language I’d learned to communicate with her after she was diagnosed with a severe hearing loss, not stone deaf but close to it. They found a tumor in her head which they couldn’t remove or if they did, she’d be paralyzed, a basket case for certain. I’d be stuck with this vegetable to care for. How fun is that?

It was night when I arrived at 7-11. A few beat up cars in the parking lot. I didn’t see her right off, so I went inside to ask the bloated manager if Jana was still working there, stocking shelves in back? He looked at me kinda blank. “Didn’t you know?” he said. “Jana had this fever when she came on her shift. I sent her to the ER to get tested for the virus. She’s probably still there. If you hurry…”

No way was I going to the Emergency Room. I might get infected myself. Let her quarantine down there. I’m going home and take a hot bath. I’ll pour myself some cheap wine and forget I ever had a daughter. But that manager guy came after me. “Hey,” he called, “you her mama, right? Well, some dudes were looking for people may have come in contact with her. You need to go down there and get tested too. Probably quarantine you together. Jana’s already given them your name.”

About the author 

Elaine Barnard's collection of stories, The Emperor of Nuts was published by New Meridian Arts and noted as a unique book on the Snowflakes in a Blizzard website, She won first place in Strands International Flash Fiction Competition. Elaine has been nominated for the Pushcart prize and Best Small Fiction.

Sunday, 21 February 2021

Dogs and Old Age

 

by Judith Skilleter,

Kir vin blanc

First of all I must make it clear that the title of this story does not refer to elderly canines, dogs in the twilight of their years with their best times a fading memory – if dogs have memories that is. This I doubt because the dogs I have owned and known give the same welcome if you have been on a long fabulous holiday or just nipped down to the corner shop for some milk.

So we are clear. This story is not about elderly pooches. Rather it is about older non-canines i.e. people who take on the responsibility of dog owning, possibly even with no previous experience of this very important task. And that is the problem. I am particularly concerned because so often in the news during these strange Covid 19 times is that there have been  a lot of pups bought during the pandemic and many of these have now been at worst abandoned or at best handed in to a rescue establishment.  The thought crosses my mind that there are some stinkers out there, and again I must emphasise that I am talking about people and not smelly pooches, who would do worse than abandon a dog to rid themselves of the responsibility. But let’s not go into that.

I feel rather vexed that people have bought dogs because they have the free time to look after them because of this blasted virus. How irresponsible, how thoughtless of the virus to give us the opportunity to own a dog. I believe that there should be a test for would-be dog owners that includes questions like “Why do you want a dog?”, in which case “Because we have time to look after them because of Covid19” is not an A* answer. Other questions should include “Have you any idea at all how much a dog costs through, say, a long 12 year life?” or “Do you realise how awful it can be having to walk a dog every day, ideally more than once, whatever the weather?” or “Do you realise that dogs do poos, sometimes huge poos if they are big dogs, and  you might be fined £1000 if your pampered pooch fouls a public footpath?” or “Do you realise how much attention dogs need, certainly in their early months with you, if they are to become full members of the family?” I could go on for weeks here.

Now we come to the subjects of the story, the elderly people mentioned in the title – the husband and me, both pensioners who have between us had 5 canines over the course of our lives, four of whom living long and happy lives having been fully paid up members of our families. They were delightful gorgeous dogs- photos available by request. (I will tell you about number 5 shortly) And now we are thinking once again of having a full time canine companion. After all we have the time.

NO!!!!!! That is not a good enough reason.

Yes we do have the time but we do not have the time all of the time. After this blasted virus becomes less of a news topic and we get back to the usual wars and famine throughout the world – it is amazing that all these other things that would be very newsworthy in normal times do not get much of mention these days. Anyway, when this virus is just a fading bad memory (the husband accuses me of excess and pointless optimism but, what the hell, what is the alternative) we will be off. We have to go to Australia to see my daughter who is currently pregnant with a new grandchild. The husband and I also want to revisit Dubrovnik where we have an elderly pal who has had more years than the years she has remaining. Yes, she is even older than we are. We also want to go to France. Until recently and BB (Blasted Brexit) we had a little flat in the Pas de Calais but now it has been sold because of BB and  we now want to see more than the top left hand corner of that wonderful country. Mind you, this is despite the husband not approving of Emmanuel Macron. His views are quite entertaining. Would you like to hear them?

Yes we could take dogs on some of these hopefully-soon-to-be-arranged holidays. Previous dogs have had passports and have enjoyed trips to France with us, but the Down Under trip might be for 2 or 3 months and no way would we leave our canine chum in kennels or ask a friend or relative to take on the responsibility for that length of time.

One idea would be to take on an older rescue dog, one that sleeps a lot and does not need a lot of long walks, and that has been the favourite idea for some time. But again what about the long holidays we are planning once TBV has gone away? It would be so unfair to an unsuspecting dog who only very recently had decided we were good enough for him to stay with permanently.

We have had experience of taking on a rescue dog full time. Dog number 5 was lovely at first but time showed he was 2 years older than we initially believed, he was not a well dog and cost us £1000 in vet fees during his first year with us and then he got what the vet called “doggy dementia” where he became so aggressive that we couldn’t risk him with our small grandchildren. After taking the vet’s advice and following a number of treatment plans that failed he had to be put to sleep. This was an experience we would not wish to repeat. When taking on pre-loved dogs you really need to have an accurate history.

Our solution to this problem, i.e. to get our dog fix, is to borrow other people’s dogs for short or long periods of time. The husband’s son has a pup and when he, his wife and son are out all day then the pup comes to us. We are perfect dog-sitters – we live not too far away, we are besotted by dogs and we charge nothing. In addition I have a friend who has a dog but she lives in a house without a garden, and she also has a baby, a husband working from home and a school age child she is trying to home school. We have that delightful dog for holidays of up to a month. It could be said that Bella the Cocker Spaniel is the only individual in the East Riding of Yorkshire who has had legal holidays during the Covid 19 chaos.

And this is enough for the husband and me. We are always so pleased to see these two precious pooches but we are also always glad to hand the dogs back and have a less demanding life i.e. only dealing with the demands of each other rather than an active canine.

In ideal circumstances, which we are not in, a dog we owned would be a dog and not a bitch in order to save the back lawn from those awful burnt patches. (Years ago I would not have been worried by those awful burnt patches.) Also this precious pooch would have a Spanish name.

Google tells us that

It is assumed spaniels originated from Spain as the word spaniel may be derived from Hispania or possibly from the French phrase "Chiens de l’Espagnol” so we have to have Spain in there somewhere. Our dog would have to be another Cocker spaniel. We have had a Pablo (Picasso), and our next dog would be Diego, named after Velasquez.

Unfortunately though, after much heart searching and sensible thought and humming and ahing this will never happen. We have finally 100% decided that owning a dog at our age, especially from the puppy stage, would be too much for us. We are both nearer to 70 than 60 years old. We no longer have the energy, physical or emotional, to give a dog the active attention they would need.  It could probably be also argued that we are too broken and faulty to be able to appreciate the many joys given by a dog let alone give him a good life. The husband will soon need to have both knees replaced and I am fearful of the return of a cancer diagnosis. We cannot take a long and happy life together, with or without a canine companion, for granted so I suppose that we have to keep in mind that, unlike poinsettias, a dog is for life and not just for Christmas.

 Blast! I hate being sensible.

And for those of you who are thinking of getting a dog during these very strange times please think very very carefully before you decide to get one.

About the author 

Judith Skilleter is new to writing fiction after a long career in social work and teaching and her first children's novel will be published shortly. She is a Geordie, who settled in East Yorkshire 45 years ago and is married with 2 grown up children and nearly 3 grandchildren