Christopher Donahue

Once, years ago, he stood outside a house, in the middle of a forest, on a snowy, early November evening.  The snow was heavy, wet perfect- snow-ball making-snow, and as it came down, there was an oppressive, muffled silence. Because it was early in the season, the snow was building up on many of the trees that hadn’t shed their leaves.  Then in the silence, first here, then there, he could hear limbs snapping and cracking, like random rifle shots in the muffled darkness, as branches gave way under the weight of the wet, heavy snow.

Today, walking home through piles of brown leaves on the sidewalk, the trunks, limbs, branches, twigs of bare trees silhouetted against the gray sky. The lawn covered, with some green peaking through here and there. Wondering if he really should bother to rake before it snows.  The un-carved pumpkins on the front porch, holding up well from the cold, remind him they need to be split and put out back so the squirrels can get at the seeds. Wet, matted leaves line the bottom of the bird bath, that needs to be brought in. He’s glad the leaves are down. He had worried an early snow would get caught in the leaves and damage the trees. They seemed to hang on into mid-November.

copyright 2016 Christopher Donahue

October arrived and with it the first frosts of the season.  The weather report warned of an impending freeze so I went out before work  for the last harvest. The plants were so heavy with green tomatoes, they were literally leaning over.  And that was despite my wife picking a bowl full the day before.  It seemed a shame to harvest them before they vine ripened red. The previous year,  we followed some farmer wisdom and put the green tomatoes in a paper bag to ripen in a dark cool area of the basement. It wasn’t such a good idea because we forgot, and found the tomatoes rotted in a paper bag, in a dark cool area of the basement, sometime in February.

Still, I regretted the season wasn’t longer.  Regret of course, is something to be avoided, so I put that out of my mind. Certainly in life and the world these days, there’s more to fret about than green tomatoes.

In the ensuing month, the presidential election, war in Syria and other worries made me forget about the tomatoes.

Then Thanksgiving arrived.  I was considering all I had to give thanks for when I noticed a tray full of beautiful red-ripe tomatoes where the green tomatoes used to be.  Without my worrying about it, the tomatoes turned out fine. And just in time for Turkey-Day dinner.

And that’s usually how things turn out, for which I should always give Thanksgiving.

copyright 2016 Christopher Donahue

When I was hungry, you didn’t give me something to eat. But you did protest my hunger! You aren’t a hypocrite like those people who let me go hungry.

Thanks for the protest!

When I was naked, you didn’t clothe me. You were too  busy protesting my nakedness! Winter is coming, and I could really use some clothes, but thanks for the protest. You aren’t a hypocrite like those people who don’t care if I go naked.

Thanks again for the protest!

When I was sick, when I was in jail, when I was alone and elderly, you were a no-show.

But you protested my plight like the social justice champ you are.

Thanks for the protest!

It’s almost like you care.

copyright 2016 Christopher Donahue

It was early Monday morning and he was taking Commuter Rail to work. The train was approaching his stop. Getting up from his seat, he queued in the aisle behind several other passengers who were also lining up to get off.  The car was crowded and quiet.  Lost in thought he went over the topics for a meeting scheduled later that morning.

The train swayed and he balanced himself with his hand on the back of a seat. He looked down at the woman seated with her back to him. A sudden feeling of familiarity came over him as he noticed her hair- reddish orange, frizzy, with two braids falling on her jean-jacket covered shoulders. He couldn’t look away.

She slowly turned her head and looked up at him. Her green eyes, the freckles on her cheeks -he was astonished.

Caitlin!?!

And in the instant he thought  it was her,  the woman’s face changed into that of a red-haired, green-eyed, stranger. It was a shock. He couldn’t believe it. He locked eye-contact for too long with the stranger, hoping impossibly that it was Caitlin. He braced himself on the back of the seat again.

“I’m sorry. I thought you were someone else.”

He got off the train stood for a moment on the busy platform. It all came back. Caitlin was dead. She died of an overdose fiver years earlier, in a bathtub. He didn’t want to, but he imagined her floating like Millais’ Ophelia-only nude. It was a creepy thought. He hadn’t known her very well. She was one of the casualties. But he remembered she was beautiful.

He looked around the platform. The train was gone. The crowd thinned out.

He re-focused on the meeting and headed towards work.

copyright 2016 Christopher Donahue

The first chill day of Autumn. Under a gray, threatening sky, he waits for the bus wondering whether he should have worn an overcoat.  The bus is nowhere in sight. Late again, he keeps hoping it will just appear so he can get going. He should have left the house earlier.  Day after day he misses the early bus, catches the next one, and gets to work, a little late.

On the bus, with a good natured smile, he takes a questionnaires from the driver with no intention of ever filling it out. The bus is nearly empty and he takes a seat toward the back.  An old, street person gets on and engages the driver in a loud conversation about the questionnaire. The quiet morning ride in finished.

Several stops later, the bus is nearly full. A smartly dressed woman gets on and sits next to him. Her wool jacket smells like mothballs.
“Of course it does,” he thinks, “It’s the first chilly day of Autumn.”

copyright 2016 Christopher Donahue

On a sticky summer morning, he was feeling pretty good about himself and life in general. Donning a crisp white shirt and red  neck-tie, he grabbed his blue sport-coat and headed out to work.  Energized, he strode down the sidewalk, he thought how the humid and sticky summer weather was lasting right up to the end of September.

He hailed a cab, climbed in and gave the cabbie directions to the morning meeting. The driver apologized because the AC wasn’t working. “No problem, ” he said, “We’ve got to enjoy this weather while we can.” Cruising along with the warm breeze streaming through the windows, he thought of his wife and the pleasant weekend they just enjoyed. His thoughts turned toward his meeting just as the cab pulled up at the address. Leaning forward to pay the driver, he glanced in the rear view mirror and noticed lines around his eyes for the first time.

The meeting went well. Afterwards, he decided to walk back to his office and enjoy the last of the warm weather. On the way, his reflection in a store-front window caught his eye. He was surprised to see a paunchy middle-age business man glancing back at him.  It was him of course but not how he felt. Incredibly, and worse, the reflection was older than he imagined he looked. “Oh well, ” he smiled and hurried along.

Outside his office, he ran into an old friend. There were the usual pleasantries about family and then talk about the imminent start of Fall and the ensuing and inevitable cold weather.  As they parted, his friend said something about him having some gray in his hair now, though of course it looked good.

“I guess there’s only so many days to summer,” he said.

copyright 2016 Christopher Donahue

Out of the ice-box elevator into the chilly lobby, he turns through the revolving door out/into searing-magnificent August. Under a cloudless blue sky, he walks the several blocks to the harbor, thinking along the way how despite working nearby he hadn’t made the walk all summer. The region is undergoing a drought and the dry heat is volcanic. There’s not even a breeze to bring relief. Other people are out at lunch along the park-like greenway trying to beat the heat and enjoy the last of summer.

Weaving through the crowds, he makes his way to the end of the wharf, dodging tourists along the way who have the whole day to spend. A couple, husband and wife, gray-haired, with silly shirts and summer hats, stroll aimlessly behind their teenage daughter who walks ten feet ahead, ignoring her folks, searching. It’s not long before he sees a nearly identical couple, only trailing behind a teenage son.

His mind goes back to forgotten vacations with his parents. He turns, strolling along and thinking of himself in the role of parent on vacation this time.  The office building where he works looms, and he goes back inside the cool. At his desk he forgets about summer, and gets lost in the flow again, of managing the minor crises of other people’s lives.

Copyright 2016 Magnus Incognito.com

Rising through slumbering subconscious,  I awake with my two cats looming over me in  the pre-dawn darkness. In the early gloom, I make out the silhouettes of Felix and Quiet Rustle- both in Sphinx-like contemplation of my sleeping form. Without my knowing, Felix had been meowing and Quiet Rustle gave me a nudge in an effort to wake me up to feed them. They were uncertain… perhaps I was dead.

But I rouse myself, and do a sleepy shuffle to the kitchen where, still in darkness, I grab a handful of cat food and drop it into the dishes for my two hungry buddies. I turn on the coffee machine and listen to it gurgle and brew the black-gold that will allow me to fully regain consciousness and be a productive member of society. After a cup of strong, black joe, I head to the gym for a quick workout. The first light of dawn illumines the yard in a tranquil twilight as I jog off to the Y.

Returning from the gym, in the golden, early light, my trusty cats greet me with joy! Felix runs here and there like a whippet. Quiet Rustle briskly scratches the tall cat tower while giving me a wild-eyed look over his shoulder. He looks like a crazed, harpist as he plucked at the tower. I bend down to pet him and WHAM IN MY FACE!!!

As I bent down to pet him, Quiet Rustle had simultaneously launched his 12 pound body up the five foot cat tower, bashing me squarely on the bridge of my nose with his hind-quarters. I didn’t know what hit me. My glasses went flying. I saw stars and staggered back, then sat on the couch.

Later, as I was driving my wife to work, I noticed the bridge of my nose was swelling into a nice egg. It hurt to keep my glasses on and I worried I’d have a black eye. After dropping her off I returned home intent on taking some ibuprofen and icing my face.

As I came in the house,  the cats raced around and were glad to see me.

This time I was careful when Quiet Rustle started making like a crazed, harpist.

copyright 2016 Magnus Incognito

Executive Order # 2020-1776:

In accordance with protesters rights, a protester’s right to protest supersedes an individual’s right to free speech. Henceforth, all “free speech” statements intended to be publicly made by an individual must be submitted to the Ministry of Free Speech (MOFS), before being uttered, so that appropriate protesters may be notified and coordinate a time to protest said “free speech” statement.

WARNING: In a free society, some examples of “speech” will not qualify as “free speech” and as such only protesters may be heard on such issues.  The MOFS will decide whether or not a particular statement qualifies as free speech, and any speech that is found to be offensive or hurtful will not be tolerated. Offensive and hurtful speech will be silenced and only protests of said offensive and hurtful speech will be allowed.

Whether or not a statement qualifies as free speech will be determined by a bureaucrat afraid to lose their job or an AI program developed by the same people who brought us spell-check.

Example #1: If you make the statement: “hardboiled eggs should only be eaten from the small end,” ( a statement which qualifies as free speech), appropriate protesters who believe “hard boiled eggs should be eaten from the big end” will be notified and will arrange to be present when you make your statement so they can protest.

Example #2: If you make the statement: “When in Rome, do what the Romans do” (a statement which does not qualify as free speech because it is offensive and hurtful to non-Romans who should be able to feel comfortable and do what they want when visiting Rome) protesters will be notified so they can coordinate a time to pre-empt your non-free speech entirely.

NON-FREE Speech:

Examples of non-free Speech include but are not limited to:

Questioning whether people are really doing things for Love, the environment, animals, feeling good about one’s self, children etc…

Copyright 2016 Magnus Incognito

If yesterday is always gone, tomorrow never comes, and it is always only now, why can’t it stay July forever? I say this every year like I am child, wishing for what is immensely pleasurable and I can’t have. The problem is that I am not a child and this situation gets worse every year. Each spin around the sun finds me older  and wishing, again, I could stop time in some wonderful moment. It is also a problem that I don’t experience time like a child– July seemed endless then, followed by an endless August.  By the time school came it felt like some major stage of my life had occurred.  Now the summer just flies by.

Summer is too short, as we painfully experience each year.  I now have a reminder that pops up on my smart phone each around the first of June each year:  Fireflies and Summer Events.  I put it in my calendar last year after I missed  the yearly hatching of fireflies  that magically populate summer evening’s in mid-July.

July is now drawing to a close and I’ve missed a great deal of it due to the pointless responsibilities of adult life.  At least the weather was nice.

Maybe I do still experience life like a child?

Copyright 2016 Magnus Incognito