That Was Totally Weird

A few days ago, Hubby and I watched The Last Stand, an Arnold Schwarzenegger movie that began with a narration of the landscape—do you know where I’m going with this? Well, we didn’t. 

 

The narrator described the opening scene. He described the characters as if reading the movie script. All this while we were also watching the action and hearing the dialog. There was no background music, just the narration. “She downcast her eyes,” yep, he described that action right on cue.

 

I said, “Hey, we can see that; why are you telling us?” 

 

The narrator continued. It was annoying as we could see that the bad guy had his legs wrapped around Arnold’s neck, that was until all that reading became funny.  I thought it was a schtick, a ploy of the film, for there wasn’t much dialogue. Soon, I wasn’t paying much attention to the guy reading. But he wouldn't shut up. Okay, the move ended, but the guy kept talking. 

 

He read the credits—like ALL the credits, Castle Rock Film Co. Columbia Pictures, to the extreme of describing the lady holding the torch. He read ALL the actors and their parts. I skipped through that long list but wondered where in the heck this was going. Then the narrator called his wife, got her message machine, and said he missed her and wanted her back. He ranted for awhile, the message ran out, but began another and he continued where he had left off. The message ended, but he wasn’t finished talking.

 

Another message came on with a continuation of his one-sided conversation and apologizing. I thought it was similar to a cookie at the end of a movie. Way to go Arnold, you must have chosen this script because of this device. Then the guy, who should have needed a drink of water by now, started describing the following movie, The Morgans. We turned off the TV and laughed. “That was awesome. How weird. How clever.”

 

The next day, Daughter Dear said it was a setting on our television that got clicked on somehow. It was probably for the sight-impaired--maybe it was an open mike.

 

Oh.

 

But I’m still laughing.

 

More than you wanted to know?

I completed my 27 hours of real estate Continuing Education and then another 3 of Laws, so I’m set with a Real Estate Broker license for the next 2 years. The first year only lasted from the time we took your exam until our birthday month. 

I am study and tested out.

So, if you got anything weird from me, please chalk it up to my scrambled brain. Now I have changed the name of my newsletter. It’s on Substack. It's purpose is to let people know what I am up to, and determine if they want to continue with me. Here's a glimpse if you are interested: If not, tell me a funny story.

 

 

Introduction

Hi, I'm Joyce

 

Remember The Twilight Bark?

 

On a hillside in London, Papa Pongo desperately barked for help in finding his 15 stolen puppies. The great Dane heard his cry and set in motion the twilight bark where the message passed from dog to dog until it reached a farm outside town. There, the Colonel heard "Stolen, fifteen spotted puddles," until, with the help of Sargent Tibs (a cat), and a correction in hearing, they led the charge and rescued not 15 but 101 spotted puppies. After misadventures, trickery, skill, and bravery, they defeated that despicable vicious vile old witch, Cruella DeVille. (Disney movie 101 Dalmations.)

 

Jewell was my dog. Now she is my emissary, a past love heralding in the future, to lay a bark trail, of what you can expect from me.”

 

My daughter might take offense when I say that Jewell was my dog, for we adopted Jewell to be her dog. However, when my daughter was busy in high school, Jewell and I became inseparable. You know how it is: once a dog stamps her love on your heart, it's there forever.

 

This stealing of his dog's name worked for Indiana Jones. Isn't Indiana much more fun than Henry Jones Jr. and Raiders of the Lost Ark. It doesn't have a ring to it, does it? And try to say Joyce Davis without it coming out, JoyceStavis.

 

This newsletter morphed from a blog I've written titled Wish on White Horses. However, as that blog isn't about horses—this newsletter isn't about dogs.

 

Both animals are our teachers.

  

Horses teach us not to follow someone else's path but to blaze our own. Dogs teach love.

 

More... 

 

 

joycedavis.substack.com 

 

 

On The Porch

 

 I asked the group of six that had been meeting weekly under the Maple if they wanted to continue. They told me they would continue whether I recorded their meetings or not. They were doing it for themselves, and if recording their conversations would be entertaining or informative to others, so be it.

 

They kicked my butt and told me to keep going, not to bore people but to trust that recording their conversations was valuable. But they were going to let’er rip and forget that I am listening.

 

So let the tape roll…

 

Last Tuesday: ON THE PORCH:

 

Hot spinach dip in a fondue pot on the table, chips to dip. Drinks available.

 

Shal came through the gate, grinning a big Cheshire cat grin.

 

“Well, Hello, Shal,” said Ollie, standing from her chair and waving him in. “You look happy.”

 

“I am.” He hopped onto the porch where the group had moved from the maple tree, poured himself a hot cup of coffee, and said, “Hi, everybody. Ollie, I like your porch, and that it is enclosed on three sides, and with that patio heater, it will keep us comfy until December. And I believe that tree standing in your yard is still our protector and observer.” He gives a salute.

 

“Yep, fall fell this week. The rains came, the lawns turned green, and the fields are so brilliant they glisten when the sun hits them.”

 

“Yep.”

 

“Shal,” said Twinkie, “what do you have up your sleeve? You look like you hit a jackpot.”

 

“I did. I’m going to be a papa.”

 

“Really? Shal, that’s wonderful.” Ollie moved around the table to give him a hug. The others gather around, shaking hands, hugging, and slapping him on the back.

 

“We were about ready to go to a fertility specialist.” He paced, too excited to sit or maybe nervous about telling his friends something so close to his heart. “We wanted to be pregnant by the time Allison was 35—missed it by a year. She’s 36 now. I’m 40, and we’re a little tenuous about telling people, wanting to ensure the pregnancy sticks. But I couldn’t wait to tell you guys.”

 

“Isn’t it fascinating,” said Ollie, “that this happened after you began meditating?”

 

“Oh my gosh, that’s right. I have been meditating still, for Allison said I was calmer and more at peace when I meditated. Oh, this fascinates me. I had not put it together. I thought something else caused a pregnancy.” 

 

The group laughs.

 

“How’s Allison going to manage?” Ollie asks. “She’s a Physician’s Assistant. I know she loves her job.”

 

“I might become a house husband, well, not all the time. Allison said she didn’t wait all this time for a baby, only to let me raise it, so we are working it out. She will work a couple days a week, I will go part-time. I can do that with my job, and we’ll share.”

 

“I’m glad you guys have that option,” said Sally. “I’m happy for you.”

 

“Oh, I had qualms about bringing a child into the world, after that Covid thing, and the lock down, the school shootings and all that. But Allison said that a baby is evidence that the world will continue. So, I’m accepting that. We’ll home school if need be. Maybe that child chose to come in now, who knows what plan he or she has up that little baby sleeve of hers, his, whatever.”

 

“You are the shot of joy we needed, Shal.” When we have a joyful moment, it magnetizes more joy. It builds. And what is more joyful than new life? 

 

‘I love watching babies giggle, blow bubbles, and kick their feet like those feet were the best invention ever. I’ll babysit so Mom and Dad can have a date night. You’re making me want to go out and get a puppy.”

 

“Old Laffe there might object,” Shal looked at Ollie’s dog asleep under the table where Ollie had placed a large rug that gave him plenty of room and the others a warm floor if they wanted to take off their shoes.

 

“Maybe it would give him a longevity shot.”

 

“You know,” says Ollie, “all these things, babies, puppies, make our life more fun, and you know that ‘Neurons that fire together wire together.’ And that applies to experiences, learning, and mind talk. It fixes them into the brain.”

 

“Up with brain juice,” says Twinkie. “By the way folks, Alan kissed me.”

 

“Twinkie, really?” said Ollie, somewhat concerned that he was taking advantage of a love-struck girl.

 

“Yep, really. I think he means it.” He told me he tries not to get involved with a student. I guess it’s somewhat like the student falls in love with the teacher, and the teacher should not take advantage of that. Last Saturday, as we were taking a break from the hot room with that blazing kiln, we walked into the forest behind his studio and down a path there. When we came to a fallen log, we sat on it and talked. He had a problem with my name, Twinkie. ‘You are not a Bimbo,” he said. “You are the most UP girl I have ever met.”  

 

“’You can call me Shirley, my given name, if you want,’ I said.”

 

 “‘How about Twink? That suits your lightness,’ he said. 

 

 “And not as fattening as a Twinkie,’ I said. He laughed and fell silent. We held hands for a while just sitting there. It was not an uncomfortable silence, but my nerves were a wreck. I thought I was going to die of longing. And then he turned and kissed me.”

 

“So cool,” said Sally, bursting into tears, shocking everyone.”

 

…to be continued

 

 

P.S. You can find all the conversations on Substack, plus a little extra in between. 

 

Jewell D's Substack

 

aka

 

https://joycedavis@substack.com