What is the sweetest word in the English language? Your name! And your name sounds only sweeter when there is a preamble, a nifty title in front of it.
For instance, the proper way to say my name is "That podcasting genius, that poet of the people, that most handsome dude . . . Shane Shennan!"
Post your cool title/preamble here, and I'll mention it on a future episode of Yondercast.There we were, sitting on the cemetery wall, kicking the heels of our church shoes against the rough stonework as if we were little kids. Jen's grandma's coffin was somewhere behind us, waiting for the people who would lower it into the earth and cover it with dirt. We had told our parents that we wanted to hang out for the rest of the afternoon, so they left us behind after the graveyard service. They were used to the four of us hanging out.
It was early May. It had been a difficult winter for all of us. School had been bad for me. I had trouble getting used to Grade Nine and I hated everything about the new school. Everything except attending there with Jen and Nelson and Laura. Nelson hadn't been the same since Sarah Gleem had broken up with him the day before Christmas vacation. All winter he hadn't said much, but for some strange reason he had started whittling. He was getting pretty good at wittling, and Jen and her grandma and Laura and I would beg for the wooden beavers and dwarves and eagles before he could throw then into his folk's fireplace. Laura had been acting strange as well, as if she wanted to jump out of her skin. She would all of a sudden start yelling about something, and then do something unusual. Jen and I kept track of her outbursts, and we bet each other loonies on when she would next freak out.
And now Jen's grandma had died, and that hit all of us hard, because we had hung out at her place all the time. She used to tell us about the old days and let us bake with her in her small kitchen, and she was like the fifth member of our group. So there we were, sitting on the cemetery wall, boy, girl, boy, girl. Next to me was Jen, red-eyed, and I was making comforting noises. I was pretty good at that, but I wished I could do something that would actually make a difference. All I could see in my head was that picture of Jesus raising Lazarus, except Jen's grandma was there instead of Lazarus. Nelson was next to Jen, whittling something. Laura was at the end, hitting her heels against the wall harder than any of us. We had a rhythm going, the way we were all kicking the wall together, but Laura was almost throwing the rhythm off.
Suddenly Laura stopped kicking the wall and started untying her shoelaces. Jen and I looked at each other. We know Laura was freaking out again. Laura threw her shoes to the ground and yanked off her socks. Then she started yelling,"Look at your feet! Look at your feet!" She held her left foot in her hand and stared at it, poking at it. Nelson looked startled, but he put down his jackknife and took his shoes off. He examined his feet, looking interested in something for the first time since Sarah Gleem had given him the break-up note. I took off my shoes and socks as well, curious, and not wanting to be left out. My feet were pale and slightly puffy from being in socks and shoes and boots all winter. All that time in shoes can't be good for a person.
Next to me, Jen had unbuckled her delicate high heels and was looking at her nylon-covered feet. Her nylons were dark and you couldn't see her bare feet through them. A weird sound came out of her throat. She was growling. Serene Jen was growling! She carefully ripped her nylons so that both feet were exposed. We all looked at her, amazed. Laura was supposed to be the wild one, and even Laura was gaping at Jen. Jen ignored our reactions and stared at her feet. "They look like dough!" she said. Something about that stuck us as funny. I know it doesn't sound that funny, but back then it broke us up. For five minutes, we could not stop looking at our feet and saying, "They look like dough!" Finally Laura looked at us with a serious expression on her face. "They might look like dough now, but we'll bake them in the sun all summer until they're crusty and warm." That set us off on another round of laughter.
It sounds like a silly thing to make a difference, the four of us looking at our bare feet, but things started getting better for us from that day on. After the summer, school got better for me. Nelson started talking more and was less depressed. Laura didn't act strange as much and seemed a lot calmer. And when we thought of Jen's grandma dying, we couldn't help thinking about good things as well.
It's been a while since I've seen Jen and Nelson and Laura, but we still keep in touch. On my key chain, I have one of the four wooden feet that Nelson whittled for us. It reminds me that bad times don't last forever.
Soothing euphoria,
maybe because of the ocean's rumbling surf,
or the sinking of my tennis shoes into damp sand.
Maybe it's the smell of eroded rock,
or the taste of sea salt,
or the touch of the undecided breeze.
My heart sings,
maybe because of the tranquil azure sky,
or the retreating cloud that invites, "Stay all day!"
Maybe it's the sight of the imposing Atlantic butte,
or of its pines clinging to the precious soil.
My mind soars:
this oft-remembered beach is tangible again!
"Build a sand castle, fly a kite, climb this dwarfish Everest!
Invest your dream currency, that pent-up energy
carefully hoarded
while slumbering at winter bus stops."
The castle has one tower, then ten, flying seaweed flags.
The kite reel whirls in my hands,
yanked by a captured rainbow.
Every movement I make
banishes the lethargy of hibernation.
All the while I hear an echo from childhood,
"Save the best for last!"
Walk toward it, a mountain of future sand,
an imagined siren singing, "Climb, hero!"
Ocean, sand, sky, time fade.
This otherworldly boulder fills my vision and my mind.
Feet and hands welcome the quest.
Eyes, fingers, and shoes search for crevices in rock.
Muscles ache, and sing, as they labour.
I fly. Halfway up. Almost there.
My hand grabs the final rugged ledge.
A few more footholds, then over I clamber.
Victory, exhaustion, an effervescent soul.
I rest, leaning against an impossible evergreen.
Exhilaration,
Maybe because the deep sky is so much closer,
or because the ocean has grown wider.
Maybe because I have chiseled
a memory with my bare hands,
and have surmounted an almost-fear.
by Lew Jones, found on IODA Promonet.
Larry Winfield of the Sundown Lounge poetry podcast
Steve Saylor of the Black Shadow podcast novel
My friend Drin, you know, the one who works at the chair leg factory? I see him today, and he's got this look on his face, like the universe is a strange place or something. I ask him what's going on, and he says, "Dude! Unsettling experience!" So, I get him to tell me what happened.
So, last night, after a full day at the chair leg factory, he doesn't feel like making macaroni and cheese or putting on some soup or microwaving a TV dinner, you know how it is. So, he goes to Nifty Burger. What? Yeah, the one on Spelunker, near the coffee place. He orders a Triple Nifty Combo, except that he substitutes milk for the pop. He gets a strange look from the person behind the counter, because how many people you know order milk in a fast food place? But he gets his food and sits down and looks at the food on his tray. And he gets this weird feeling.
He's had that weird feeling before, like the day all the machines in the chair leg factory just stopped working for no reason. So, he just sits there for a minute, afraid if he moves the world will stop working normally or something, but a guy's got to eat eventually, eh? He empties the fries onto his tray and they look fine, so he eats one. Everything's okay. He carefully, carefully unwraps his Triple Nifty Burger, like it's a bomb or something. But it's okay, he takes a bite and the world keeps on spinning. He's still not convinced, though. So, he picks up his milk and slowly opens the carton. And . . . chaos! The milk carton starts singing!
Yeah, singing! That jingle from the milk commercial, um, goes, "Everyone's a winner with fresh milk!" Yeah, he had just opened a winning carton! So the Nifty Burger manager comes running out with a special form he has to sign, and another Nifty Burger person has to take a picture of him holding up the carton. And everybody in the place is looking at him and they start clapping. So, the manager asks him a million questions to put on the special form, like why he decided to drink milk tonight, and was milk a part of his healthy lifestyle and what was twenty-seven minus fourteen? And they tell him he won five-hundred bucks and a tour of a dairy farm and a plush cow and I don't even know what else. All this time, the milk carton is still making a racket.
Finally, after a long time, everything dies down and he can finally sit down with his food. He's a laid-back kinda guy, you know, doesn't like a lot of attention. He starts eating his fries and burger, they're cold, but he doesn't care, he's hungry. He looks around for his milk carton so he can take a drink, but of course the manager took it away with the prize paperwork, to process his win or whatever. Anyway, you know, when you get a winning carton, there's only a bag of water in it and the thing that plays the milk jingle. He's got nothing to drink.
So, he goes up to the counter, takes out his wallet and buys a milk. He said it was pretty good milk, even though he had to wait for it.
You, the twenty-something with the spiked hair and the Harry Potter glasses! Grab your lunch and several cannisters of ice-cold water, for we are going to the Barns at Bismark!
Query: why are we going there?
We are going to the Barns at Bismark so that we can prepare a truckload of party supplies for their journey to this selfsame warehouse.
How will we prepare these party supplies for their journey?
We will search for boxes of party supplies that have not been marred by the raccoons who enter the Barns at Bismark through the holes in the walls.
We will pack those boxes of party supplies onto skids.
Furthermore, we will wrap the skids of stacked boxes with industrial-strength plastic wrap so that the stacks will stay steady and upright during their journey.
Did the barns at Bismark always contain party supplies?
No! In the past, the Barns at Bismark have also housed cows and emus.
Surely you jest!
Nay! I speak to you most seriously. Breeding pairs of emus were housed in some of the Barns at Bismark. Others of the Barns at Bismark served as feeding sheds for a herd of cows.
Is it permitted that I bring along a small machine that plays MP3 files? I wish to listen to audio programs such as Firefly Talk, NPR Books and Escape Pod while I work.
Why is it that you wish to listen to audio programs while you work?
I wish to numb my senses against the ghostly presence of whatever cows and emus still haunt the Barns at Bismark.
Yes, it is certainly permitted that you listen to your small MP3-playing machine.
