As he spoke, I took the time to look at him.

His skin was nearly flawless, with no hair on his head, brows, and eyelids. He wore a black dress suit, black dress shoes, a white button-down shirt, and a narrow black tie.

While talking, he continued to look at a device on his left wrist, tucked under his jacket sleeve, and which seemed to be communicating with him. I wanted to ask if I might look at it, but it did not seem to be the appropriate time at the moment.

He told me that his next assignment, in what he called “your year of 1990,” found him in a jail cell waiting to meet a man that he was to befriend and help guide from a life of violence. This man’s name was John, and he was in jail for being drunk and disorderly in San Francisco.

“I soon learned that his anger and pain had to do with a female he had met, fell in love with, and lost all in a years time,” he said.

“What did you do?” I heard myself ask.

“I broke a founding rule,” he said. “I took him back to the point where he had decided to leave this woman named Johanna behind, and I did it without permission.”

“It has had profound consequences for all three of us,” he added.

So, the guy might be crazy, and I even crazier for sitting and listen to him ramble on. And yes, I did think about what he said happened to Poe and a psychotic break, but what he first said had to be true for the second half to be authentic as well.

He said his name was John and that while there were hundreds of travelers, he was the last traveler. He claimed that the Clinton Administration had disbanded the program and that he was operating without authorization.

I asked, “How do you know me?”

“In another place in time, you are a big deal,” he said, “But you were never my first choice for this period of time. I don’t mean to sound insulting, but Stephen King nearly had me arrested.”

Next, he told me that in 1975, he had left a child he had kidnapped on the steps of an orphanage. That child, a girl, now grown, was living nearby after being raised by a family on the East Coast.

“This girl had a birth defect,” he said. “She was born with female and male reproductive organs. I was sent to steal her back so she could have corrective surgery. But I was too late. She was already pregnant.”

Upon his return to the agency, which he called ‘The Plumbers,” he said he was assigned a new case.

What to do with the strange situation I find myself in this evening.

Earlier today, I took my dog, Buddy, for a walk to a nearby park. And while sitting in the shade, resting, a man suddenly appeared out of nowhere and asked me if I like to write stories.

Alarmed, I wanted to rush home, but there was something about him that made me stop. The way he spoke and was dressed seemed out of place.

He claimed to be a dimensional traveler whose job it had been to fix errors in different timelines after riffs collide, creating out-of-place effects. I know it sounds crazy, but he told me a few things that kind of make sense.

For instance, he explained that Edgar Allen Poe was one of the first dimensional travelers and had suffered a psychotic break after one too many jumps. He also said that Ambrose Bierce didn’t disappear in Mexico but was “sanctioned by the federal government for sharing his experiences through his writings.”

There is so much more, and my head is swimming with everything he told me, and at this moment, I am trying to figure out how to write all that he told me. So please bear with me…

My Cousin Elmo says, “As I watch the price of lumber go up, I’m wondering if I should part out my house for extra cash.”

It is a “rather quirky thing,” as my wife calls it, that I do when I fuel up our vehicles, I write down what the price of a gallon of gas costs that day. I keep these figures in a small notebook on my desk.

Yesterday, May 2, 2021, I fueled up my wife’s car, where I noted the price of a gallon of regular gas as $3.37. The day before, I did the same thing for my truck when gas was three cents less per gallon.

This caused me to go back and look at what the price of gasoline was a year ago. I was not the least bit surprised.

On May 8, 2020, gas was $1.84 a gallon.

April 21

“Hey Tom. Are you there?”

“Yes.”

“There are a bunch of free pianos on FB. Do you still have your truck and the offer to help me get one?”

“Yes.”

“I will inquire and get back to you! You are a lifesaver…for real.”

“Okay.”

“I’m curious about how far you’re willing to drive? Like South Lake Tahoe? I’ll pay for the gas. Just think about it. Please!”

“I can do that.”

“There’s one in Fallon also. You’re saving my life, Tom. Thank you. As soon as I hear something I will let ya know. Is there a good time or a bad time to text you?”

“Text me anytime. I might not answer right away, but go ahead anyway.”

“Okay. Thank you so much. I just got a reply from the one in Tahoe. It’s still available. There is one is in Sparks, too.”

“Make the arrangements. Good night.”

“Tom, are you there? Well…let me know if you still want to help. Did you desert me?”

April 22

“I went to bed.”

“She said the weekend would be good for her. We need strong young backs to help. I don’t know anyone that can help.”

“I can do it on Sunday. I’ll see if my son is available to help me.”

“I know your back is messed up. I love you, my friend! Again, you’re saving my life. She’s trying to make sure everyone is safe. She will hold the piano no matter what.”

“Jus’ need a time and address.”

“Will Sunday work at around 10 am?”

“Yes.”

April 23

“She wants you to give her a call.”

“Will do.”

“Thank you so so so so much, Tom. Were you able to call her? She just said you haven’t called her. Do you not want to do this or not? Tom, are you there? WTF! Tom, please answer me. OMG! Are you flaking on me?”

April 24

“OMG! Okay, you haven’t said a word.”

“I’m still waiting for an address.”

“She’s waiting for you to call her.”

“I already did. She said she’d give you the address.”

“I just got home from getting a new cell phone so I had no idea what had gone down! Sorry if I’m a bitch. Hang on. Here’s the address…”

“It’s okay. Jus’ chill a little it is working out. My son and I will get it tomorrow. Get some rest. It’s all good.”

April 25

“One thing, I want you to please use your best judgment on the condition of it. If you think it’s going to be too costly for me to have it tuned and whatnot. I know it has a little damage on the top side and needs to be tuned and tender loving care, which I’m more than willing to do. I just don’t want it to be so far out of tune that there’s no hope for it. An I making any sense? I can’t fucking sleep…lol! Good morning. Okay, maybe not.”

“It a great instrument! Heavier than all hell. We have the music bench with the books.”

“Sorry, I was in the shower. Thanks for dropping that off.”

“You’re welcome. I know it is disappointing not getting the piano today, but my son and are getting a few more bodies to help lift it.”

“Thank you. Any idea when it might happen? I have gas money for you. It’s right here. I didn’t expect to be in the shower when you got here. You can come by and get it whenever.”

“No idea yet. And keep your money.”

April 27

No communication

April 26

“Is there a reason that you’re not talking to me?”

“I’ve been busy trying to meet my deadline for the paper. I’m not ignoring you, jus’ working.”

“Okay, cool. Thanks. I’ll wait to hear from you about the piano. Thanks again for everything.”

“We are working to get a couple, okay four other guys, together to lift the piano. It has wooden casters and we don’t want to roll it over cement or asphalt. It does need cleaning and tuning, but all-in-all it is a fine instrument — jus’ very heavy. The late 40s, early 50s.”

“Wow. I may have a big burly young man that can help. I’ll check. Thanks, Tom. I’m not trying to burden you.”

“All is okay.”

April 28

“No news other than the two other people that my son asked to help is suddenly quarantining.”

“Oh, crap. I think I may be able to find two…maybe.”

“Good. Lemme know.”

“I’m sorry this is becoming a pain in the ass. I need to know what day is good for you so I can ask the others? Ok. I have one guy. Anytime after 1 pm is good for him. He works graveyard at Walmart. He will help. Tom?”

“That’s good news about getting help. Sorry about the delay in responding. Internet would not come up. I’ll ask Kyle about what day.”

“Awesome. Thanks, Tom. Please let me know how soon we can do this.”

April 29

“Hey Tom, did your son give you any info yet?”

“Have not heard from him. He’s at work right now.”

“Can you contact him after he’s off, please? She says she’s in no hurry, but you know. I don’t want to overstay my welcome. Thank you. sir. Just remember you’re saving my soul…love ya, my friend.”

“Will do.”

April 30

“Did you speak with your son, Tom? Hello. Is there anybody in there. Okay. Please tell me what’s going on. If you don’t want to do it, it’s okay.”

“Jus’ got home. Been working.”

“Okay. So…”

May 1

“So I have a dialog going with a city councilman. Do you think I should ask him for help moving the piano? I’m sure he has some kind of contacts that could help make it easier?”

“That is a good idea. I have to replace a paper box and do an interview today. My son hasn’t been able to get anyone to help either. Gonna be on the road for about an hour. Chat later.”

“Wow, you shot off-line in a fucking hurry. I just asked the councilman. Waiting for response. He is getting a whole crew of guys and a truck to move my piano. So in conclusion, you’re off the hook. It’s obvious you don’t want to do it so I took the burden back and now you are free and clear of me forever. I’m sure that works for you. After all, I was never much to you anyway.”

BLOCKED

Sometimes rough days make the best days.

Up early, I had to take care of a broken newspaper box. While unloading it, the thing, being lighter than I thought, came off the bed of my truck faster than I could move and fell on my left leg, knocking me to the ground.

With no one around to help me get the damn thing off me, I ended up using my right foot and rolling it off me. At that point, the pain was pretty sharp, and I thought I had snapped my ankle.

Turns out that I simply gashed my leg, ripped a sock, and tore my bib overalls. As for the ankle, bruised and swollen but not broken.

I toughed it out by putting the paper box where it was intended to be.

Tomorrow, I plan to sit down and stitch the rip in my pants. The sock is going in the trash as soon as I get ready for bed.

Then I went into Virginia City, taking some copies of a newspaper story to a woman whose father passed away a couple of months ago. She was recuperating from surgery at the time and never got to see the article written about the funeral.

I thought she was going to cry, she said she was so happy.

Next, I attended an intimate concert at a local cafe. The singer, who I got to interview, was great.

I found it hard not to feel a bit of a kinship with her when she sang a song about swimming in the Eel River, which is near where I grew up, and having the “smell of the river in my hair.”

Hours later, I still have that one line hanging around in my head.

Then, of course, I got to see a couple of friends and meet a couple of strangers that I can now call friends. I’m ready now for the next journey in my life of story-telling and photo-taking, which will be about the V&T Railroad.

And to think, it all started with a newspaper box falling on me.

My Cousin Elmo says, “This old age stuff has come at a bad time in my life.”

Some people do not understand that it is not only rude to yell at people you do not know, but it can also be bad for one’s health. And I’m tired of being yelled at and too damned old to put up with it to boot.

Being a sunny and warm morning yesterday, I decided to take Buddy for a walk. We followed the sidewalk to the far east end of our street, where it dead ends.

There are two barriers there to keep motor vehicles from passing. However, it does not stop off-road motorcyclists, bicyclists, or people on foot from going beyond them.

As I stood looking at how the construction of the new homes was progressing, this 30-something man suddenly started yelling at me from his porch for “trespassing.” With my PTSD triggered, I turned on him in the most unchristian way imaginable.

“If you don’t change your tone and stop yelling at me, I’m gonna come over there and cut your effing tongue outta your empty head,” I said. “I’ve lived on this street for 23-years and been in that field more times than the number of days you’ve been living in your house. So shut up and mind your own business.”

He’s only lived in that house for a couple of months. And this isn’t the first I have heard of him yelling a people, especially youngsters.

Without another word, he went back inside and closed his door. Quite possibly the most intelligent thing he could have done.

Best walk ever.

Fellow blogger Allen Rizzi posted a few days back about Don Williams. One of the songs he listed was “What Do You Do with a Good Ol’ Boy Like Me.” While it was released in March 1980, I never heard it until about two years later.

What fighting-hole I was in at the time, I cannot recall. What I do remember is that I was in a foreign and hostile land, homesick and that the family of my childhood was gone because of divorce and I plagiarized the lyrics to fit my life at the time.

When I was a kid, Momma would come put us to bed,
With a figure of Jesus on the cross above our head.
Then Daddy came in to kiss his little men,
With beer on his breath, a Louis L’amour in hand,
And he talked about honor and things we should know.
Then he would leave, quietly walking on tip-toe.

I can still see those tall Redwood trees creating awe
And those Darby boys, the ones in my memory raw,
William O. in Arkansas.
I guess we’re all gonna be what we’re gonna be,
So what do you do with silly little boys like me?

Nothing makes a sound in the night as the rain does,
But you ain’t afraid if you’re washed in the blood like I was.
The smell of the salt air from that green Pacific sea,
K-P-O-D kept me company
By the light of the radio by my bed,
With Jack London whispering in my head.

I can still see those tall Redwood trees creating awe
And those Darby boys, the ones in my memory raw,
William O. in Arkansas.
I guess we’re all gonna be what we’re gonna be,
So what do you do with ignorant boys like me?

When I was in school, I ran with a kid down the street,
And I watched him burn himself up on emerald weed,
But I was quicker than most, and I could choose.
I learned to talk like the man on the radio news.
When I was eighteen, lord, I hit the road
But it really doesn’t matter how much I know.

I can still see those tall Redwood trees creating awe
And those Darby boys, the ones in my memory raw,
William O. in Arkansas.
I guess we’re all gonna be what we’re gonna be,
Yeah, what do you do with a U.S. Marine like me?

Yeah, shame on me for stealing the lyrics, but I knew I would never try to make money off of it. Later, I admitted to Mr. Williams in a radio interview what I had done and how his tune and my rework of the moment got me through some rough times.

His response: “Mercy.”