THE LINE: LEMMUS LEMMUS

wikipedia Lemmus_Lemmus
Lemmus lemmus Wikipedia

Lemmings are small rodents, usually found in or near the Arctic, in tundra biomes. They are subnivealvol, and together with voles and muskrats, they make up the subfamily Arvicolinae(also known as Microtinae), which forms part of the largest mammal radiation by far, the super family Muroidea, which also includes ratsmicehamsters, and gerbils. Lemmus lemmus Wikipedia.

There are two sides to this story.
But only if all one wants is to know  whether the story is true.

 

“It was an unseasonably spring-like day; the sun was warm, the birds were singing, and the wispy clouds added a touch of pastel pleasantness to the day.” THE LINE by Lee Broom.

 THE LINE (Lemmus lemmus)

The lemmings had a meeting.

Since it was their custom to stand in line when socializing, this was as in previous attempts, a difficult meeting.

This was not the first time the lemmings had tried to get together, oh no.

The meetings thus far had started well but the farther toward the front of the line that one was stationed, the more difficult it became to hear the speaker who was according to tradition, stationed at the rear.

If this sounds odd it is because the land occupied by the lemmings was very narrow and had only two known directions, North and South. And for reasons long since forgotten, interraction between the lemmings always began with the Northern-most lemming.

On the North end was a cliff which was known only to the first in line and because their narrow strip of land was clouded by a dense fog bank, this knowledge was unknown even to lemming number one until after having stumbled into space, below which was a bottomless abyss.

The lemmings nearest the cliff now possessed a tiny bit of new knowledge. They had heard the lemming who fell, utter the words “Oh shit.”

This little handful of Lemmus Lemmus was now in possession of new information as had been others before them. And though the same dash of data was known only to a few and because this group of “a few” replaced mostly only themselves, the rest of the group knew little of what lay ahead, though occasionally partial knowledge of
“Oh shit” was passed on to one more lemming.

Eventually, after many eons and many “Oh shits”, this knowledge reached the back of the line.

“We must have a meeting” stated the last lemming. “We must have a meeting now.”  This lemming was a very unusual lemming; he was a lemming with ideas.

“Everyone tell the person in front of them to turn around.” He ordered and they did.

“Okay” he said; “now everyone follow me.” and they did that also.

And so it was, that this last lemming, who was busy inventing the Circle walked first to the right and then curved back left moving methodically forward toward the front of the line. Though he could not see his brothers and sisters, he could hear them and he mentally patted himself on his skinny rodent back.

“I am inventing a circle. This has never been done before. Soon we can have ourselves another meeting. Oh shit.”

Lee Broom. Emended 7/15/3015.

IS A SCARF EVER A HAT?

 

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IS A SCARF EVER A HAT?

I was six years old and very inquisitive. So much so that Father often called me Curious Abner. He sometimes called me Serious Abner. I am still as much one as the other.

I asked my father one Saturday during a lunch break at The Broom Family Clothing Store what the difference was between a Hat and a Cap. His reply:

A Hat has a brim and a Cap has a bill.

What about women?

We call them women  (a barely discernible grin.)

No Lovey (Mother and I called Father Lovey); on their heads

Too many categories for women son, everything on a woman’s head is a hat.

That lady over there is trying on a scarf. Is that a hat?

It’s time to get to work Abner.

THE PRESSURE OF GROUP DEMAND

 

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THE PRESSURE OF GROUP DEMAND

 

WHAT A LOVELY SPRING DAY

I received a phone call from a friend, last week.

She wanted to talk about my current, favorite subject, my newest (and,almost ready to publish) self-enlightenment book.

The subject details how to have fun and learn new stuff at the same time, gathering useful information in a way that comes naturally and which leads by way of a short path to that wonderful feeling that accompanies success.

WHAT A LOVELY SPRING DAY provides  101 pages so far, of fun and games,  with essays, poetry and one act plays.

WHAT A LOVELY SPRING DAY is strong on logic  but not at the expense of ignoring other (better?) methods of recovering the use of the inquisitive mind that directed our lives from day one until that day when our moms hauled us off to Kindergarten.

Theresa is not sold on Logic though she is very good at proving a point.

She talked for an hour on the disadvantages of Logic. “It doesn’t provide the seeker of truth with enough information.”

Hmmm. (I should introduce her to A.J.)

And she promoted memorization as the best way to fill one’s head.

Hmmm. (Wow, they sound like they’ve been drinking from the same cup.)

“And how about the quality of that info” I asked. “Is that important to you?”

“Not really.” replied Theresa. “I like having friends.”

OH SHIT

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Last Monday evening was the first time in forty years of attending a meeting of close friends, a group  that I shall refer to as the Arcadians , that I ever witnessed a member demonstrate a belief that consensus was unnecessary for determining whether a group such as ours lives or dies.

I saw and heard a friend of over thirty years explain to our group of nine that such a small gathering was half the size necessary to officially be a group. I heard him declare that if we were unable to double the size of our attendance by the end of October, he would bring closure to our existence.  His demeanor was that of a Shakespearean martyr.

If this story were turned into a novel a good title might be

“OH SHIT”.

That title is already reserved, however;  I am prepared to publish  a book about our next POTUS. – a short thriller which mentions no names.

TWO FRIENDS TALKING

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Lee’s Diary November 27, 2013

 

TWO FRIENDS TALKING

I could feel myself dying.

If my body has a trillion cells I was losing a thousand of them per second.

I called a friend. I walked as I talked, describing to him what was happening (or not), trying to find words in a brain that had been through this same identical experience only a week before but which I had shared with no one, not even after the fact.

“Am I dying John?”

“What does it feel like, Lee?”

One word seemed to fit, the word was “darkness” but it described a feeling – not a dimming departure of recently improved eyesight but a farewell to the welfare, which Life and Love may offer.

Inside me, throughout all of me, I was dark meat and I was growing darker.

The friend I had called was Jiggs’ Boy, John; we (mostly “I”) continued to talk.

“Will I live through this night?” I asked.

“Did I have a stroke?” I wondered.

“A heart-attack?” Perhaps.

“Did the darkness imply evil?” voiced “Little Lee”.

“Will I go to Hell?” I asked The Rest Of Me?

Talking and walking lifted my spirit and repaired the rheostat of the light within – my dying cells began a welcome revival.

I felt a Spiritual Presence and asked for a safe place for whatever was left of that which I think of as “Me” after this apparent departure from the material world had completed its metamorphosis and I wondered if my theories about God were correct.

Is The Creator of all things The Source of Love or the source of fear? Am I about to become a pillar of salt?

“Do you want me to come over?”

“I’m afraid I’m dying, John.”

“Do you want me to come over and watch you die?”

I laughed. Jiggs’ boy chuckled.

Note: This page from my diary will be in a forthcoming book,
WHAT A LOVELY SPRING DAY.

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SPITBALL

 

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SPITBALL

I AM THE SPITBALL hurtling through space. My perfectly straight path has been trapped by the gravity of a gigantic, flaming ball of gas which now controls my path by keeping me forever at a safe distance…

I AM THE QUAIL who minutes ago flew a few feet to avoid being eaten. The doves, who also avoided capture, flew higher than I. Perhaps next time I will reach the branches; perhaps then I will be safe.

I AM THE STARLING among starlings. When we rise to the sky the world takes notice.

I AM THE GOOD SHIP NINA redoing my map. Somewhere I miscalculated.

I AM THE GOOD SHIP PINTA. Here are my mistakes.

I AM THE GOOD SHIP SANTA MARIA. Oops.

I AM THE BURRO: Notice my humility.

I AM THE DERVISH. I whirl away my errors.

I AM THE LIST. I am the errors.

I AM THE APOLOGIST. I explain the errors.

I AM THE EDITOR. I look for missed “takes”.

I AM THE LEMMING. I follow the LOVE.

I AM THE ARTIST. I AM ALL THESE AND MORE.

I AM THEE.

I AM.