Updates on the book!

 For a video of this letter:

https://youtu.be/4J6axEmsE1k

Greetings,

Just a quick note to give you an update on my new book Hope This Finds You.   First, thank you to all of you for your enthusiastic support.   I have had feedback from readers all over the country about the book, and I really appreciate it.

Last week I invited  you to submit endorsements; if you have enjoyed Monday Moanin’ and wanted to submit an endorsement about the writing, we will will try to fit it in the book.  But the deadline for that is November 1.  Send your submission to wordsmith810@gmail.com.

Next week I will reveal the cover of the book, which is beautiful, and let you know the release date so you’ll know when you can order your book.  This week I have a sneak peek at the back which will give you a nice synopsis of what is inside.

Thank you again for going on this journey with me.  Won’t be long now and you’ll have the book in your hands

David

Edward

 

October 31, 2022

 

Greetings from the inside,

 Edward stood at the sink and ate his toast.  It was wheat toast with a little butter on it.  Not real butter, something that Edith said he could have instead, because of his cholesterol.  He took another bite, and decided he’d rather risk heart disease than taste whatever yellow substitute was on his toast.

 He ate at the sink because he knew that Edith would fuss if he got crumbs on the counter, or the floor.  A piece of toast was not worth getting a plate for, then he would have to wash it and dry it, simply too much to bother with when he just wanted a little something after his coffee.

 He looked out the window over the sink.  It was dark, so there was nothing to see other than his image in the glass.  He could see the kitchen reflected behind him, the candle that Edith always lit when she made tea.  Tea.  Pah.  Forty years they talked about this, but she wouldn’t even taste the coffee he made each morning. 

 The electric clock on the wall ticked softly, the face of a cat, its tail hanging as a pendulum below.  He took another bite of the toast.  It was so dry it absorbed the last of the moisture in his mouth. Her idea.  He tossed the toast in the sink.  “Dammit, Edith, I am not eating this.”

 

 The charge nurse flipped the chart closed and handed it to the young LPN coming on duty.  They didn’t know each other well, she hadn’t made up her mind to even memorize her name.  There was so much turnover she resented spending time getting to know people only to have to train their replacement.  The Memory Care wing was brutal on everyone.

 “Fourteen is sleeping still, but everyone else is up.  You need to check on twenty-two,” she said, not looking at the newbie.  “Edward.  He was in the hall earlier, asking for his wife, and we settled him and gave him early breakfast.”

 The first shift nurse took the chart and riffled the pages, ran her thumb down the list of patients looking for the man’s name.  “I’ll look in on him,” she said, reaching into her pocket for her badge.  She knew the charge nurse didn’t remember her name, which was ironic.  She pinned it on her lapel.  Heather.

 

 Edward swept the toast crumbs in the sink and leaned on the counter, peering into the yard.  Once it was light he knew there would be rabbits, maybe a deer.  The little Chinese Maple Edith planted had a bird feeder in it, so there would be Chickadees.  It was still too dark, his face loomed on the glass.  He squinted, could barely make out gray shapes beyond the window.

The kids would be coming for Thanksgiving.  Was that right?  Or her birthday.  He had to look to be sure, Edith would have written it on the calendar she kept on the refrigerator. 

 

 Heather padded down the empty hall, looping the stethoscope into her pocket, patting around to find her gloves.  She reached twenty-two and read the label on the door: Edward Grissom.  She bumped her hip against the door and pushed in.

 She thought she felt a cobweb on her cheek, brushed it away, and let the door swing behind her. The room seemed darker than it should be. She took a breath to say his name and then couldn’t speak.  She felt dizzy, disoriented. It was not his room, not any room on the wing.  No hospital bed, no assist rail, no power recliner. It was a kitchen.  Teakettle on the stove.  There was a tattered braided rug on the linoleum floor.

 “Edith?” Edward called out. 

 Heather heard him, but the sound was muffled.  She swallowed, put a hand out to the wall to steady herself.  It was a small kitchen, the counter crowded with a cookie jar, a bowl of apples, some dishes stacked to be put away, a candle flickering in the dim light.  There was an old refrigerator, Kelvinator, with a calendar held in place by a magnet that said ‘Grateful’ on it. 

 The man standing by the sink turned to face her.  She could see him squinting behind his heavy glasses.  “Edith?”  Then he laughed. “No I guess not,” pointing at her name tag.  He shrugged. “Would you care for coffee?”

 Heather felt the unsettling panic subside.  She said “Edward?” just to see if her voice worked.

 “That’s me,” he said with a small laugh, “I think.”  He moved to a small wooden table with two chairs.  In the middle was salt and pepper shakers shaped like owls.  There was a cup of coffee, and another with a tea bag in it.  He sat down and pointed to the other chair.  “Please, sit down.  Keep me company until Edith gets back.”

 Heather looked back at the door, which was not the door she came in.  It was a wooden door with six paneled glass, the paint nicked from years of use.  She could see the yard outside in the first light of day.  She turned back to him.  “I am sorry, … I don’t understand.”

 “Edith is out, but I already heated water for tea, if you would prefer it,” said Edward, pointing at the cup in front of her.  “Sit down for a minute, we can chat.”

 She eased into the chair, trembling, looking around the kitchen.  Framed needlepoint, flour canister, colander leaning to dry against the backsplash.  “Mr. Grissom, I … “

 He held up his hand. “Please, call me Edward.  Seems we can dispense with formalities given the circumstances.”

 She smiled in spite of herself.  “Edward.”  And then, “Edward, we, … we can’t be here.  This is not … possible.” She clenched her hands, and then fluttered them in front of her like she was releasing small birds.

 Edward leaned forward on the table.  “I have those same thoughts, almost every day.  And yet,” he waved around the kitchen, “here I am.  And now, so are you.”  He took a sip of his coffee and pointed at the owls.  “Edith wanted those, so I keep them there.”

 Heather shifted in her seat, looking at him, trying to get a sense of him.  Finally she said, “Edward, do you know where you are?  Where we are?”

 “Well,… Heather,” pointing at her tag, “As far as I can understand, we are where I think I am.”  His voice quavered with emotion.  “This is where I am much of the time, the only difference is that none of you understand it.  Well, until now.”

 Heather relaxed slightly, looking around the room. “But how am I here?” she asked.

 “I don’t know, but you are welcome.” He sighed. “I keep it just as she liked it.  But, it’s so damn lonely here.  I almost gave up on ever having company.”  He looked at her, held the mug in both his hands.  Tears filled his eyes, but he was smiling.

 Heather felt the last of the sickening bewilderment drain away.  She sat back and relaxed her shoulders.  The kitchen was warm, smelled of cinnamon and leftover crockpot meals.  Edward was smiling at her.  She said, “I believe I will have tea.  Please.”

 

Hope this finds you remembering,

 

David

 

 

 

 

 

Copyright © 2022  David Smith

More exciting news, and and opportunity

 

Greetings,

As you probably already know, I am publishing a new book called HOPE THIS FINDS YOU,  a collection of some of the Monday Moanin’ essays I've written.  The book is in its final stages now, but there is one element I want your help with. 

Many authors will include endorsements in their books from celebrities or newspapers.  It seems to me that the best people to recommend my writing would be you, the people who have been reading it.

If you have loved reading Monday Moanin’, whether for one year or twenty years, and you’d be willing to say a few words about what it’s meant to you, I want to hear from you. 

I’d like to have a sentence or two from my readers to share with the world.  If you would be interested in submitting your thoughts, send me an email and I’ll tell you what to do next.  It will be simple, I promise.

If you want to get involved, email to; wordsmith810@gmail.com

Two things you should know; First, there won’t be room for everyone in the book.  But if you send me an endorsement of my writing, I promise I’ll quote you somewhere.  Secondly, you need to act quickly.  We are putting the final touches on the book and I’m saving a place just for my readers.

I’m excited about this process, so happy that the first thing people will see when they open my book, is your words. 

Thank you

David

For the video: https://youtu.be/acdGNJVXdhI

Exciting News!

 https://youtu.be/PyPohymZNTU

Greetings friends,

I have an exciting announcement I can’t wait to share with all of you.  For a number of years many of you have asked if I would be willing to publish a book, a collection of the essays from Monday Moanin’.  I’m proud to announce that I have done just that, and it will be coming out soon.

The title of the book is Hope This Finds You, which you will all recognize as the last line in every Monday’s column for the last 22 years.  I’ve sifted through over a thousand essays and selected some of your favorites, and some of mine, and put them in a collection I know you will enjoy.

Coming up soon will be a chance for you to be involved in the book too.  Plus I’ll let you know the release date, and give you a sneak peek at the cover.  It will be fun. 

Thank you all for your encouragement.  This would not happen without you.

Keep reading.

Thanks

Grocery

 

October 24, 2022

 Greetings from the rookie,

 There are few places I feel more incompetent than the grocery store.  (I wrote that sentence and then thought about where else I feel incompetent, and the list got pretty long.) I find myself staring at the aisles of food, trying to recall why I am there, and not in any existential way.  I mean literally: “Why did I come in here again?”

 I’ll confess I have gotten a little out of practice when it comes to shopping for food.  I have deferred to someone in the household far more skilled than myself.  My few weak attempts have resulted in the wrong size, the wrong vegetable, the wrong brand, or worst of all, returning empty-handed.

 This has caused me to make multiple trips, which is complicated because rather than risk looking stupid to the cashier who just sold me a bag of lentils an hour ago, I’ll go to a completely different grocery store to buy the brown sugar I intended to purchase the first time.  Dark brown sugar, not light.  Right?

 If I’m honest some of the confusion stems from the fact that I don’t cook, so most of the time I don’t know the purpose of the item I have forgotten, or can’t find, or misremembered as lentils.  I didn’t think this could get more embarrassing, but somehow it has.

 To counter this deficiency, I go armed with a list, written with specific details, and I don’t buy anything that doesn’t match the list.  This doesn’t leave a lot of room for modifying in the face of confusing choices.  ‘Confusing Choices’ would be an excellent name for most grocery stores.

 As is my nature, I have searched for something else to blame for my inadequacy.   I had to go back in time fifty years, but there you see my level of dedication to defend my self-esteem.

 The grocery store I grew up with was more like going to your next-door neighbors for something.  There was one just down the street in any neighborhood.  There was a kid in every aisle putting away cans of things or sweeping up, and they knew where everything else in the store was and would walk you to that place and make sure it was what you came in for.  If there was some doubt, you could use the phone that sat on the deli counter to call home and check.

 There was a sensibility to the layout of the store.  It was designed so you could navigate to where you needed to without being manipulated into whole environments that had nothing to do with what you came in for.  Which is why no one came in for brown sugar and left with a folding chair.

 The clerk at the cash register already knew you, and probably knew what you came in for.  They punched the price of the purchase into the register, and then they made change for you by doing the math and counting the money back into your hand.

 There was a kid collecting your groceries at the end of the checkout stand, assembling them into a paper grocery bag.  He offered to carry them to your car for you, and then put your shopping cart away.  You probably knew his name, and whether he’d been in trouble lately.

 The person who owned the store probably worked at the meat counter or helped run the cash register.  Maybe you chatted with the person at the bakery counter about bread.  There was a conversation about the neighborhood, the weather, about the best cut of meat for when company comes for dinner. 

 There are stores like this still, but you know exactly where they are in your world and they are the exception, not the rule.  I realize I’m romanticizing an era that is a few generations gone, but there you see the extent I’ll go to distract you from the first sentence in this piece.

 I’ll admit I get intimidated by the process sometimes.  The coupons and flyers and the membership cards and the convoluted pricing. A quarter for the shopping cart.  Paper or plastic bag, or no bag, or use these empty boxes, or pay for a bag.  Find it yourself.  Check yourself out.  Bag it yourself.  Carry it out yourself.  If you have a complaint, text it to yourself. 

 Recently I saw that one of the big box stores offers an app so that you can find things while shopping.  In one way it is a great answer to a common problem.  It is also a troubling commentary on what we have accepted as normal.

 I know I could skip the whole experience and just do all my shopping from my iPhone, have it delivered to the house, or if I’m feeling really adventurous, pick it up at the curb.  I suppose this would be better than going to the store for brown sugar and coming home with lentils and a folding chair.  Maybe this is why grocery stores have evolved this way; because people like me cannot be trusted to go out in public.

 This really isn’t a complaint about the impersonal, confusing and discouraging process of going to buy a pound of artichokes, or whatever it was.  I’ll confess I’d rather have a friendlier experience, but that isn’t the real problem.  I am.  I will be more involved with turning groceries into food.  I can make any of these stores more familiar just by going more often, making a bunch of mistakes, and going back anyway.  In that process, I will learn the names and faces and whatever the new traditions are.  It’s only as big of a problem as I allow it to be.

  I will still miss Hamady sacks though.

  

Hope this finds you getting what you came for,

 

David

 

 

 

 

 

Copyright © 2022  David Smith

The Last Time

 

October 17, 2022

 Greetings from the same time,

 I wrote down this idea some months ago and set it aside to let it soak for a while.  Then I stumbled on another idea, which felt similar.  But when I put them together it was like two magnets, they were attracted except they also repelled.  I put them here for us to consider:

 You rarely know when it’s truly the last time you do something.

and

When was the last time you did something for the first time?

 I tried to see what it was that attracted them, what they had in common.  Sometimes both are a surprise.  You can learn from both.  Both can be meaningful, powerful.  Neither should be taken for granted. 

 They are different.  You rarely know when it’s truly the last time.  You often can anticipate when a first time is coming.  When it’s the first time it is often a moment of growth, and the last time is often a moment of sorrow.

 The first time … you had chocolate, met your best friend, went to a concert, kissed someone, changed a flat tire, went hang gliding, held your baby, won a spelling bee.  We seek out first times because they mean fun, excitement, and an expansion of knowledge and experience.

 The last time …  your child climbs into your lap, you saw your father, you walked out of your house, you pet your dog.  It is the end of experiences, the last time we have coffee with a friend, the last time we could paddle a canoe, the last time we were free from pain. There are harder examples, which I know you can list, so we’ll leave this space for those:

  

With the transitions in my life this year, I recognized I was experiencing a lot of last times.   As some of those passed, I felt sadness, but not in a tragic way.  I saw most of these as milestones to be proud of, even as endings, they gave me something to feel satisfaction in.  I am lucky that I was already wading into a life of firsts, and I think that balances it in some ways.

 How does understanding firsts and lasts matter?  What do we learn?  How can it change things for the better?  I started with realizing they happened, and what it meant to me.

 A few months ago, I set out to climb Mt. Whitney with two friends, whom I love.  In the first several hours, we climbed in darkness.  The sky was filled with stars, who, despite their good intentions, couldn’t light the wooded canyon we hiked through.

 We wound our way up the trail, and the world shrunk to the narrow beam of our headlamps.  Behind us was a high-elevation valley and beyond that another ridge of mountains.  And beyond that was another day. 

 It came gently, a soft light showing the jagged edges of the Inyo mountains.  We paused, breathless from the elevation, the effort, and then from the beauty.  While we stood there, the soft applause of the river nearby, the sun pulled itself over the mountain and changed the world. 

 It was a first for me.  The climb, the challenge, the beauty, and while I’ve experienced all of those in some form, this was a first.  The optimist in me says that I may be in that place again, but not in that moment with those people.  That was the last time and it was the first time, a confluence of two powerful experiences.  It is a gift to recognize its significance, finally.

 For me, there will come a last time I see a friend, or the last time I run a marathon, or that I write words that demanded to be shared.   Knowing this doesn't mean that I have to dread the future.  I won’t ignore the grief, but it won’t be my life.  Instead, I will try to really value each experience, knowing that one day it will dawn on me that there won’t be another like it.

 The last time can also be a reason to celebrate.  The key is to know when it’s happened and give it the space and attention it deserves.

 As I grow older, my instinct says there will be fewer firsts, and there will be a growing number of lasts.  My role is to push that, and make the most of both.  Be excited and curious and create places for the first time.  And to be respectful and thoughtful and recognize that each moment, each experience can be the last of its kind.  Treasure them, to the last breath.

 Hope this finds you holding time,

 

David

 

 

 

 

 

Copyright © 2022  David Smith

Important Notice to Readers

 Greetings, faithful readers of Monday Moanin.

I'm writing today to let you know that in a couple of months this blog will migrate to a new website.  You will still be able to read the weekly essays there, or on my Facebook page, or if you choose they can be emailed to you.  Simply send a request to be added to the mailing list.  Send a request to wordsmith810@gmail.com and I'll add you to the list.

Keep an eye out here for some exciting announcements about the future of Monday Moanin'.  

Thank you

David Smith

Driverless

 

October 10, 2022

 

Greetings from the shotgun seat,

 Occasionally, I will wonder.  For example, I wonder about how the fizz from Vernors impacts the ozone layer. I wonder about the word ‘whatnot’.  Also ‘scoff’, which always looks misspelled.

 This week I wondered why anyone would want an autonomous car.  We are a pretty independent group, taken as a whole, and there has always been a pretty strong resistance to anyone even suggesting they take some control of our lives from us.  Strangely, there isn’t an amendment protecting the right to drive. 

 And somehow, billions are being spent developing autonomous cars.  Who is it that is so interested in creating this enormous paradigm shift in transportation?

 At first, I figured it had to be senior citizens, who are already being threatened with the loss of independent driving.  Driverless is a perfect match.   Families wouldn’t have to worry about them getting lost, dozing during a green light, or leaving their turn signal in the ‘irrevocable’ position.  But it seems unlikely that the same age group that struggles with technology would be the ‘driving’ force behind computer-navigated cars.

 Perhaps new parents.  Everyone knows that the principal struggle with infants is getting them to sleep, and often the most reliable path is to put them in the car and drive them around.  Imagine autonomous cars driving around the neighborhood with a baby on board, while happy parents get in a little free time for laundry, or to catch up on the Netflix queue.

 Or maybe there is a collection of people that would like autonomous cars to send off to run errands, pick up groceries, go through the car wash, maybe the drive-thru at Taco Bell. 

 People in autonomous cars could get work done, do yoga, take naps, make out, text each other.  So maybe there’s an attraction.  Still seems like any of these are pretty small segments of society to sway an entire industry of car manufacturers, road builders, not to mention all the technology that needs to be in place, satellites and whatnot.

 And then I realized I’d overlooked the most powerful sector of influence in our country.  More significant than Gen X or Boomer or Gamer or any political party. 

 Dogs.

 I was driving home from the grocery store yesterday, kind of an old-fashioned thing where I drive myself to the parking lot, walk in, then wander through the aisles trying to remember what I needed.  Anyway, on my way home I saw a truck in front of me and three of the windows had dogs hanging out.  They were the happiest creatures on the planet.  That’s when I knew.

 Dogs want driverless cars.  You may scoff, but allow me to elucidate.

 Over 38% of U.S. households have a dog, or to be exact, 1.6 dogs.  This number could be higher given that dogs almost never fill out the census accurately.  A good estimate is that there are 100 million dogs in our houses, not to mention more than a few wandering the streets.  100 million dogs could elect a president, easily.  Well, other than that voting thing.

 But that aside, dogs have influence.  According to the pet industry, (there is a pet industry, which is probably more powerful than a lobby) people spend $1200 a year on average for their dogs. Food, vets, paying people to walk them, toys, strollers, clothes, grooming.  It’s nearly a bazillion dollars a year.

 Dogs don’t seem to have an agenda, but somehow they get what they want. 

 There is no creature that likes going for a ride in the car more than a dog.   This is only an educated guess, but I’m guessing, educatedly, if it was up to them, it’s probably all they’d do.  It’s likely that their considerable influence on pet food makers has shifted to policymakers, car makers, and technology makers.  It seems obvious to me, which in no way is meant to sound like something intelligent, that dogs are steering the driverless future in this country.

 Sometime in the near future you will be driving down the road and look into the cars next to you and realize you are surrounded by happy dogs.  The rest of your species will be at home, ordering food to be delivered, watching sunsets on YouTube, while dogs are out having the time of their lives.

 Oh, and I wonder about whatever happened to ‘cap snafflers’.

 

Hope this finds you with the windows rolled down,

 

David

 

 

 

 

 

Copyright © 2022  David Smith

The Fowl Purpose

 

October 3, 2022

 

Greetings from the question,

 Some time ago I shared with you the idea that the purpose of the universe is to be noticed.  That all of this beauty and pain and growth and death exists, from the big bang until now, in the expectation that somehow, someone would witness it. 

 We don’t have to consider this seriously, or give up our faith, or try to prove or disprove the idea of it.  It is simply an idea, not a poor one, in my view, that suggests creation has been unfolding all this time primarily so that we may see it.  And we were not here to see it, if it failed in its purpose, would it exist?  If a tree falls…

 Occasionally, in moments of dramatic and inspirational experience, I become convinced of this idea.  And then there are other, smaller moments like I found yesterday.  I meant to keep this to myself but for whatever reason, it won’t be resisted.

 Yesterday I went for a run, which I have come to believe is my part in the purpose of the universe and its work.  It feels like my role is to pay attention.   I recognize that not all of you can notice every day, there are lots of important things going on, what with the midterms and wars and the soaring price of AAA batteries.  So, I will carry that burden.  If we meet for coffee, we don’t have to talk about it.

 Anyway, I was running.  It was a gorgeous day, a gift that Summer left for Autumn to open.  I ran along the river, a favorite place to meander while running.  The trees, wearing the first of fall fashion, were admiring themselves on the river’s glistening surface.  It was a morning of inspirational beauty that made me grateful and inspired.

 And that’s when I came upon a chicken.

 She was standing still just off the path. She had white feathers, but she was wet, so they seemed dingy gray.  Her little feet were sandy colored, set firmly in the short grass, and she wore a ruby-red comb and matching wattle, which showed off her beak nicely.

 I was so surprised I had to stop and look at her, and I suppose let her look at me.  In spite of her bedraggled appearance, she seemed like she was calm, content to be standing where she was as if she were waiting for a bus. 

 I stopped, because how could you not?  I said good morning, inquired how she was.  I didn’t think her rude, but she didn’t respond.  So I wished her a good day and ran on, delighted at the moment.

This path follows the river and makes its way into a large park.  It is surrounded by forest, filled with all manner of birds.  It is usual, and still remarkable, that I will encounter deer, herons or muskrat or ducks, or the occasional wandering dog.   But a chicken?  Never in my significant history of running.

 When I came back up the river, some miles later, the chicken was in the middle of the path.  As I ran up, I expected she would scurry away, but she stood there, practically ignoring me.  I stopped again and addressed her, and she maintained a dignified silence.  Not so much as a cluck.

 As I ran toward home, I wondered what possible combination of events culminated in a chicken on that path.  Kidnapping?  A sudden urge to migrate?  A romantic rendezvous?   Did the chicken swim there?

 There is the rather shallow philosophical question that comes up, probably not in your day, but here it was in mine, in full force. Wondering about the motivation of the chicken, specifically relevant to crossing the road.  My road, particularly. 

 It is possible that the chicken is a part of the unfolding of the universe, partnering in the greater purpose, which is to be witnessed.  Whether the chicken or the egg came first, the reason for its journey may be tied to the reason for all of our journeys.  So, it may be we have finally answered the question.

 The chicken crossed the road to be noticed.

 

Hope this finds you befowled,

 

David

 

 

 

 

 

Copyright © 2022  David Smith