Reversing Time

Dear Dusty,

I’m sorry that I did not have time to tell you in person, but I’ve been reassigned to Port Herman and will be leaving tomorrow. The evening I spent with you was one of the most special evenings of my life, and I regret not being able to get to know you better.

If you are in the Port Herman area, please look me up. In the meantime, please take care of your dust bunnies. I have left word with my superiors that you no long are harboring non-domesticated animals so your friends should be safe.

Yours truly,

Augusta Hitchcock

Dusty could barely believe her eyes, and thought for a moment that perhaps the tears in her eyes were creating the words. She wiped them away with her soiled shirttail and then read the letter once more. Unfortunately, her first reading was correct.

Here she had made a choice to give her heart to Augusta and now he was gone. This thought brought about another round of tears, and then the rational side of Dusty came out. She remembered how, in the Superman movie, Superman was able to reverse time by flying around the world, faster than the speed of light, in the opposite direction of its orbit. Not being much of a flyer, Dusty had another idea.

What would happen, she questioned (remembering again the Zen riddle of the hand clapping in the forest) if I just put the letter back in the mailbox. If I had never read the letter if wouldn’t be in my mind, would it?

She carefully resealed the letter and placed it into the mailbox. She really wanted to be sure not to see this letter again, so she stuck it toward the back of the box.

But something was in the way. Lo and behold, it was another letter from Dusty. Could it be that something has changed, she thought?

She dried her eyes and sat down to read the new letter. She noticed in this letter the same aftershave lotion that she loved so much on Augusta’s skin.

Cranky Mother-in-law

Eliza dropped by her mother-in-law’s house. She was confident and eager that this would be an easy sell. Softy, who was a master salesman, had sold her on the idea of the $149 pillow. She walked in with the pillow under her arm.

“Madonna, I have the most exciting pillow for you. You are going to love it. No more sleepless nights or waking up with bags under her eyes.”

Madonna was quite embarrassed about the bags under her eyes, and talked about them frequently. But if anyone else mentioned them she was ready to chop their head off.

“What do you mean “bags.” Do I look that terrible? What is wrong with your marriage that you always have to come over here and insult me?”

“Madonna, you are very beautiful for your age,” Eliza said, putting her foot deeper in her mouth.

“For my age. And tell me, why are you so cruel?”

“Please, let’s start all over. I have a pillow that will bring peace and contentment to your life.”

“Hey, listen lady. You may be frustrated with that son of mine, but I don’t need no damn pillow to be happy.”

At this point Eliza was getting quite frustrated. She was starting to wonder if she could sell pillows to anyone. Everything she said seemed to unsell this spectacular product that she had.

“Will you please just lay your head down on this pillow and close your eyes.”

“Eliza, that is the oldest trick in the house. Then you’ll steal some of my silverware and . . . “

“Madonna, I’ve made a good faith effort to do something nice for you, and you are full of such evil suspicions.”

“Ok. Ok. I’ll try out your pillow. How much is the pillow, anyway?”

“How much does a sleepless night cost you? How much is spent on sleeping pills in the United States each year?”

“Don’t con me, you daughter of a bitch. Just tell me how much is the pillow and I’ll put my head on it.”

“Madonna, it is $149 and worth every cent of it.”

“No pillow is worth $149.”

“How can you say that? You haven’t even tried it. Suppose you got so much rest that you could see a way to clean up your house a little?”

“And now you are calling me a bad housekeeper. Girl, you better get out of here before I throw you out of the window . . . pillow and all.”

With that, Eliza, in tears running down her cheek and a pillow under her arm, made a beeline to the front door.

A Letter from Augusta

Siddhartha learned to wait. Though I question how hard that is once you are mindful of the present and dispense of the past and future.

Waiting for Augusta was another matter. What should you do when you wait? Pace, sleep, dream, or meditate?

Dusty decided that she’d try all four, and then start rotating between then.

Pacing was a little bit precarious, since half of her bunnies were now back on their feet, so to speak. She had to walk very softly so as to not squish any of the bunnies. She remembered the Alexander class she took many years ago with Softy where they learned to be (almost) weightless. The bunnies appreciated how Dusty’s feet would just barely graze their backs.

Sleep has its own problems. We never look very good when we first wake up, so she didn’t want to be asleep when he knocked on the door. And besides, she didn’t like to jump out of bed upon awakening because she might hurt her fair hairy friends.

Dreaming is not a bad strategy for passing the time, especially dreaming while awake. The problem with dreaming is that it can raise one’s anxiety level because our mind races at such a crazy pace with all kinds of thoughts seemingly randomly interjecting themselves into every nook and cranny of our brain.

Meditation is good unless one goes too far and loses any connection with either their self or the world. Then it is like sliding down a muddy hill and having nothing to grab on to.

One by one Dusty cycled through these strategies, perking her ear up with every creak she heard in her house, hoping that it’d be Augusta’s boots walking up her driveway.

Pacing, sleeping, dreaming, and then meditating . . . and then starting all over. Day would turn to night, and night would turn to morning. Before long, days had passed and she wondered if Augusta even got her letter, so she walked down to the mailbox and discovered that not only had the postman picked up her letter to send to Augusta, but that she had received a letter back.

It must have been doused with Augusta’s aftershave lotion because she knew it from him as soon as she opened the mailbox. Her heart started racing. What was in the letter?

A Can of Beans

Softy now had $75 in his pocket, enough for a few nights at the Crazy Eight Motel, and then some left over for some pillows.

As he walked back to the hotel he met a man who was obviously destitute. The man gave Dusty some sad story about he finally had a job he could do, but he needed some “bus money” to get to work. Dusty asked him why the authorities didn’t help him and the man said that he did ask a cop who said that he’d only get a ride if he through a brick through a store window, and that the ride wouldn’t be to any gainful employment.

To make a long story short, Softy wasn’t just called Softy because of the pillows that he sold. He also gave money to anyone with a sad story.

He gave the man enough for bus fare. Then the man said that his wife and kids had the same job and needed bus fare as well. Dusty gave the man another $5. And then the man, seeing that a sucker is born every minute, told Softy that the family hadn’t eaten yet today, and that they all had a bad blood sugar problem, and if they didn’t eat they’d have to go to the hospital and then they couldn’t work.

Nest thing that Softy knew is that he was handing over another $10 to the man, which left Softy a little short. He now had enough for only one night in the hotel.

It was getting late, so he bought a can of beans it the quick shop and went to his room in the motel.

Back at the motel he heated up the beans by putting them in the tub filled with warm water. By the time the evening news was over they were tolerable.

Soon Dusty dozed off and didn’t awaken until the next morning. Not having enough for any breakfast, he went to the pillow warehouse to get some pillows for Eliza. Then he headed back to her house and knocked on the door.

“Hello Eliza. How are you today? I have your pillows.”

“Oh, I decided that I only want one pillow. How much would that be.”

“Eliza, I told you that you and yours will have a tremendous fight with only one pillow. And your mother-in-law will think you are absolutely nutty if she doesn’t get the chance to lay her head on one of my pillows.”

Hearing Softy’s confident voice was enough to put Eliza back into the pyramid scheme. She cheerfully accepted the pillows and paid Softy some more money, telling him to come back tomorrow for the rest after she had let her mother-in-law try it out.

Hooking Augusta

(Start 07/18/07)

Dusty decided she would need to decide between Augusta, who might never come to see her, and Softy, who, in her mind, was dead.

Neither of these guys were “a bird in the hand” but Augusta would be more likely to come knowing than Softy (she thought). So that’s one for Augusta.

On the other hand, she had many fine years with Softy, even if they didn’t always see eye to eye. The many fine years constituted one for Softy.

But they didn’t see eye to eye. She remembered that Softy liked things clean, and she liked things dirty. Augusta, on the other hand, was starting to find a place in his heart for the bunnies. Score one for Augusta.

Now that Softy was older, he might change. He might be more tolerant. Score one for Softy.

But, sometimes older people are less likely to change. Score one for Augusta who had already indicated that he is a changer.

Dusty remembered that Softy was dead. That has got to count minus two.

But both snored the same, so they are even on that account.

Looks like Augusta won, she thought. The next challenge was to get Augusta back in the house, without appearing two forward.

She didn’t know quite what to do, though she saw out of the corner of her eye a hat that had fallen off the end table. She over to it and realized it was Augusta’s. “An opportunity,” she thought.

She could take it to him, but she didn’t have a car, and she might have to leave it for him and then she’d never see him, and that would be a lost opportunity.

No, she’d write him a letter. But she didn’t have any stamps. Oh, she had a idea to get it to him.

But first, the letter:

My dear Augusta,

Thank you so much for respecting the wishes of the bunnies and allowing them to continue to exist on this planet. They, and in turn, I, are forever indebted to you.

You left your hat here and I would return it but I don’t have a car and I don’t know where you live and if I went to the station house I might miss you. Please come by the house at your earliest convenience and get your hat.

She put Augusta’s name on the envelope as both the sender and the receiver. That way, if the letter were sent without a stamp it would go to the return address.

Much admiration,

Dusty
CEO, Dust Bunny World

Partners

(Start 7/18/07)

Softy sat watching while Eliza tried out the pillow. He watched the tension lines leave her face and her smile move into a deep sleep. It had been a long hot day, so he decided to do a little shuteye himself. He was sure that he’d wake before Eliza.

The next thing he knew Eliza was shaking him. “Oh, where am I?” he said, startled.

“You must have dosed off. I’ve been trying your pillow. Here, take this. It is some good green tea. It should give you a little energy to get through the rest of the day.”

“Oh, that is so nice of you, ma’am. I guess I dosed off. No way for a pillow salesman to act.”

“It was so comforting to see someone relaxed in my home. My husband never sits still. He is always either eating or watching the tube. I love quiet.”

“How did you like the pillow? Am I going to have to paint your house?”

“The pillow is wonderful. How much is it? I’ll buy it.” Eliza said, imagining that it would just be $10 dollars or so.”

“Well, this is a very well-made pillow with a lot of bb.”

“Bb,” Eliza said, “what’s that?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. That’s pillow talk. Bb is bounce back. Some pillows are dead. You lay your head down on them and they never recover. Other pillows, like this one, wake up with you and recover their original shape.”

“Ok, I’ll take it. Whatever it costs. I need to sleep like I did on this pillow.”

“Will that be cash or check?”

“Do you take credit cards? And how much is the pillow?”

“I can take your credit card numbers and process it when I get home. But there is a discount for cash.”

“How much is the pillow?”

“Let me tell you a story,” Softy said, getting a little too slimy for my taste. “It is not the price of the pillow that should concern you. It is the price of insomnia. Nothing worst that tossing and turning all night because you can’t lay down your head. This pillow gives much more than it takes, if you know what I mean.”

Eliza is starting to want to throw Softy out and his pillow. She raises her voice and says, “tell me, for the last time, how much is the pillow?

“For you, ma’am, only $149.”

“$149, for a pillow! My mother-in-law would never stop laughing. I can’t spend that for a pillow.”

Softy started toward the door, but then turns around. He’s pulled this move many times.

“Ma’am, I understand your anticipated of ridicule. But actually when your mother-in-law sees the lines disappear from your face she’ll want what you have.”

“But I can’t spend that amount of money on a pillow.”

“I understand that ma’am. You and your husband will fight over who sleeps on the pillow. There are some couples that actually share these pillows, because the pillows are so large. But here’s what I’ll do for you. Remember that I’m here on Earth to give a good night’s sleep. That is why I wake up with a smile on my face each morning.”

“So what’s the deal?” Eliza said.

“I’m not a very good salesman, ma’am. I care too much for my customer. How about you buy one pillow for $149 and I give you another pillow for your husband free?”

“But that still is too much money.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.” Softy said, remember a technique from his Verbal Aikido for the Salesman workshop that he took years ago.

“I notice that you are home. Looking at how you are dressed, I suspect you don’t work. Is that correct, or am I getting too personal?

“What are you getting at?”

“Will, I have a proposition for you ma’am. I’ll give you the two pillows for $149. And I’ll give you a third pillow to loan to your mother-in-law. If she wants to buy it, we’ll split the money 50-50. And then I’ll give you another pillow to sell. Some day when your husband is out of town, you could have a slumber pillow party with your friends. You’ll be earning hundred or even thousands dollars a week.”

Eliza’s eyes lit up. A purchase that was going to make a serious dent in your grocery money will now actually give her enough money to get that red stripped dress she eyed at Macy’s.

“Oh, it is a deal.”

“Wonderful. I’ll bring the pillows later this afternoon. Of course, I’ll need $75 as a deposit, though. That is the cash price since you are doing the two-for-one deal.”

“Sure, just hold on a minute.” Eliza goes to her cookie jar and gets the money. She then gives it to Softy, counting it out slowly. 10, 20, 30, 40, 50, 60, 65, 70, 71, 72, 73, 74, 75.

“We are now partners,” Softy says.

Double Dilemma

(Start with 7/18/07)


Dusty needed to think long and hard now about her bunnies and her life. Her bunnies were safely hidden away. Should she let them out and hope that the cleaning crew doesn’t return, or should she keep them in hiding a bit longer? And maybe Augusta would return, and maybe he wasn’t quite as crazy about her hairy creatures as she was.

And then there is the matter of love. Her heart had been given to Softy. Little did she know that he was still alive. But Augusta had some redeemable qualities. So what should she do?

What she always done when facing a double dilemma. She sat in her dustiest chair and started counting her breathes. She knew that if she could empty her mind and create infinite space then the answers would come upon returning to earthly consciousness.

As she sat in the chair a big cloud of dust appeared. Wow, she thought, how fortunate I am to have such a wonderful dirty home.

Thoughts raced through her head. “Chatter” was the word for this that she had learned in a meditation workshop. She started with a very simple goal: to complete one breath without thinking of anything else. Soon she went to two. Then she started to think of her accomplishment of getting to two breaths and realized that this thought of success was also chatter, so maybe she should go back to one breath at a time.

It wasn’t long that the monthly air raid sirens rang and woke Dusty from her meditative state. She did feel calmer, though, and knew that she could now resolve her double dilemma.

The first issue was whether or not to let the bunnies out. She thought about how the key to Buddhism was to take the middle ground, so she decided to let out half of her bunnies. That way she could put them back in less time, should the need arise.

The second issue was a little more complex. Who should she choose for her next soul mate, Softy or Augusta? She decided to make a list highlighting each of their virtues, thinking that she’d give her heart who ever had the most positive virtues. She knew that both had some negative virtues so she would have to subtract those from the positive ones. Then she started thinking that a negative virtue is at lease two times more significant than a positive virtue, so she’d have to subtract two positives for every negative.

At first she thought she’d analyze one man at a time, but then she thought it would be better to consider issue by issue.

In all fairness to both men, she thought she should first come up with a list of issues, and then she could evaluate each according issue by issue. She’d give the same weight to each issue, knowing that though she’d be underrating some issues and overrating others, in the end things would even out.

Eliza Tries It Out

(Start on 7/18/07)

Softy stood a few feet from the door. He knew that would help to put the housewife at ease. When she opened the door, he gently smiled at her and introduced himself.

“I’m Softy and I’d like to show you a pillow. I’d like to give you the opportunity for a good night’s sleep.”

“Hi, I’m Eliza. But I’m in a hurry and I slept fine. Why should I but a new pillow.”

“Ma’am, I don’t mean to be critical, but you do have some rings under your eyes and you are a bit stressed. May I come in and show you this life saver of a pillow.”

“Alright, if you insist.”

“Insist. No, ma’am. I’m sure your neighbors will welcome the opportunity to be transported to heaven every night. But if you’d like to join them, please let me come in out of this unbearable heat.”

“I must have forgotten my manners. Please come in. May I offer you something to drink.”

“Sure, a little water will be fine. No ice please. It reminds me of my ‘x’”

“Was your wife ‘cold?’”

Softy laughs. “She never had that problem. She used to embed dustbunnies in ice cubes. I never knew what I might be drinking.”

“I bet you are glad to be away from her. Let me get you a glass of water and tell me a little about this woman. She sounds like a real kook.”

“Ma’am. Maybe some other time. Some men sell bibles, engraved and all. Do you know why?”

“To make money?”

“No money in bibles. The gold leaf for the engraving often blows away and so goes the profits. They distribute bibles to save lives.”

“So what is your point?”

“I do need a little money to live on. But my mission is to give everyone a good night’s sleep. As a youngster I had terrible insomnia until I found the secret.”

The mention of “insomnia” brought tears to Eliza’s eyes.

“I don’t sleep so well, to be honest. I can never get my head in the right position.”

“Ma’am, why don’t you lay down on your couch over there and give this pillow a minute. If you aren’t transported to heaven in 30 seconds I’ll paint your house.”

Softy took a lot of chances with his sales pitches. He felt that he had a good product behind him and that it would not fail him.

Eliza felt assured that she just has gotten a free paint job. She went over to the couch and put the pillow under her head.

“Now close your eyes and relax your body a little. Feel how the pillow cushions all eleven pounds of your head.”

Augusta Leaves

(Start 7/18/07)

After hiding all the bunnies, Augusta and Dusty went to one of the windows and watched the crew clear the log from the road. The saws had quickly cut it up into pieces that a man (built like Paul Bunyan) could lift. The crew had backed up one of the Hummers to the log and was filling it up with logs.

It wouldn’t be long before the road would be clear and Augusta would be leaving with the other men. The bunnies were safe, and a relationship was brewing between the Dusty and Augusta.

“Oh, Augusta, I so appreciate your help in saving my friends. To what do I owe this change of heart.”

“I saw how much you like them, and you have shown me that, though they are not exactly domesticated, the bunnies are up to no harm.”

“Augusta, I would like you to come back to visit. Will you do that?”

“I would like that, but I have a very important job. I do not know if time will permit.”

“But you must find time. My friends told me, while you were sleeping, that they would very much like see you again.”

By this time, the road was clear and the Hummers started rolling toward the house. Augusta knew if would be better if he went outside and diverted the ambush. He gave Dusty a peck on the cheek, waved goodbye to some of the bunnies that were hiding behind the sofa, and went out to meet the cleaning team.

“Augusta,” one of the men cried out, “we’ve been worried about you with the crazy woman. Are you okay?”

“Yes. I am fine. She’s not so bad. Even made me coffee in the morning.”

“Do we need to come in and clean up?”

“No, I took care of them. I think we can leave Dusty alone.”

“Okay. Let’s get rolling. There is much more work we have to do today. The log really set us back. The boss is fuming he is so mad that what was supposed to be an easy sweep turned out to take so long.”

Augusta and the rest of the cleaning crew took off, as tears once again rolled down Dusty’s eyes. What started as one of the worst days of her life ended as one of the best.

Dusty started to remember how nice it was to hear Augusta snore. And then she remembered Softy and more tears came to her cheeks. She wondered if he was watching her from the other world.

Floating Softy

(Start 7/18/07)

Traveling east across the southwest, Softy had few places to either sell pillows or buy gasoline. So when he did get to a town of any size he would go to work and stay “on the job” until he had enough for a cheap motel, a few meals, and gas to the next town. He had lived this way for some time now and couldn’t imagine any other mode of subsistence.

He had 5 pillows in his trunk, and knew that he could net about $100 for each. It was the same work to sell one of these pillows as one that costs 14.95, so he chose to focus on the more expensive pillows.

Most people suffer in one way or another. They are lamenting about what they might have done in the past, or worrying about what might occur in the future. They wish their lives were different. That is was either warmer or cooler, that their house was either bigger or smaller, that their town was either . . . and so it goes. Everyone wishes that things would be different.

Softy knew this from when he studied Buddhism in college in his comparative religion class. Capitalizing on this suffering was his secret for success.

Ten o’clock in the morning was the best time to sell a pillow. The husband was at work, and the wife had her coffee and a talk on the phone with her girlfriend. She was starting to suffer. She was thinking about some man in her dreams, or 20 pounds that she’d like to remove from her body, or the fact that she’d have to drive her kids around in her rickety car all afternoon.

Softy started a sale before he even left his car. He would sit still in his car for about a minute and clear his mind of everything but the job at hand. Then he’d go to the trunk and get a pillow. He’d walk up the sidewalk to the house. This would not be a normal work, with one’s feet slamming down on the concrete as if the sidewalk had no feeling. He would guide himself along the sidewalk, barely making any contact with his feet to the ground. Most of the time he was being watched by the inhabitants of the house, and if he could demonstrate peace of mind with his behavior he could sell a pillow.

Anyone would give anything to alleviate his or her suffering. It was imperative that Augusta showed that he had something that they needed.

He’d knock on the door. Not with an obnoxious kind of knocking, but rather as a monk might ring a bell. He knew this was another opportunity to put the housewife in the right frame of mind. He used to say that the sale was almost done before he took a step into the house.

Augusta Jumps In

(Start on July 18)

As Dusty was bringing the “coffee” to Augusta, her footsteps were suddenly wiped out by the sound of chainsaws. For Dusty, this suggested the end of her world. For Augusta, it represented the end of a memorable chapter of his life.

Dirty Hairy started barking at the men with the saws. It wouldn’t be long now before they removed the logs and brought the Hummers back to do their job.

Dusty knew that if any measures were to work that they’d need to be drastic. Prayer certainly could not be relied upon. For 365 days Dusty had prayed for the return of Softy, and that had not worked. Since then she had become a doubting Thomas, never wasting any more time communicating with the man in the sky.

Dusty started brainstorming. She knew that it was important to initially entertain all thoughts when brainstorming. Burn the house down, so at least the bunnies would not be entrapped in a powerful vacuum machine. Douse her self with gasoline and threaten to light her self on fire if they come any closer. Quickly pick up all her favorite bunnies and hide them in a dresser drawer. Let them clean her house and start all over populating her sanctuary. The ideas continued to pour out.

She knew from the creative thinking class she had taken that she had to pick one idea and go with it. She decided to pick up the bunnies and put them in her dresser. First she removed all her clothes and put them under her bed covers. Then she got her special cotton dust bunny broom and started collected her fair-weather friends, one by one. She kept yelling at Augusta “if you have a heart, please help me. Not for me, if you don’t care about me, but for the humanity of Dust Bunnies.

Augusta stoically sat sipping the worst cup of coffee in the world, startled to see Dusty in such a frenzy. How could he help after taking his policeman’s oath to uphold the law?

But strange things do sometimes happen. Strange unpredictable things.

Augusta came to bat. He started yelling to Dusty, “quick, what can I do to help?”

Dusty replied, with a tear of joy dropping down her cheek, “Please, carefully move all the furniture. Many of the old timers are in rest homes.”

The two worked together as if they had been partners for umpteen years. As Augusta moved the furniture, Dusty picked up her friends and hid them safely before the cleaner crew came.

Selling Pillows

(Started 7/18/07)

Selling pillows was easy for Softy. He had a line for everyone. “Ma’am, how long has it been since you’ve had a good night’s sleep?” or “when was the last time you gave yourself a real gift . . . and one that didn’t cost you an arm and a leg.”

Without cash, however, it was hard for him to get pillows on credit. Imagine the look on the wholesaler’s face when a stranger comes in and says he’s a great pillow salesman and he’d like fifty pillows on credit.

Sometimes he would start by asking for fifty and then settle for five. He had to usually leave something, and that something would be his gold watch that his grandfather had left him when he died.

The markup on pillows is pretty high, so where he might be able to buy a 650 Fill White Goose Down king size pillow for twenty-five dollars he could sell it for 150 to 200, depending on the neighborhood.

He guaranteed everything. He’d say, as he restrained himself from kicking the beast across the room, “ma’am, I’m going to come back tomorrow. If you didn’t get the best sleep of your life, I’m going to give you your money back. But if you did sleep well, I’m going to try to sell you a few more pillows for those whom you love. You’ll even want one for that poodle of yours that almost bit me on the leg." And he always was good on his word. And he never had a pillow returned.

Sometimes he’d get a complaint about how the new pillow made their neck stiff. He give some song and dance about how important it is to have your head elevated when you sleep, and the fact that the new pillow made their neck stiff was only an indication about how problematic was their old flat pillow. He’d ask them if they sat on the pillow for 5 minutes before sleeping on it the first time. If they answered in the negative, which they’d always do, he’d apologize profusely that he had neglected to tell them to do that, and told them to do so and their neck would be fine the next morning. And he’d come back the next day to see how they had slept.

Sometimes he’d only need to have one pillow. He’d collect deposits equal to his wholesale cost for the pillows, and then deliver them the next day.

His greatest challenge was to sell pillows with only a picture. Softy was so likable that he could do this, when needed. And he’d still get a deposit, using some story like “I just sold my last pillow to one of your neighbors and he suggested that you might want one too. I like to see everyone wake up with a smile on their face so I’m giving you an opportunity to receive, with just a small deposit, the greatest experience of your sleeping life.”

Softy had his customers eating out of his hand before you could say “dust bunny.”

Snoring with Softy

(Please start reading July 18th)

Augusta quickly fell asleep “watching” TV with Dusty. The excitement of the reflection of the flickering camera died down quickly and it had been a very long day.

Dusty was beside herself with joy. This day started so badly with the officer coming to clean her house, and now was so great with a man in the house, even if he did snore. In fact, the snore was quickly becoming music for her ears.

Dirty Hairy came in and lay by her feet. He circled around three times before he lay down so that he wouldn’t squish any bunnies.

Strangely, Dusty started thinking about Softy. Maybe it was because Augusta reawakened that part of her. She wondered whether some of Softy’s molecules were now in her body, as some maintain. Would she know it, she wondered? How he mercenary side wished that a body had been found so that she would have receive the life insurance and pension. Now the money is in Limbo and available to no one, especially not in her hands to fund her impoverished sanctuary.

Dusty moved over to the couch next to Augusta, put her head on his shoulder, and fell into one of the deepest sleeps that she had ever had. She matched her breaths to Augusta’s snoring and started to imagine that they were one.

Dirty Hairy started to nudge her a few hours later. The sun was starting to rise and it was time for some breakfast. Dusty did have some bunny food for Hairy. He didn’t know the difference, and this way she could claim it as an expense for her non-profit bunny sanctuary. (She didn’t really have non-profit status, but her “slight” quirkiness had created this illusion, among others.

Dusty quietly got off the couch and went to get a blanket to cover Augusta. Maybe he’ll sleep longer if he does start to feel the morning chill, she thought. She went to the kitchen and started to warm some water with her Sterno heater. She didn’t have any coffee, but had various containers of dead bunnies that she would mix with her collected rain water to make a pretty wicked brew.

As the water was heating, she noticed that the snoring had stopped. Augusta was waking up.

“Just a moment, honey,” she called, “I’ll bring you some . . . coffee.”

Softy Returns

(Start with 7/18/07 please!)

Softy, in the meantime, spent his whole life being taken advantage of in one way or another. A beggar came up to him the other day and gave him this long song and dance about how he finally found work, but he needs bus fare for him and his family to get to the job. Softy wiped away his tears and went right for his wallet. He not only gave him sufficient bus fare for a very large family, but gave him enough for some clean clothes as well.

Softy often wondered about Dusty. As much as it was difficult to live with her, he often worried whether she was okay. Sometimes he regretted not trying to get her committed to an institution of some sort. But then he would remember how happy she was in her squalor, as he’d like to call it.

He wondered how she took his death and whether she was getting his life insurance and his pension. He worried whether, without a body, they would formally pronounce him “dead.”

How he wished that he could just visit her once and see how things worked out. And he’d love to see Dirty Hairy, his favorite, if not filthiest, all-time dog.

I don’t know what overcame Softy here, but he decided to go and visit Dusty. But he needs to be sure that she doesn’t know it is he. Softy realizes that he had two choices. Either he can disguise himself or go undercover. He nixes the undercover idea he knows how rarely Dusty goes out. So a disguise it will be.

Not being the most creative soul, he decides to imitate a disguise that Tonto (of Long Ranger and Tonto fame) once used. So he dresses as a poor Mexican peasant and brushes up on his Mexican broken English. Then he starts the long drive to dustland.

His plan is to come to her door and just see how she is doing. He certainly has no intention of getting back into her life.

What if she has found a new man? Should he protest since, unbeknownst to her, he is still the rightful husband. Or should he let it be using the argument that everyone is better off not knowing the truth. Dusty would like this dilemma, he thought.

He figured he could find out if she had received the pension and life insurance to see how she and Dirty Hairy were living. Dirty Hairy’s ribs would be quite prominent if he was not being given enough food.

Softy had his own issues with money. He could not work any regular type of job because he had destroyed all of his identification. And he could do very much except sell pillows. He slept on a pillow. He sat on a pillow. He loved pillows. He knew he’d have to make some money to get across the country to Dustland.

Open your Eyes, my Friend

(Please start story on July 18)

“Let’s watch television,” Dusty said.

“A splendid idea,” responded Augusta, “where is the controller?”

“Over there, on the floor, in the corner,” replied Dusty

Augusta started to get up, until Dusty put her hands on his shoulders and pushed him back down.

“Don’t think for a minute you are going to move that controller. It has been in the corner collecting dirt for a few years now, and I’m sure the batteries are dead as well. As well, the bunnies that surround it would be disturbed if you move it.”

“Hey, wait a minute. How are we going to watch TV if there is no power? Do you have a battery operated TV or something?”

“Augusta, you have so much to learn. You unfortunately understand your responsibility to uphold the law, and that is about it.”

Augusta was thinking that this woman was really far gone, but he decided to keep listening. He learned this strategy in a workshop he took about dealing with the mentally ill.

“What do you see in the picture tube, Augusta?”

“I just see a few reflections,” Augusta replied.

“Ok. Now I’m going to light a candle and I want you to see all the subtle changes. Look at the flickering in the reflection. Oh, I can now see you in the reflection. Let’s just watch it a while and you’ll see the magic of minimalism.”

Dusty felt that her education was not wasted when she used big words. She remembered one thing from each class she had taken. In Art Appreciation she had a quirky teacher who not only spouted “less is more” in every class, but showed the class on the last day a film by the Canadian film maker, Michael Snow, called Wavelength.

The film teaches one to increase the sensitivity of their senses almost as if they were trying to meditate but couldn’t get rid of the “chatter.” It shows a day in a NY city loft, where nothing too much happens for 30 minutes except the light and the street noises change (like a symphony of light and sound), and the camera moves toward the window.

Dusty was smart enough not to tell Augusta about Wavelength, at least for now.

“Augusta, why don’t you sit on the couch and I’ll sit on the chair. Move to the couch in slow motion and we’ll watch it on the television. Then I’ll sit in the chair. See how my refection moves in the glass.”

“This is silly, lady.” Augusta said. “There is a ball game on tonight, and we are watching these dumb reflections on a piece of glass. Do you think you could pull this off in the neighborhood bar? The guys would start chanting ‘turn on the game, turn on the game.’”

“Be still and open your eyes, my friend.”

The Chair

(Story starts July 18th)

It is quite hard to predict the significance of an event. Take for instance a knock on the door. It could be a delivery truck, though that would be unlikely because it was getting dark and there was the tree laying across the driveway.

It could be the neighbor kid doing “trick or treat” except Halloween won’t occur until about three months from now.

It could be another officer who was brave enough to climb over the tree to offer assistance to Augusta.

Or it could be that there wasn’t really a knock, but rather what they heard was a simultaneous figment of their imaginations, brought about by a combination of Augusta’s guilt from straying from his oath and Dusty’s excitement at having this fine man stuck for the night in her home.

And so it was (or wasn’t). Dusty ran to the door and looked through the glass keyhole. She tilted her head this way and that, but saw no one.

“Oh, they must have left already. Or maybe it wasn’t really a knock,” Dusty said as she remembered something from her college class in philosophy, “what is the difference, Augusta, between what really happened in the past, and what we believe happened in the past?”

If Augusta didn’t have a real migraine before, now it was coming on. Augusta was a steak and potatoes, black and white, tell me the law and I’ll follow it kind of guy. These questions that Dusty was asking were like a bad dream. In fact this whole day has been like a bad dream. How he wished he had been assigned parking meters today. But, on the other hand, he’ll never forget this day . . . if he lives to survive it.

Augusta decided to give Dusty’s question a shot, “You think too much Dusty. It is really quite simple. What happened, happened. What we believe either was and wasn’t.”

“Suppose the hand claps in the forest, but no one hears it. Did it happen?”

“Of course,” said Augusta.

“And suppose the hand doesn’t clap, but through some unique quirk in nature, everyone around the world heard it. Did the hand clap?”

“No,” Augusta responded. “Either the hand clapped or it didn’t, and it doesn’t matter who heard it or didn’t.”

Then it became clear to the two of them that Dusty was still sitting on top of Augusta giving her version of an Oriental massage.

Dirty Hairy, at this point came over to them and started barking incessantly.

“Oh, my,” said Dusty, “you put your brief case in front of his doggie door. Don’t move . . . I’ll be back.”

Dusty went to move the brief case and Augusta got up off the couch figuring that he’d be less likely to be sit upon if he sat in the wood chair.

Caught Off Guard

(This story begins on 7/18/07)

Dusty returned from the kitchen with a smile on her face. She had fixed (in her mind) quite a meal for Augusta and was sure that he’d be pleased.

“Here, Augusta. Stewed tomatoes and corn flakes. This was one of Softy’s favorites and I thought you’d like it.”

(Unbeknownst to Dusty, Softy actually liked it because of the analogous colors and contrasting textures, not because of the taste.)

“Oh, I could eat a cow,” Augusta said. But what he didn’t say out loud was that this sure wasn’t a cow.

Dusty forgot some silverware, so she went back to the kitchen to scarf up a spoon that was reasonably clean.

Augusta took the spoon and. forgetting for a moment what was on his plate, eagerly took a bite. He tasted the tomatoes, and then started chewing on the accompanying corn flakes. He gave Dusty a nod of approval, thinking that this wasn’t too bad.

Just when he was beginning to feel at home he heard some abominable noises. He looked around the room. At first he was mystified, but soon realize that Dusty was slurping her tomato and corn flake stew as if she had been starving for years. The sound was so offensive he said, “Oh, no, a migraine is coming on.” He laid face down on the couch and covered his ears with pillows.

This is just the opportunity that Dusty was waiting for to demonstrate her massage talents. She jumped on top of Augusta and began to rub his hair with her fingernails, while simultaneously jumping up on down on his buttocks.

Augusta, in his tired state, was caught off guard by Dusty’s advances and thought that she was attempting to overpower him. He started to reach for his gun, but Dusty thought he was reaching for her. She puckered his lips and laid a wet one on his.

Augusta had never had a woman throw herself at him and was now quite taken by the attention. He returned the kiss, only to be interrupted by a knock on the door.

Dusty said, “Oh, Augusta, I’m so glad you came into my life. Will you stay here forever with me? Let’s not answer the door.”

Augusta remembered the oath that he had taken to uphold the law and withdrew from the kiss. He got up, forgetting that he was feigning a migraine and walked to the door.

The Escape

(This story begins on 7/18/07)

Authors don’t usually admit when they lie, do they? Well, I want to set the record straight about something. Yes, Softy was truly Dusty’s husband. But he is not in another world. There is no other world. When you die, you get buried, or thrown to sea, or cremated. Then eventually your molecules disperse and you become part of everything else. And you don’t look down and smile or cry. Forget that.

Having said that, my sources tell me that Softy is not dead, but actually had faked his death to get away from Dusty and her (in his words) fetish. He did not plan his escape in advance; rather, it just spontaneously happened one day.

Softy was Mr. Neat. He couldn’t stand dirt. Maybe their marriage was made in heaven, but it certainly didn’t work on earth. And he didn’t like cold canned food either.

Dusty had tricked Softy into marrying her but feigning that she was going to have a baby. They had never even slept together, but because he had thought about sleeping with her (as an older horny male virgin he thought about sleeping with everyone with a pair of legs), he felt that he must be responsible.

It soon became apparent to Softy that he needed his own place so he constructed a clean little shack behind the bunny refuge, as he liked to call it. He had a cot, a little refrigerator, a hot plate, and a small chemistry lab.

I mentioned that Softy sold pillows. What I didn’t mention is that he had a degree in chemistry and was forever trying to make a softer foam for a softer pillow. He never told Dusty what was in the shack. He just pretended that he needed to work there on his pillow sales leads and actually would spend all his time in the shack experimenting, eating, or sleeping.

One day he discovered that by adding sodium hydrophotate (don’t look that up, it hasn’t been discovered yet) to a conventional foam he could created an immense explosion by adding some ammonia in with the hydrophotate. First he tried it with a drop of ammonia, 2 drops of hydrophotate, and about a teaspoon of foam. Even with those small quantities, the explosion was louder that the loudest firecracker he had ever heard.

That’s when the idea came to him. Suppose he blow himself up and disappear? He’d be free forever and perhaps he could even find a more suitable mate.

Being the bright guy that he was he devised a clever set up. He first mixed together the foam and the hydrophotate. Then he put the mixture on the floor. His floor sloped, so he put the mixture at the lowest point.

He broke the glass on his clock and attached a string to the minute hand. The other end of the string was attached to an open bottle of ammonia. When the minute hand circled the clock the ammonia would be pulled over, and presto, his shack would disintegrate all over the town of Dustland. He would be dust, so to speak.

This was all fantasy until he started to hear Dusty calling him. It was their anniversary and she wanted them to have a “happy hour,” a glass of bunny ice cubes and dirty water for old times sake. He couldn’t go on another day. Without much conscious thought, he set up the “experiment” and gave himself 15 minutes to disappear. He packed a knap sack with a few essentials, and headed off to the nearby mountains to hide until things cooled down a bit. He left quickly, waiting behind a nearby tree (not too nearby) to make sure the explosion occurred. When he realized that he had not wound the clock for a while he wondered if the explosion would occur. 15 minutes passed and nothing happened. He decided to wait a few more minutes, and that was sufficient. When the explosion occurred he was thrown about 30 feet, flipping over in the air in every imaginable direction, but remained unharmed. He rushed off into the mountains and was freed from his crazy Dusty.

Bowling Down Bunnies Dead

(Please start reading from 7/18/07)

“Augusta, you must be getting hungry. What would you like?”

“Steak, potatoes, you know, anything fried and greasy.”

“But Augusta, you shouldn’t eat steak and potatoes. They aren’t good for the planet.”

“Why?”

“Steak” (in her lecturing voice) “comes from cows, doesn’t it, Augusta?”

“Yes. What’s wrong with that?”

“Well. Cows are very heavy and when they walk around they squish things. A dust bunny doesn’t have a chance in a cow pasture.”

“Ok, I’ll buy that for the sake of argument. Tell me what’s wrong with potatoes, and tell me what is on the menu.” Augusta shot back, getting really irritated with crazy Dusty.

“Potatoes are the worst. In order to harvest potatoes they need to be dug up, and that disturbs the entire ecosystem.” Dusty knew she was making this up and hoped that Augusta wouldn’t challenge her on this.

“But what about the dust bunnies who have been inadvertently buried and now are resurrected by the digging for the potato. Doesn’t that even things up a bit.”

Augusta was sounding like Softy now with the way he was playing along. In fact, Softy, who was intently listening in on this entire conversation from the other world, smiled when he heard Augusta’s comeback. Dusty recognized this similarity and rather than seeing Augusta now as an antagonist he seemed more like Softy, part her soul mate and part diety.

“So . . . the menu. What is on the menu?”

“Oh,” replied Dusty, “I have canned vegetables and cereal. I only shop once a year so I need to get food that will keep.”

“I like peas and corn,” Augusta said, thinking he could stomach cold canned peas and corn.

“I don’t buy peas, Augusta.”

“Why is that, may I ask?”

“When peas are shelled they throw the shells on the ground. That unnecessarily covers up all kinds of good creatures. Not good,” Dusty expounded.

“And corn?” Augusta was beginning to realize that his choices were very limited and that he’d starve to death playing this guessing game.

“Corn is the worst. Besides wiping out the entire Mayan civilization by rotting their teeth, they store corn in silos. Not good at all.”

Augusta couldn’t imagine the problems with silos. “Why?”

“Well, the corn in the silos produce methane, and the methane is used now for cars. And most drivers couldn’t care less for dust bunnies and they just mow them down like there is no tomorrow. Corn, it is a disaster.”

“Ok, Dusty, just bring me whatever you have and I’ll pretend it was what I ordered.”

“Alright. But don’t complain if you don’t like it. Remember. I gave you a chance to choose what you wanted.”

The Aborted Kiss

(Please start reading from 7/18/07)

When I wrote that Augusta was snoring up a storm perhaps I understated the state of the union in Dustland. Unfortunately, it wasn’t a metaphor. Bunnies are really sensitive to any wind currents and Augusta’s snoring was getting the best of them (literally).

Dusty so enjoyed watching Augusta, but was worried all the same. She needed to act, and act quickly to keep him from leaving. She started to brainstorm: hit him with a frying pan, drag him outside, wake him up, stick a pillow over his face (she had quite an inventory of pillows from Softy, her late husband), or kiss him.

Kissing used to work with Softy when he was snoring. The challenge was to kiss him milliseconds after one snore but before the next anticipated snore, in case it didn’t work the first time she’d be spared the unpleasantness of the snore itself.

She wet her lips just a little to make sure that the contact would be immediate. She listened carefully to the rhythm of the snore and started to pucker her lips after each snore, as if this was a dress rehearsal. With every snore she moved closer and closer, until finally she could almost feel the warmth of his breathe.

Augusta woke up startled. All he could see, so close as to be out of focus, was Dusty’s closed eyes and her puckered lips. He forgot for a moment where he was and started to reach for his pistol.

Dusty quickly started to apologize.

“Oh, Augusta, I am so sorry. I was walking by you and stumbled on something laying on the carpet and . . . I know what this looks like, but please be assured that I would never throw myself at you, especially when you are asleep.” The more Dusty spoke the deeper she was putting her foot in her mouth.

Augusta, having recently taken a workshop on discerning fact from fiction knew that Dusty was lying. But he was curious where this might go, and knew that it was going to be a long night, so he nodded his head to pretend to let her know that he understood.

“Would you like some ice cream? I realize it isn’t dinner, but you could think of it as an appetizer. If you’ll wait here, I’ll go and see what I can whip up in the kitchen. You are welcome to watch the TV, though without electricity, the only channel I have is the one with blank screen.”

“That’s ok,” Augusta said. “I don’t need to watch TV. I’ll just sit here while you are in the kitchen. With my diabetes I can't eat ice cream.”

Dusty thought to herself what how Augusta is such a nice man. How she wished that he didn’t have a job to do, and how she wished that he were hers, forever.

Dusty went to the kitchen, realizing that she had a limited number of candles so she better make dinner before it got dark outside. She had no idea what kind of food Augusta liked, and how much he’d like anything that was cold and just out of a can or cereal box.

She went back to the living room to ask Augusta what he wanted to eat.