Following is a list of lesser-known mistakes:
—Mitchell Hegman
I don’t owe any particular person an apology, but I do need to make a small self-correction. This has to do with something I often carp about: people leaving their empty shopping carts near where they parked their cars rather than pushing them back to the store or to the nearest cart return corral.
After finishing our shopping at a
local grocery store, Desiree and I pushed our cart out the front door and
headed for the car. Before long, we fell in behind a man who was slowly making
his way along the sidewalk with his cart. His slow pace and obvious, halting
gait revealed legitimate issues with walking. As providence would have it, he
led us all the way to our car, which was parked only two spots away from his.
While we loaded our groceries into
the car, the man did the same. After finishing, he pushed his cart against the
wall of the store and slowly wobbled back to his car, struggling to stay
upright the whole time. Watching him, I imagined how difficult it would be for
him to make his way all the way from the cart return to his car. With that in
mind, I coupled his cart with mine and returned both of them. In the future,
I’ll try to remember that not every cart has been abandoned thoughtlessly.
—Mitchell Hegman
Within scaffolds of clouds, my dear, you will find the waxing moon. Richard Brautigan once wrote: “The moon is Hamlet on a motorcycle coming down a dark road.” That’s not the right image for us. Sometimes, Brautigan tended to carry his metaphors not just one, but two bridges beyond where most of us are willing to go. And, yes, I did just explain that with my own metaphor.
Tonight, my dear, the moon is
delicious.
There, we have crossed just one
bridge.
—Mitchell Hegman
My neighbor has what you would term a large disposable income. I have a modest disposable income. While I can purchase a few pretty, fist-sized rocks at the gem show and lug them home in a plastic bag, he can buy multi-ton boulders, have them shipped in on oversized rigs, and then set them strategically about his property with a crane.
He is actually doing so as I write
this.
The boulders in question rolled in
(the huge trucks rumbling, I might add) from the granite formations within the
Boulder Batholith amid the Elkhorn Mountains. The boulders are impressive, some
approaching the size of a small automobile. Given that granite weighs 165
pounds per cubic foot, I’m thinking most of these monsters weigh somewhere
north of 30,000 pounds. And, me being me, I love rocks of any size, so I
approve.
I am posting a series of images of
the boulders, including one featuring a crew setting one at the fork of the
road in front of our house and two with Desiree (instead of a Cold Smoke beer)
near more boulders as a reference for size.
—Mitchell Hegman
On a drive home after a trip to town, my car’s sophisticated (read: “annoying” fifty percent of the time) electronic monitoring system alerted me to a low tire on the rear passenger side. I immediately flipped the car around and headed to the tire shop. I determined long ago that a low tire is usually an indication of a puncture caused by something like a nail or screw.
As soon as the tech at the shop
removed the tire, he spotted a nail lodged between two sets of treads. After
repairing the tire, he handed me the nail, which turned out to be a large
sinker, and I set out for home again.
While driving home this time, I came
across a particularly annoying piece of “litter” just off the Frontage Road: a
cushion from a sofa. I actually noticed it a week ago. This time, I stopped and
tossed it into the back of my car. Below are photographs of the nail and sofa
cushion, each displayed with a can of Cold Smoke beer for an accurate reference
of relative size.
—Mitchell Hegman
When I was a boy, nothing pleased me more than an opportunity to feed and poke at a campfire. I quickly learned that each and every fire has its own look and—for lack of a better term—personality. The stacks of wood varied in shape, size, and combustibility, and ambient conditions shifted each time. The flames danced across a wide color spectrum, beginning with yellow and edging into powder blue. I learned to appreciate unique aspects of each fire, and since tending my first, I have developed a sort of oneness with each fire I tend.
For the last couple of days, the
overnight temperatures have dipped low enough to prompt me to start fires in
our new wood stove. The stove features a glass door, allowing me to watch the
fire. I can witness the first flames wavering, tentatively exploring the
thin-split kindling. To begin, I pull open the door to let a rush of air urge
the flames deeper and higher into the cross-stacked logs. Soon, orange flames
waver up, scissoring into the wood. Before long, the entire stack is engulfed
in flames fringed with crawlers of blue, and the first ghosts of heat issue
forth.
This is my fire, and with modulations
of the damper and the occasional addition of a split from a round, I train the
fire to consume the wood at a rate that pleases me. I watch as the logs
gradually crumble and collapse into a deep red bed of pulsating embers. Heat
presses against me if I stand nearby, and at some point, both I and the fire
become intimate and ageless.
—Mitchell Hegman
I read a story about a pair of “influencers” who drowned not long after refusing to wear lifejackets while taking a small launch boat to shore following a party on a yacht off the Brazilian coast.
First, we need to figure out what an
“influencer” is. According to ChatGPT: “A social media influencer is a person
who has built a following on social media platforms (like Instagram, YouTube,
TikTok, or Twitter) and can influence the opinions, behaviors, and purchasing
decisions of their audience. These individuals are typically known for their
expertise, personality, or unique content in a specific area, such as fashion,
fitness, travel, gaming, or beauty.”
The two influencers in question,
Aline Tamara Moreira de Amorim, 37, and Beatriz Tavares da Silva Faria, 27,
were found dead after their launch was swamped and sank off a stretch of
Brazil's coast known as the Devil's Throat. Both women were health and fitness
influencers and had refused to wear life preservers because they were taking
selfies and were concerned the safety wear would interfere with their tanning.
“Well, I guess they died with nice
tan lines,” Desiree remarked when I related the story to her.
—Mitchell Hegman
