In 1978, at age twenty-one, my brother Jack blew the windows out of his small apartment when he attempted to light the pilot in his oven. He went from some windows to none very quickly. Somehow, he was neither singed nor injured by the brief fireball he described, but the windows did not hold up as well, nor did the landlord’s temper.
I think about that nearly fifty year old event every now and then. And when I do, I wonder how many times does the average person avoid death between the cradle and urn. Maybe we are like Cats and have an expiration number. If so, I’d say for people it is four, because we are nowhere as nimble as a Feline, yet we manage to live longer.
Of course this number cannot apply to everyone. Soldiers and people who race cars, deep sea fishers, junkies and highwire walkers are often in situations where death has better odds than usual of happening. So, those people must be excused. But the average person, I say, usually skates three times until the blade finally connects.
I obsess over age and death. When I see a record of a death of someone who lived, say 88 years, I subtract my age from theirs and tell myself. “That’s it. That’s how long.” (I know I have mentioned my sport of How Long previously; it is with me every day). Then I think back (in this hypothetical case) twenty-two years to get the feel of the distance I have left to go. Then I get depressed because twenty-two years isn’t as long as it used to be.
I think I do this because I lived very close to a cemetery as a child. And although at sixty-six, I continue to partake in habits that are not normally associated with longevity, I am surprisingly fit. Therefore whenever I visit the cemetery my age makes it harder than it used to be to play How Long.
We live our lives on a fine line between to be and not to be. When we drive on the freeway we are always just inches from our demise and people who dare fly miles up above it all are only a mistake away from certain death. But these items are not usually one on one with You and the Black Hood. No, I say there come those few moments, which stand alone and have nothing to do with disease or the actions of others, that allow you to move ahead with your pattern intact.
I have had three, so I am standing on a yellow card. As a teen, being stupid, as your basic teen is required to be, I hung out a car window yelling at a friend in another car behind us. I happened to turn around to see a telephone pole coming toward my face at fifty miles per hour and got my head back in the vehicle (I was a passenger) with inches to spare. I laughed but it scared the hell out of me as things that you read about happening to other people should. Then in my early thirties I came within a filament of electrocution while messing with a heater in my living room. I thought it was unplugged, the huge flash that happened when my screw driver accidentally hit something told me otherwise. I was about to tug on that wire with my bare hand but had chosen the screw driver instead. Around forty I nearly walked out a door whose staircase had been removed. I was pretty drunk at the time, but I happened to look down before stepping out and saw a twenty-foot drop. I might have survived, but I will count it. I recall telling the house owner that he was an asshole and he should bar the fucking door. My mouth has placed me in plenty of tough positions, but none that could have been fatal (yet).
It gets difficult to deny a random universe when such items happen. Even the ones who are saved must admit that others just as often get mulched by utility poles, electrocute themselves and fall. Some say that’s because God loves them more. Same argument used on the homeless. But really, over the course of the decades, in a universe of moving parts, we are bound to catch a close call now and then.
Still, the cosmos is a dangerous place even for the semi-inert, as I’ve come to be. There are all kinds of wires and poorly secured heavy objects everywhere, plus gravity does not give a shit if you are between a falling boulder and the ground. And yet little miracles happen. Just the other day (my phrase for sometime in the last year or so), I watched a Sparrow get caught in the draft of a passing car; the bird circled under the car (which was doing about thirty) and zoomed away unharmed. The damndest thing, like a Loony Toon. Moreover my mother smoked an average of sixty cigarettes a day from age nine until close to her death at seventy-two and suffered no ill effects from smoking, much to her Doctor’s vexation. She had kidney disease, which the Doc lamely tried to link to tobacco but no one bought in.
Right now I think my fatal fourth will arrive when I am again sitting here trying to find my way out of something I began with a germ of an idea and move it toward the Week that Was. I can fill pages from the germy ideas, except for needed stuff, such as a segue. I imagine my Chromebook will have seen enough of that someday and zap me with a death ray that comes out of the camera (I’m certain one is in there). But since that hasn’t happened (yet), let us move on and talk about the writers who appeared this past week.
On Sunday, our friend Marco Etheridge appeared with a rerun of his Created Image. Few writers have the imagination and sense of humour to pull off this sort of thing. Marco is one of the few. Please take a look if you have managed to miss it twice.
Christopher J. Ananias is building an impressive site canon already, in only about a year. Still Speaking is a perfect example of his talent for looking in social corners and reporting what he sees.
Tuesday saw the site debut of Tobi Pledger. Costco Saturday is a funny and sharp look at the so-called lead animal on this planet by a Veterinarian (our writer’s most admirable profession). Still, you have to admit we are amusing, especially at the store and sample trays.
Full Circle by Soidenet Gue marked midweek. This is an amazingly intricate work seen through the eyes of an older child. The subject is the possible break up of a family, yet this one is utterly unique in tone.
Thursday saw the return of Michael Shawyer. Mummy’s Boy and the Man-Eating Spiders is his second with us; and like his first, the pages are alive with language and the past, which underscore and enliven the strange situation.
We closed the week with the brilliant Are Ghosts Real? by Katelynn Humbles. This one is a brilliant, unsettling little chiller that succeeds where many fail. Reminiscent of Shirley Jackson’s Hill House.
Lo and behold we have closed another fine week and stand at the entry to the next. All there is that stands between it and us is another list.
My list this week involves Ten Things I Do When Bored. It was supposed to appear two weeks ago, but I got bored and forgot about it until now. Audience participation is highly prized.
- Eat
- Talk to Cats
- Locate the mixology guide
- Scan the Net for recent celebrity deaths
- Admonish myself for participating in number 4
- Think about rearranging hellhole closet
- Talk myself out of number 6
- Use mixology guide
- Further entries postponed by number 8 activity
- Yours
I heard this song an hour ago and it is stuck in my head. The only way to unstick it is to give it to someone else.
Leila
literally stories 
Hi Leila
Great subject! I can relate to these encounters with Mr. Grim. He’s a cold one.
These close calls are pretty shocking when they happen. I’m usually filled with gratitude and disbelief. Fully alive!
I do the count, too, and have that same feeling of depression. I used to think people my age were old, but now I don’t know what old is. I say, “Oh they were 70 that’s sad. They died young.”
We visited cemeteries and read the numbers between the hyphenated lines. The ones from the 1700’s get us excited. They are rare in these Midwestern parts. It’s another game we play with mortality. There are so many but such little time to play.
Christopher
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Hello Christopher
Finding an 18th century grave in the midwest is an accomplishment. The graveyard I grew up by was founded in 1897; the oldest birthdate was 1806 for someone who lived until 1899. In Europe I know that is like “last Tuesday” burial-wise, but the attraction remains.
Oh yes, I recall when I thought my age was ancient. Time is a series of wake up calls!
Thank you,
Leila
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ANANIAS
I posted new comments to you on Saragun Springs (under the self portraits piece) and under your LITERALLY story for this week.
The Literally comments contain hilarious material on King Donald (I’m mad at him cuz he plans on invading Chicago) as well as further assessments of your writing abilities; and the Saragun comments are on Oscar: check ’em out when ya can!
THE DRIFTER OF SARAGUN SPRINGS, aka DWB, aka Dale, Barrigar, William/s, etc etc etc…
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Hey Dale
Okay I’ll swing over there!
Yes I would like to hear about the king. BS invading Chicago!
thanks
Christopher
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Good post with Interesting observations (and some frightening close calls!). I used to calculate my age as a percentage of 90 (being optimistic)then calculate where that put me on the face of a clock. I don’t do that anymore though because the clock started ticking too loud. When I’m bored and not motivated to do anything worthwhile, I watch old videos on YouTube— everything from music to Dick Cavett interviews.
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Hi David
90 is a good number anymore. After that you can aim for the century mark as a goal.
I watch Cavett a lot. What guests! Lennon, Groucho and the “fight” between Vidal and Mailer–and the always interesting Capote. Not too many writers are late night guests anymore.
Thank you!
Leila
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Brando and Bowie also = great episodes!!
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Closest to death – waterfalls, driving, drinking.
Last of immediate and youngest. Father (overweight) went one year younger, sister long term poor health 2 years older, mother drinker and smoker 12 year older than I am now.
All family uncles and aunts gone. Some cousins alive, some not. mostly don’tknow.
Editor is relocating us against my will to Sunset City / God’s Waiting Room so I feel it is my duty and perhaps pleasure to check out soon.
Mr. Mirthless
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Hi Doug
Of course you never know, Sunset City might be fun. Still, with the temps I see in Oregon it appears that you will be in North Arizona soon if you stay put.
Thank you!
Leila
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This sunset city is a few miles from our house which editor is trying to sell. Note sunSET. If I put in some quotes this will “look” like it came from glorious leader.
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Oh, one of those communities. Yes, we have them too. They are the clean looking places. You might start a curmudgeon club with some of the others. Always fight the Man.
Keep rocking
Leila
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LA
It is my very, very firm belief that there has never been, and will never be, a great writer who was not obsessed with death.
An obsession with death is, absolutely, a prerequisite, to being a great writer.
There are, quite literally, NO great writers who are not obsessed with death.
I actually even believe that it’s the obsession with death itself that turns a person into a great writer: far, far more than anything else. (That, and a talent with the word.)
Christ hanging on the cross continually, endlessly haunts the mind, even in the lightest, happiest moments of all: or especially then.
If one takes time to think about all the ways Shakespeare was obsessed with death, you will be thinking for the rest of your life.
Arthur Schopenhauer, the great German philosopher, was utterly, completely, totally obsessed with death.
He died, quietly, in his sleep, while sitting at the breakfast table, at the age of 72, in 1860 (it would be like 82 or 92 now), without even knowing he was sick.
They found him still sitting up in his chair: with a faint smile on his face.
Before that, he had written that this would be the best kind of death.
And then it came to him unannounced!
The Drifter of Saragun Springs
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Hello Drifter
Twain’s brother Orion had that kind of death. Stone dead sitting at the table whrre he made Big Plans. Orson Welles died at his typewriter, so there are very good ways to go.
One of the worst is what appears to have happened to Gene Hackman.
Thank you once again and I woukd like to state that aThe Drifter appears every Sunday at saragunsprings.com om WordPress.
Leila
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L
Welles is a great example! Hope I can go like him when it’s my time! The writer Jim Harrison also died while sitting at his desk writing on Easter weekend.
Thanks for the heads-up about the Drifter on Saragun Springs!
D
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Leila
When bored I like to transform myself into a chemist of sorts.
The kind who creates, and then consumes, various potions.
Usually having to do with some combination of edible marijuana (prepared at home) and magic mushrooms (located at various sources).
Sometimes combined with various (prescription or non-prescription) sedatives to take the edge off.
The results can be truly amazing and, for me, much safer than alcohol!
D
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Leila
I do the subtraction of my age thing with anyone from any recent obituary. I’m either on the plus end or the minus end and it is totally compulsive — and senseless.
Also, I have drunk at least a sixpack of beer every day for over 40 years, almost always more, yet I try to stay sober. At my last check up, my doc said I was the healthiest person he had seen that day and my liver was perfect. (Or perfectly ossified. Either way.)
I have one thing I do when bored. I say things I wish I had said to people no long here on the planet. I’m in Florida, so if there is a hurricane and no electricity fora week, I do the above while looking at big oak trees swaying in the distance. I never fail to find a new person to thank, forgive, or apologize to.
Great post — gerry
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Gerry
Outstanding alcohol control! Always happy to hear that. Now that I think of it I’m the same number or so years as dedicated.
I wish you and the oaks well against the hurricanes.
Thank you!
Leila
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Yeah, the oaks and the alcohol always win. But we can play, if we play nice. — gerry
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HI Leila,
Thanks for the post and random lethal numbers. If four is the average, I’m screwed (or just screwing the curve). A rough estimate would put me at four-squared. Motorcycles, firearms in the hands of others (in my hands doesn’t count), drunk driver head on (I was in a freaking taxi, doing the right thing! See what you get?). Suspect substances, then later climbing recklessly and with abandon, and I too with on almost certain electrocution… blah blah blah.
I suspect that I am The World’s Luckiest Human (TWLM). Still, all of my music idols are dead, on life support, or teetering on the brink of the abyss. I believe one thing with a dread certainty. When Keith Richards goes, we are all very, very screwed.
Marco
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Hi Marco
I forgot about guns! Some dude near the old Kingdome flashed one at me and my friends for no reason back in 1985. Right in the middle of the day. He said nothing and kept going; we did too—in the other direction, with pace!
I also have a weird feeling about Keith–as if Someone is waiting for him to kick before cleaning house.
Thanks as always!
Leila
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Hello Leila, late to the party this weekend. We were stacking logs ready for the encroaching winter yesterday.
I try not to think about the number of revolutions around the sun and lie on most forms about how long since I arrived. It will come, of that there is no doubt, when it does I hope it comes quickly and while I am still compos mentis and reasonably able to get about. I don’t think numbers after your name are as important as luck, fate, karma or whatever. We all know people younger than us that have slipped off this version of reality. Is it the number of heartbeats we have been allotted, but what does that say about modern medicine? As with everyone else, in my hidden mind I obsess, mostly I must admit about those near and dear who I don’t want to lose. Hmmm. Food for thought all of it. As for near misses, boringly I think I can only remember one and that was many many years ago when my hubby dropped our motor bike on a traffic island at speed but I landed the way I landed and we both walked away – Or did we? Ah now there we go into another twisted labyrinth. Thanks for a great post as always – dd
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Thank you Diane
You are braver than I! I fear motorcycles and avoid them. My mother rode one for awhile, with one of her exes, a BSA or something, not me–no no no way.
As the song goes, never fear the reaper. I spend too much time doing that, but I do know enough not to worry about it as much as I used to.
Thanks again!
Leila
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I really loved our motorbike years. We only sold the bike when I was pregnant with our first baby. I don’t think I’d be brave enough now, they go faster and the roads are so much more dangerous but we travelled hundreds of miles on ours. It was a BSA Super Rocket big and fast for the era. It was bikes that were the cause of Ian and I meeting so, of course, they’ll always be a little warm memory and I am very fond of bikers though I know some of them ‘do bad things’. But then many car drivers ‘do bad things’ as well, don’t they?
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Hi Diane
In America cars (actually the drivers) are by far the most dangerous things on the road. That’s why I gave up driving. Too many nervous situations. Bikers tend to observe the laws a bit more often, but segway and scooters on the highways are madness.
Thanks again!
Leila
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Hi Leila,
I’ve had a few close calls.
One is a bit like your brother. We lit the pilot on the bakeries oven not knowing that the gas was still coming through. My dad saw what was happening and dived out the way. He still lost his eyebrows – I’ve never been able to work that out! We lost two door surrounds and the window frame. I was thrown into the wall. The thing is, we were working in the OzoZone due to tiredness so we were quite glad of the wake-up.
Nearly got squashed with a rogue pallet of ten by fives red pine batons
Drunk too many Jelly-Beans and basically everything in my day, so every day without coughing up my liver is a bonus!
Oh I also nearly fell over a railway bridge that was being maintained.
Oh, oh, and told Gwen I walked out a job!!!!
As I’ve said before, I don’t generally get bored unless I’m at work. It’s obvious that some arse-wipe has to pay you to be there as you would never do that for free!!
And death, well you hit the leveller with this topic! The government can state that them spending so many million to level up the poverty line, sounds grand but when you do the arithmetic, it simple means that the poorest will receive around a tenner each when they need treble figures to even get close.
Death makes me smile. All those fuckers who thought they were better and looked down their noses, can only see the same as everyone else – An awaiting casket!! (Or hopefully a necrophiliac with a glint in their eye!!!
Excellent and thought provoking as always!!
Could I just ask, what was the song, it doesn’t play???
Hugh
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Hi Hugh
Damn YouTube–it’s 867-5309 by Tommy Tutone. No wonder it is still in my head.
Sounds like you and Dad double dodged the scythe!
Oh, yes, if I counted drinking and other chemical activies I would need fifty passes.
Thank you!
Leila
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Thank you Leila for an extremely thought-provoking post. This line particularly strikes a chord with me: ‘We live our lives on a fine line between to be and not to be.’ In fact, it sums up my absence from the wonderful Literally Stories of the past few months perfectly – I won’t bore others with reasons why but the summer was one of major ups and downs with really no time at all for anything else unfortunately.
I may not find time to catch up on the last few months, but am firmly back now and looking forward to reading the upcoming new work each day.
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I like that line as well Paul. It is a fine line!
Maria
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Hello Paul
We are always glad to see you! I hope all is well and thank you for stopping by!
Leila
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HI Leila
A truly incendiary post Leila, which helped me tremendously to get over this awful week! Thank you for this piece that got me thinking. Can’t say how much I enjoy your writing and the responses it solicits. It feels like I am actually listening to your conversations and I’m grateful to be able to participate in this group.
For me it’s a strange thing that all the long distance hitch-hiking in foreign countries or back road America I’ve done; the hurricanes, the ocean crossings, becalmed in the doldrums in middle of nowhere or facing force 8 winds in the north Atlantic, motorcycle slips and steep mountain paths I’ve experienced – I never thought I was facing death, or had escaped it, it was scary for sure but I think I just got on with it. Invincibility could be mistaken for youth and stupidity too.
Whereas, becalmed in my retirement in a middle-sized city of a supposedly peaceful country – we have had a slew of fires, explosions rocking my neighborhood, 2 in one week, literally in my back yard and down the street, unprecedented they say. But it frightened me into thinking my luck had run out!
I like your analogy of cat’s lives. I’ll have to think about that!
My old friend and sailor Pete always said “There’s just two kinds of luck – good luck or bad luck”. He drank and smoked and did everything he wasn’t supposed to do; he sailed for 7 years single-handed around the world, came back and made it to 80, when the bad luck got him. RIP
We lost Pete in January and this made me think of him.
Thanks for letting me ramble on.
my best, Maria
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Hello Maria
You have had adventures and I am certain you will still! I hope the explosions stop. Not soon but now! It is wildfire season here and it is such a shame that trees are being reduced to ashes.
Take care and I urge better times to come your way!
Leila
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Thank you Leila. I am also sad about the wild fires around the world. Tragic all the forests we lose each year. Hoping rain comes in time for some of your trees.
Maria
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