Library of the Ages

 ”Ethelbert!” shouted Master Godwin. “Ethelbert, where are you!” He then added under his breath, “Lazy idiot!”
Unfortunately, Ethelbert was on the next aisle over, pulling a few finished lives in the 50’s section and heard the muttered comment.

He stepped out in front of Master Godwin with a barely concealed smirk when the older man jumped, startled at his sudden appearance. “Yes, Master Godwin? You called?”

“Ethelbert, this is the last straw, the final one! The camel’s back is officially broken! You have made your last lazy mistake, my boy! You are finished!” crowed the old man triumphantly. “I told the board that you would be a mistake. Far too dreamy, I said, the boy can’t concentrate for more than a second, I said, far too full of fancies, I said, he’ll never work out!” He stopped to draw a breath.

Ethelbert shifted the white covered finished lives he held into one arm and took advantage of the slight pause to ask, “What is the last straw? I don’t understand, sir, what have I done wrong?”

‘What have you done wrong? What have you done wrong? Why you’ve misfiled a life! This fellow is supposed to be in the 80’s and you’ve put him in the 30’s! This is no small mistake, my boy! As a result of your misfiling, this fellow ran a marathon yesterday. He didn’t win of course, but 80 year olds aren’t supposed to run marathons! They’re supposed to sit in rocking chairs and reminisce, that is if they can remember anything to reminisce about!” He nodded for emphasis and slapped a life with a brilliant blue binding into Ethelbert’s free hand which was upraised in self defense. “And then when I went to put it in the right spot, I found this, this 20’s life in the 80’s!” A bright yellow life followed the first.

“Ah, I can explain that, sir. It was no mistake. I did it on purpose,” said Ethelbert.

“ON PURPOSE!!!” Master Godwin’s voice echoed through the marble halls, off of every life shelf in the entire Library of the Ages. Dust sifted off the chandelier onto Master Godwin’s flat scholar’s cap.

Ethelbert winced and plumbed gently at his ear with a dusty forefinger. “Yes, sir.”

“Why, for the name of all that’s timely, would you put life that belongs in the 80’s into the 30’s or a 20’s life into the 80’s?” Master Godwin asked in a dangerously soft voice.

Ethelbert looked at Master Godwin with an earnest expression on his young face. “Well, you see sir, I was reading those lives the other day, and I noticed that the older fellow still thinks like a 30 year old. He has gone out of his way to keep his body in shape despite the ills that age has done him, and well, he just seemed more like a young man than an old one. I couldn’t undo all the things that moving through the age shelves has done to him, but I gave him a chance to keep on living his life the way he wants to – and deserves to! Then the other fellow, well, he has wisdom well beyond his years, and I thought he would be more comfortable not being surrounded by those who don’t,” he added defiantly.

“You read these lives. Who in the Library of the Ages, who in the Universe, gave you permission to read these lives!?”
“Why, no one, sir, but then no one ever told me I couldn’t either.” Ethelbert shrugged.

Master Godwin closed his eyes and began talking again, this time apparently to himself. “No one told him not to read the lives. See, this is the sort of thing that I knew would happen. I told the Library Board he wasn’t suitable. Far too creative. I told them.”

“Sir,” Ethelbert interrupted, “the Library Board talked to me before they agreed to hire me. They told me…Well, they told me that things over here needed a little waking up, so to speak. They said that things had gotten in a rut, and maybe I would be the one to get the Library out of it.”

“A RUT!!!” This time, Master Godwin’s voice shook the front doors with its blast and threatened to blow out several of the intricate stained glass windows. Then it took that frighteningly soft tone again. “Ever since the business with Methuselah living to be 969 – 969 I tell you! - I set some standards in here. People move through their years in a timely and orderly manner, advancing one set of shelves each decade. Few people get extensions past 80, and virtually no one goes past 100. It would be havoc if they did! Placing the lives on the proper shelf prepares them for the fact that they are running out of time. It serves as a reminder that they should act and think their age! Can you imagine if everyone who thought like a young person got to live like a young person? Frankly, I’m working on something to ensure that they begin to think like older people should – you know, hardening of the attitudes and things like that. Not nearly enough of them are content to go that way. We’ve got far too many rebels. Mostly the creative ones at that. Maybe I should work on something that slows down the creativity, too. I can’t stop them being born with it, but I should be able to do something about it fairly quickly…” Master Godwin was talking to himself now.

Ethelbert was staring at him with horror on his face. He slipped away through the shelves while Master Godwin was lost in his plans. He needed to let the Library Board know about this as soon as possible. It was far, far worse than they thought. On his way through the dusty, rarely disturbed shelves, he read a few more lives and moved a 20 year old to the 50’s and a 90 year old down into the 60’s. Then he took his armload of white covered spent lives to the archives and slipped out a side door. The Library of the Ages didn’t simply need stirring up a bit, it needed a thorough house cleaning, starting, sadly, with Master Godwin.

She Wolf (c)2007

The Tortoise and the Hare – A Modern Variation

 Terry and Jack worked in the same office. Jack was one of those good looking, athletic sorts of fellows. He was always seen around town with a different lady friend. His desk was always tidy and clean and he was always bragging about how he finished all his projects before they were due, and how well he did them. He worked out at the gym every day and spent quite a lot of money on his clothing – it always fit him perfectly and looked good on him. His teeth were capped, his hair was styled, and he always had a new joke to tell people. He looked good and he knew it. He was self-confidence personified.

Terry was quiet, and shy. He wore thick glasses and usually looked rather rumpled. He spent his lunch hour quietly at his desk, usually with a book. No one ever saw him out on the town. His desk was usually filled with papers and projects and he was always busy. He was always polite when people talked to him, but they usually snickered behind his back and called him “Geek” and “Nerd”. He just ignored them.

One day the boss called both Jack and Terry into his office.

“I have a big project,” he said. “It’s an important one. The success of this project could double the profits of this company in the next quarter. You two are my best workers. I want the two of you each to put together a presentation – the man whose ideas are chosen will receive a promotion and a big bonus. You have a week. Now get out there and get going!”

Jack looked at his boss and then gave Terry a sideways look and winced.

“What’s the matter, Jack, eat something for lunch that disagreed with you?”

“Huh? Oh, no sir, I mean, I was just…”

“Get going, Jack. If you’re as good as you say you are, you have this in the bag.”

As the two men turned to leave, the boss added, “By the way, Terry, nice job on that last project.”

Jack gave Terry a nasty look as Terry turned and thanked the boss quietly.

Both men hurried back to their cubicles to start work on the project.

For Terry, starting work on the project meant doing research on the project and all the work they had done for that company in the past.

For Jack, it meant stopping to gossip with the other office workers about how he had this one made – he would win it hands down. How could that Terry even begin to think he could compete with a winner like Jack? Why, hadn’t Jack graduated from one of the best colleges in the country? Terry had just gone to State. Jack had been here longer, too, and knew the company better… There were a hundred reasons that Terry should just give up and tuck his tail between his legs and run away home. He just wasn’t ready to play with the big boys! Jack laughed heartily and spent the rest of the afternoon planning how he would spend his bonus.

In his office, the boss smiled and leaned back in his chair. He had a pretty good idea how things would turn out, but it would be fun to watch it all develop. He liked to set up little challenges like this. It kept the workers on their toes.

For the next two days, both men worked on research and began to plan their presentations. Jack would pop into a co-worker’s cubicle and toss a few ideas around and bask in the admiration of his peers. Terry stayed in his own workspace and worked diligently.

By the fourth day, Jack had actually settled into his cubical and appeared to be working diligently. Terry, of course, had been doing this all along. However, if someone looked carefully at what Jack was doing, they would discover that he was really playing solitaire on his computer. He also spent some time on the phone, asking out a different girl every night.

Finally, it was the last day. Terry had an enormous pile of papers on his desk and a portfolio full of his presentation. Still, he stayed at his desk and worked. Jack also had a portfolio full of his presentation. However, his desk was clean and tidy. It didn’t look like he had worked on anything.

The two men went into the boss’s office to give their presentations. Jack went first. His presentation was a little rough around the edges, but the overall thing was brilliant. His ideas sparkled as brightly as his capped teeth. He smiled and gestured with great flourishes and generally was very impressive. Clearly, he was just as good as he said he was. At last he sat down with a satisfied look on his face. “Over to you, Terry old man,” he said.

Terry nervously set up his presentation. It was finished, polished, and every bit as brilliant as Jack’s presentation. His wasn’t a theatrical presentation, but it was calm and competent. He obviously knew what he was talking about. Jack grew more and more nervous as it went on, fidgeting in his chair and running his fingers through his hair.

Finally, Terry came to the last point. 

“And to sum it all up,” he said, “I think that you should go with Jack’s ideas. His presentation was good, his ideas were brilliant, and I think he should win.” Terry set down his pointer and stood there with a slight smile on his face.

Jack looked at him with his mouth gaping open. “Look here, I agree with you that I should win and everything, but what the hell?”

“Indeed, Terry, why are you saying this? Your presentation was excellent as well. You two are my best workers, even though you are quite different in style.” The boss frowned and leaned forward. “And if this is some gimmick to make me choose you, it is certainly going to backfire on you!”

Terry shook his head and said, “No, it’s not that. It’s just that while I was researching the company I found out what a great company it is. It was wonderful benefits, really nice people, and better pay. I applied for a job there, interviewed yesterday, and this morning they called to tell me I got the job. I don’t want to win this because I won’t be here. I’ll get better pay, an office of my own, and lots of the people are – well, they’re like me. What you call geeky. The atmosphere there seems to be much nicer and more tolerant and people like to work together on things. I’ll be much happier there. So, this is my two weeks’ notice.” He placed an envelope on the boss’s desk. Then he turned to Jack, who was still sitting there with his mouth falling open. “Jack, I wish you the best of luck in your new position! I’m sure you’ll do fine.” Terry picked up his things and whistled a little tune as he left the office, nodding at the boss as he went.

The Ferry Woman and the Whale

.

 

We sailed into Duwamish Bay at sunset. The waters of the Bay were calm, reflecting pink and orange. I have always thought sunset was a magical time of day, and it was a perfect time to come to Duwamish. All the little buildings were stained pink and orange and the boats were all neatly moored – the day fishermen were back in and the night fishermen hadn’t left for the evening yet.

 

Mothers were calling children home for dinner, and sea birds were just now swooping down to the bay for one last drink before they nested for the night. The fertility carnival that I had heard about had paused for the evening meal. Everything was peaceful in that suspended moment between day and night when it is neither. The clouds in the deep middle of the sky changed to dark purple and then the boats of the ferry women came home to roost, steering into the harbor from all their various destinations. As I stood on the quay, I could see their outlines on their ferry boats, darker against the darkening sky. As the sky on the edge of the horizon shaded to deepest pink, I listened to the slap of the waves against the pilings and breathed the fish-salt smell peculiar to docks.

 

Hoisting my backpack on to my shoulders, I went in search of a place to stay for the night, and a place to eat- the lovely food smells from the carnival were making my belly rumble with complaints.

The good hosts of the Duwamish Bay Inn had a room for me, and a satisfying dinner. While I was eating, several of the ferry women came in to have some dinner before they began their night trips over to the Isle of the Ancestors.

 

I said hello, and one of them came over to sit with me.

 

“So, another seeker, eh?” she asked.

 

“Yes, I am.” I answered.

 

“That’s a good thing. We all need to seek, to find out what’s in ourselves.” She nodded approvingly. “I was a seeker once, myself. It was long ago, of course.” She smiled.

 

Frankly, I thought it couldn’t have been all that long ago. She didn’t look very old at all.

 

She caught the look on my face and laughed heartily. “Looks can be deceiving, love! I’m as old as time itself some days and others I’m only as old as my tongue and a little bit older than my teeth! I wasn’t too terribly old, though, until the day of the whale.” She shook her head, reminiscing. “Ah, yes, the day of the whale.” She looked at me again, and asked, “Would you like to hear the story of the day I met the whale?”

 

Of course I would. I’m always up for a good story. I signaled the innkeeper to bring us a pitcher of the best beer, to keep her throat well oiled and mine relaxed and happy, and the ferry woman settled in to tell her tale.

 

“Now you know, don’t you, that whales are very old and wise creatures? They lived on the land once and then saw what a fine thing the sea had been and went back to it. They perform ballets and concerts in the deeps, just for the pleasure of it, and don’t worry about leaving their mark on the world. They just live and love life, for the most part. But sometimes, something goes wrong. A whale just loses heart, doesn’t want to go on free and open in the sea. He thinks living on the land again is what he wants, so he can live like a man and worry all the time about this and that and what’ll he do that’s great that others will know him for. Then the whale goes and beaches himself, grinds himself right up on the shore, like he thinks he can just walk back out on land and take up where he left off.” She shook her head. “It’s a sad thing, it is. The thing about the whales, is they’re old, like I said, and they carry all that time right inside of them. When a whale tries to go back to the land and beach himself, all that time catches right up with him. Now, people think the whales die because they’re out of the water, but that’s not all of it. No sir, one of the reasons they die is all that time that they carry without trouble in the sea when they don’t care about it. Once they try to live on the land again, all the worries and cares of the land make all that time come crashing down on them and they just get old and die right then and there.”

 

“Well, one day I was out on my ferry, coming back to Duwamish, to be exact, and I spied a whale. He was all by himself, floating along, not diving and playing like they like to do. He was just lying there on top of the water, mist coming out of his blowhole as he breathed, not doing anything. I was a little worried, because he wasn’t acting normal, so I pulled alongside of him, and asked, ‘Whale! Are you all right?’

 

Well, he didn’t answer right away, so I asked him again, ‘Whale! Hey, you! Are you all right?’ 

 

This time he answered me. ‘I am thinking.’ Now, whales do think, but usually, they think way down deep in the sea, where it’s quiet and dark. I was a little bit worried about this fellow thinking right up here on the surface.

 

‘Oh!’ I said, ‘Might I ask what you are thinking about?’

 

‘I am thinking that I have done nothing with my life, Ferry Woman. I have made no mark upon the world, and it will have nothing to remember me by.’

 

Well, I knew we were in trouble now. The next thing you know, he would be finding some stretch of sand to beach himself on, trying to go back to the land. I knew this wasn’t good. If anything, we should be more like the whales; they shouldn’t try to be more like us. We do enough worrying for all the creatures in the world for all times just in one day!

 

Any how, I thought to myself that I needed to put a stop to this before it went any further.

 

‘Whale, why would you think that?’ I asked, “You have a fine and wonderful life under the waves. You live and love and dance and sing- why I happen to know you even tell tales to each other. You care for one another; you create for the joy of it. What else is there that anyone could want in this life?’

The whale moaned softly. ‘I don’t know. It just feels like I am missing something,’ he said. ‘Men do things that other men will remember them for. They make stashes of things, like that strange money stuff, and they and others think they are better for it. Shouldn’t we all want this?’

 

I replied, ‘Whales do things other whales remember them for,’ I reminded him. ‘You tell about it in tales and songs and dances. You may not collect things, but you are rich in lore and in time. Men have no time because they waste it all on worry and fuss about abstract things like money and fame and power. Trust me whale, you have the right of it. Stay with your sea, your dances and songs and companionship. Your life is the better of the two. I can say this, I who am a woman – yet I live on the sea, keeping my way of life as like to that of you whales as I can.’

 The whale ducked his head under the water and then blew a plume of spray into the air. ‘I will think on what you have said, Ferry Woman. Bide with me while I do.’

 

So I drifted there, a night, a day and a night, and yet another day, while the whale thought.

 

Finally he said, ‘I think you have the right of it, Ferry Woman, I have had the better life all these years, and I would have thrown it all away. I thank you.’

 

‘You’re welcome, whale. I am very glad I could help.’ And I was, for I believed every word I had spoken to him to be true.

 

Then the whale spoke again. ‘I fear that I owe you an apology, though. In my thinking and worrying, I allowed some of my time to get loose, and it tried to catch up with me. Because you were here, concerned for me, you took it instead. Fortunately, it wasn’t a lot, but you may be a bit older than you were.’

 

The whale was very embarrassed over this, but I thought about it for a minute or two, and then said, ‘Whale, I have never been vain about my looks, so it won’t bother me on that score, and then, I have always thought wisdom comes with time, so that isn’t so bad either. My body feels as strong as ever, so it hasn’t damaged me like that. I think I will be fine. And if I can live like a whale and not worry over silly land things, well, that I may be able to hold much of that time in me like a whale does, and that is a good thing. Now I have a reason to live like you do!’ I laughed delightedly and so did the whale. ‘Well met!’ he called out and dove, waving good-bye with his tail. I continued back to Duwamish Bay.

 

Everyone here wanted to know where I had been, and I just told them I had been visiting with a whale and left it at that. Sometimes I still see him, and he always dances around me for a while before he leaves again. As for me, I try to live like the whales do, live and love and create, and do all of these for the joy of it. And do you know, it must be working, because that time, I’m still holding it in me, and it’s been years now!” The Ferry Woman smiled, finished her beer.

 

I was thoughtful after her story. This was something to ponder. The Ferry Woman got up to leave and told me to that if I wanted her to take me somewhere, just look for the ferry called the Song of the Deep. That one was hers. I thanked her and she went off to join her companions.

 

Wanderer’s Rest

I have been wandering for quite a while- across dry plains and up arid mountains, searching for something I caught glimpses of in the distance.

I came upon a labyrinth one day, and chose to go inside it. The walls were dry and dusty, quite plain, and as parched as the landscape I had been wandering through. But as I journeyed through the labyrinth, I began to notice something strange.  On the walls were words. Plain, ordinary words, written in a plain, ordinary hand. They dotted the walls here and there. And here and there, in the dead ends,  I saw the dusty remains of skeletons, and bones.

I persevered, and soon the words become sentences on the walls, still plain, making simple statements about ordinary things. A few more skeletons remained in the dead ends here, dried out from the heat. Farther along, I began to see paragraphs and stories, all written plainly, ordinary, with nothing of any particular interest in them. The skeletons were fewer here; obviously fewer people stopped here. Perhaps fewer people made it this far.

Still I walked on, with my eyes on the changing walls. The path here began to show a little  mossy vegetation, a few vines were trying to grow up the walls, and the nature of the writing began to change. Stories appeared, exciting and interesting. They were written in all sorts of fancy handwritings and bold colors. They shouted “Read me!” and “Come journey with me!”.  I read them, and journeyed with them, deeper and deeper into the labyrinth.

The air was fresher now, and sweeter, and the dead ends were fewer. I could hear birds singing and hear a breeze rustling through leaves. I had been quite tired, and wanting to stop (although the skeletons made this seem quite ill-advised) but now I felt energized, and walked quickly through the last few turns to the center of the maze.

I stepped out into a forest. The labyrinth behind me was gone, and all there was was a forest path. I breathed deeply of the sweet fresh air and sipped water from a streamlet flowing from a rocky outcrop. The path ahead beckoned, and I set forth with a good heart. It wasn’t long before the forest gave way to a garden, and set in that garden was a large and lovely manor house. It looked so peaceful, and restful. I was filled with a longing to go and knock on the door, to see if there was a place for a wanderer to rest amid the beauty and the peace.

I sat in the garden for a while, my heart racing with trepidation, and screwed up the courage to go and knock. Finally, I approached the front door. As I came up to it, a woman came out. She looked at me and said, “You look as though you need a place to stay. Would you like to join us, here?”

I smiled, with a smile as huge as the wanderings behind me, and said “Yes, please.”

I am installing myself in a room now. It is not a large room, because they are too echo-y and chill for me.  I have a window seat, with blue embroidered cushions, that overlooks the garden through leaded glass windows with tiny diamond shaped panes. I have put down a slightly threadbare oriental rug, and set a big comfy chair near the window.  A blue knitted afgan with cables is draped over the footstool. The walls are full of bookshelves and books and paintings of the sort that I can fall into, and my favorite tea cup is on a table by the chair, along with lots of fresh white paper and smooth flowing pens in vibrant colors.

All the words and stories I saw back in the labyrinth are with me still, slightly faded, like dreams,  and I know which ones I want my writing to be like- exciting, vibrant, intoxicating. I have come to my wanderer’s rest.