Mac's "Urn" for his lost brother Scott, who is, by all reports, far less loss than Mac.__________________________
As some of you know Mac, myself and The Saint all took off three weeks ago for different destinations. Mac's reason was more personal.
His twin brother died over 48 years ago and no one ever took any kind of public notice. They do not even know what became of his tiny premature body.
He lived a day. Scott was three pounds something, just like Mac was. Mac is a lot bigger now.
This is what eating does.
Mac confided and conferred with his Ex-wife. They still look at each other with some small suspicion, but neither is stupid enough to miss the fact they are both wicked smart and savvy about such things.
She came up with a great idea where people could choose to write down a poem, or a scripture, a drawing, or a letter. Whatever people felt comfortable doing. They could then read it or not, but then drop it in a fire to become ash.
His twin brother died over 48 years ago and no one ever took any kind of public notice. They do not even know what became of his tiny premature body.
He lived a day. Scott was three pounds something, just like Mac was. Mac is a lot bigger now.
This is what eating does.
Mac confided and conferred with his Ex-wife. They still look at each other with some small suspicion, but neither is stupid enough to miss the fact they are both wicked smart and savvy about such things.
She came up with a great idea where people could choose to write down a poem, or a scripture, a drawing, or a letter. Whatever people felt comfortable doing. They could then read it or not, but then drop it in a fire to become ash.
That meant they needed an urn.
They quickly laughed and agreed that the old rusty Smoker was not the right instrument.
Cough...ahem...cough..cough...
As I was writing this first part, Mac was out back trying out his solution...a large sealed planter.
He explained why it was perfect (sigh...). Then he tested it to see if it would break...which would be typical. I could see it breaking and firing rifling up the dry grassy hillside at China Beach. I saw Mac, as he so often deserves, in manacles being loaded into the Fire Marshall's car.
It didn't crack or split. What you see in the picture above is the 2.5 seconds it looked good and ignited. It was followed by mass quantities of billowing smoke, extinguishing it, then nothing, then more smoke, then extinguishing it, then more smoke etc...for 30 minutes off and on.
As I was writing this first part, Mac was out back trying out his solution...a large sealed planter.
He explained why it was perfect (sigh...). Then he tested it to see if it would break...which would be typical. I could see it breaking and firing rifling up the dry grassy hillside at China Beach. I saw Mac, as he so often deserves, in manacles being loaded into the Fire Marshall's car.
It didn't crack or split. What you see in the picture above is the 2.5 seconds it looked good and ignited. It was followed by mass quantities of billowing smoke, extinguishing it, then nothing, then more smoke, then extinguishing it, then more smoke etc...for 30 minutes off and on.
90 minutes later a delegation of the local Pomo Indians from Inverness showed up at his door.
"Yes?"
"You rang?" they said.
"Rang what?"
"Don't be coy...you definitely rang...we can still smell it."
"Oh that. No, I was just testing out a potential urn," Mac said. "Didn't you hit Smoke 69?"
"That's not funny," he said. I couple of those behind him grunted with disgust.
"Let me see the urn," he said flatly and walked through the room followed by at least 11 others.
He led them past me without introduction to the deck where the "urn" was still smoldering.
"That's no urn," he said. "It's a planter bowl"
"It has no holes?" he offered.
"You are clearly an idiot," he said, then smiled and said, "Go make us some sandwiches."
He did as he said and made a delightful tray of sandwiches, and whipped up some easy potato salad followed by a small Baked Alaska for dessert.
"You folk really do not understand the dead," he said.
"Heck I do not even understand the living" Mac said. Then he pointed at me, and then to Manfred sitting on the couch, who was channel switching between Montel and Oprah and eating a huge tray of lasagna which had obviously not even been reheated..
The head of the delegation said something in native Pomo and they all laughed. Mac started to collect dishes.
"Well what would you do?" he finally asked.
"Do not see through normal eyes," he said.
"Let him come."
"Let who come?" Mac said, "God?"
I shook my head. Manfred burped loudly and used it to say "barabbas" in the burp. The chief rolled his eyes to the others, got up and started for the door saying to all in a general sense "thanks for lunch. Stay away from matches, use more mustard on the potato salad and some balsamic vinegar. No more smoke."
"Let who come?"
"Your brother you idiot," he said.
Mac was about to argue with him on a metaphysical point, but what was left of the Baked Alaska was collapsing loudly in the kitchen like a Bush Administration environmental policy. So I let it go.
Well, they left.
Mac's kitchen was a mess and all our eyes hurt from the smoke. Manfred was whining and swearing in Basque. But Mac had an urn now...and we have a good focus for Sunday.
That's the reason he sent us on vacation. Selfish bastard.
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More tomorrow...part 2
Mac's kitchen was a mess and all our eyes hurt from the smoke. Manfred was whining and swearing in Basque. But Mac had an urn now...and we have a good focus for Sunday.
That's the reason he sent us on vacation. Selfish bastard.
____________________________________
More tomorrow...part 2
