It was a sunny morning and the wind blew in off the prairie after last night’s sudden snow squall. Jerry was never a complex man and today he felt less complex than usual. And that was asking very little from the universe. Jerry ‘s head throbbed from the last few Mickey’s he downed while watching the last of the returns on his grandiose 48 inch television he purchased with his stimulus check. He’d gone on a real shopping spree a week ago, which included the television, firearms, ammunition, three cases of beer and a shit ton of vegetables he bought at the Cash-N-Carry down the lane. Despite his cache of firearms and propensity for drinking way too much, he wasn’t into killing animals. He preferred vegetables and plenty of them. He was a lithe mean propaganda machine. Almost like having a puppy, it was also a convenient conduit to starting a conversation with woman.

He stumbled to the refrigerator, looking to extinguish the furry beasts that had taken residence in the back of his throat. A tooth brush sat on the kitchen counter, and he forgot putting it there. He ignored it and chugged down a grape soda he found hidden in the back of his refrigerator. It did not make him feel all that much better. The grape aftertaste was better than whatever was there before.

Jerry scanned the kitchen for something he could make for breakfast. He needed something to settle this stomach of his. He looked at himself in the mirror and noticed he was starting to develop an impressive stomach much like his Schmidt’s drinking uncle. For a lingering second, he thought about this. He was proud to be much like his uncle and his honorable belly.

Of course he had no food in his refrigerator. Impulsively, he grabbed his keys off the counter and circled back one again so he could look out the window with his binoculars. He had slept half the morning away and could not see into any of the neighbor’s upstairs window. The glare of the sun reflected the light right back at him. The yard signs in his neighbor’s yard bothered him plenty. He thought to himself.

“My life matters” On that note he started in on another soda pop, this time it was not grape. He was a little better now and would save the grape soda for severe cases.

“My life does matter” he repeated to himself. Jerry had no pets but he wished that he had a dog. What Jerry had was a series of pet peeves. Bulldozing across the spectrum stereotypes, Jerry was an environmentalist who took it personally when people littered or soiled the appearance of the local community. Shopping carts scattered about town and he felt it made the town feel tacky. Bernie, the manager at the local supermarket usually slipped him a case of beer or on good days he gave him good old fashioned cash. It worked well for both as it was good for business allowing customers to push their groceries home. It happened to be lucky for Jerry, as he has been bringing the carts back to the store for the last five years. He only started getting paid in the last two years after Bernie heard him sneaking carts back into the lot, after the store was closed.

After a bit a bit of a struggle, he popped his truck into gear and slowly drove the snow blown back roads to the Cash-N-Carry. If there were anybody on the roads today he would make for a peculiar sight. Trailing directly behind his truck was a half dozen shopping cars tethered and rolling in usison. He guided his truck to a near crawl and the truck came to a complete stop in the parking lot. The sky had darkened and snow swirled in suddenly lit streetlights. He walked around to the back of the truck and unhooked the carts from the tether of the truck. He then glided them into the proper place in the parking lot.

He walked into the store and almost immediately the smell of fresh basted chicken made his stomach do a summersault. He fought back the urge to get sick right there in the store. Unexpectedly, he felt as if the worst was over. He put a twelve pack in the front of his cart, grabbed same gatorade , aspirin, oreos and a giant bag of Tim’s brand Potato chips. He lingered in the fruit aisle, taking a longer time than usual to pick out the apples he wanted. He still loved his apples. He noticed a rather pretty girl doing much the same with the corn on the cob. There was something about this girl he found intriguing as well as vaguely familiar. She glanced up at and him and accidently caught him staring back at her.

“Gravenstein are the best” she said with a smile. She put her corn gently into her shopping bag and headed toward the checkout stand.

Much to his dismay, the checkout lines were longer than he he anticipated. Waiting in line was something Jerry did not do well. He always enjoyed watching what people purchased at the supermarket. It was a brief window into that person’s life. The girl behind the corn on the cob seemed a little bit out his league. She loaded sparkling water, red wines, fancy cheeses and of course the aforementioned corn on the cob. He then noticed she had purchased Vietnamese cock Sauce. His mind raced for a second, rationalizing if they had a conversation they would at least have something in common.

When she went to pay, the cashier asked her for the number tied to her grocery store account. Every big store chain had a loyalty program such as this and this was common practice.

“Wow this weather is getting a little bit crazy.” She said as she grabbed the wallet out of her purse.

“971-765-5432” she added quietly while nervously scanning the room.

The cashier rang up Jerry’s groceries quietly and with little fanfare. “Hey Jerry I see you snuck some carts back into the parking lot.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“It is very nice what you do.”

“Please don’t mention it.”

Jerry gingerly walked back to his truck with two bags in one hand and the 12 pack in the other. Shopping carts were futile in this weather. He put the beer in the cargo area and the two bags in the cab next to him. He reached into his pocket for his keys and a slip of paper and golf pencil came out as well. It contained the number from the girl behind the corn. A moment of remorse trickled through him as he felt kind of bad about writing down her number. Then again, what crime is it if he didn’t actually call her.

He revved the truck to see how the tires were holding onto the suddenly icy road. It was slippier than he anticipated. If he was paying attention, he could have figured this. The harbingers being the sunny morning and the these snow squalls that seemed to have parked themselves over the area. He suspected his hangover over, as he was really looking forward to getting home and cracking open a beer.

He inched his way down Luzerne street and right before the turn-off to Argonne he saw a figure progressing slowly, heading in the same direction. It was a tight bundled person pushing a shopping cart in direction the where he was headed. At times, it made his blood boil to see people walking off with the grocery carts. It was rude and it was self centered. He slowed down even more so he did not veer off and hit the person walking along down the middle of the road. He inched around the slow moving person, applied the brakes and came to a complete stop approximately twenty yards past. He waited for the person and the shopping cart to catch up. In retrospect, he was surprised she stopped at all. A female voice yelled out distant garble that was deadened by a howling wind.

“Hey there are you in need of any help?”

“What does it look like, these carts do not come with snow tires.”

“No ma’am they do not. How far are you from home?”

“I am four blocks up the road on the left.” She thought for a moment considering her current situation. She calculated the absurdity, as well as her somewhat steadfast belief that people were generally nice during a weather event. This was especially true of a snowstorm.

“Are you a serial killer?” She asked as Jerry approached her shopping cart.

“No you have nothing to worry about.”

Jerry wordlessly reached into to back of the truck and pulled out the same thick rope and hook that he used to bring the shopping carts back to the store. He quickly hooked one end to the back of the truck and one to the shopping cart the woman was navigating.

“Hop In -I will give you a ride home.”

She was ecstatic to be out of the snow, sprinkled with a tad of trepidation. She easily stepped into the cab and the windows fogged immediately making the atmosphere a little closer than she was comfortable. She remembered her groceries were still in the shopping cart. They should be fine.

As soon as she lowered the hood to her parka, Jerry recognized her as the pretty girl standing behind the corn.

Jerry put the truck in gear and they had a rather friendly easy conversation in the five minutes they shared cab space.

” The apartments up here on the left. My building is 1500.”, which was useless information given the street signs were now snow covered.

He stopped the truck and looked over to her. “See I am no serial killer. My name is Jerry. “

“My name is Alice. You seem like a very nice young man” she said through a crooked smile.

“This is a very small town, I am surprised I have not seen you around.” He said as he pretended to fidget with the radio. He thought to himself, it has been a good long time since he had a real conversation with a member of the opposite sex. It made him feel good.

“I am new here, I am just taking it all in.” she answered back in a removed, content far away voice. She opened the truck door, retrieved the groceries and jotted down a note which she set in the snow that had gathered in the front of the shopping cart.

The snow seemed to have stopped as stars escaped and twinkled from behind the clouds. She poked her head back in the cab and gave Jerry a wink as subtle as a single snowflake falling into the street light.

“You have my number, give me a call some time. “

Jerry watched her open the door to her place just to make sure she made it home all right. It was the right thing to do.

And then he thought, “How does she know I have her number?”

Under a bright desert green way
Hot wind in my hair
Dank smell of brokenness
Rising down through despair
Up above in the distance
They saw a dimming plight
Their head grew heavy sickness begin
They had to sleep for the night

They keeled in the thru way
Took in the stinking smell
Wish they could be thinkin’ for themselves
‘This could be seven eleven probably hell
Somewhat lit up a candle
Didn’t show her the way
There were voices down the corridor
I thought I heard them say

Welcome to the Hotel Desperado
Not a lovely place (such a lonely place)
Disease and not much space
Plenty of room at the Motel Mole People
Any time of year (any time of year)
You can find it here

I still have no idea why we have a Nebraska.

My wife just asked me what I was working on and I told her I am researching “Lighthouses in Nebraska” She did not immediately go back to bed and circled back and asked me what I found. Everybody wants to know more about Nebraska.

Apparently Nebraska had something to do with that holiday we have all grown to love.
Arbor Day

Arbor Day was officially proclaimed in 1874 by Nebraska’s Governor, Robert W. Furnas, and the day was observed April 10 that year. In 1885, Arbor Day was named a legal state holiday in Nebraska, and April 22 was selected as the date for its permanent annual observance.

Nebraska may be one of the least populated states, but many celebrities call the Cornhusker state home. Fred Astaire, Marlon Brando, Gerald Ford, and Nick Nolte are some of the state’s most famous residents.

In 1992 People Magazine chose Nick Nolte as the “Sexiest Man Alive”.

He loved Arbor Day.

O Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree
How lovely are thy branches!

The cats want me to read this Christmas story to them all the time.

A YuleTide story of a XMAS tree that lived in a box. It was an ill formed Fake Plastic Tree made by giant energetic elves somewhere in China. The tree was fabricated, designed and then formed into something that loosely resembled a Christmas tree. The tree was then disassembled and stuffed back into a banal cardboard box. It was right there where the Fake Plastic Tree started a life of malcontent, spreading Christmas melancholy to those it came in contact.

This tree would not be deterred. The metallic fir made it’s trip around the world at the expense of a giant holding company that proclaimed to be green. I will not give free advertising to the conglomerate, as they claim being environmentally friendly as their raison D’etre. Some people prefer fake plastic trees as there is no need to water, clean up escaping needles and a pine tree lives another day on some locals pseudo Christmas tree farm. In the true spirit of Christmas, many people in the Pacific Northwest (PNW) escape zoning laws by becoming farmers of Christmas trees.

Christmas Tree that lived in a box, survived the long ocean voyage and a harrowing steamy ride up the Pacific seaboard and eventually landed on a retail sales floor in a swanky boutique Kohl’s department store. Fake Plastic Tree (FTP) trained all of it’s waking life for this moment. The tree stood proud and noble earning the lofty title of -floor model.

The customers for the most part shunned Fake Plastic Tree with its glimmering lights and sparkle jet stream balls that twinkled when the light hit just right. The seasonal workers at Kohl’s developed an unusual affection to this little tree and often referred to it as FTP . Fake Plastic Tree loved the name FTP and felt like part of a community. The little girl who spilled on her an Orange Julias was a notable exception. FTP aspired to become a little more than compost under a tree in a suburban neighborhood such as Beaverton.

Which takes us to a similar neighborhood right across the river in Vancouver, Washington. No not the really cool Vancouver up in Canada rather the tragically trendy Vancouver in southwest Washington. Vancouver is where the downtown is modern day hip yet the long time locals cling to their love of the downtown Dairy Queen.

And this is how FTP, the Fake Plastic Tree ended up on a sales floor a day after Christmas looking a little worse for the wear. Part of the problem was a maintenance worker watered her on occasional evenings either thinking of wishing it were real.

All Americans simply love Boxing Day. Well to clarify most Americans who actually know of the glorious December’s celebration of Boxing day simply love it. To cut a long story short, a dedicated employee of a local school district was a big fan of Boxing day. She knew where to find a bargain of sorts. Marcy purchased the Fake Plastic Tree right off the sales floor. She paid all of eight dollars for the tree, which by this time, was visibly bent backwards with various branches protruding at seismic angles.

She demurely asked the salesmen (whose name was Sparky) whether they still had the box with which the tree resided. Sparky, as the name suggests, eagerly searched the stock room and quickly found the box. He easily folded FTP into the box. Marcy slipped Sparky an extra two bucks and a furtive smile for his troubles.

School started the following Monday and Marcy took FTP into the administration office. I am pretty sure she had no idea Fake Plastic Tree had a name. She told the administrators that she secured a tree for Christmas next year. They reminded her they would not be in this building next year due to construction and visual Christmas demonstration were not something commonly done in the schools. The assistant principal warmly thanked her and asked if it would be OK if she donated the tree to the local Goodwill.

It looked like Fake Plastic Tree was moving again. It was at that point, it took up residence in the backseat of an SUV. As fake plastic Christmas trees go, it wasn’t very happy considering that it had to share the backseat with a Black Labrador Retriever and a Jack Russell Terrier.

One day, the man and woman of the house decided they better take the tree to Goodwill. Believe me people there are plenty of better charities out there. That is a discussion for another day.

Who would not want a tall skinny inexpensive pointy tree for Christmas? Upon closer inspection, the box indicated that fake plastic tray even came with Christmas lights. Lights were always the weakest link in the Christmas tree equation.

Some executive,in a random high tower, one day came to an executive decision that the general public would desire a tree that already had lights. It sounded like a spoiled eggnog recipe for disaster.

We took FTP to the Goodwill closest to our house and learned there was no longer a Goodwill close to our house. Goodwill suppression was happening. We ended up lugging FTP to a store located in the next village over along with a few other household items. This included blankets, camping cookware and a cart used when one has a broken leg. The store took all of those random items except The ill-fated fake plastic tree.

FTP was once again destined for the backseat of a car. This time it was a 14 year old rarely driven Toyota Matrix. It was a spartan existence, pretty much free of dogs. The tree did get to listen to plenty of Canadian guitar driven rock. Before you rush to conclusions, Fake Plastic Tree was soon transported into the garage.

On a late November, cold, rainy autumn day, it was decided this tree had a bright future. Fake Plastic Tree become the official Xmas tree of our household. People put up Christmas decorations much earlier this year either out of a sense of nostalgia or more probable utter boredom. Our household never had an artificial tree and this year would be the first. It was the year of the pandemic.

This was not like Christmas in the past where it was customary to go out into the . woods, chop down a tree using a bow saw This was done lying on one’s back balanced treacherously on top a semi frozen puddle. In a weird way, those traditions are missed.

We carried fake plastic tree into the living room. We both looked at the box and collectively once again thought, wow it already has lights

Our family used to have a time honored tradition of trying to buy a live Christmas tree as quickly as possible. We recorded the event in many years and kept meticulous records. Our son and I would sprint to the local Christmas tree lot, pick out a tree, pay for the tree and sprint back home with the tree in tow. I believe the record is 18 minutes and a few seconds.

So there we stood in the living room looking at a fairly misshapen Christmas tree. The tree simply did not look happy. Fake Plastic Tree has been through plenty and now was unceremoniously introduced to Sinclair and Bobo. Bobo and Sinclair, lived a life of mischief and chicanery. Predictably, the frolicked in the box where the metal fir recently resided.

We as owners of Fake Plastic Tree were concerned about the situation. I imagine at some point FTP wished to have back the plush gig on the Kohl’s display floor. Seriously, how bad could it be for a fake tree. Plenty of houses have cats and many many more have Christmas trees and many have both. With muted trepidation, we plugged the tree into the wall socket and in the spirit of this season the lights did not work. So there we were, with a fake plastic tree and no working lights.

Then my wife decided to do something radical and actually read the directions that came with the tree. Sooner than you could say Radiohead, the tree lights sparkled with glee. The tree was now decorated and ready for the holidays. It’s still was not a majestic or even handsome tree after the lights and decorations. That is a bit of a double edge sword as we picked the most simple ornaments considering the cats that roam our land.

Still, the sullen tree looked majestic as it overlooked the cul-de-sac. It’s sparkled out the front window on a street that nobody drove. It is here, one must insert some crazy foreshadowing. A perfect mis-placed malaprop would be some big winter thunder with a tad of lightning. These days anything can happen. The light rain, hinting at snow, started as an orange cat strolled across the floor. He eyed the tree with glee and sent an ornament,made in the shape of a deer, rocketing across the living room floor

Next, Sinclair walked over like a cowboy in a semi bad western movie and did the same to an ornament shaped like an elf. After the initial onslaught, the cats Slowly started to ignore Fake Plastic Tree.

That lasted all of one one evening. Eventuality random ornaments started showing up on the living room floor. Steadfastly , we would put them back on the tree and that seemed to be a spot of bother for the cats. We never actually saw the cat move the ornaments from room to room. We started finding reindeer on the beds and snowman on our reading chairs.

Yeah, for a while it was a serene existence between the Fake Plastic Tree and real spastic cats. Then one day, we started to see the tree move on its own. It started shaking violently especially for a fake plastic tree. Upon further inspection, the cats were climbing the tree or at least attempting to climb FTP. We scared the cats away with a simple little Yule tide “GET THE F@CK off the tree”. The tree looked worried, and I was worried for the tree. Yes, the cats were slithering up and down the tree much like Mean Mister Grinch in Whoville.

Fake Plastic Tree persevered, and by now was leaning to one side. We even tried keeping the lights off, hoping by some divine intervention the cats would not see the tree. Needless to say, they saw right through that ruse.

We woke up one morning and the salvo upon Fake Plastic Tree was pretty much complete.The tree lie stretched across the living room floor with the lights surprisingly intact. Christmas tree ornaments were scattered about and not a one was surprisingly damaged.

Bobo, The orange cat, stepped over a fallen reindeer as we walked into the living room. He gave us a knowing look. The Yule tide season was taking a toll. The tree has bedraggled with branches extending in random directions. Although it is a fake it started to shed needles. The cats were winning the war on Christmas.

About three days later, The tree was once again toppled from its picture window perch. This time the living room did not look like a disaster zone as most ornaments were under a chair or in their preferred place. That place would be on the pillows in the guest-room, the room we referred to as the Cat room.

On a dreary rainy Saturday morning we decided as a couple, it just was not worth having a Christmas tree. Bobo and Sinclair sat high up in their cat skyscraper with a smile similar to another famous smiling cat. I know that sounds a tad hyperbolic still I will stick by that part of the story. The cats were absolutely smiling.

They smiled and purred as we took apart FTP. We unceremoniously put Fake Plastic Tree back into the perfect box she spent most of her life. It was a fantastic box That now once again sits in the garage , in a state of disillusion. It is sad little tree looking to find a break and it’s forever home.