Humanninny

Humanity has acquired a database over a million or so years if you believe the scientists, or around 10,000 years on a Monday morning if you are more romantic. Let’s assume some upright animal with rudimentary language and social skills that we occasionally find the remains of evolved into at least a proto-human with enough intelligence to shop craigslist for jobs and toys. Whether evolved from photo nutrients, or hatched wholly human, we have together assembled a democratic database of what works and what doesn’t.

Many of us educate ourselves from this nest egg of wisdom, we learn the systems that have worked for humanity for between ten thousand and a million or so years, the socio/politico/religious equations linking us to how well we can do in life along with the clearly seen or invisible cautions and moral codes we generally abide by. In short, all the ways we’ve discovered and created variations on of doing, thinking and expressing ourselves.

These are universally perfected themes we reference in the shared libraries of human experience so we don’t have to entirely recreate the wheel or wig.

I wanted to create the wheel, and language and airplanes and conception and parties and footwear. Somehow I never learned how to use the library card. Once I started to feel I was doing what generations of humankind had done I‘d veer away to explore for original ways which even if I’d stumbled over I wouldn’t’ve recognized because I had only a couple of the same contexts and reference point for recognizing things others do. I believed everything and learned nothing. I was a lad with one foot spiked to the oak floor hearing the starter gun go off every ten seconds. Maybe I had neo natal Nazi Alzheimer’s. I followed whatever I was ordered to, even when these orders conflicted.

It was really bad. My relationships suffered, word got around and I walked in an empty landscape, even downtown. Here he comes, hide!! I couldn’t connect words spoken or on the page with the make-sense place in mind others seemed to be able to file things in memory or respond to normally. The database of human experience is sometimes out of bounds for some people, and I was one.

Still I felt I was a genius but didn’t know what to genie or how. People who are still having trouble tying their shoes at age 30 or remembering their name need to believe they are special in order to survive. If we ever got it how dumb we are we still wouldn’t get it how dumb we are.

What got me through it all is that I was merry and big and strong. No one ever beat me up. Those who could make mincemeat of me with a few sarcastic words didn’t. One time I walked in on a Don Rickles show on the Strip and he waded into me with rage because I was walking while he was talking, but all that came out of him was stutter.

People I hurt forgave me, or at least didn’t keep after me. I was off limits to those of the broken hearts, to predators, bullies, murderers, zealots, con men. Whores loved me because I brought out their wounded best . They made sure I was treated with respect. The mentally challenged and deformed drew close to protect me. Schizophrenics called me brother, or sister, and made perfect sense to me.

After awhile I didn’t want people around protecting me so I learned to become invisible by scanning without any felt focus other than curiosity. My image’d wander off leaving behind only stripped down awareness. On the streets if I stare at a woman shifting along fluidly she feels it and looks over her shoulder with annoyance. In scan mode there is no focused energy contact for her to refer to so she just feels a general pleasure of giving pleasure in her walk.

After awhile I knew the rules for getting into regular society but no longer wanted to. I made peace with being an outsider, it was my nature. I preferred anonymity and only paired up with others to see up close how life worked for them. What came automatically for others I had to study as lessons over and over. It took thirty years to get out of elementary school. I learned to appear normal when I shimmed into visibility, except when I spoke. When I spoke people drifted away wondering what language I was speaking. So I learned to shut up. And eventually, with nothing better to do, to listen. Little by little I got what people were saying. By then I was in my forties and working as a woodcutter and sawyer in Santa Fe. I spent ten years in and out of the woods of the high mountains in my truck. I was happier than any time in my life. I had a woodyard, sawmill, a Maine woman who rarely spoke, and all the physical labor I could handle, which was plenty. I was free to be who I wanted to be with no apologies...

Raised By The Wind Maybe

The old man and the little girl were on their way to the beach. She lived with her grandfather and grandmother in a condo on Pescadero Street. She rode a red tricycle with a blue bell on the handlebars.

They went along a small winding lane with small wooden beach cottages and tiny gardens on either side.
“Grandad?” the little girl said. Her name was Cristina. “I want to be raised by giraffes.”
“How come?”, her grandfather asked.
“Because they have long necks and can eat the leaves nobody else can reach.
And they have hard lips and long purple tongues so the thorns in the boolie boolie trees can’t hurt them.”

“Well, if you were raised by giraffes you couldn’t ride that little red trike.”
“I know,” Cristina said and peddled off as fast as she could down the
narrow lane. She looped around and came pedaling back as fast as she had gone.
She circled her grandfather and slowed down to ride beside him as he walked.
The old man saw two Siamese cats in a window of one of the cottages. One
was asleep and the other sat looking out at them.
“How would you like to be raised by cats?” he asked the little girl. “They
can teach you how to lick your paw and wash your face with it, and purr and rub
against people’s legs, and look for a long time at things without moving so much
as a hair. Like that one in the window.”
“No,” said Cristina, “I don’t want to be raised by cats. They can’t reach the
boolie boolie trees.”

They turned into an alley to where there was a big back yard filled with
palms and bushes with flowers and tall grass almost hiding a child’s swing. The
old man and little girl stopped to look in between the boards of the wooden fence.
“I want to go in there,” Cristina said.
“There could be lions in the tall grass. They could teach you to stalk zebras
and wildebeests, and roar at night so everyone could hear you for miles around.”
“I don’t think so, Grandpa. Are there lions in there, do you think?”
“Maybe some zebras. Would you like to be raised by zebras?”
“I do not want to be raised by zebras, I want to be raised by giraffes is what
I told you.” Cristina rode off on her red trike down the narrow alleyway.
Cristina stopped at the big oak tree and got off her trike. “I want to climb
this tree and maybe live up there for awhile,” she said as her grandfather came
along.

“You could be the tree’s daughter, you know?” he said, leaning against the
trunk to rest. For such a big tree the branches had very tiny leaves with some
sharp points along the edges. “I could come along in the mornings, lean here and
talk with you. There’d be birds in your branches and maybe some monkeys. The
tree could teach you to put roots down deep into the earth and sway in the wind
and rustle your leaves.”

Cristina watched him carefully as he spoke, considering the idea. The old
man looked up. “Hear that? Such a pretty sound, rustling in the wind. I’d stand
here and lean against you and listen to your rustling and the birds singing. Maybe
a little boy would build a tree house in your branches and keep you company.”
Cristina leaned against her grandfather as he leaned against the tree in
thought. She made up her mind and got back on her trike.

“Don’t you want to be raised by a tree?” the old man asked.
“No, I couldn’t play. I would be sitting alone and having things like boys in
my hair and not be able to do anything about it.” Cristina rode off down the alley
road again ringing the blue bell on the handlebars and singing a siren noise.
Now Cristina and the old man could see the ocean and hear the surf. There
were seven pelicans sliding along above them on still wings riding the salty air
lifted by breaking waves. They passed the last cottage and stopped on a low
sandstone cliff above the sand.

The day was clear, the sun was bright and warm
and the surf made a soothing sound below them as it rolled in then eased back out
to sea. Cristina waited for her grandfather to take her down the steep dirt path. He
lifted the tricycle in one hand and took her small hand in the other.
“Giraffes mostly never go to the beach,” he said to her as they stepped
carefully along.
“How come?” she asked.
“Because there are no boolie boolie trees. And besides,the giraffes lose all
their yellow when they tan.”
“Does the yellow come back?” she wanted to know.
“Don’t know. Only the wind knows that,” her grandfather replied.
“How does it know?” Cristina asked.
“The wind knows all secrets.”
“Really?” Cristina held tightly to the old man’s hand so she wouldn’t slip
on the steepness of the path. A small gust of wind brushed against her face cool
and salty.

“If you were the wind, you’d know,” he said.
“But then I couldn’t hold your hand, grandpa.”
The old man considered this for awhile. “Well, that’s true but you’d always
be with me, except on the windiest days, and I’d like that.”
“Tell me what it’s like to be the wind.” They were down to the sand now
and the little girl kicked off her sandals and wiggled her toes in the sand. The old
man set her trike down and sat carefully on its little seat to take off his shoes. He
was silent as he untied his shoelaces.
“If I was raised by the wind,” she went on, “I wouldn’t get to be with you
very much because the wind is so big and you’re so small. I would have to be
very still to be with you and I don’t like to be still. I’d just be air.”
“That's true, I hadn't thought of that. And I wouldn’t get to carry you in my
arms,” the grandfather said, pulling off his socks and folding them into the tops of
his shoes. “Or see your lovely shining face, or go on little walks like this. And
your tricycle would be very lonely without you.”

Cristina nodded, looking at the little trike her grandfather sat upon.
“Maybe the sea,” she said, mostly to herself. She was worried about being
the wind. If she was blowing hard she’d go right past her grandpa. If she wasn’t
she would just be some air next to him. He wouldn’t even know she was there
because she couldn’t say anything to him at all. Wind only knows one word.
“Wooooo,” she said very softly.
They walked hand in hand down to where the waves rolled in. “I love the
sea, grandpa.” The foamy surf rolled over the tops of their bare feet and made her
jump a little and laugh at herself. Cristina chased the fans of foam and they chased
her back.

The grandfather thought of how it might be if the ocean raised this little
girl he cared for so much. She would learn to have fish swimming in her stomach
and whales and dolphins, and on her back would be ships and boats. She would
bring sea shells and all sorts of gifts like masts and capstans and wood rudders and
fishnet balls onto the shore and leave them there for people to find. She would
wash over her grandfather’s toes when he went down to see her but he wouldn’t
be able to hear her laughter, or take away her tears when she was hurt or sad. He
wouldn’t really even be able to tell if these were tears washing over his toes or
just plain sea water. The sea wouldn’t fall asleep against his shoulder or eat pizza
or hold his hand, and he would never know where the doll he gave her went. It
could be on a beach on Easter Island. He’d never know.

When Cristina came running back the old man bent over to sweep her up
and whirl her around. “I am so happy you are who you are, Cristina, and that you
chose your grandma and me to raise you.”
“I love you too, grandpa,” she said. She wriggled out of his arms and ran
off after a wave on its way back to sea. “But I still want to be raised by giraffes.”

All The Free Things

Preface

When all our riches are tallied up, our investments, real estate,
savings, collectibles, we are still poor unless we include all we have for free.
Not long ago I tallied up the following list of treasures long hand as fast as I could write, just to find out what I hold most dear. I had to laugh out loud at some of them because they are silly, like French kissing a sea anemone, but many of the others on the list reveal what matters most. We may be poor as church mice, but we are up there among the wealthiest with what we have for free. If you have some riches to add to this list, send them to johnsunderhill@mac.com


Free Things In a High Priced Life

One another
Air we breathe
Water we drink
Kisses we throw
Hands we hold
Cheeks we pat
Dreams we dream
Dreams Others Dream
Advice
Curses and abuse
Dogs we pet
Puppies and kittens
Children we hold. Or release
Children we conceive.
Things we imagine, or don’t
Leaves we rake up and jump into
Dirt we dig
Rocks we move
Mud we step in barefoot and chew with our toes
Fingernails we chew with our teeth
Rocks and logs we sit on
Noses we pick
Reflections we see, or make
Itches and scratching
Throwing a stick for a dog
Skipping a stone across the water
Lying, fibbing, gossiping, exaggerating
Rage, suspicion, jealousy
Swaggering
Stepping on grass, or deciding not to.
Washing our face in a stream or a sink or a puddle
Inventing a never-before recipe
Picking ticks off a dog
Staring down a cat
Crossing a road
Watching a chicken do it.
Watching a rabbit freeze watching you freeze watching it
Rubbing your nose in thought
Rubbing your nose in total amusement
Rubbing your nose because it’s there
Putting on airs
Taking off airs
Clouds we watch change
Clouds that form into crawling babies and ships and gulls
Touching a horse’s soft nose
Smelling a horse’s breath
Hearing a horse snort or gallop
Listening to our footsteps and following
Being afraid for no reason
Imagining disaster
Nodding off while being told off
Skipping
Drumming your fingers
Drumming her fingers
Watching a lady bug haul butt across the back of your hand
Quoting her your only ladybug poem about flying away because of fire at
home
Looking at the stars, finding one to talk to
Seeing the star you were talking to fall
Riding a bike
Watching airplanes take off and come in
Floating in a pond or bird bath
Standing in surf up to your ankles
Commanding the sea to move away from the shore
Watching it do it
Blowing a dandelion puff
Puffing steam into frigid air
Reaching
Retreating
Running
Nursing a baby.
Nursing someone hurt
Blowing bubbles
Whistling Pomp and Circumstance
Blowing Bach’s Tocatta and Fugue in D Major on a kazoo
Babbling nonsense
Humming Jimmy Crack Corn as you die in bed of terminal boredom
Orating to a field of daisies
Looking at your face
Staring into your eyes
Staring into a growling dog’s eyes
Growling back
Running
Laughing
Smiling
Simpering
Crying
Begging
Receiving
Adding and subtracting on your fingers and toes without amputation
Stillness
Rain and snow
Belching
Breaking wind and blowing out the seat of your pants
Listening
Hearing
Seeing
Feeling
Drinking
Eating buttered corn on the cob
Dancing
Wa-hooing
Snapping your fingers together
Snapping a twig
Carving a stick
Sniffling
Blowing your nose with your fingers successfully
Glancing sideways
Swallowing
Shivering
Shaking
Crawling
Creeping
Chewing tobacco, wheatberries and pine gum at the same time
Issuing your spoken edicts to mice in the field
Demanding
Relenting
Seeing a roach in the kitchen big as a rat
Getting over it
Commiserating
Condemning
Sighing
Watching the river flow
Seeing a fish leap from the river and catch the sun
Watch the sudden night
Watching dusk fall and then get up
Eating a carrot you just pulled up
Picking your teeth
Sucking your teeth.
Ducking to keep from being hit
Sucking your lips
Sucking someone else’s lips
Touching a breast
Holding a breast
Rubbing your cheek against a breast
Licking a breast
Sucking a nipple.
Watching a snowflake melt in your palm
Swatting mosquitoes
Scratching a mosquito bite and plotting revenge
Chasing flies with a swatter
Getting four of them in one swat
Swaggering
Hearing dogs bark late at night far away.
Sneaking your signed name onto a copy of the U.S. Constitution
Reading Thomas Jefferson’s Testament of Freedom to preschoolers
Talking back
Cussing the TV
Reading a good story and never wanting it to end
Reading a bad story supposed to be good for you and wondering how
Watching grass grow
Hearing geese head south and looking way up there for them
Holding hands
Massaging feet
Smelling a skunk at night
Playing with words
Watching traffic
Waving
Giving a caterpillar and its sherpa a finger to climb up and come down off
of
Whistling back at birds and hear them whistle back at you
Making faces in the mirror
Finding one that’s acceptable
Peeing in the woods
Peeing in the river
Peeing on the fire embers way out there in the woods
Biting into an apple just picked off the tree
Eating a gooey honey date you raised from a green BB
Smelling coffee beans getting ground
Smelling a full hamper of worn clothes
Watching a woman paint her nails
Calling your dog, seeing him come
Calling your cat, seeing her go
Designing your first business card, throwing away your last
Reading a map for fun on a long drive
Getting lost
Finding your way
Sucking your thumb
Using your thumb to catch a ride
Collecting sand dollars and opening an account
Hunting
Praying
Playing hopscotch with kids
Tapping time with your foot
Having a shoe fit
Wearing it
Hearing a child sing
Hearing a child cry and feel your heart breaking
Hearing a child laugh and feel your heart singing
Finding a silver dollar in an old sock
Giving it to someone
Taking a worm you lacerated with a fish hook to Urgent Care
Hearing the plop of a drop of water into water
Watching a hawk kite a thermal
Someone you don’t know smiling at you
Snuggling
Feeling your genitals say Hi to you
Feeling them say Hi to someone else
Falling in love
Clambering out of love like Brer Rabbit from the Tar Baby
Hearing from someone 30 years later out of the blue
Not hearing from them
Thinking of them
Cobalt blue
Cerulean
The sound and feel of saying Cerulean
Spider web turquoise
Walking into a crowded room and everyone turns to look
Walking out and everyone applauds
Being invisible
Rocking in a rocker on a porch
Rocking in a chair on a porch
Falling over backward
Getting a kindergarten degree
Skidding on ice on purpose
Hearing someone weeping in a fenced backyard you are walking by
Calling that you love them and hearing a ringing silence
Finding a bird nest with eggs in it
Feeling them touching you
Watching your finger move to a task you did not will
Sending it to the closet to think this sort of behavior over
A hummingbird hovering beak to nose in your face
Going home
Leaving home
Thinking of home
Trying to remember a name
Trying to remember a song
Trying to remember your name
Doing a somersault
Darning a sock
Damning a sock
Pulling on a sock and finding a silver dollar in it
Knitting a football field cover from cottonwood fuzz
Stitching time
Teaching a baby to say la la la la la la in ascending diminished sevenths
Gargling the Star Spangled Banner
Using a Q tip soaked in kerosene to chase earwigs from your brain
Blowing down a bridge with a sneeze
Crawling to Lourdes from Dallas
Kissing a sea anemone
French kissing a sea anemone
Getting French kissed back
Talking baby talk
Talking adult talk
Refusing to talk
Taking a walk
Never returning
Wondering if you’re missed
Making a cats cradle from picture hanging wire and opening a small gallery
in your hands
Planting cabbage and corned beef seeds
Planting kisses
Thanking God for us
Giving thanks for all the free things
Doing 30 push ups on the front lawn and hoping someone walks by
Languishing in the embrace of a dog, child, God or hope
Eating a fresh icicle in a hot tub outdoors at night
Caramelizing a snowball when you can’t find an apple
Living without a phone or TV
Playing a 78 record on the wind-up Victrola in the attic
Finding a chocolate in a really old Valentine candy box and it’s still good
Hearing someone singing who thinks she’s alone
Overhearing a conversation that solves all your problems in life
Watching the sun rise
Feeling the sun rise
Feeling something so keenly words fail and they cry
Sniffing a lilac into the depths of your soul
Praising a crocus in the snow for its courage
Watching a concert through a hole in the wall with a friend
Playing cards
Going to Heaven, and seeing you’re still here
Going to Hell, same thing
Getting really sick and baffling the doctors with your recovery
Forgiving the really unforgivable just because
Any food at all when you’re starving
Having lots of streets if you’re a street person
Playing badminton with a kitten
Discovering there’s no sin, only confusion
Discovering God’s first language is sign
Discovering we are the only translator who can make any sense of it.
Discovering God is a dog, the one next to us on the sofa
Discovering.