Flash! Just when you thought it was safe to come out of the water, new research reveals extensive use of a powerful chemical within many industry groups worldwide, suggesting a powerful effect upon our overall health.

For revelations about the now-widespread use of dihydrogen monixide in our world, see Dihydrogen Monoxide Research Division (DMRD), located in Newark, Delaware.

Why aren’t our governmental agencies on top of this?

Highway 89: Chad Henson from Mount Shasta was driving toward McCloud this morning, and as he neared the Ski Park, a big bear came barrelling down the slope, across oncoming traffic, and careened into Chad’s Volkswagen Rabbit.

“I slammed on my brakes,” Chad said, “but the bear didn’t even slow down.”

The Rabbit survived. The bear didn’t.

Los Angeles International Airport, January 2000. Two nicely dressed ladies were sitting near me, and as the flight was late, I suppose they fell into conversation.

The first woman seemed to be a brusque, arrogant California woman, apparently married to a very wealthy man. The second woman was a well-mannered elderly woman from the South.

The conversation centered on their children, and the California woman said, “When my first child was born, my husband built me a wonderful mansion in Bel Air.”

The lady from the South commented, “Well, isn’t that nice.”

It wasn’t long before the first woman was boasting again. “Then,” she said, “when my second child was born, my husband bought me a beautiful Mercedes Benz.”

Again the lady from the South said, “Well, isn’t that nice.”

Encouraged, the first woman said, with an air of pride, “Then, when my third child was born, my husband bought me this beautiful bracelet.” She jangled the bracelet, and it glittered in the bright light.

The lady from the sound again said, “Well, isn’t that nice.”

The first woman seemed to realize she was bragging, and she turned to the second lady and asked, “Men are so funny. Did your husband buy you presents when you had your children?”

The lady from the South replied, “Only the first one. When I had my first child my husband sent me to Charm School, something I’d always wanted to do.”

“Charm school?” asked the California woman. “What’s so interesting about going to charm school? Is it useful?”

“Well, yes,” replied the lady from the South. “I found it quite useful. For one thing, in Charm School I learned that, instead of saying ‘Who gives a rat’s ass’ I could instead say ‘Well, isn’t that nice.'”

Mount Shasta, 9am: A week ago, about this time, our dog Tulip passed away; Yesterday and today have been hard, remembering, and also remembering last Tuesday when we awoke exhausted, with a hole in the morning.

While we sat at table over coffee, late-sleeping Tulip should have come walking, stiff and stretching, from the bedroom while we said “Good morning!” and “Here she comes, here she comes!” That’s the way it’s supposed to be.

Have you ever noticed how, in tough times, syncronicity appears, and consciousness alters?

When Tulip was boarding at the animal hospital, we knew she’d be ill on her return, and in our rented house with carpeting, we’d need to keep Tulip in the kitchen with its durable floor.

Adrienne called the Noah’s Ark petstore, and spoke with the owner, a blonde woman we’d never met. However, the week before, the local newspaper displayed an article on cat rescue folks, and in the photo this same woman sat with a cat who looked exactly like Komodo Kittie that we’d placed with the Humane Society.

Adrienne wanted a baby gate, to close the kitchen from the carpet. The pet-store lady said she’d ask a woman named Chris at the Humane Society. “She’s a pet communicator,” said the pet-store woman, “I don’t know if you believe in things like that.”

Adrienne, very much, does.

In fact, musing with me the day before, she’d wished she knew a pet psychic, and when the pet-store woman reached Chris, Chris said she could help, and asked for Adrienne’s name. Chris already knew who she was, and the pet-store woman said, “Adrienne? Oh! You’re that Adrienne!” The story of Komodo Kittie had made the rounds, you see.

Chris said that her dog Nikki would help guide Tulip when the time came. And Chris then reminded the pet-store woman that there was a nice gate stashed in the back room of the pet-store, which had been forgotten.

“That’s right!” said the pet-store woman, and invited Adrienne to come over. Adrienne drew Angel Cards, and they said “Creativity” and “Spontenaity.” I don’t draw Angel cards, but every day I check the Fortune Cookie built into this site. Although the fortune is randomly selected from my quotes collection, quotes appear which I swear I’ve never seen before.

In the afternoon, Adrienne said she didn’t know how she’d go on, without Tulip. And in my office, the fortune cookie selected a quotation from Adrienne herself. “Don’t stop,” it said. “Just keep moving. — Adrienne Gallant”

The pet store gate was double-size. This was good, because we needed a double-size gate. Adrienne asked how much it would cost. The woman said, “Just take it. Take it with you.”

As we set up the gate, Adrienne again tried to reach the pet communicator, with no luck. And when, a week ago, the sun rose on Tulip’s last day, and when Adrienne rose in that early light, she pulled an Angel Card. It said, “Grace.”

The vet we reached on the phone agreed to come and set Tulip free of that broken body. She was a vet new to us. She was named Dr. Roberts, or actually, Dr. Grace Roberts.

While Dr. Roberts was preparing the injections, the phone rang. We didn’t want to talk, but it just kept ringing. “Go answer it,” I told Adrienne, “We don’t want it ringing.”

There, at that last moment, was Chris, the pet communicator, with words of comfort. Adrienne thanked her, hung up, then sat on the floor, and we stroked and spoke with Tulip as she passed away.

Later in the afternoon, from Chris Adrienne heard that Tulip was being escorted by guides including the dog Nikki and a horse, and that the journey would take three days. Adrienne tears up, telling me. “I wanted to tell them that Tulip couldn’t run very long,” she says.

During these three days of Tulip’s journey, we’ve been told to encourage Tulip to keep moving. And once she gets where she’s going, then she’ll be able to come back and visit us. Well, that sounds like a good idea to me, because I like her a lot, and miss her terribly. All this week, I hear Adrienne crying. “Keep moving, Tulip,” she says. “Keep moving.”

Two weeks ago, and two weeks before that, Adrienne told me of peculiar dreams. In the earlier dream, she and Tulip were walking and they met two strange dogs. These sound frightening, for they were tall, wild, stiff-legged, with dark coats and glowing pale blue eyes. Yet she and Tulip were not afraid. She awoke.

They’re guides, she thought.

In the later dream, again she and Tulip walked along a path, and topping a ridge they came upon a field, a field much larger than a football field, and upon the wide green grass, hundreds and hundreds of border collies were running, walking, playing, prancing, as far as you could see.

Adrienne spoke to Tulip, on the leash near her hand. “Look, Tulip,” she exclaimed, “All your cousins!”

But Tulip was no longer on the leash.

The leash was empty. And in the dream, Adrienne cried, knowing that Tulip had gone. Tulip had joined her cousins, out upon the sweet green grass.

Playing, running, prancing, I can see Tulip, blending with all the others, black and white and joyous, running with all the border collies of the world.

Some time back, I referred to telephone recordings made by “Lonesome Cowboy Tim”. These used to run on a (secret) telephone number in San Francisco, and the story changed from time to time. The story in general was that Lonesome Cowboy Tim lived out on the prairie with a lot of critters, and they had various adventures which were very, very funny.

It seems that lots of Cowboy Tim fans still remember those days. I heard from Frank Mitford from south Florida and several others. Some of them have recordings.

In an attempt to bring these recordings back to the world, I’ve registered “lonesomecowboytim.com“, and will be putting a website up in that location. Hopefully, I’ll be able to garner recordings and post them there, and perhaps some other fans would like to help with this project, so that you can return with us now to those thrilling days of yesteryear.

Lonesome Cowboy Tim will ride again!

As anyone can see, the Bloggard has been unable to create many micro-stories just lately.

I’ve become immersed in other projects, that’s what creates the interference.

My voicemail business has diminished (cell phones are very popular these days) and I’ve had to make adaptations to that business (see 24Metro Voicemail and Free Web), for example, providing free domain-name, email, and websites for voicemail clients.

In addition, at Mobius Megatar we’ve revamped the inventory system, so that we can now sell pre-built musical instruments from stock, and to offer these instruments I’ve created a new EBay store at the EBay “Megatar Store”. Our new inventory system makes it possible for a musician to purchase an instrument with immediate shipping, instead of waiting 3-7 weeks for the order to be built.

I’ve also intensified my investigations of the last ten years regarding the behavior of financial markets, with somewhat encouraging results, and this takes time, too.

There’s more, but that’s enough. And so I must permit the Adventures to languish at present. My goal was to create an autoblography, and that’s been done. (See A Year and a Lifetime.)

Over 400 micro-stories are already available here. See them listed alphabetically by title in the Archive Section.

And information about my “How to Get a Boyfriend or a Girlfriend” manual will be found in The Sweetheart Report posting.

Down the road, when time permits, I will be back to create more Adventures of Bloggard.

Thank you for your readership.

Mount Shasta, April 8, 2004: Where do these stories come from? I mean, mostly they’re true, except for a lie or two. But what makes this story or that story emerge into memory? What makes this memory or that memory form itself into a little story?

Sometimes something seen, or other people’s stories, will trigger my own, though there seems little (conscious) connection between stories, not that I’m too proud to steal!

Will steal for food!

My commonest way to get stories is from when I’m yakking with Adrienne. We tend to smooze at the table around breakfast-time and supper-time. Perhaps this reveals that I’m a food-smoozer, but I don’t care!

For some reason, any wandering conversation tends to trigger certain memories for me. I grew up being a show-off, obnoxious, insecure kid, and I still have the impulse to react, “Oh, yeah! Lemme tell you what happened to me!” This ignoble passion then brings memories to mind.

And the memories are surprising, and often trigger wondering. For example, in our conversation last night I recalled that lots of our high school girls used to take classes called “Charm School.” The girls learned to walk like models, for example. Yet I’ve heard of no such thing since that time. So it raises the curious question: What has happened to the charm schools?

A few nights ago, Adrienne and I were talking about something back in San Anselmo, and that made me think of Ram Das, who was living up the same street, and that made me remember Kit Thorn and I meeting Ram Das, back then called Richard Aplert.

It’s all basically the Proust mechanism, I think. The little scent of a madelaine cookie brings back a rush of memory, and within that memory, threads of others, and they expand away from you even as you pursue. They are growing, away from you, and the faster you chase, the behinder you get. Just like Alice. You think?

The trick of storying, then, is not the triggering of memories, but rather of grabbing them as they flit lightly through the mind, as they dissolve away from us, hurtling gently toward oblivion.

That’s my theory, and I’m sticking to it.