When Things Don’t Work, by Ricky

I suppose I should begin with When I Don’t
Work
.  As a boy and teen, I was in a
perpetual state of work avoidance.  It
didn’t matter if it was chores at home or homework for school, I did not want
to do it.  When Mom asked me to do the
vacuuming and dishes, I would do the vacuuming but would delay doing the dishes
until it was very late and I had to go to bed before school the next day.  As for the homework, I did do that, but
procrastinated as long as possible.
The skill of procrastination did not serve me
well when I attended Sacramento State College right out of high school in
1966.  My English 101 class introduced me
to adult fantasy novels.  The professor
told us that his professional colleagues thought he was crazy to teach his
selected book of ‟trash” as English Literature. 
Our professor told us that we would be reading and discussing the story because
it was the up-and-coming genre of literature. 
He was so very correct as the book we studied is Tolkien’s Lord of
the Rings
.  I got so involved in the
story that I neglected most of my studies for two weeks and got so far behind I
was demoralized and so went on academic probation at the end of the
semester.  I then did not even try the
next semester so I flunked out of my first year of college.  I was still very immature.
After losing my academic deferment, I managed to
join the Air Force to avoid being drafted into the Army or Marine Corps.  I worried about the draft for nothing.  While I was attending Air Force basic
training, I received my draft notice—for the Navy.
The Air Force was good for me.  It gave me a safe place to finish growing up
and also taught me team work, skill with administrative work, a bit of
self-discipline, kept me out of Vietnam, and even paid me to learn.  Who could have asked for more?  After three years with my assigned unit, I
was selected to set up a newly organized squadron’s administrative section for
the squadron commander and first sergeant. 
It turned out that I really must have been a good worker as I was given
two medals for the work I did throughout my enlisted time.
I continued to work until a couple of years
following my wife’s passing.  Then my
depression was so bad I reverted back to my youth and avoided work whenever
possible.  Then after ten-years of
self-pity, I began to come alive again and sought out things to do that were
not work but mostly recreation.  I do
have modest financial stability through the VA, Civil Service retirement, and
Social Security but I needed to supplement my income a little bit, so after a
two-year search, I finally landed a position as a cashier in an adult video
store where I worked from 1 August 2012 through June 2016.
Now when things other than me don’t work, I react
totally different.  My behavior divides
according to specific scenarios.  The
first is, if the not-working thing is my property and can be fixed.  If I can fix it, I will try and do so.  If I cannot fix it, I send it to or call in a
repairman.  If that is not possible, I
will replace it or do without.
Second scenario is where the not-working thing is
a large project, if it is to be fixed, such as replacing the floor and wall
tile in a bathroom.  When I was in my
20’s, Deborah and I did just that.  I
know exactly how much work it was.  At my
age now, I am totally against do-it-yourself projects.  If it isn’t broken, don’t fix it.  If it is broken, call in an expert repair
person and pay the price.
The third scenario consists of not-working things
that I have no direct control over.  The
prime example of this is Republican obstructionism in Congress for the past
six-plus years, known to me as the Bonner Do Nothing Republican Congress.  The only thing I can do about that is vote
and write letters.  Another example is
potholes in city or county roads.  I can
notify the authorities where the potholes are but nothing is done.  Then there are the roads which are repaved
and repainted and 3 to 6-months later, dug up to replace water or sewer
lines.  The powers that be don’t
coordinate getting the underground work done before the repaving, so streets
are often disrupted longer than necessary.
My number one pet peeve I believe falls into the
category of things that don’t work. The movie and theater industry repeatedly
miscast actors in their productions. 
Specifically, beginning with Maude Adams, productions of Peter Pan
have featured women in the title role. 
Barrie’s manuscripts clearly indicate that Peter was small and still had
all his baby teeth.  He was not an adult
woman or a teen-age boy.  At least Walt
Disney used a 12-year old Bobby Driscoe as the model for the Disney animators;
he just used the wrong aged model.  This
past week there was another made for TV broadcast production, Peter Pan
Live,
staring yet another adult female as Peter.  I am sure it was a good performance, although
I did not watch it.  Not to take anything
away from the actress and other cast members, the performance was still a
travesty.  The casting system is broken
and does not work with regards to Peter Pan and I am powerless to do
anything but complain.  Very frustrating
for me as Peter Pan is my all-time
favorite prepubescent story from childhood.
Anyone who has seen the musical Oliver,
knows there are many talented youngsters who can sing and dance.  If you search YouTube, you can find videos of
the search for and training of the actors who ended up playing Billy Elliott in
the American version stage play.  It is
nearly unbelievable the amount of talent children have.  There is absolutely no reason to keep casting
adult women as Peter.
Fortunately, someone has finally come along to
end my frustration.  While in a movie
theater this past week, I saw a preview of a new Peter Pan movie to be released
in the summer of 2015 titled, Pan
The role of Pan finally has been assigned to a young boy, one more
closely age appropriate and accurate to the original story.  The story itself is another prequel, but I
don’t care about that.  I just want to
see a more realistic Peter Pan.  So for
me, I can see that someone in the movie industry is actually trying to make
literary accurate movies whose cast actually resembles the characters in the
novels.
Just because some things don’t work, doesn’t mean
that someone cannot begin to fix them. 
Maybe there is hope for Congress too.
© 7 December 2014 / revised 3 Feb 2017
About the Author 
I was born in June of 1948 in Los Angeles, living first in Lawndale
and then in Redondo Beach.  Just prior to
turning 8 years old in 1956, I was sent to live with my grandparents on their
farm in Isanti County, Minnesota for two years during which time my parents
divorced.
When united with my mother and stepfather two years later
in 1958, I lived first at Emerald Bay and then at South Lake Tahoe, California,
graduating from South Tahoe High School in 1966.  After three tours of duty with the Air Force,
I moved to Denver, Colorado where I lived with my wife and four children until
her passing away from complications of breast cancer four days after the 9-11-2001
terrorist attack.
I came out as a gay man in the summer of 2010.   I find writing these memories to be
therapeutic.
My story blog is: TheTahoeBoy.Blogspot.com

When Things Don’t Work, by Phillip Hoyle

My marriage to Myrna Kay Vance Hoyle worked very well for
many years. I am sure Myrna was trying to have the world’s best marriage, to
live the dream of being the princess with her prince charming to fulfill the
purpose of her mother’s rather unrelenting discipline that focused on making
her a housewife so she could rear and educate children and care for her
husband. So Myrna approached her life as a wife with enthusiasm and talent and
a wonderful attitude.
I was living into the cultural fantasy of the straight life
even though from an early age I was far from straight. I wanted a family not as
the fulfillment of a dream but as a matter of course. How else could anyone
live? I wanted the pleasures and security of family life and so worked in my
way with good humor, consideration, kindness, and reliability to make it
possible. I liked family life with its endless variety—Myrna’s and my family life
spiced up with children, foster children, unusual friendships, and great
tolerance.
Myrna was interested in home economy and observed I had
little interest in keeping up with domestic bookkeeping. “Would it help you if
I kept the books?” she asked. “Sure,” I replied. I wasn’t into some stereotype.
Perhaps she was since her mother kept the books for the family farm where she was
reared.
My focus was outside the home although I loved my wife and
our children and the other denizens of our house on Volutsia Street or our
apartment on Las Vegas Boulevard or our rental on Bald Hill Road or the
apartment on Ellis Boulevard or our townhouse on Morris Street or the apartment
at Sixth and Lead or our residence in the basement of her parent’s farm home or
the apartment on Boulder Blvd. I came home every night, twice a month happily
turned over my paycheck, occasionally helped solve domestic conflicts, all this
with joy, calm, commitment, and laughter.
My wife and I respected and loved each other. Although we
both worked to lessen or avoid conflict, we certainly could talk through, even
argue our different perspectives and come to a mutually agreeable solution.
Neither of us was selfish although I had a much greater capacity for being so
than she. And I had this longtime nurtured gay self that I appreciated and
loved. I didn’t repress my homosexuality but realized that in order to live my life
as a minister in a church I had to sublimate any number of my urges. Still I
found ways to respect this part of myself, and even satisfy some of it without
hurting other people or myself. I was skilled in my duplicity. I was also
always aware that what was gay about me was certainly not hidden. I knew myself
and I knew that others—at least some others—surely perceived this other part of
me.
Myrna and I had a great marriage, and we reared two most
interesting kids and nurtured many friends and inspired other couples to do
likewise. So why the separation? Why the eventually divorce?
When the children left home and Myrna and I were back at the
one-on-one life all the distractions and responsibilities of rearing children
lessened. Oh we still had others living with us from time to time, but I finally
could satisfy other needs, and without the children present, I did so. I did
worse than break one clause in our marriage vows: “and keep yourself only for
her.” I broke that vow with other men whom I liked intensely. Feeling the
emotional change in me, Myrna finally let herself see what she’d long known.
Finally we talked, but rushing the matter we were unable to resolve the problem.
Emotion can cause such failure, but the real failure was the institution of
marriage itself.
When we divorced some years later, a longtime friend said, “I
wish you wouldn’t. Yours was the only marriage I ever thought was worth all
problems.” I thought about her kind words and finally realized the problem was
that no one had ever developed marriage for bisexual folk. Drat.
Still, Myrna’s and my friendship survived the conflict and
pain, as did our commitment to our children, grandchildren, and many
friendships from our married days. Marriage as a reified institution with a
long history of mythology and law to bolster it eventually didn’t work for us. No
matter how hard we both tried. Still what brought us together in the first
place—friendship and love—continues to flourish between us.
© 8 December,
2014 
About the Author 
 Phillip Hoyle
lives in Denver and spends his time writing, painting, and socializing. In
general he keeps busy with groups of writers and artists. Following thirty-two
years in church work and fifteen in a therapeutic massage practice, he now
focuses on creating beauty. He volunteers at The Center leading the SAGE
program “Telling Your Story.”
He also blogs at artandmorebyphilhoyle.blogspot.com

When Things Don’t Work, by Gillian

Throughout human
time, I believe, there has been a certain protocol to be followed when things
don’t work. You change them, stop using them, or eliminate them. This is more
or less the pattern today. But we seem to have added a little something. We
apply the same rules to things or procedures or systems which do work!
A prime case in
point would be computer programs. I struggle for months to master how to use,
say, hypothetical programs photomax, to share my photographs on line, or
readywrite for my weekly story-writings. I don’t find either of them
particularly user-friendly, but then, at my age new cyber-tricks do not settle
instantly in my brain. I can guarantee, the moment I become fairly comfortable
with them, I shall receive notice of the dreaded upgrades. I dither. I do not
want to install the bloody upgrades because then I shall return to the bottom
of the learning curve. But if I don’t, I run the risk of the whole thing
becoming so down-level that it slowly bogs down in computer mire. Timidly, I
click on ignore. The screen is instantly filled with flashing WARNING signs. If you do not install this
upgrade, oversized, over-excited words threaten me, you will no longer be able
to use readywrite 4-1. Meanwhile photomax is telling me that unless I download
their upgrade my system will lose security integrity. But why is it, that in
order to upgrade security, they also change every little thing about how it works?
When I pressed *4, this used to happen. Now, nothing happens. But if I hit
command S, which used to sort my photos, the screen now goes blank. Oh, I see.
It transferred everything to the trash. Why oh why, I moan, do they always have
to fix things when they ain’t broke? It worked perfectly. I had learned
to love it. Now I hate it all over again!
The real-world
equivalent of cyber-upgrades would be the similarly dreaded new and improved.
That phrase can generate panic attacks. Oh no! That means it will no longer
work for me. That blouse I have bought three of over the last couple of years
will now be too tight and have sleeves that end, as modern female fashion seems
to dictate, four inches below my fingertips. My favorite shoes, now new and
improved
, are suddenly only available in strangely psychedelic colors. A
few years ago they “improved” many of my favorite deli and restaurant
dishes by loading them up with pico de gallo; a flavor I really do not
appreciate. When a new and improved bus schedule comes along, you can
bet it provides a diminished service.
Often appearing in
tandem with new and improved is the worst one of all; for your
convenience.
Any time you are greeted with that one, you know things are
about to become very inconvenient indeed. For your convenience,
with that new and improved schedule, the bus will no longer run after
6.oo p.m. and will no longer stop at Union Station. For your convenience the
parking lot will be closed for two weeks in July. This, of course, in order to
provide new and improved parking spaces. A few weeks ago King Soopers
reorganized it’s stores for, of course, our convenience, so that now no-one can
find anything. I think my favorite to date is a sign posted recently on a bank
door; for your convenience this branch will no longer be open on
Saturday morning. Really! Where are these people’s heads? Do they believe that
simply saying it makes it so? 
Maybe we should
give it a try!?
There are, happily,
many of us in our Monday story-time group these days, so I’m trying to keep my
offerings pretty short. But my future new and improved stories will be a
minimum of 10,000 words. For your convenience.
© 8 Dec 2014 
About the Author 
I was born and raised in England. After
graduation from college there, I moved to the U.S. and, having discovered
Colorado, never left. I have lived in the Denver-Boulder area since 1965,
working for 30 years at IBM. I married, raised four stepchildren, then got
divorced after finally, in my forties, accepting myself as a lesbian. I have
now been with my wonderful partner Betsy for 28 years.