Tag: Workout

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Workout, by Phillip Hoyle

I suppose we weren’t quite prepared for the mess although two summers ago Jim and I noticed the Honey Locust tree in the backyard was producing seedpods, a few of them. Last summer there were quite a few more. This summer the tree went crazy with its genetic demand to replicate and has produced hundreds of pods. They are not small, some measuring more than a foot in length and they hang in clusters of two to six. I thought them rather decorative like holiday ornaments. Our neighborhood squirrels showed up for the seasonal party and in the last week of August gleefully began their harvest.
If you know squirrels you realize they are as messy as teenagers, never cleaning up after themselves like the adolescent son in the comic strip Zits. I know about that because my daughter was one messy kid. Still is and so are her children. Luckily, I don’t live nearby so I’m rarely irked by them. But the squirrels live here. They’re as cute as my grandkids and, like them, never give a thought about the consequences of their messes. The tree rats focus only on their preparation for the oncoming winter with its cold temperatures, snows, and otherwise harsh conditions that challenge rodent survival. I don’t blame them, but I do have to contend with what they leave behind. The squirrels live here and interest me. I watch and then grab the broom; my partner just gets mad.
A week ago Saturday, I observed one of the three or four varmints who show up every day. She or he sat on a small branch harvesting. For twenty minutes the critter ate never having to prepare or even reach very far for its meal. She picked a pod, methodically removed the seeds, and dispensed with the rest. A pod landing on the clear plastic awning sounds like a low caliber rifle shot. The first hit was why I knew the squirrel was up there. I leaned back to watch. She chose a pod, worked it like I might an ear of corn except that she’d spit out the pod bites and keep only the seeds. When done in a few minutes or when she loses her grip, the pod falls. Bam. Then she may bite the stem of one of the compound leaves for a taste of something (perhaps flavoring) or strips off a bit of bark (her favorite) and then reaches for another pod. Perhaps due to my attention, she soon jumped from that branch to another and disappeared from sight.
I began sweeping the patio a few days ago. Each day I pick up two or three hundred chewed-on pods and dump them by the shovel full into the compost container. I tend to sweep when the sun gets low and the air begins to cool. The next morning reveals quite a few more pods on the patio, in flowering plants, sticker bushes, fountains, and on the awning. I hope this workout will be done before too many more days although I do get a bit of aerobic exercise and have improved my technique with the broom. But mostly I get a kick out of spotting our furry friends still at work high overhead.
© 11 Sep 2017  
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
Posted on

Workout, by Phillip Hoyle

I suppose we weren’t quite prepared for the mess although two summers ago Jim and I noticed the Honey Locust tree in the backyard was producing seedpods, a few of them. Last summer there were quite a few more. This summer the tree went crazy with its genetic demand to replicate and has produced hundreds of pods. They are not small, some measuring more than a foot in length and they hang in clusters of two to six. I thought them rather decorative like holiday ornaments. Our neighborhood squirrels showed up for the seasonal party and since the last week of August have gleefully begun their harvest.

If you know squirrels you realize they are as messy as teenagers, never cleaning up after themselves like the adolescent son in the comic strip Zits. I know about that because my daughter was one messy kid. Still is and so are her children. Luckily I don’t live nearby so I’m rarely irked by them. But the squirrels live here. They’re as cute as my grandkids and, like them, never give a thought about the consequences of their messes. The tree rats focus only on their preparation for the oncoming winter with its cold temperatures, snows, and otherwise harsh conditions that challenge rodent survival. I don’t blame them, but I do have to contend with what they leave behind. The squirrels live here and interest me. I watch and then grab the broom; my partner just gets mad.

A week ago Saturday I observed one of the three or four varmints who show up every day. She or he sat on a small branch harvesting. For twenty minutes the critter ate never having to prepare or even reach very far for its meal. She picked a pod, methodically removed the seeds, and dispensed with the rest. A pod landing on the clear plastic awning sounds like a low caliber rifle shot. The first hit was why I knew the squirrel was up there. I leaned back to watch. She chose a pod, worked it like I might an ear of corn except that she’d spit out the pod bites and keep only the seeds. When done in a few minutes or when she loses her grip, the pod falls. Bam. Then she may bite the stem of one of the compound leaves for a taste of something (perhaps flavoring) or strips off a bit of bark (her favorite) and then reaches for another pod. Perhaps due to my attention she soon jumped from that branch to another and disappeared from sight.

I began sweeping the patio a few days ago. Each day I pick up two or three hundred chewed-on pods and dump them by shovel fulls into the compost container. I tend to sweep when the sun gets low and the air begins to cool. The next morning reveals quite a few more pods on the patio, in flowering plants, sticker bushes, fountains, and on the awning. I hope this workout will be done before too many more days although I do get a bit of aerobic exercise and have improved my technique with the broom. But mostly I get a kick out of spotting our furry friends still at work high over head.

© 11 September 2017

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

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Workout, by Ray S

It was about 7:35 pm when the house lights began to
dim. From somewhere in the almost-filled theatre a voice made the usual request
to silence your electronic equipment and warned that no cameras or recording
devices are permitted.
The house was now dark and the audience settled down
in readiness for what soon was to become a 2 ½ hour long (with no intermission)
revival of the 1975 Tony Award winning musical production “A Chorus Line.”
And what a production with a capital P it was, a
marathon, a superb dancing and singing and stagecraft marathon. As the story proceeded
I could only think what a workout is was for the entire company. Truly I was in
awe of what I watched and heard going on that stage. There is something that
gets under your skin when the score beings to punctuate your every breath, and
you imagine that you might be up there on the stage with that dancing crew.
That imagination is pretty powerful when it comes to erasing 70 or 80 years.
The storyline follows the tryouts each applicant who has
come to the theatre to maybe get a job in an upcoming Broadway musical.
As they are put through their dancing workouts some of
them let you in on who they are, where they came from, and why they want to
dance. Of course, the major reason being they want a job!
But, beyond that the interviews reveal other parts and
secrets of their lives. They are like all of us humans with unrealistic wishes,
happy and sad baggage that comes to the surface at different and strongly
unwanted times. Somewhere, one of the boy dancers steps out to tell a very
moving coming out story which brought tears to my eyes and thunderous applause
from the house. The scene was a show stopper.
So, I and they just keep on doing what we know best
how to do—just keep on dancing.
As the show comes to its climax the audience (that
includes me) is rewarded with a dazzling finale that makes everyone feel
good—but that’s show business folks. You gotta experience it.
© 11 Sep 2017 
About the Author