Brandon Ellrich's Blog, page 14
September 2, 2022
Caturday 9-3-22
Zak likes to play Hide-and-Seek.
August 31, 2022
Birthdays, Glasses, and Avocados
My birthday is this month… yippee.
I am not announcing this in order to receive a plethora of well-wishes and happy birthday messages. I much prefer getting presents and cash. Just kidding (kind of). As an adult, a birthday is usually not as exciting as when you were a kid. The slide at McDonald’s just doesn’t hold quite the level of thrill anymore. If you want to know more about my thoughts about celebrating birthdays, please read my article Is Your Birthday Killing You?
Last month, I bought my first pair of “readers.” I’ve noticed for a while that I haven’t been able to see things close to me as clearly anymore. I’m holding instructions at arm’s length (because they were apparently printed for Smurfs or the Antman), I’m squinting (because that always helps), in some cases, using a magnifying glass (only because I like pretending that I’m Sherlock Holmes), those sorts of things. I was at a big box store and decided to try on a pair of readers. The sign above the display suggested trying the lowest level first, which was 1.25, whatever that means. I grabbed a nearby box of Tylenol and I am sorry to say that the glasses helped. Well, here we go.
I am not opposed to wearing glasses. I have, in fact, been wearing nonprescription ones for a while just for the fashion. I have different styles and colors for various outfits. I happen to think wearing glasses raises a guy’s level of attractiveness. After someone told me that I look good in glasses, of COURSE I started wearing them more often! 
The other night, I rubbed an avocado all over my face because I read that it’s supposed to have anti-wrinkle properties. If it makes it any better, I bought the avocado to eat, but this one sat around until it started getting those brown streaks in it. So, I thought as expensive as those things are, I should at least smear it on my face, right? I placed a couple of slices of cucumber on my eyes as well. I don’t know if any of it helped, but it didn’t hurt. My cats may have thought I looked odd, but cats don’t get wrinkles when they age, as far as I know, so they have no right to judge me and no one else was around to witness it, so who cares?
People usually guess that I am younger than I really am, which is just fine with me. I will try to carry that regenerative aspect of myself for as long as I possibly can. How old am I, you ask? I will not be answering that question; in fact, it is quite impertinent of you to be so nosey. Moving on…
Aging Gracefully?Now, I leave it up to you, dear readers. Are you fighting off old age like he’s your sneaky, Hollywood stalker? Are you adorning your face with fruits and vegetables? If you had the money, resources, etc, would you get Botox, plastic surgery, a face lift? Do you dye your hair? Are you scanning the labels of every facial cream in the store aisle, looking for supposed age-defying ingredients like hyaluronic acid? I certainly don’t have the money to pay for age-altering, wrinkle-reducing, skin-tightening surgeries, so I’ll continue to do my skincare shopping in the grocery aisle.
Copyright © 2022 Brandon Ellrich
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August 28, 2022
Blogger Games #8
Aug 27
Captain’s Speech – The Captain’s Quiz 8: Summer Side Up
THE 10 QUESTIONS & ANSWERS
You are going camping at a campground for four days and three nights. Does this excite you, or fill you with dread? Explain.I’m excited. I haven’t been camping in a long while. I would likely be going on a canoe/float trip as a reason for this camping venture.
They say that, “Sally sells seashells by the seashore”. How much money do you think Sally makes on a Saturday in July, and do you think her business should be set up elsewhere?I think she’s got it right. If Sally gets to the beach early enough, she can collect all the seashells. If anyone wants them, they’ll HAVE to buy from her; in which case, she can sell them for whatever price she chooses.
The ideal temperature for sleep is approximately 18°C (65°F). What are five tips you have for staying cool while sleeping?Sleep with less/no clothingFanLight sheet/blanketTake a cold shower before bedObviously, if you have A/C, adjust the temperature!In Season 4 of The O.C., Summer Roberts adopts a pet rabbit and names her Pancakes. What animal would you adopt and what breakfast food would you name it after?I have two cats already, so I suppose I would adopt another cat. Name would depend on the color of the cat, the gender and, perhaps, the personality. A black and white cat would be Chocolate Chip Muffin or “C.C.” for short; a black cat… Burnt Bacon or “B.B.” for short. A white cat would be “Oatmilk;” an orange tabby would be Tangerine or “Tangie;” a calico would be “Hashbrown;” and a Siamese would be “Cappuccino.”
SummerSlam is an annual professional wrestling event produced by the WWE. Thinking of yourself as a wrestler, provide the following information: your wrestling name, your character traits, your catchphrase, and the name of your most devastating maneuver.I hate the WWE and what they call “wrestling,” so I would never be a part of it. For the purposes of this game, I would be the Truthteller. I would be the enemy of the WWE, getting in the ring to tell all the viewers how fake it is while the other wrestlers try to shut me up. “Don’t believe the lies!” would be the catchphrase and the drop-down spinning leg sweep would be my maneuver.
What is a frozen dessert you enjoy eating outside? On a scale of 1-10 (10 being the messiest), how messy is it?.I love ice cream, no matter where I am. It would be scored as a 1 because I would eat it in a bowl, so it wouldn’t be messy.
You are standing in an above ground swimming pool and your sunglasses fall to the bottom. How do you retrieve them?I would grab them with my toes; I don’t like getting my head underwater.
“Walking on Sunshine” is an upbeat song by Katrina And The Waves. What songs would be on your summer playlist?Right now I like “Sunroof” by Nicky Youre. It’s a fun one. I like pretty much anything by OneRepublic, Twenty-One Pilots, fun., and Green Day is my all-time favorite band.
What are the pros and cons of patio dining?I like being outside. There are things to contend with in regard to eating though, including wind, flies and other bugs. In Missouri, half the year would be too cold for outdoor eating.
What is a summer job you have had and how long did you remain friends/in-touch with your co-workers after the job ended?I worked a ballpark consession stand. My mother would help me out with it sometimes. I still remain in contact with her.
BONUS QUESTIONS
You have entered the food truck business. Tell me about your new venture and your strategy to dominate the market.I would make various, unique types of burgers. I don’t give away my ideas because it’s something I’ve actually been thinking about doing as a YouTube series.
You are going on a summer road trip and can take one person with you. It can be absolutely anyone. Tell me about the trip.I don’t like road trips in and of themselves. I prefer a destination with a purpose, but in one case, I would make an exception. I would take Nicole Kidman with me and wouldn’t care where we went. I would learn all about her life and we would become best friends and I would start writing songs for her husband and he would get me into the Nashville scene and I would become a famous songwriter.
What are some of your favourite summer memories?I used to love going on float trips, church camp, a vacation to Disney World once, went to my first gay pridefest a couple years ago.
This was posted in response to Midlife Cat Lady’s post.
August 26, 2022
Caturday 8-27-22
Photo by Brandon EllrichHold still while I lick your face!
Photo by Brandon EllrichReturning the favorThanks for stopping by! If you like my posts, please click on the like button and leave a comment as well. Click the follow button to receive updates of new posts in the future.
August 24, 2022
What I Want to Be
It’ll give me an excuse when they don’t want to stay.
To forget all of my past mistakes, I’d like to be a fish,
But I’d forget the good times too, so I'm careful for what I wish.
I could be a mouse and then, no one would notice me,
After a while being ignored gets to be lonely.
I want to be a turtle, with a hard outer shell,
I won’t get hurt and when I’m sad, I can hide away so well.
I could be an elephant, push everyone around,
But no one likes a bully who puts other people down.
A tall giraffe can glower down at others from above,
But being at the top can be lonely without love.
As a lion I’d have courage, be admired and revered,
But what some see as respect, would be a mask for fear.
No matter who or what you are, life is often tough,
So I’ll be content with who I am and hope that it’s enough.
Copyright © 2022 Brandon Ellrich
Originally published on Medium
Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed this poem, please click the like button and add a comment about how it resonated with you. Click the follow button to receive updates of future posts.
If you liked this poem, you may want to check out my article Grow Your Nose.
August 19, 2022
Caturday August 20, 2022
Who says dog is man’s best friend?Thanks for stopping by! If you like my content, please click the like button and feel free to leave a comment. Also, if you’re not already a follower, click the follow button to get updates on future posts.
If you enjoyed this post, you may want to check out some of my other “Caturday” posts:
Dazzling
This poem is in response to Weekend Writing Prompt #272, via Sadje at Keep It Alive.
August 17, 2022
The Hand of Death
The first time I saw the Hand of Death, it was reaching for my sister. I pulled her toward me before it could take hold of her. We had taken our father’s fishing boat out into the middle of the lake. My sister had gone into the water for a swim while I remained in the boat. She was wearing her lifejacket, at my mother’s insistence, and had not waded far from the vessel when I saw the hand reaching out of the water toward her.
“Hannah!” I screamed, as I pointed at the hand.
“What?” she responded with fear. She turned and could obviously not see what I could. I reached out and grabbed the back of her lifejacket and pulled with all my might until she was safely in the boat.
“What?” she said again. “What was it, Tommy?”
I looked at the hand just as it was disappearing beneath the surface. “I–I saw…something,” I stammered. Though sure of what I saw, it just did not make sense and I could not bring myself to say it aloud. My sister recounted the incident to our mother later. “It must’ve been a big fish,” I explained. At the end of that same day, my father related some news to my mother.
“Mack Wilson died today,” he said.
My mother gasped. “What happened?”
“He was fishing on the west side of the lake and apparently had a heart attack,” my father explained.
I felt a chill at the coincidental occurence, but reasoned that the two events were surely unrelated; that is, until I saw the hand again. It was about a year later when we were visiting my grandmother at her home. She had been battling cancer and was sent home under hospice care. She seemed in good spirits as we visited with her at her bedside.
“Gary,” she said to my father, “Fill that bird feeder just yonder, will you?” She pointed out the window to a half-filled feeder hanging from a tree branch just a few yards from the house.
“Yes, mama,” he replied. “I’ll fill it on our way out.” She nodded her approval.
Not long after, my grandmother was starting to nod off, so we said our good-byes. As we were exiting the bedroom, I looked back at her. The hospice nurse was standing on one side of the bed, but suddenly there was a very dark shadow on the other side of the bed and a hand was reaching out toward my grandmother. I gasped as the bedroom door closed.
“Shh…” my mother said. “She needs her rest.”
It had been a year, but I distinctly recognized the hand. The figure to which it belonged was obscured by the dark shadow, but I clearly saw the hand itself. Moments later, the hospice nurse came rushing down the hallway, just as we reached the front door. She motioned for my father to follow her back to the bedroom. My grandmother had passed away.
There were other instances throughout the years when I saw the hand reaching toward myself. I was a teenager when some friends and I were canoeing on a river in southern Missouri. There were several rope swings hanging from trees that extended over the water and many cliffs perfect for diving. I stood at the edge of one particular cliff, about to jump, but as I looked down at the river, a familiar sight appeared. As the hand emerged from the water, my legs began to shake.
“Come on, Tom,” one of my friends shouted behind me.
I refused to jump, despite the jeering and taunting of the other boys. “This doesn’t look like a safe spot,” I said as my excuse.
“Well, if you’re too chicken,” Todd began, and then, before I could stop him, he ran and jumped from the edge as the other boys clapped and hollered. We looked down at the water to watch him emerge before the next boy jumped, but he did not emerge. We all scrambled down the hill to the water. We were all calling his name, taking turns swimming beneath the water to search. It was a slow-moving river, fortunately, so it wasn’t difficult to dive under without being swept away by the current.
“It’s not funny anymore,” Chad called out nervously.
“Look!” Garret said, pointing down river.
Todd was floating face-down, against a large branch protruding from the water. We all splashed around frantically and swam to him, but as we approached we could see that the back of his head was soaked with blood. We worked together to pull him to the bank. Chad tried performing CPR–at least, what he knew of it from watching TV. We all knew it was in vain. I knew it more certainly than anyone.
I carried guilt with me for years afterward and chided myself for not being more insistent about picking a different place to jump. Could I have made them heed my warnings? Would Death have chosen someone else anyway? I wasn’t sure of the rules, but I know that I should’ve been the one who died that day.
These incidents made me worry for my sister as well. I saved her from dying, though she was unaware of it at the time. Would Death keep coming for her? Not long after she graduated from high school, I finally worked up the nerve to confide in her what really happened on the lake when we were younger, which she could barely recall. She didn’t believe me about the hand at first, but then she saw the seriousness in my demeanor.
“Listen,” she said, “We all die. It’s one of the few certainties in this world. You can’t spend your life worrying about it. It’s going to happen to me just like it’ll happen to everyone else. And even if you can prevent it, you can’t be with me all the time.”
I wasn’t with her, in fact, when she was in college and was involved in a car accident that claimed her life. A car accident happens so quickly. If I had been there, would I have seen the hand in time? Instead of berating myself, I prided myself in the fact that I was directly responsible for many years she would not have experienced otherwise.
In recent years, I have seen the hand of Death more frequently and I know that one day I will not be on my guard. I cannot escape Death forever–none of us can. I know that one day I will be unsuspecting when it wraps its cold gray fingers around my throat.
Copyright © 2022 Brandon Ellrich
This short story was in response to a prompt at Keep It Alive. Please visit their page as well.
If you enjoyed this short story, you may also enjoy my short story A Picture is Worth a Thousand Warnings.
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August 12, 2022
Hummers!
Thanks for stopping by! If you enjoyed watching these nifty little hummingbirds, click on the like button and/or leave a comment. Click on the follow button to see more posts in the future.
If you enjoyed this video, please read my post on attracting hummingbirds.
August 10, 2022
A Picture is Worth a Thousand Warnings
I was visiting a small village in Italy. I can’t tell you the name of it, but it’s not that I don’t remember; I’m just not allowed to mention the name, nor how to get there. I stumbled upon it by accident, really, so I’m not sure I could tell you anyway.
I had been exploring the countryside, camera in hand, snapping photos of the beauty that the Italian landscape boasted. I took a fork in the road that seemed less traveled than the other options–Frost-inspired, I’m sure. The path leading into the village was too narrow for any cars, but since I was on foot, it didn’t matter. I came upon two pillars constructed loosely of stones. There was no sign with the name of the village, population, or anything of the sort, but only a hand-written sign on a piece of wood that, translated, read “NO CAMERAS ALLOWED.” My fluency in Italian assisted me greatly during my ventures. I instinctively looked down at the apparatus hanging from my neck and shrugged.
“What are they going to do, arrest me?” I asked aloud. I have been known throughout my life to bend or break the errant rule. Maybe the sign was meant to deter reporters from exploiting the quaint and remote village. Well, my photographs would be for my own personal collection of memories, so these camera-shy occupants needed not to worry themselves.
As I passed by houses and other buildings, I noticed the extraordinary artwork on the outsides of the walls. Every one was so realistically done, I had never seen anything comparable in any museum or gallery I had visited.They were all representations of people of different ages engaged in everyday tasks. I took a photograph (my first infraction thus far) of one such example–which you’ll find in this post–of two children with a bicycle leaned against the wall, as if they were riding it. Some illustrations, however, portrayed individuals with expressions of great shock or fear. The artist was able to capture the visage so expertly, I could almost feel the emotion that their faces were conveying.
The village was sparsely populated, for I had seen only a couple of people, both of whom gave me wary looks and then quickly walked away. As I strolled toward a fountain in what seemed to be the middle of the village, I saw a young female toddler playing in the dirt. I squatted down to get a better angle and grabbed my camera to adjust the settings. As I began to raise the camera to my face, I heard a blood-curddling scream, causing me to drop my camera and stare at a woman race to the child, scoop her up and just as quickly, race back into a house. I was stunned and baffled as I stood up a little shakily.
“You there!” a voice came from behind me. I turned to see an old woman beckoning me toward her home. I approached hesitantly and said hello.
Without responding to my greeting, she barked, “Those things are not allowed in this place,” as she pointed at the camera.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize,” I lied, pretending as if I hadn’t seen the sign. “It’s only for my own collection.”
“Doesn’t matter the reason,” she said gruffly. “Not allowed.”
“May I ask why?” I asked, trying to sound contrite.
She squinted as she looked me over and then gestured toward a chair directly across from the old rocker she was occupying. I accepted the offer and waited for her explanation.
“I don’t normally tell this story to strangers,” she began, “but…you remind me of someone.” She sat back, closed her eyes and sighed. “It’s been just over twenty-five years now, but for many of us, it was only yesterday.”
A rather enigmatic beginning, but I maintained expressionless and waited for her to go on.
“There was a young man named Gabriel who grew up in this village,” she continued. “He was a quiet lad, and we knew even when he was boy that he was…different than the other boys.”
My mind immediately started working, wondering what difference to which she could be referring: Mentally handicapped? Physically impaired? A sociopath?
“He didn’t have many friends and didn’t spend much time with the other boys. He was very handsome and all the girls had crushes on him,” she reflected with a bit of whimsy. “He always got embarrassed when any of us suggested that he should ask one of them on a date or even to go on a walk. He never seemed to be interested in any of them. We thought it was on account of him being so shy.” She closed her eyes and shook her head slowly.
“
“The year he turned twenty-one, a young man named Jackson moved into the village. He was just a couple of years older than Gabriel and they immediately became friends. For the first time, it appeared as if he was coming out of his shell. For the first time, it seemed like he was happy. It was like new life had been breathed into Gabriel’s soul.” She paused for a few moments, and I wondered whether she would keep going.
“One day,” she said with a quavering voice, “one of the men of the village caught the two of them in the woods. They were holding hands and kissing.”
His “difference” was then revealed. He wasn’t just shy; he was gay.
“Paul, the man who found them together, told several people what he had seen. In a town this size, it didn’t take long before everyone knew. Many people were angry; especially some of the men. They decided that something like this could not go on. Gabriel grew up here and was one of our own, but they held no allegiance to the newcomer. A group of four men went to Jackson’s home and dragged him outside of the town and they…”
Her voice faltered as tears rolled down her lined, sun-beaten face. She wiped away the streams of water with her hand and very soon I was doing the same. I was familiar with stories of a similar nature, unfortunately.
“I don’t know if they intended on killing him,” she said, “but such was the result. Gabriel was forced to leave town, but he was so very angry. He vowed that he would get even with the town. He would make them pay for what they did. It was rumored that Gabriel consulted with a woman from another village who practiced witchcraft. A year later, he returned to the town with a camera. We were all surprised to see him return. He went first to Paul’s house and then to the homes of the other men who had a hand in killing Jackson. Screams were heard from inside the homes of the men, but were quickly silenced. We didn’t realize was was happening until it was too late.”
“What was happening?” I blurted out, too curious to wait for her to explain in her own time.
“He went around town, taking photographs of anyone he saw,” she explained, “but when he snapped the picture, the people disappeared. All that was left of them was an image imprinted on whatever was behind them. Most were plastered on walls on the outsides of buildings, inside the barn or shop where they were working, a few on trees. When people saw what was happening, they ran in fear or went into hiding. I went to him and begged him to stop. ‘This is not who you are,’ I told him. ‘It will not bring back Jackson.’ He started sobbing and reluctantly gave the camera to me. He left town and has never returned. The houses of the four men have been abandoned. No one wants to live in them now.”
“Weren’t you afraid?” I asked. “What if he had snapped your picture?”
She shook her head. “He loved his mother,” she said. “I loved him too, and still do. I was willing to take that risk.”
“What happened to the camera?” I couldn’t help but ask.
She looked at me pointedly and said, “It’s time for my afternoon nap.” Then she rose wearily and headed into her home. In the doorway, she turned and said, “Do not mention this place to anyone you know.” Then she closed the door.
I stood dumbfounded and then slowly made my way back down the road from whence I came. As I passed by the figures on the walls, they took on a new message, a warning. I now felt them, eerily watching me.
You can hear stories throughout history of groups of people, races, tribes who have been discriminated against, and the suffering they endured. The impact of their torment and even their deaths should serve as warnings not to perpetuate such hatred and bigotry, yet history continues to repeat itself. Stories may be heard and then forgotten, but a picture is worth a thousand warnings.
Copyright © 2022 Brandon Ellrich
This story was written in response to a prompt at Keep It Alive.
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