Kay Buena's Blog

I was a woman and sliped on a cold slick tile floor. I was in a hurry and turned quickly, only to find myself sprawled prone on the floor having broken my left forearm in several places and crushing my hand. I have been a singer-songwriter and a guitarist and piano player ‘eversince’ I can remember. Once I did that very nicely. Now, that all is “well” again, I can”t hold on to a cup with my left hand. I can hear the music and the piano is tuned. My piano’s name is Rubin. He waits in the corner of the living room, for that fool woman to come and sing “He’s go what it takes, but it breaks his heart to give it away.”
Rubin was very generious.When he was young.

KayBuena, aka Caroline Abbitt Sauer, 11-29,2011

    When last we left our characters, they were seemingly in a weird situation.  Betty Jane had been put in her box, with her new hairdo and outfit, one most unacceptable for out door cavorting, and Kay Buena was feeling rather old and crippled up and stodgy.  Elmo as usual, had no problems and continued his post at the window, where the bad birds and squirrels came and went with great gusto.

     What was really odd beyond belief, was what really happened to that mail truck, Mr. Miller and Data. As you may recall Data (the action figure) was in full Sherlock Holmes costume and rarely broke character.  That is, until he seemingly destroyed the “Borg-like” approaching mail truck, which Holmes would probably not have attempted.  After relocating him to our mantel and questioning him for some time, it became clear that Data was really his evil twin, Lor! For Star Trek fans this is not an oddity, in that in various episodes of the TV show, Lor would show up and become  vile and nefarious. His evil ways adding to the plot in dissonance,always fun for the writers.  This had to be the explanation, it was Lor and not Data of course…- in that Data is  Data and we all know how that is (As in “we have plenty of data, yet little information.”) As it turns out the mail truck was not destroyed after all.  And it was some teenager’s doing.  Two teen aged girls were seen fleeing from the tyranny of suburban life into someone’s backyard and into the forrest behind the street parallel to our street. The missing mail truck was backed into one of these “mouse mausoleums”, the given style of our neighborhood’s mail boxes, rectangular edifices with an opening on the side of the street, where the mail person conveniently fills with letters, bills, catalogues and other snail mail goodies.  I remember when we built the house some 18 years ago, I suggested that we make the mail box 1′ by 4′ by 9′.  But the builder had never seen Stanley Kubruck’s 2001.  I am in digression again, but that’s a common problem, especially with the attempt to entertain in a blog.

     The back of the mail truck looked as smashed as roadkill.  And Some of the mail had escaped in the wind. The particular mail box-edifice of the residence where the girls had swerved into while commandeering the mail truck had collided with same in a most un-seemly way.  There was now just a super smashed-sideways mail box and a large pile of bricks where once stood the house’s matching mail station.  The mail truck was still running with the keys  still inside, when the resident came home from work.  He called the post office and Mr.Miller and his mail truck were once again reunited.  Which just goes to show that these strange stories sometimes have a rational ending.

   Betty Jane, Kay Buena, Data (or Lor?),and Elmo had a tendency to get the wrong impression about some everyday occurrences.  Personally, I liked the other ending where Lor used his phaser, but that’s just me.  And if I don’t watch out, they might put me in a box with the acid free tissue paper like was done with my 58 year old doll, Betty Jane as she was unfairly blamed for the chaos of the missing mail truck.  Along with her general trouble making, her eternal rubber band was beginning to stretch to the point where  she was having trouble sitting up or standing.  And speaking of coincidental metaphorical situations, that sounds more and more like my symptoms.

   So, untill the occassion calls for an “out there” blogger, I”ll put the whole crew on another endeavor, like producing some funky rock and roll, or country music. Heck, All I have going for me really is a wild imagination and a Texas Accent, not that that is a bad thing, as you know.

This morning, I’m living on Maui time
I got tropical breezes blow through the bougainvillea vine
Lost in a dream, sunscreened and blind
Jet lagged tourists all waiting in line
Might be one o’clock there � but actually it’s just about nine

MP3

(more…)

Part 3

The faraway place where Elmo was used to looking out the window, and yearning to join, seemed much too active for him in reality,well more or less but particularly without taking in nourishment.  And as with most cats the intense magnitude of new smells and his ability to freely walk about  in the out-side world, especially as there was so much more to it than imagined, was over whelming.  He thought it prudent to enter with great haste directly into the front flowers bed where he hunkered down and hid.  There were some odd sounds that he experienced, the cars rushing by were less than ideal, but there were some of the birds coming and going, that recognized and knew him to be the cat who only watched from the inside.  His sudden outdoor appearance set the cardinals and  mocking birds into a tizzy, emergency bird calls were coming from the trees and from the many flying little wrens, also strange and fascinating insects were flying above him. Some he remembered to have that weird buzzing sounds like out of the old lady’s ‘noise machine’ she turned on every night for resting and sleeping like it was yesteryear and it was common practice to keep the windows open on a coolish, Texas night.  But,  What a day!  He discovered a lizard and gave it the evil eye.  And he found a couple of bugs that seemed good to eat.  Well, who knows about whats good to eat out here, but he figured he’d give it a try.

Betty Jane and Data took off down the pathway closer to the houses to the north of the sidewalk.  It would be a strange sight, indeed,  if they strolled casually down the side walk like some  of the walkers. Our house is on the top of a straight cut off hill, and the road runs almost horizontal, so people come from where ever to “work out” and walk in some most incredible styles and in astonishing out-fits and lots of bikers, riding bicycles not motorcycles, some with the nerve to wear yellow jerseys, but I’m betting they were not the infamous Lance Armstrong.  Who knows, this is Austin, and supposedly “Keep Austin Weird” was the slogan seen here and there and on bumper stickers.  I doubt, we’d have much of a problem with that, but that is merely my opinion.   Although all of the walkers used the street, which did not vary quite so much, as the non- conforming  side walks.  Data noticed an unknown ship  in a rectangular form approaching from the west.  His experiences in the past with the “Borg” suddenly came back into his memory, as he  froze with the suspicious eye of Sherlock Holmes, (although his were yellow) stating, simply “the game’s afoot”.[1]

It was a great mistake for me to define our post personage, Mr. Miller, as a perfect governmental worker; as he was a complex and intelligent person who probably sang along with rap in his truck, and it was obvious that he secretly and carefully watched every thing happening, on his route with great interest, keeping an eye on those people he found interesting, or who had packages to be delivered to their door, which he did in rain or shine, rather than simply stuff them into those strange mausoleum-shaped mail boxes, where letters and magazines and catalogues were left for the residents to stop by on their way in from work, or wherever, and bring into the house to ponder.   Data sensed an emotion that overcame his ‘Intel’ but his programing kicked in as he searched every image before them.  He was at a lost at what action to be taken, as he and Betty Jane were now hiding in the new landscaped house to the very north of our house, and Mr. Miller had parked his Mail van right in front of that particular side walk.  He motioned for Betty Jane to be quiet and took out his phaser, leaving the violin unprotected – to his better judgement,which was a tad rusty, given all that lolly-gagging around the house with Betty Jane for so long.  Seems like He thought Mr. Miller was a threat. hmmm, I used to think so too… Well, he was about 5’10’ and looked fit in his walking shorts.  This particular “Data” was about 9″ tall with his hat on, much to Elmo’s curses.  Betty Jane was a fairly small doll, however a good bit larger than Data, she wasn’t sure what to do about that approaching Mr. Miller either, so she took on her most serious Republican thoughtful expression, tried to act like she was a normal sight to be seen on a week day, as our Postman advanced, coming forward, coming closer to the two hiding dolls,   This part with the mail personage was not in their well-thought out plans (?),  As Data set his phaser off of “stun“. Thinking a good strategy would be to cause one heck of a distraction,  so he raised it and aimed at the Mail truck, which he figured was the most threatening thing in the “Outside World” after all was said and done. A high-pitched, peircing unfamiliar mechanical blast was noticed by the remaining residents, and then: the KaaaaaaaaaBlllllam, of what it’s effect on the Mail truck was most unusual even for the truly Wierd Austin.  What occurred was not just an explosion, strangely enough, what once was a Mail Truck and a flurry of catalogues and letters, sort of exploded and then disappeared and, the wind blew hard from the west, south-west, sending unrecognizable particles of what was left of the truck down the street  into  the ashes, dust, or sand on the street where the Mail truck once stood idling.  For a decent moment, the noise level was so high that even the old lady inside their own house, was frightened by that strange sound,  and arouse from her serious reading, put on her orthopedic shoes and grabbed her cane to go look out of the study window hoping to see what in the outside World had happened.  Stranger than what she heard was the factor that she saw nothing changing, out doors.  Except it was an exceptionally pretty day.  She walked slowlyand  unsteadily out  the door and then stopped.  Mr. Miller was not hurt in any way, but he was at odds with what to do, since his Mail Truck disappeared.  “What a pity,” said the old lady with the cane, “probably taken by those teenagers that knock over the portapotties out side construction sites, don’t you think?”.  Mr. Miller looked rather out of sorts, mumbled something to the effect of “…I can’t believe that happened…”

I offered to give Mr. Miller a ride to our local Post Office, and  we both rode silently back through out his particular delivery route.  You should know, that before we entered the car, he noticed my cat Elmo still hiding in our front flower bed.  He looked rather guilty, Elmo did, but stood his ground when  I called his name , and  brought him back inside the house.  A Cat is not much of a match when an automobile meet in the middle, so all cats of ours are inside cats, prisoners of love.  Mr. Miller nodded his head, when I thanked him for finding my cat, and I drove down through some of the business parts of his route and let him off at the Post Office.  Actually, I think he took that rather well, much better than when I met him at the door right after we first moved in with a base ball bat as a cane.

[1] http://equotes.wetpaint.com/page/Sherlock+Holmes+Quotes