Min Tull. Friday. September 28. 2018.

According to people familiar with the debate, some officials at the State Department have urged the administration to scale back its military support. Meanwhile, others at the White House National Security Council want to see the U.S. provide more intelligence and advice when the Saudi-led coalition is carrying out risky strikes, such as the one on Aug. 9 that mistakenly targeted the Yemeni school bus, killing more than 40 children.   WSJ

When killing children on a bus

the State Department doesn't fuss.

Why should they ever feel unease

with massacres far overseas?

(Jon Talton, Economics Columnist of the Seattle Times, responded to my above poem thus:  Endless war. USA USA.)

********************************

5:23 a.m. 

My friend in the Pacific advised me to plant fewer poems in my story. Which, on reflection, seems like a good idea. I'll limit myself to just one poem per chapter. But that doesn't mean I should stint on photographs.

Fresh Market Fall for sale

Adam gave me eight Adam Aberback rewrites this week; in order to motivate myself to get them done in a timely fashion I promise myself a fresh bagel from Fresh Market each morning as soon as I finish the first rewrite. Aberback is as dull as dishwater, so these rewrites, which make me twenty five bucks each, are a pain in the tuchas. 

They're a friendly bunch at Fresh Market

I prefer the Cheddar/Jalapeno bagel, smeared with smoked salmon-flavored cream cheese. With a couple of green onions on the side. And an ice cold V-8.

The baked goods case at Fresh Market

I've stopped taking photographs of human beings, even my own family. Everyone nowadays is painfully proprietary about their image. Even my kids get mad when I post a photo of one of the grand kids that they don't think shows them in the best light. Phooey. Bagels don't give me any lip when I post their picture. 

I consider my life to be a work of art, so am anxious to spread the glorious manifestation of my genius to the entire world. Christina Zhao, a reporter for News Week magazine, interviewed me on the phone 2 months ago and promised the article would post by the beginning of September. It never did, so I emailed her about it. Here is her reply from this morning:

Hi Tim,

Apologies - everything has been quite hectic around here. Today is my last day in the London bureau as I will be moving back to NZ to be with family. I'll still be working for Newsweek from NZ :) We haven't killed your story but I had a backlog of stories to do over the past month, as yours was not super time sensitive, I've pushed it back. I will be taking a few months off from writing quick hits and will spend the next few months travelling and spending my time writing longer stories.

I will get your story out Tim. Definitely no later than end of this year. When's your book coming out?

I'm not quite sure what to make of it. Should I be glad that it's still in the pipeline, or furious at her cavalier attitude towards my story? I guess I have no choice but to grin and bear it. But I gotta say, my desire to stay even-tempered today is wearing mighty thin. 

Still, I had somewhat of a pleasant epiphany earlier today after eating at the Silver Dish. I had their Udorn Pork Noodles, for $8.99. The kind of soupy dish that is slurped up with an oversize spoon and chopsticks. Enough of it dribbled down my chin to feed a moderately sized orphan. I chatted up the owner and nonchalantly hinted that I'm looking for a Thai girlfriend. He just kept grinning like a jack-o-lantern, bobbing his head up and down until I was afraid it might fall off. I'm not a mind reader, but I doubt he cares a fig about my romantic inclinations. So I'm scratching the place off my rendezvous list. Besides, something has come up that I'll have to deal with first before proceeding with my Asian bride quest. But more of that in a moment.

 (Note to my future publisher:  I want each page of this novel to be impregnated with aloe vera, lanolin, and vitamin E -- so that each time the reader turns a page their fingertips become a little bit softer, moister, and healthier. Should be a great selling point, nu?)

I can't help it -- this headline from the New York Times today is irresistible --   "Facebook Network Breach Impacts Up to 50 Million Users."

A hacker took Facebook apart,

serving him up a blanche carte

to pick and to choose

what data you'll loose

so crooks can their fortunes jump start.

Now back to my reality -- or at least as much of it as I choose to reveal and analyze. I walked out of the Silver Spoon, having left a two dollar tip in greenbacks, and walked into the Pioneer Bookstore to find a copy of Laurence Sterne's 'Tristram Shandy' -- a book that every civilized being should review and enjoy once a decade. I hadn't read it since Amy and I lived in Wichita, Kansas, where I worked as Ronald McDonald. I found a 1950 Modern Library edition for seven dollars, then sat down to savor it a moment amidst the shelves and piles and heaps of used books. And that's when it struck me that although I loved strolling on a randy beach with Joom in Thailand, and felt easy in the hot tub at the Provo Recreation Center -- there is no place I'd rather be than seated comfortably in a used book store. The smell of decomposing glue and paper and buckram works like aroma therapy on me. Each book, with its sagging spine and dog eared pages, is a tattered friend patiently waiting for me to sit down with it and go over the glorious old times together. The patrons are quiet and timid. They dress in corduroy and baggy sweaters, wearing dingy woolen caps. Most of 'em wear glasses. The floor gives a little creak as I drift from Classics to Sci Fi, and then to Naval History. 

If I had my druthers I'd own a used bookstore and sleep right in the middle of it, making change for customers in bed from an old cigar box, still in my linen nightshirt and night cap. There'd be an insolent and fat tabby cat in the window next to the potted geranium. I'd give away cans of cheap sardines to any customer I took a fancy to. Probably eat them in bed, too, with some Ry Krisp crackers and a half dozen mozzarella sticks. 

That, that is my Happy Place -- the place I'm going to from now on as the possibility of darker and heavier matters looms on my horizon. 

3:42 p.m.

I emailed an older Thai lady of my acquaintance up in Salt Lake City yesterday to see if she could recommend anyone for my bridal cravings. She replied thus:

Hi Tim,

I am well, thank you.  How about yourself?

I don’t have anyone that I can think of right away.  But will keep in mind that you are looking.

I consider you my friend.  You gave 2 years of your life to serve the Thai people.  I am grateful for that.  I will want you to have someone who have your happiness and well being in mind.  Finding a good people in this day and age is like trying to find a needle in an ocean.  Every one has his or her own agenda.

What is marriage to you?  What are you seeking?

Talk soon,

What is marriage to me, indeed? I was going to give her a list of my specific desires after going to the Rec Center for a swim this afternoon, but after I left the Pioneer Book store, headed to the Rec Center, I suddenly became exhausted and disoriented, sweating profusely. This is not the first time such a thing has happened to me. In fact, I often have to stop and catch my breath while walking the six blocks to the Rec Center. My mind clouds over with baseless despair. And I sometimes forget where I'm going. My stamina has evaporated, and I am also becoming incontinent. I can't avoid the Argentinosaurus in the room any longer; I'm too sick to muster the energy to court a woman right now. I need to find out what's wrong with me and see if I can get better.

After waiting eleven minutes on hold I got through to my clinic at the East Park Building and made an appointment to see Dr. Walker this coming Wednesday at 10:30 a.m. Having turned 65 this month I now qualify for Medicare, so I can afford all the tests and specialist examinations my GP wants to recommend. 

But who wants to read another old man's story about his aches and pains? It'd be like watching fish sleep. Of course, if I'm diagnosed with something terminal like cancer then my fortune is made -- there's always room for another bestseller about the plucky little everyman who beats the odds with the help of heroic doctors, sexy nurses, earthy orderlies, and eventually triumphs over the villainous insurance companies that want to do him out of his cure because of their skinflint ways. It's a surefire movie option or I'll eat my tam o'shanter. I see Tom Cruise in the roll of me, stoically enduring one colonoscopy after another with that ironic little grin of his.

So that's it, then. My pursuit of an Asian helpmate must be put on the back burner for now, as I marshal all my wit and resources to conquer whatever it is that is demolishing my energy and libido. Right now the thought of taking even Tao Okamodo out to dinner and a movie fills me with dread, not lusty anticipation. I'd rather sit in my recliner sipping Bengal Spice herbal tea while watching Supergirl on Netflix. 

So once again we come to the problem of what the 'narrative arc' of this novel will be. For I am more convinced than ever that this work is not a mere memoir, a jumble of place names and name dropping blended into a jejune cocktail. No! There must be strum und drang aplenty, and raucous, memorable characters whose shenanigans serve to highlight my own flaws and favors. 

Perhaps, since I have already started on an improvement plan to captivate an Asian woman, I should hold to that self improvement motif -- as wise old Benjamin Franklin did in his Autobiography. He listed the virtues he would incorporate into his life thus:

Temperance; Silence; Frugality; Industry; Sincerity; Cleanliness; Tranquility; Humility; and Chastity. 

Some of these virtues I am already on friendly terms with, like chastity, frugality, and cleanliness. I'm a bit rusty with some of the others. Old Ben doesn't mention curbing his temper, so I'm assuming he never saw that as either a problem or much of a virtue. However in my case I feel the need, as I have mentioned before, of combating the sourness and petty meanness into which I so often fall. So I shall add Kindness to the above list. And I intend to do something kind before the end of this day:

I've been reading Deanna Paul's reporting on the Kavanaugh hearings for the Washington Post, and I'm impressed with her balanced and low keyed reporting style. I'll write her a note saying so, and send it snail mail.   Lemme see . . . 

Dear Ms. Paul;

Your work on the Kavanaugh hearings is superb. I enjoy reading it, and learned much from your professional research. Keep up the powerful prose!

Sincerely yours,  Tim Torkildson

There. I wrote it, put a stamp on it, and dropped it in the mail slot in the front lobby. To me, sending a card snail mail is not only kind, but quaint -- kinda like old Ben himself. 

5:49 p.m. 

That tired, confused feeling is creeping over me again. Think I'll go to bed for a while . . . 

Min Tull. Thursday. September 27. 2018

Poetry is like a fireplace in the summer or a fan in the winter.

Issa

Some people are picky about what they want the public to know of them and their opinions. And then there are those sweet-natured beings who understand that a great work of art like this here thingy needs the freshness of open correspondence. My Thai pen pal, who initially seemed to blow a gasket over this issue, just sent me this:

My dear friend Tim,

I do appreciate your response with your Min Tull. Now you have cleared my mind. I am glad to hear your input with the messages in my last email. As you wrote, " My words reveal a loving heart and tender spirit which you believed you should share with the others to brighten their lives." That was good Tim, thank you.

Therefore, I wish to take this opportunity to share with you more about myself. As I have posted my message on facebook on New Year's Day of 2018, I wrote " People use the Internet to benefit them one way or another. That's why I am here to take a leap of faith. I am seeking for a humble  and warm hearted individual. Who intend to choose a new chapter of life. To make the best of 2018 together with me."

I am an Asain woman who loves to be myself and  to speak of my mind. My mission on earth is to help make this world a better place to live. I am blessed with several talents. My speacialty is cooking. I can cook different types of food. As someone have told me before that to get to a man's heart is to get through his stomach. I am sure I would get an A out of this. I grew up in English environment in my country, so I always love to use English to communicate with other English speakers. I love reading, writing and being a translator. I also enjoy philosophy of life. My education background was in music. Singing is my second favorite hobby. I love listening to all types of music. I am not scare to present myself in front of people. I love to tell jokes to make others laugh and to enjoy my company. I belive that laughing is the best medicine for everyone. I want to live in a happy home which I would create a romantic atmosphere. I am also interested to learn more of a new culture, way of thinking, living and etc. Well there are so much more to share but I would put a break here for now.

I wish to find someone who I would build a strong, solid foundation with him. A man who I would respect and honor to be his woman. I will always fix him with healthy meals. I will take good care of him when he is not well. Willing to scrub his back and gives him a Tradition Thai Massage to help release his tensions. We will help each other to achieve our short or long term goals. We will spend our quality time as needed. We will go for a walk, a movie, a swim, a picnic, a fishing or driving to visit some interesting and beautiful places. We will read our scriptures and go to chruch together. 

As I belive that abundance is within us. He does not have to be rich. Because with our wisdom, we can create variety of things out of a few ingredients or elements. I have been living long enough to understand what and how to live so that we can fulfill our life's purpose. All of us looking for happiness and so do I !!! With this email, Tim,  I would like you to help share it to other people. So my message will get across to someone out there as well. 

I am working very hard to get myself as strong as I used to be. So I will start to do myown things and be independent once again. Tim, I hope you are feeling okay with the things I'm writing to you. I will keep following my dreams and desires. I do believe in if there's a will, there's will always be a way. I have been prayers and manifest my desires for more that one year now. And I'm a woman who will not give up easily. I would appreciate if you have any advise for me. 

I still wish you good luck with what you're hoping for. An Asain woman who is 20 years younger than you. Keep looking okay. She's out there somewhere.

Please keep up the good work. May your novel writing will attract your readers attention. Please stay strong and keep smiling okay.  I hope to hear fom you soon.

And my friend in the Pacific has decided to come out of the email closet and let me use his rambling recriminations, thus:

I'm trying to adhere to your requirement that if I write to you I can expect the possibility it may end up in your novel.  I knew it when I wrote it, and I'm willing to face the scrutiny and rejection of any members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saint I know now or have known in the past.  It's time to stand up for what I think is fair and decent, and I no longer care what they may think.  My quality friends would not reject me for such things, and that's one reason I feel I can write to you about them. The hearing is over today.  I note there were at least 4 The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saint senators on the committee and they are all Republicans.  Only one of all the Republicans on the committee who spoke said anything that was decent, and that was Jeff Flake, a The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saint person.  It's too bad he's leaving the Senate.  I have no respect for the integrity or even the moral character of any of them, except Flake, if they feel justified in playing the games they have played.  And the other three TCoJCoLdS members make me feel pretty uncomfortable with the idea of being in association with like minded members.  

And I wonder if after you confess your sins to your religious leader that you can justify a complete denial of your past actions, as if "The Lord remembers them no more", so you should forget them too and even deny them.  It is my belief that this is what Kavanaugh has done.  I believe he feels justified in lying.   He probably even thinks that his God approves of his lying.  The ends justify the means, because we need to prepare for Jesus' return and the ultimate fight with the Democrats at Armageddon.

.

Now with that kind of cooperation I can give Charles Dickens a run for his money.

I went back to the SIlver Dish for lunch at 11 this morning, but the Thai woman was back in the kitchen, using a loud voice and rough language because their waiter was gone to the dentist for the day. I'm becoming less interested in her. I'll visit tomorrow to see if anything develops, and then drop the place. Eating out, for me, by myself, is unfulfilling and makes me feel superfluous. 

ice cubs in my glass

plastic straw wrapped in paper

the red table tilts

Thai food doesn't taste as well in Provo, Utah, as it did in Ban Phe, Thailand. The prodigal luxuriousness of the tropics always gave me a voracious physical appetite. Too much so, sometimes. And my sense of wonder while living over there never became surfeited. One evening Alex Janney and I were walking towards his restaurant, Que Pasa, in Nonthaburi. A storm cloud towered above us, shooting up for miles. It was intermittently lit on the inside by vivid bursts of reddish green lightening, but there was no thunder. The majestic silence of the approaching storm held us both in place for several minutes. Alex called his Thai wife at the restaurant to tell her to go outside to enjoy the spectacle, but she didn't catch the urgent delight in his voice. She scorned his invitation in order to stay in a hot, greasy kitchen frying taco meat. We made it to the restaurant just as a sheet of rain fell down from the skies like a cloak flung from the back of a god. 

Alex felt he owed his life to Bart Seliger, a mutual friend of ours. Bart was my first companion when I began my mission in Thailand. He helped Alex overcome a suicidal rage at his first wife divorcing him, and introduced him to his second wife -- a Thai. So when Bart asked Alex to look after me when I came back to Thailand after my divorce in 2000, he did so out of a sense of obligation to Bart, and not out of any respect or affection for me. We tried to work out a mutually respectful relationship together, going into a sales partnership with items I scouted out at the Chatuchak Weekend Market in Bangkok. I found a booth in that bustling oriental warren that sold orchids gilded with gold leaf. Alex and I pooled our resources to buy a dozen of them -- they seemed like a sure bet with the farang women we knew at Church. But we only sold two of 'em. The rest stayed on display at Que Pasa, and when I returned home I took one along for my mother. 

There was a whole alley where they sold nothing but hand decorated postcards and holiday greeting cards. Using wisps of bamboo, tinsel, and bird feathers, dozens of patient, humpbacked women sat hour after hour in the steaming heat that rose from the cracked asphalt at their feet, carefully gluing these bits of fluff and chaff together into marvelous scenes of rural houses on stilts or elegant garudas baring their tusks and spreading their clawed wings. I talked Alex into purchasing a hundred postcards and fifty greeting cards with me for the upcoming Christmas season. We built a capacious display rack at his restaurant, then sat back to wait for the money to come rolling in. But in 2009 the internet had finally taken hold and everyone sent e-cards, not snail mail. All our beautiful hand-crafted cards sat gathering dust. After that debacle Alex didn't exactly turn on me, he just went back to buying and selling by and for himself. He did a brisk business with faux samurai swords and utensils made from heavy stainless steel rods twisted into spoons, forks, and knifes. Up until then he always let me have all the salsa and chips I wanted, on the cuff. But after the postcard incident his staff gave me a bill for 25 baht whenever I snacked there. His salsa was unique; it included a touch of tamarind and galangal, along with a generous helping of fermented shrimp paste. 

Needing something to keep me going, I first tried giving private English lessons to university students in Bangkok. But my pupils kept stiffing me, promising payment next week, next week, khrab. Next week never seemed to come, though. Then I got on with a language school franchise called English Plus. They required me to wear a long sleeved white shirt and dark necktie -- and provided me with classrooms full of obstreperous children whose rich parents had spoiled them beyond the point of insolence. I walked into my first class the first day and greeted my pupils thus:

"Hello. My name is Mr. Torkildson. I am your teacher today."

To which one of the little nippers replied:

" Buzz off, big nose." His pronunciation and diction were flawless. 

"Goodbye. You have just seen the last of your teacher, Mr. Torkildson" I said brightly as I stepped out of the room, down the hall, took off my tie, and told the receptionist my grandmother had just passed away and I would be gone for the next twenty years.

Up next was the Morinda Tahitian Noni Juice Company, where friends set me up as a publicity agent. Did you know that noni juice can cure things like cancer and clinical depression? Neither did I. 

I wrote a passel of press releases, extolling the juice's superlative healing properties, hating myself every minute that I spent scribbling such humbug. One day I broke down weeping at my desk -- and that same day I looked up Dave Phelps to borrow the money to fly back to the United States. 

6:46 p.m.  

I don't want to narrate any more of my past tonight. The waning sun on the mountains outside my patio door casts no long shadows, so why should I?

The above photo, taken in my living room on the couch my son Stephen gave me 3 months ago, shows my very first can of Colman's Mustard -- bought this morning at Fresh Market for $4.99. I bought it out of curiosity, because I want to know why it is such a staple in grocery stores.I remember seeing it in exactly the same kind of container when my mother took me shopping with her to the Red Owl in New Brighton back in 1957. Just having it in my kitchen cabinet will have a calming effect on my frenzied cooking efforts. I'll swing open the cabinet door, looking for the anchovy paste or a bottle of capers, and there will be the little yellow tin of Colman's -- staid and immovable, reminding me that perhaps I don't need to mix in that full cup of balsamic vinegar after all. A steadying influence.

Never volunteer for a suicide mission unless you can take at least one lawyer with you.

 

The Farmer and the Tariff

The Trump administration has started compensating U.S. farmers for damage tariffs are doing to their business.

Many farmers say the payments won’t make up for lost sales to China and other foreign markets they were counting on to buy the huge amounts of crops and meat being producedacross the Farm Belt.   WSJ

You ever plant a tariff, seen it grow into some food?

Or watch it lay a bunch of eggs and look after its brood?

Will tariffs give you milk and cheese or bacon in the pan?

Grind it all you want, but it won't even give you bran.

Yet government keeps pushing tariffs as a great big blessing;

I'd like to see the President try eating one with dressing.

Our barns and silos are so full that they're about to burst --

but damned if we will plant next year while feeling so coerced!

**********************************

Min Tull. Wednesday. September 26. 2018

Starting your day with a laugh

is not what Trump does with his staff.

But at the U.N.

the ladies and men

did chuckle at his early gaffe.

(John Schwartz, a reporter at the NYT, responded to this poem thus:  He often said that America has become a laughing stock, so there’s a promise kept. )

**************************************

At the ripe old age of 65 I have exactly $290.31 in my savings account at America First Credit Union, and exactly $664.51 in my checking account. I owe nothing on my one credit card (which has a $500.00 limit.) My monthly Social Security is $789.00. I own no assets, no property, vehicles, boats, stocks, bonds, antiques, no coins and no precious metals. My furnishings are all from Deseret Industries, as are most of my clothes -- except those items that some of my kids have thoughtfully bought for me. I have a $9 thousand life insurance/burial policy, with my daughter Madelaine named as beneficiary. 

(Do I pay tithing on my Social Security? I do not. Some of the residents here at the Valley Villas do pay tithing on theirs, but I figure if it's not taxed it shouldn't be tithed.) 

My mother left me forty thousand dollars in her will, but my sister Sue Ellen, as executor of her estate, got a court order to pay my inheritance directly to Amy for back child support instead. I never saw dime one of it. 

And at long last I think I know what my mother meant when she said:  "God throws money out the window." It means that not too much of it has ever drifted my way. 

Taking stock of my financial situation this morning is a necessary prelude to my master matrimonial plan. I don't believe I am in a position yet to offer any woman a decent life with me. Unless, of course, I am canny enough to find a rich widow. One who has a tidy nest egg laid aside and is willing to support me in my literary efforts and moonbeam snatching. I guess it could happen; and so could bowling balls growing feathers.

(Apropos of nothing: The Provo City Housing Authority had the hallway carpets here steam cleaned yesterday. Now they smell like a pet store. I wanna buy a hamster.)

(Another bagatelle:  Yesterday at the pool I asked Lorraine, our aquatic aerobics instructor, if I had ever told her how nice she is. She looked startled and said "No, you haven't."  

"Don't worry" I replied, "I will someday." Then I hurried away, but I think I heard her laughing.)

But seriously, folks. How am I gonna make some steady extra income? Several years ago, right after I got fired from Nomen Global here in Provo for writing a blog about homophones, I set up a GoFundMe account. I wanted to raise nine thousand dollars so I could move back to Thailand and resume my career as an English teacher. The site raised a total of $345.00:

• $50.00 from Eric Budd, an old friend from Minneapolis
• $50.00 from an anonymous source
• $50.00 from Laurel Montgomery, a complete stranger
• $15.00 from Natalie Lennon, another complete stranger, who wrote: "From one teacher to another. They don't pay us enough  to put up with administrative bullshit."
• $10.00 from a Peter Bunting. Don't know the guy.
• $25.00 from my daughter Madelaine Whitmore
• $10.00 from a Jennifer. No last name
• $20.00 from a Lorrie Nolasco, with the message:  "This is for you so you can run away from this ridiculous 'homophonophobia.' It may become an epidemic!"
• and $5.00 from a Noel. No last name.

Obviously, I never made it back to Thailand. Now as I review this old account I'm wondering if I'm under any obligation to pay these people back. That thought makes me uncomfortable, so I'll just pretend I never asked myself about it at all. Which reminds me; I owe Dave Phelps fifteen hundred dollars from when he loaned me that amount for airfare back to the States from Thailand when my passport was revoked. I'd like to start paying him back ten dollars a month, but can't find any contact information about him. He's one of my old missionary companions, and I've asked around for contact information, but nobody seems to know how to reach him. Or am I just pretending I'm trying to reach him? By golly, I am much more self-deceiving than is good for me.

And then there's Bobby Hunt, an old friend from Disneyland. I remember borrowing three hundred dollars from him when Amy needed a D&C after a miscarriage. And I've pretty much paid him back, but now he insists that I owe him fifteen hundred, not three hundred. Is my memory deceiving me again? Be that as it may, I'm not paying him any more money. 

Well, anywho, my thought here is to set up another crowdfunding account -- this time to help me get married. I'm thinking I'll pitch it something like this:

"To help ease international tensions I'd like to marry a 40 year old Asian woman. She couldn't possibly be happy on the small amount of Social Security I am currently getting, and in many Asian countries the family demands a bride price. So won't you help me build world peace?"

I'm thinking I'll ask for thirty thousand. 

Of course, the real money maker at hand for me is my poetry book "A Clump of Trump." It's available on Amazon for $5.99. Readers, here is a chance for you to spread culture like confetti and good humor like whipped butter on toast. Remember, there are only 89 shopping days left until Christmas. So now's the time to order a baker's dozen copies for friends and family. Just think of the smiles you'll put on their careworn faces. The burbling chuckles that will issue from lips too long drooping with frowns. Research has shown that my book will cure anything that isn't serious, or real. Can you afford to ignore such a vademecum of literary lusciousness? Place a copy in your bathrooms; donate copies to your local library; send it to your Congress person and Representative and insist they read it immediately. Use it as a doorstop. And why stop there? Just think what could happen if you and everyone you know who has $5.99 laying around in loose change were to order my book and send it to the President himself. By the Great Horn Spoon, copies should go to ALL the world leaders! It would be a game changer. It would provoke a New World Order. There's no doubt, not a single quibble, in my mind that inundating the world with my book in such a manner would hasten the New Jerusalem. You owe it to your children to do this.

By so doing you will make me wealthy "beyond the dreams of avarice," as Dr. Johnson so elegantly put it. Then I might be able to marry two wives, instead of just one. Sequentially, of course. 

Yessiree bob, I think my poetry book is the best bet for an income boost. Plus a bestselling author is much more attractive than an obscure scribbler. So be the first on your block to make me obscenely rich, won't you?

 Or I could just look for a regular part-time job like an ordinary person would. Nah, that would take away too much time from my writing. The world needs my writing. They may not know it yet, but they will.

I want to return to the subject of epistles, or, since those don't exist anymore, emails. My mind is firm on the subject: if you send it to me it belongs to me and I can do whatever I want with it. So don't send me the pin number to your Bitcoin account. But obviously not everyone agrees with me. My Thai pen pal did not like the inclusion of her email in my last chapter. She wrote me this morning:

It was a big surprise to me Tim, to see that you posted my latest email in your blog on 26/9/2018. Parts of what I shared with you, I thought it would be between you and me. Because some of the messages are quite personal. By this time a lot of people that know you and a few good friemds that knew me probably have read it already. It is really embarrasing to me even though you did not post my name on it. 

I am confuse. I do not know what to think? Just wondering about your intention towards me. Are we still good friends?  And who were you referring to if you won a hugh Rottery Prize?  And you will buy her a nice cottage so she will acts as your match maker. I wish to hear your explianation. Please help me to understand you okay Tim. 

My initial urge was to email back "Tough titty said the kitty, but the milk's still good" -- a rude phrase from my childhood that meant 'You can like it or lump it.' But instead I sent this:

I am sorry you feel that way about being included in my new novel. Your words reveal a loving heart and tender spirit, which I believe should be shared with others to help brighten their lives. I wish you would write some more poetry, so I could include that as well.

Years ago I wrote a column for Circus Report, called Clown Notes. In one of my columns I quoted from a letter I got from my old clown sidekick Steve Smith. It was a harmless paragraph, as I recall; but when Smith read it in Circus Report he blew his top. Krakatoa was a fizzle compared to his pyrotechnics. But then, he always was a snippy little fellow. His feathers were always in a continual state of ruffle. I refused to answer any of his wickedly profane letters to me on the matter, and eventually he cooled off and we brushed the scoria off to continue our friendship. 

I'm dropping the subject for now, since my feet ache after walking over to the Silver Dish for lunch and then to the Rec Center to swim and then taking the 850 bus down to DI and back again. Right now I'm soaking my barking dogs in lukewarm water with baking soda in it. That's a lot cheaper than using Epsom salts. (Gotta save those dollars for my future wedding.) And I am delighted, and thankful, that Adam has just sent me 8 more rewrites. At least now I can afford to keep going to the Silver Dish for lunch. The lady who brought me to my seat was obviously Thai, in her forties, with no wedding ring. She gave me a great big grin when I spoke Thai to her, but then disappeared into the kitchen and I didn't see her again. I had pad lad na with tofu. $10.50. I drank only water. See, that's another step I'm taking to control my weight; no more fountain drinks when I eat out. Plain old water will do the trick just fine. I'm going to insinuate myself into their hearts little by little, until I can find out more about that Thai woman. My first step will be tomorrow when I go get my bagel at Fresh Market I'm going to get some change in dollar bills, and then leave a big cash tip each time I eat at the Silver Dish. Sarah, who used to work as a waitress, told me that the wait staff loves getting cash tips cuz when it's put on a credit or debit card the restaurant owner gets the tip and usually keeps it. But if it's put on the table as cash the waiter or waitress keeps it. 

Walking to the Silver Dish I go by the big outdoor display of pumpkins in the Fresh Market parking lot. Pumpkins are a zen thing with me; they evoke feelings of peace and still depths in me that I should access more often: 

withered pumpkin stems

twisted and grey like goat horns

mounted on fire

The trees are not really showing bright colors here in Provo this year; perhaps it's because of the extended heat and drought. Not like the colors that caressed me as a child in Minneapolis:

the dim leaves are still,

draining in the butter sun,

losing their resolve

Riding the bus up to DI this afternoon I noticed that most of the passengers looked like they were going to an execution -- their own. The driver was glummer than all the rest. I always wear sunglasses when riding the bus, to avoid interaction with the overly whimsical. Sunglasses on the bus are a universal language that clearly says: "I am invisible and you can't see me." It usually works. 

I just took a moment to go into the bathroom to smile into the mirror. It's getting harder to do. My face in repose resembles a basset hound's, down to the cold nose. I need to make more of an effort to smile and look pleasant. But maybe not on the bus; that will just attract the brainless bees who want to buzz around and around without ever landing on a topic. When I lived at my daughter's house in Virginia I took the bus every day, and noticed everyday a man who wore no shoes but plastic bags over his feet. Otherwise he wasn't dressed oddly at all. 

They've already started to put out the Halloween stuff at DI. There was a large green Robin Hood cap, with a peacock feather in it, that I should have bought for a dollar, but didn't. When I go shopping, I do it by subtraction. I'll stroll up and down the aisles like a normal person, picking out an item here and there and putting it my cart. Then, just before I go to the cashier I start taking things out, saying to no one in particular: "Do I really need that?" "Can't I get this cheaper online?" and other such twaddle. By the time I'm done I only have one or at the most two items to buy. I feel really good about all the things I don't buy. Like I'm getting away with something -- sticking it to the concept of Conspicuous Consumption. Joom would literally grind her molars in a rage when I shopped like this with her in Thailand. 

"Khon baa!" she'd yell at me. "You're a crazy person!"  

So today I only brought home two items from DI. I went there looking for a winter coat. The one I have now, which Madelaine sent to me four winters ago, has a huge tear in the front, which I have sealed up with duct tape -- but it puts the mark of the eccentric on me; I might as well start wearing plastic bags on my feet.

I didn't find a coat my size (Hippo Plus) but picked up a paperback of The Turn of the Screw by Henry James, with some other short stories, for seventy five cents. And a large bag of sea shells for a dollar. I put back a large gray sweatshirt, two neckties, a Teflon griddle for making pancakes, a battery powered pepper mill, a large plastic pitcher with a lid, and the Complete Poems of Robert Frost, which cost 3 dollars. 

The shells are going into my patio koi pond. When I lived with Joom in Thailand we were less than a mile from the Gulf of Thailand. Each day I'd spend hours, after work, rambling up and down the beach putting shells in a yellow net bag. At home I soaked them in bleach water for an hour, then put them on the stained concrete fence that ran around the property. When the fence could hold no more I put them on the front porch railing, and then scattered them across the driveway to discourage snakes from slithering into the yard. This didn't go over well with Joom, who liked to strut about the property in her bare feet, watering the orchids she bought for ten baht apiece and put in the mango tree branches, and weeding her Thai basil and eggplant plot. The sharp edges of the shells gave her paper cuts. So I had to sweep up all the sea shells from the driveway and put them in a pile next to the abandoned squatter in the back of the house. Everyone collected sea shells in that neck of the woods, turning them into jewelry. I could buy a long necklace of wentletraps for a quarter. 

The question I'm asking myself as this day comes to a close is inspired by the only advertisement I ever see at the bus stops here in Provo, for Gun Shows:  

Why aren't there ever any mass shootings at Gun Shows?  

Min Tull. Tuesday. September 25. 2018.

What in the sam hill prompted me to use the adjective 'Oriental' yesterday in my story instead of 'Asian?' The online Merriam-Webster defines oriental as:  "Of, from, or characteristic of East Asia." While Asian is defined as:  "Relating to Asia or its people, customs, or languages." Asian is capitalized, oriental is not. I would never use 'oriental' to describe a person; to me it seems demeaning.

Rereading that portion of my story I sense that the whole pitch is off. I'm ringing a tin bell. It's not that I was insincere when I wrote of my desire for companionship. That is real, and I intend to pursue it as remorselessly as Javert pursues Jean Valjean. But I crafted it wrong, which led to the use of a wrong word. I was flippant and diffident when I should have been simple and direct. So I must restate the theme:

I long for companionship to rekindle love and trust in my silent heart, and to motivate me once again to serve someone besides myself. I have a compulsion about Asian women, and will find one about 20 years younger than me (so we don't have to worry about children) who wants to enter into a lawful and binding marriage with me. A woman who is willing to investigate my beliefs as a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. 

Aye, there's the rub -- the troubling nub of my pursuit. I'm not so much interested in finding and dating an Asian woman who is already a Church member as I am in finding and dating an Asian woman who is not. Because why? Because of what I call the King Solomon Syndrome: the desire to consort with heathen and pagan beauty so I can conquer them and invite them into my faith. And perhaps be seduced a bit by pagan and heathen inclinations? Alas, there is a soupcon of that in me. Solomon was not strong enough to overcome the wicked beauty of his concubines. But I suspect the old goat enjoyed his trip down the primrose path immensely. 

8:42 a.m. 
I went over to Fresh Market for a warm bagel. I'd seen the cashier there hundreds of times over the past two years. She's Asian, her name tag reads 'Elvi,' so I asked her where the name came from.

She grimaced and blushed.

"Philippines" she said very softly.

"Oh, are you from the Philippines?" 

"Yes."

End of social interaction. She's in her twenties, with a bad case of acne, so not on my companionship radar. But I gotta start somewhere, somehow. I'd never spoken to her before except to give her my Fresh Market ID number:

Conversation:  For me, the final frontier. These are the dialogues of Tim Torkildson. My continuing mission: to meet and greet Asian women. To seek out new life and become more civilized. To boldly go where I've never been before. 

The jalapeno/cheddar cheese bagel, by the way, was delicious spread with smoked salmon-flavored cream cheese. I drank a can of V-8 with it. I'm eating a light breakfast because I hope to go over to the Silver Dish Thai Restaurant on Center Street for lunch today, to scout for any forty-ish Thai women in the kitchen or on the wait staff. 

But easy does it; 'discretion' must be my watchword. I often hurtle pell mell into my goals and whims, with the inevitable disastrous consequences. After my divorce I moved back to Minneapolis to help my recently widowed mother and went to work for AT&T in their new cell phone billing department. Back then there was no such thing as prepaid cards. Every cell phone user has an account and was billed each month. When an account went 30 days overdue a little gnome somewhere in the bowels of the AT&T building out in Edina pulled a switch that routed all calls from the delinquent account to me and my cohorts, no matter what number they actually dialed. The cell phone owner had to make payment arrangements with me over the phone in order to get their service restored. Crude, but effective. 

Hurting, and hungry for a new relationship, I took a few of the gals in my office out to dinner and a movie, one by one, but nothing clicked until Jody started to work in the cubicle next to me. She had bad teeth and was herself recently divorced. I decided I would fall in love with her in the grand Romantic tradition of The Sorrows of Young Werther. So I surreptitiously began leaving little trinkets on her desk, all labeled "From an admirer." She swept them all into her wastebasket without so much as a glance my way. She spoke in a high nasal whine and chewed gum incessantly, which made me obsessively enamored of her -- just like Philip Carey in Of Human Bondage. I was in a sad way and the whole shebang ended in farce when I bought a two-pound box of Fanny Farmer chocolates, wrapped in bright pink tissue paper, to deposit anonymously on her desk. When she came in that morning she took one look at the conspicuous package and immediately went to her supervisor to report a bomb threat. We all had to clear out of the office while the Fire Department cautiously dismantled the nougat-filled explosive.

I currently have a Thai woman pen pal of sorts. My old friend in the Pacific wanted to introduce me to some Thai women I might consider for companionship. Initially I wanted to tell him to mind his own beeswax, but a compliant mood stealing over me by accident one day, I emailed one of his suggested contacts. We have kept up a friendly but reserved email correspondence. She is anxious to move here, but her ill health and lack of means will probably prevent that from ever happening. She used to live here in Utah, but moved back to Thailand to take care of her mother. She's reading this story, and here's what she said about it today:

Dear Tim,

Thank you very much for sending me your Min tull. 1 and 2. So this is your new way of writing. It was completely different style from the way you used to write. I think it is quite interesting. There were many topics to read from you at once. 

One of your topics that surprised me Tim. It was that you are hoping to find your self a new companionship. With an oriental woman who is 20 years younger than you. Wow! That is really a wonderful news to me. Now you have opened your heart and willing to be fulfill with your heart desire. Tim I wish you will find the woman of your dream someday soon. I want you to have someone who will loves you and willing to do anything for your happiness.

For me I had made my wish since the start of 2018. I took the leap of faith. Searching for a kind, warm hearted, open minded, have sense of humor, willing to compromise our differentces, understanding and honest. I usually do not make friend request with anyone. But it happened that there were guys made their friend requests with me. But most of the time after I accepted them, I founded that they were not my type or they were scammer. Now my expeience taught me how to separate the good from the bad. This thing hapoened to me because in my real life here in Thailand. I am not interested in Thai guys and I don't go out to socialize with people. I still live like a hermit. Till today I still have no luck in searching for my special man. That's too bad. But well, I guess that's life. 

So I think I should pay attention to what my blessings once said. In due time of the Lord and in his own way, I shall find myself a mate. This tells me to continue to live with faith and  being worthy for his blessings. 

Tim I don't think I have share with you about the 20 years relationship I spent with my ex. family. I was a mom for his 2 young children and raised them until they become adults. I belived that was my misson and I fully success with it. 

I do hope someday I would save enough money to buy me a lap top and a printer. So I can start seriously with my writng. I am sure I have so much to write about. My right hand is not well yet from the stroke. It is not easy to do a long writing. 

As usual Tim, I wish all is well with you.  I am sure you will soon accomplsh with what you have hope for. May our Heavenly Father bless you with what you wish for. I am looking forward to hear from you soon.

In my recurring fantasy of winning a huge Lottery prize I go to Thailand to set her up in a nice cottage with a fruit orchard and fish pond. Then she acts as a matchmaker to find me one of her numerous cousins to marry. All Thais have cousins coming out the wazoo, when there's money around. 

This may become an epistolary novel, what with all the emails from friends and family I'm quoting. I'm wondering what the current laws are on quoting emails in a work of fiction, which I stoutly maintain this is. Here's what I'm seeing more and more frequently at the end of personal emails:

Confidentiality Notice: This e-mail message, including any attachments, is for the sole use of the intended recipient(s) and may contain confidential and privileged information. Any unauthorized review, use, disclosure, or distribution is prohibited. If you are not the intended recipient, please contact the sender by reply e-mail and destroy all copies of the original message.


Will any of that hogwash stand up in a court of law? I don't think quoting from a personal email is actionable. 

"If the law supposes that, then the law is an ass" as Bumble the Beadle says quite rightly in Oliver Twist. But enough of this. Let us move on to other, more congenial matters.

The matter of me losing some weight, for example. My current weight is 326 pounds. At a height of 5'11'' I am obviously grossly corpulent. So I have decided that I will no longer buy or drink whole milk. I'm going to 2 percent as of today, and eventually will descend to 1 percent. 

As to my ill temper and overall grumpiness, which has been growing like a weed of late, I am determined to appreciate the good and kindly things that happen to me. So I may have a drug, so to speak, to sweeten my disposition. For instance, one of my daughters emailed me today, in part:

Your emails lately have made me think about what life must have been like for you as a small boy. Although you report being quite mischievous and silly, it feels like you never felt loved and accepted by your parents. I want you to know that I have always felt completely loved by you and mom, despite all the wacky twists and turns in your lives. I hope you have lots of inspiration for your writing today, it always puts a smile on my face.


Now that benevolent little note should be enough to keep me in a happy and tolerant mood all day, if I keep the memory of it with me. May God set a rose upon her head. 

4:04 p.m.  
The Silver Dish was closed when I got there a little after 11 this morning, so I walked down to China Garden. The waitress was about the right age for me, but wore a wedding ring. Besides, she was missing several front teeth. I had the Luncheon Special of shrimp with mixed vegetables for $8.99. Then I walked down to the Rec Center for an hour of swimming, then went down to the Transit Center at University Mall in Orem to get my Senior Discount card for the bus. Instead of $2.50 per ride it's now $1.25 per ride. On the way home I stopped off at Deseret Industries to buy a fleece vest for the coming cold weather, along with a yellow silk polka dot necktie (should go good with my blue plaid shirt) and a glass measuring cup so I don't have to keep guessing at measurements in recipes, when I follow them. Most of the time I make up my own recipes as I go along. 

Adam has sent me 3 rewrite assignments, five hundred words each. I groaned when I saw his email, because I want to write so much more to fill out this installment. But Adam pays me $25.00 per rewrite, and if I work really fast and don't lose focus I can produce fifteen hundred words of smush in just over an hour. Then I'll watch Netflix the rest of the evening and eat a corned beef sandwich while I watch Netflix. All the portentous thoughts I wrote down in my little black notebook to flesh out into sparkling prose while riding the bus today will have to wait until tomorrow -- or, more likely, simply become meaningless scribbles to me.

Here's the best thing I read today:

"Is there any good in saying everything?"

Basho

***********************************

My friend in the Pacific wrote me in response to my quixotic marital plans:

'll try to mind my own beezwax after this email, maybe.  (Google response.)

After returning from China the first time, I decided to take a Chinese language class from the community education thing nearby, because I knew I wanted a Chinese wife.  It may have been after the first class that I asked the teacher (who was not wearing a wedding ring) in bad Chinese if she was married.  She actually finished the question for me, as I couldn't say it right.  She said she was, and asked why.  I said I thought I wanted to marry a Chinese woman.  Did she know anyone?  She said maybe, and would give me information next class.  Turns out her sister-in-law was my wife's best friend in college, and she knew that my wife was single and that she should have an American husband.

Like I said yesterday, Chinese women do not pursue.  They must be pursued and convinced by the man.  And it was by luck, or by blessing things fell into place, and I have been grateful every day for the past 21+ years we've been married.

Moral of the story: I let it be known I was looking.  

I often wish all my single male friends could find someone like my wife.  I used to think "Just go to China and get one."  Now I realize that 80% of what makes this marriage work is not that she's Chinese, but that she's X who just happens to be Chinese.

And another thing.  Because of the Kavenough thing lately I asked her an old question: "Do you think all women should have access to abortion?  Do you think that morality should be forced?"  She said "Of course all women should have access to abortion, and it's not a matter of morality.  It's practicality.  You don't want to compound a mistake of pregnancy by having the baby.  I'm from China.  We were forced to have abortions if we got pregnant more than once.  I've had an abortion.  What's the big deal?  I wasn't born religious."  And I thought "Thank goodness".

This crap about Jezabels and heathen and pagan women.  Good freaking crap.  How about life?  How about humanity.  How about the heart?  How about kindness and love and realness?  Oh no, it has to be the Lord's way.  The Lord's the one who shares in the marriage.  Oh, I really resent anyone trying to make anyone else feel that way.  And fortunately I don't believe it one bit.   I happen to still believe in the Heavens, and I happen to believe the Heavens helped me find and marry my dear wife.  I honestly wasn't smart enough to do it on my own.  I was nudged all the way to the day we got married on June 27, 1997 in a small room at the building with the words "Marriage with Foreigners" or something like that.  And so, the Heavens helped me marry a heathen woman.  How do you figure that one?  And I've never been happier.  Yeah, I thank the heavens for her.

But that doesn't mean some people would be happier because of a shared religious belief.  That does make sense.  But I honestly don't think women from Thailand or China will ever really fully believe in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and all it says it is.  My wife would join if I asked her, but she'd never really believe.   Okay, marry a heathen, and get her to join up and go to the temple.  She'll think it's fun.

I'm pretty sick of myself recently.  Pretty disgusted with myself.  So maybe I'm going to go home now and ride my bike.  Maybe I'll start riding my bike to work now.  It will take about 3 hours every day.

A Message from My Missionary Daughter in California

Hello Friends and Family!!!

Today will be a short message because I've inevitably run out of time, but it's been a wonderful week! 

We had interviews with our Mission President, President Clark and his wife Sister Clark. I can't say enough good things about the both of them! They are always generous, kind, understanding, loving, compassionate, and encouraging in the best way possible! We are so privileged to have them here overseeing us missionaries. Whenever I have questions they are always able to answer them. 

This week I learned the importance of giving people multiple chances to say "no" when we ask them if they would like to hear what we have to share. As a missionary, you sort of get used to people saying that they aren't interested in hearing the message, so you kind of expect rejection all the time so that it doesn't hurt as much. But really, we should expect people to say yes, because there ARE people who are ready to hear about this beautiful gospel of Jesus Christ. Even though they don't really know what they're saying "no" to, you should still give them more than one chance. The truths we have are too precious, too impactful, too important for us to be content with only offering it to people one time.  If a friend doesn't accept an invitation to come to a church event or hear more, don't be discouraged! You have done your part to extend the invitation, but keep giving them chances to say yes. It will always be worth it, I promise. You never have to force people to come see what we're about, but sometimes all people need is a simple invitation to get the courage to actually learn more. The more genuine your love for others, the more prone they will be to accept your offer, whatever it may be. Never give up on yourself or those you know; the Savior never has and never will. 

One more thing I would like to share: In church yesterday, we sang "Families Can Be Together Forever", a beautiful song that we learn as children,  and I felt the Spirit testify to me of the joy that I will one day have when I can be married in the Temple for all time and eternity. I felt such a profound feeling of love and joy for my family and gratitude for the knowledge that we have that families can be together forever through our Heavenly Father's plan. Even though families are not perfect, they can be made perfect through Jesus Christ. I don't claim to know how everything will work out for everyone and their family situations but I do know that God loves His children and has prepared a way for us to be together for eternity if we do what He has asked us to do. 

I leave you with my testimony of the Savior. He is the Light, the Life, and the Hope of the world. Through Him, all things are possible. He is the reason we are able to have new beginnings and fresh starts and why families can be together forever. There is no other way to our Father, but by Him. I know He lives and loves each one of us. May we all seek to be more like Him each and every day, and we will be happier and more able to help others. I love you all, may God bless you this week and always! 

Love, Sister Torkildson