Photo Essay: Postcards from my Kids. " . . . mom never talks bad about you."

Daisy was a delightful little girl, what little I remember of her before being hurled out of her life for eighteen years. Her postcard here, I remember, just tickled me beyond pink -- and, I'm ashamed to admit it, I raged uncontrollably for several minutes in the privacy of my room about the idiotic unfairness of it all; cursing and weeping at the mortal tragedy of being separated from my own children. And yet today Daisy, without any input from me, has turned out to be a wonderful and beautiful young woman with a marvelous future ahead of her. She is one of those who early on grasped her own destiny and is riding it to glory.
I love how Madel refers to the denizens of North Dakota during the winter as 'meat popsicles.' No better description exists!
Well, time to go feed the old ladies -- today is shredded chicken in bbq sauce and ziti with cheese sauce. Plus grape jello with a can of fruit cocktail in it. Bon appetite?  

My latest poem in the New York Times.

Your comment has been approved! Thank you for sharing your thoughts with The New York Times community. tim torkildson | utah when working from home have a care/your boss can get right in your hair/so look live and sharp/then use a good tarp/to cover a nap in your chair. View your comment If you're having trouble viewing your comment, please copy and paste this link in your browser: https://www.nytimes.com/2020/05/06/technology/employee-monitoring-work-from-home-virus.html#commentsContainer&permid=106896574:106896574 All of our comments are moderated for civility. Have feedback? Let us know. If you would like your comment to be considered for publication as a letter to the editor, please email a copy of your comment to letters@nytimes.com – along with your name, city/town and phone number (the latter for verification only).

Photo Essay: Postcards from my Kids. "Still planning on Mexico this summer?"

I'm noticing another theme as I photograph and comment on these cards from my kids -- the constant travel. None of them, including Amy, seems able to settle down anywhere for very long.
They move to North Dakota, then back to Utah, then to Idaho, then the older kids move out to Colorado, back to Utah, to Minnesota -- Virginia joins the Air Force; Adam goes on his mission; Daisy goes to Minnesota to work; Ed joins the Navy. While in North Dakota they live in Tioga, in Ray, in Crosby, in Williston, and in Minot.  
I have always felt guilty that it was my constant circus travel that pulled the family apart -- and in large part it was. But by the time I was out of the picture, the family's dynamic, with Amy at the head, was to never linger in any place too long. Like gypsies (oh, how politically incorrect!) or Bedouins (even worse!), their tendencies were to pull up stakes and steal silently away with very little rhyme or reason.
A month ago Amy moved out to Washington State, to live among complete strangers at an airbnb. The kids and I had been working with her to find her a subsidized Section Eight apartment here in Utah County, and she told us that she had been accepted for one and would move in within a week. Then the next morning she was gone -- left a cryptic Facebook message that explained nothing and just said she knew we wouldn't let her do as she wanted, so she had left in the middle of the night. As I said, just like a gypsy.
 I am determined to never ever move again -- God willing, I'll spend the rest of my life in this apartment at Valley Villa, 650 West 100 North Apartment 115, Provo, Utah. I have no desire to hit the sawdust trail again or go sightseeing or even go as far as Salt Lake for a Swedish meatball lunch at Ikea. Provo is my home, and I'm hoping that this area will be home to all of my children. Sarah and Adam are already settled here. Daisy works here. Madel says she'd like to move out here, but her hubby Donald doesn't want to leave his extended family out in Virginia. Poor little Irvin is buried in Pleasant Grove. This area seems to me to be about the sanest, safest, and most temperate area in the United States. So why wouldn't the rest of the kids want to live here?
Now it's time to eat a pecan fudge brownie and take a nap. When I wake up I hope to God I'm still in Provo, and that these past seven years have not been a dream . . . 

Dining Out Ain't the Same Anymore. An Epicure Set of Light Verse.

"As restaurants in some states fire up again, proprietors wonder if the rich dining landscape will ever be the same."
Headline in today's Washington Post

I found a fly upon my soup;

I called my waiter nincompoop.

But he replied "We sterilize

our food 'gainst germs and even flies!"

And so I slurped it down full tilt,

and thought it smacked a bit of silt.

But that's because I did let slip

the fact my mask was on my lip.

I sat alone, no one was near;

the waiter my cries did not hear --

I waited long, and growing wroth,

I nibbled on the tablecloth.

White plastic was my silverware;

to carve a steak I wouldn't dare.

And so I ordered al a carte;

the fry sauce I thought rather tart.

And then my waiter disappeared.

He took his temp, and greatly feared

the Health Department would demand

his banishment to Swaziland.

At last the manager came by.

I paid in cash, but he did cry:

"Your filthy lucre has been barred;

We only take the plastic card!"

Well,I had had about enough

and so I said "Your meat is tough!

"Your salad bar would surely fail

to interest any cottontail.

Your fish is off, your pastries glue;

and so I'll not be paying you!"

He gnashed his teeth, I gnashed right back,

displaying lots of dental plaque.

He took my wristwatch with a snap.

(The laugh's on him -- it's Timex crap.)

Post-virus dining out sure blows;

next time I'll order Dominoes.

Photo Essay: Did I move these stones, or did they move me?

Why must dogs be fed,

grass be cut,

trash be taken out,

but stones not be stacked?

A rock garden,

or a plant-based steak;

do either actually count

as real?

Did I move these stones,

or did they move me?

Stones

and trash

and fish --

The Three Great Mysteries.

Photo Essay: Postcards from my Kids. "I woke up singing Happy Birthday to anyone who was there."

In today's batch of postcards I find that Adam has apparently broken his nose and had surgery on it -- I had forgotten all about that, and can't fill in any of the details for avid readers or history buffs. He mentions how cute the nurse is, but since she is "about 24 or so" he gives her a pass.
I sometimes wonder if any of my kids, or grand kids, are going to become famous. In this day of the Influencer with a million followers, it's not too hard to do it. I've been 'famous' several times -- once for my fight with Michu, the World's Smallest Man; once when I was on the Tonight Show; once when not one but two New York Times reporters did stories on my topical light verse;  and several years back when I was fired from Nomen Global when the boss thought I was encouraging the LGBT agenda because I wrote a company blog about homophones.
When I gaze into my crystal ball I fondly predict that Katrina, Adam's daughter, is going to make the Torkildson name famous again -- probably as some kind of artist/entertainer. She has an elfin quality about her, along with an iron determination to have things her own way, that could lead to great things. Or to immense heartbreak.

Verses from news stories by Catie Edmondson, Annie Karni, Lori Rozsa, and Simon Denyer.

Fearing Political Peril, Republicans Edge Away From Trump on Pandemic Response
@CatieEdmondson

Republicans think Trump's a jinx;
the rank and file now from him shrinks.
Even with his strange hypnosis
he is shunned like halitosis.
Rats flee from the sinking ship
and give the Captain his pink slip.


‘I Will Never Lie to You,’ McEnany Says in First White House Briefing as Trump's New Press Secretary.
@anniekarni

A sprightly young maiden was Kayleigh
who flirted with journalists daily.
Though truth she desired
she knew she'd be fired
unless she went  Barnum & Bailey.


Florida clerk has weddings in a parking lot
 drive-through
@lori_rozsa

Drive-thru weddings are the best;
 there's no cake or wedding guest.
Say "I do" and raise a glass,
then hit the road till out of gas.
Marriage in a parking lot
leads to many an afterthought . . . 


Video of North Korea’s Kim opening fertilizer
 factory quashes rumors
@simondenyer

Our dear leader will not cease
working for respect and peace.
And he is forever young,
spreading goodwill and much dung.
He will fertilize mankind
with an open and high mind.
Rumors of his death are fibs
fit for babies in their cribs!

Photo essay: Postcards from my Kids. "I guess this would be a bad time to ask for $700.00, huh?"

Poor Madel is having car trouble in the wilds of North Dakota. She's now a single mother, struggling to keep a job and keep a car going in the dead of winter. She asks me for 700 dollars to get her car repaired. I think I sent her 20. 
When I was courting Amy I grandly told her we could live without a car. She merely batted her eyelashes at me and whispered sweet nothings in my ear, while we played 'padunk and padiddle' along Highway Two in her mother's car. And if you've never played that particular kissing game, I feel sorry for you!
Of course Amy had no intention of diving into married life as a pedestrian, so she arranged for her parents to 'give' us their blue Ford station wagon as a wedding gift. Suddenly I was in hock to them for 3000 bucks. But I simply grinned and paid them off in monthly installments. A lover and his money are quickly parted.
I guess it's unrealistic to think of raising a family in America without a car. But car payments and repair bills, not to mention gas and oil, kept us broke  -- I'm not exaggerating when I say probably a fifth of my monthly income was paid out for car related issues. 
I hated that. We had a series of old clunkers that ran fitfully and sullenly for several months and then would give up the ghost just when we had a family vacation planned or I needed to drive to an important circus gig 500 miles away.
I have not owned or driven a car in over a dozen years. (We won't go into the fact that I had my driver's license revoked a dozen years ago for back child support -- I wonder if they still do that nowadays? It was pretty draconian, lemme tell ya.) And I don't miss car ownership at all. (Says the man who mooches rides shamelessly from his kids and neighbors.)
When it comes to private transportation, such as cars and trucks, I am a dyed in the wool anarchist. My sincere hope is that Ford and GM and all those other momsers will go extinct during the pandemic, and private transportation will become not only onerous in the extreme, but criminal as well. I long for the day when we all can take public transportation to wherever we need to go, or get cheap Uber rides. Which means, I guess, I am ripe for the Laughing Academy. 

Join us in this great endeavor

"We invite all of God’s children throughout the world to join us in this great endeavor."

Dieter F. Uchtdorf 

You're invited to the spread

of the Lord, to break some bread

and keep music in the air --

no need to play solitaire!

Come just as you are with cheer,

to be a merry pioneer.

We promise you a role unique

of which the angels loud will speak!

Verses from newspaper stories by @PatriciaMazzei @thomasfullerNYT @KendraWrites @henryfountain @Fahrenthold and @greene

Frustrated by Crowds, Coastal States Weigh What to Do About Beaches

I wanna go down to the beach today/and let the rip tide carry troubles away/I wanna get sand in my shoes and bask/without wearing any ol' medical mask/And though I'll catch something there sooner or later/I'll have a suntan in my own ventilator!



A Satellite Lets Scientists See Antarctica’s Melting Like Never Before

There used to be a continent down at the cold South Pole/But lately it has melted, leaving nothing but a hole/The penguins now are homeless and the seals just drift about/The krill have bought a condo and the skua all have gout/Man has caused this quandary and I wouldn't blame the whales/that used to hang around there if they slapped us with their tails.



Secret Service paid Trump’s D.C. hotel more than $33,000 for lodging to guard treasury secretary

When it comes to lavish moochin'/no one beats ol' Steve Mnuchin/Livin' in a hotel suite/without regard to balance sheet/Who foots the bill he doesn't care/as he coifs back his slick black hair.



Amazon sales soar as coronavirus-worried consumers shop from home, but costs rise

I don't like shopping at the store/the masks and gloves are such a bore/the lines are long and tempers thin/it gets right under my pink skin/I'm only shopping online now/I think I'll order me a dhow.