I’m taking a writing class for the first time since my college days. There are actual writing assignments, which aren’t graded but are peer reviewed. The first assignment was to write a short (600 word) crowd scene in which there is action and dialogue. I spent two days panicking about this assignment, drawing a complete blank and wondering why I ever thought I could write anything at all. Eventually an idea struggled its way through my wall of panic and I was able to submit something. Phew! It’s weird being “in school” again. Anyway, here it is for your perusal.

Martin and Beulah hopped on the crowded shuttle bus at Zion National Park at the last moment, squeezing their way toward the back where there was just enough room for the two of them to stand, holding onto some straps. The bus had barely gotten moving again when they heard a commotion somewhere near the front of the bus.

“I saw him! I saw Bigfoot!” shouted a woman they couldn’t see.

“Yeah, right,” said the man behind Martin. He was wearing a Disney shirt.

“Look! There!” she cried again.

Everyone had their phones out, trying to figure out which way to point them, just in case. A lot of jostling ensued, accompanied by excited voices as people tried to get closer to the windows.

“Did anyone see which way she was pointing?” said a large man not far from Beulah, swiveling his Nikon camera this way and that.

“Get that camera out of my face!” The woman next to him jabbed him in the shoulder with her finger.

“I thought I saw something moving just behind those trees,” offered up a fellow with a man bun, getting caught up in the moment.

“We wanna see Bigfoot!” whined a couple little kids farther up. “Bigfoot! Bigfoot!”

“How stupid can you get,” muttered Disney, “Bigfoot is not real. Everybody with half a brain knows that.”

Martin had decided to stay put, but he could see Beulah trying to edge her way forward, taking photos of the people, rather than looking out the windows.

Meanwhile, Nikon was determined to get his award-winning shot, pushing his way toward where he hoped the action was.

“Ouch, you stepped on my foot, you oaf!” Finger Jabber was really annoyed now.

“BIGFOOT! BIGFOOT!” the kids continued their chanting, while somebody, presumably their mother, was saying, “Let’s use our indoor voices, children. No need to shout.” This had no effect.

Man Bun was saying to anyone who would listen, “I read an interesting article about Sasquatch recently…” perhaps hoping to be established as an expert on the topic.

The bus driver tried to calm the crowd down by speaking into the PA system. “Folks, you’re going to have to stay in your seats or stay standing where you are. We’ll be at the first stop in just a few minutes.” This also had no effect.

Martin caught a glimpse of Beulah looking absolutely delighted with the whole chaotic scene.

Disney kept grumbling, mostly inaudibly, but Martin heard the word “Idiots,” a few times, accompanied by a shaking of his head.

Almost everyone was looking out a window on either side of the bus by now, with much finger pointing and photo taking going on. Half a dozen people could be heard to say that they were sure they’d gotten a photo of something that could have been Bigfoot.

At last the bus driver pulled over to the first stop, calling out “Court of the Patriarchs!” The last time Martin and Beulah had visited Zion, nobody had gotten out at this stop except them, making them feel like chumps. This time, however, almost everybody got off, still excitedly talking about which way they’d need to go to find their quarry. Nikon appeared to be in the lead. As the bus doors closed, Martin and Beulah could still hear “BIGFOOT! BIGFOOT!” To Martin’s surprise, even Disney was out there following the crowd.

Martin and Beulah sat down in the empty bus, Beulah with a happy sigh. “I don’t think our vacation experience can get much better than that,” she said. “Want to see my photos?”

Yes, he did.

I’ll probably be deleting this Blogfoot in the morning.

The four of them had been friends since they were little girls: Olivia, Diane, Sally and Mabel. They grew up in the same neighborhood, went to the same schools, and hung out together in between times. Now they were in their mid 20’s, out of college, and still living in the same city so they tried to get together at least once a month to keep in touch. And oh, the times they had – “gossip sessions,” they called it. No topic was off limits and a thought, once brought to mind, was instantly expressed. They wanted to stay “real” with each other. They complained to each other about their husbands or boyfriends, or about men in general. They raged about politics. They couldn’t wait to tell the scandalous secrets they’d heard about mutual friends, and if they didn’t know any secrets, they speculated based on very little information. Their fears and anxieties were brought out, examined and magnified. If one of them had cause to express a sense of possible guilt about anything, the others would rush in to justify her and stamp out those kinds of impulses. It was all quite satisfying.

And then one day, Olivia changed. They met for one of their usual gossip sessions and Diane took the lead.

Continue reading “Friday, September 19, 2025 Four Friends” →

As a young boy, Clyde had a strange fascination with folding things. The family learned not to leave important papers lying around, for Clyde would appropriate them for his folding works. By the time he was in high school, he had a display of things he had artfully folded – three shelves full in his bedroom. When he got up and when he went to bed, he took great delight in surveying these clever creations. If he told anyone about his interest in folding, it gave him great pains that their first assumption was that he took to Origami. “I do NOT do origami,” he would state in a tone that communicated his disdain for the topic. He had no interest in taking small colorful squares of paper and making cranes, frogs and boxes out of them.

No, his passion was for the unusual, the artful, the delicate matter of folding all manner of items: newspapers, scraps of cloth, posters, church bulletins, record album covers, etc. (This latter effort got Clyde in trouble with his older sister who did not appreciate what he did with her mint-condition Pink Floyd Dark Side of the Moon cover. He had been interested in making the album cover look more like a crescent moon to go along with the title of the album, thinking it would only increase the value. He didn’t even touch the inner sleeve which actually held the record – he wasn’t that stupid!)

His father and mother tolerated his odd obsession, but were fond of telling Clyde, “You can’t make a living by folding things. Once you get out of college, you need to find a proper job!” Clyde reluctantly agreed with them and chose a major in college that would lead to this “proper job” that he was expected to get. But his heart wasn’t in it.

One day, however, Clyde was perusing the want ads and came across an ad that simply astounded him. It said, “Do you like to fold things? We are looking for experts in this area to work in our business. Please apply to The Brilliant Haberdashery.” What?! It looked like his parents had been wrong. Perhaps he could make a living using his folding prowess.

Clyde skipped classes that day and went directly to the address listed for the BH. He strode into the store confidently and stated he was interested in the folding job advertised in the newspaper. The store owner, Mr. Argonil, was a nattily dressed fellow sporting a pencil mustache and a sharp bow-tie. Mr. Argonil dispensed with the usual employment forms and instead led him through increasingly complicated folding challenges that thrilled Clyde and made him sweat. At the end, Mr A offered Clyde a job. He quit college and began his illustrious career that very day.

Mr. Argonil told him that he’d start small and work his way up, in spite of his quite impressive job interview. “You’ll begin with folding some of our socks and underwear. Don’t despise small beginnings, young Clyde, for these are the very steps that will lead you to the pinnacle of folding at the haberdashery: our pocket squares. Each pocket square that we sell is made of the finest silk and has a different design. Each one must be folded in a unique way. You’ll have no outlet for creativity with the socks and underwear, nor will you branch out with any sort of flare when you graduate to pants, undershirts, and shirts. When you reach handkerchiefs, there will be some fancy and fashion. But when you get to pocket squares, that’s where your genius will shine!” Clyde was inspired. Clyde was impressed. Clyde had goals and aspirations!

“But one more thing, my young apprentice,” Mr. Argonil said, “We do not believe in magnifying names here at the Brilliant Haberdashery. Your work will be anonymous. Each level of folding is designated by the letter H – for Haberdashery of course – and a number. The higher the number, the more prestigious the level of folding you have graduated to. We start with the number 5 and move up by 5’s. The highest achievement of folding that you will reach is H-30. You can go no higher. Even I have never achieved higher than that.”

Clyde loved a challenge and took Mr. Argonil’s statement as such. Over the next few years he worked his way up, meticulously folding first socks, then underwear, then pants, undershirts, then shirts, then handkerchiefs. At last the great day arrived when Mr. Argonil promoted him to H-30, folder of pocket squares. No one was prouder than Mr. Argonil, who by this time viewed Clyde as his most talented protege. “Clyde, my boy, you’re a boy no longer. You are a man. Welcome to the top of the folding ladder. You have arrived.”

But Clyde was by no means finished. His genius had begun but had not reached full flower. Each day he arrived at work and took the day’s pocket squares to the office that he now had. He spent hours crafting the most exquisite folding designs for his pocket squares and did not even allow the new employee (still stuck at H-5) to transport them to the sales floor. He carried them carefully himself and displayed them in such glorious array that customers were often hesitant to touch them. But touch them they did, and then bought them by the dozen, each one boxed delicately and with just a small piece of typed paper at the bottom that said: “Folded by H-30.”

The Brilliant Haberdashery grew and flourished, thanks to Clyde’s artistry. He was ever aspiring to new heights of folding wizardry and everyone knew to leave the master to his work in solitude when the door was closed. One day, one unforgettable day, he brought out his latest masterpieces and set them on the display. Mr. Argonil and the other staff gathered in silent awe to gaze at them. Clyde stole a look at Mr. Argonil and saw tears silently streaming down his cheeks. Mr. Argonil excused himself, presumably to blow his nose, and came back with a small but expertly crafted box made out of cherry wood. He gave it to Clyde saying, “I almost didn’t dare to hope that I’d give these out to someone someday. Clyde, these are yours. You have earned them. You have my highest admiration.”

Clyde opened the box and gasped, seeing a pile of little typed pieces of paper, each one saying, “Folded by H-35.”

He had arrived.

I was inspired to write this story after finding a little slip of paper in one of my mom’s old boxes that said, “Folded by H-35.”

This post will be folded into oblivion in the morning.