Tag Archives: writers


I am on a retreat – a personal retreat – this coming week for quiet reflection at my cabin in the woods. A week of no newspapers, no radio, no television, no Internet. Quiet, peaceful, detached from the craziness of the world, embracing calm and sanity among the changing leaves, singing birds, and crisp October weather with pen, paper, laptop, and a classic book.

Wishing you a good and peaceful week.


One of the quirky things about this house I am renting is that every time I come home from work, I must play that garage door opener like a castanet – click, click, click, clickety-click, click, click, click. 


All right, maybe that is not so funny to the average reader, but I know you are NOT an average reader.  You have a good imagination and an inquisitiveness that just won’t stop.  Well, at least I do.

There I am, sitting in the car in the driveway, in front of the closed garage door.  I reach for the door opener.  I aim it towards the solid part of the door.  Click click.


I move it in the direction of the little windows.  Click, click, click, click.

Again, nothing.  I aim it towards the middle of the door.  Clickety-clickety.

Nothing once more.

I aim it at the upper windows of the garage door.  Click.

Door opens.

Now run this scenario quickly in your mind.  Add a little finesse in the wrist movement, hear me say, “What the heck?” about seven times, and “Ugh” about fifty.

One thing I am learning about living here in this part of the country is that everything moves in its own time.

Looks like garage door openers think so, too.

©2022, excerpt from “Tales from Yodel-O Land”

Coil Up with a Short Tale

Coming out of the house last evening, I started walking down the long winding sidewalk to the driveway, with Handsome right behind me.

I jumped and cried out.  My heart pounded a little harder.

At my feet on the cobblestone walkway was a small black snake – or was it some sort of large black worm?

Handsome kicked it with his foot.

It was just the hook from a broken plastic hanger that washed in from the storms this past weekend.

©2022, excerpt from “Tales from Yodel-O Land”

The Romance of It All

On our second day of our honeymoon road trip, we set out for Biloxi, Mississippi from Gulf Shores, Alabama.  Biloxi is a nice little town on the shores of Mississippi Sound/The Gulf of Mexico. I did not know much about it except for two things:  Keesler Air Force Base and Beauvoir.

Beauvoir?  Yes, Beauvoir.  It is the lovely little beach home of Jefferson Davis and his family that became his permanent residence on the shores of Mississippi Sound.  (A little French lesson here:  Beauvoir is a compound French word that means “Beautiful View.”)

Mais oui, mes amis!

Why Beauvoir?  Well, the short of the long story is that some time ago we set upon ourselves what we call “The Dead Presidents Tour.”  Our goal is to visit every deceased American President’s physical impact on our world – whether it be birthplace, abode, speech, et cetera and you get my drift. 

Yet, why Beauvoir and Jefferson Davis?  Well, we are counting every President who has a link to American history, and Jefferson Davis, even though he was President of the Confederate States of America, he fits the bill.  In addition, so does Sam Houston (President of the Republic of Texas), and he’s on our list, too.

Beauvoir was built for another family, but in time, Davis purchased it after the American Civil War (a.k.a. The War of the Rebellion), and after his death it became a veterans’ home, and now it is open to the public. 

It is one hot little beach house.  Hot in that it is beautiful.  But not so hot temperature-wise because although it gets hot down here, the tall windows and wide doors left open embrace the breezes from the waters across the front yard.  Beauvoir was in effect, destroyed by Hurricane Katrina, but love and diligence and respect of history restored it to its original loveliness.  And what a beauty she is –

It’s all on one level, although you must climb a few stairs to reach the main living area.  Words are ineffective in describing its beauty.  Handsome and I are currently in the process of looking for a place to buy and live, and I mentioned to him that if we could find a house with the floor plan of Beauvoir, but one-third the size, it would be perfect.  Why? It’s a simple plan and its front yard at one time touched the shores of Mississippi Sound.  Today, U.S. Route 90 cuts in front of it.

Ah, the romance of it cries out to me –


©2022, excerpt from ”The Dead Presidents Tour”

Vintage engraving from 1862 showing Jefferson Davis, an American statesman and leader of the Confederacy during the American Civil War, serving as President of the Confederate States of America for its entire history, from 1861 to 1865.

Ribbon Sindwitchez

Attending a dinner party Friday night last, someone suggested we trade stories of the strangest incident that happened to us the past week as we headed out to the balcony for digestifs.

One-by-one, we played raconteur.  The stories were hilarious, some a bit naughty, a few over-the-top.  Laughter permeated the night air, and soon my turn came to be the anecdotist:

Earlier that week, my planned supper was kielbasa (a type of Polish sausage), sauerkraut, and rye bread.  All I had at home was the sausage, so a walk to the grocery store was in order.

As I was checking out with a loaf of Jewish rye bread and a bag of sauerkraut, the young male checker asked, “ ‘r’  ya makin’ ribbon sindwitchez?”

“Pardon me?”

“ ‘r’  ya makin’ ribbon sindwitchez?”  He smiled largely.

Only understanding the word “makin’,” and not understanding the rest of anything else he was saying, I winged a response.

“Oh, I’m making Polish sausage tonight.  Sort of a tradition on Tuesday nights.”

He smiled.  I smiled back and wished him a good day.

I strode out of the grocery store.

It was only until I got outside that I realized he was asking if I was making Rueben sandwiches.

©2022, excerpt from “Tales from Yodel-O Land”

So It Begins

It has been a long time since any blogging was accomplished by this writer.  There was a time, indeed, under a different blog name, where the posts flew fast, every day, and with a gentle mission of something close to journaling.  Then the posts dwindled down to four a week, then to one, then it was time to press the “delete” button and move on with life as it were.

Now, a couple of years later, this blog has returned.  New name.  New purpose.  Same blogger. Fresh beginning.

The purpose of Colcannon Metropolis is to encourage intelligent thought and discourse about the world, everyday life, as mundane as it might be at times, and to provide entertainment in thought-provoking ways.  There will be posts about daily life, world events, and whatever tickles the writer’s fancy.

Why “Colcannon Metropolis”?  This writer is an observer of people, life, and events and has the background and education to put forth intelligent and firm observations. 

The “colcannon” of the name refers to the famous mashed-potatoes dish of Ireland.  The “metropolis” is in reference to the famous 1927 German dystopian film, Metropolis,directed by Fritz Lang.  Therefore, “Colcannon Metropolis” is a blend of the mashed-up world and dystopia that every person is a part of in the 21st Century, yet underneath there is something delicious.

The frequency of these posts has not yet been determined, and there will be a regular schedule to entice, electrify, entertain, and awaken readers to the realities and logical aspects of life.