Matters Of Little Consequence

One of the most magical events in a person’s life is when you bring a puppy home for the first time. The moments brimming with hope and joy and a feeling that centers you as if a marigold on spring’s first day. You paint countless scenarios in your brain, each one more optimistic than the last. And nowhere inside all those many scenarios do you even remotely imagine the reality of the situation.

You never think about the fact that your little puppy is gonna die one day.

Of course you don’t, because who in their right mind would take into consideration such a tragic circumstance? I mean, those kinds of thought processes are reserved for flaming anarchists, Scientologists and actuaries. Heartless actuaries.

Love is the very same thing.

When you lock eyes with a stranger across a crowded floor, or go out on a first date or have a three and a half hour phone conversation with a perfect stranger. And know. You just know. As if the universe went through all the trouble of being born, coming of age and growing old . . . for you.  So that you could arrive at that moment when you figured out the ending you didn’t even know you were looking for.

You never once think about forever having an end.

I woke up on Friday, June 8th 2007 and felt more charmed than the lovechild of Brad Pitt and Vera Farmiga. It didn’t matter in the least that it was too early to be wearing a smile. I woke up thinking it had to be the middle of the afternoon before my alarm clock corrected me with half past six. Less than six hours prior, I’d been pinballing through the witching hours with a voice that left me wanting more of that good thing.

The Dame was every bit of that beautiful storm that I’d been keeping track of for most of the last couple months. Hers was a mystic thrown down from that fateful moment when Eve told Adam that she might want to marry him one day if he watched his weight and kept that firm body.

The Dame was crazy, but a crazy borne of hard wrought places that belied her silver spoon existence. She was a rich man’s daughter but she wasn’t spoiled. She was a looker but she wasn’t conceited in the least. She possessed as brilliant a pen as I’d ever had the privilege of knowing on a first name basis. And she never once talked about it inside the three and a half hours that catapulted us from strangers into something more than friends.

And her timing was madly provocative, as if her words danced inside the language of honeybees. Her smoking gun was left on my doorstep with a Pinot fueled come hither that left me stranded in the middle of dry land. She stapled three little words to every lonely part of me before hanging up.

“Just get here,” 

It wasn’t fair, which had been her intention. The merry bachelor who played single dad with french toast and long hikes and playboy chef when I had the weekends to myself, had been harpooned like a fucking Marlin. I just didn’t know it yet.

I put a second pot of coffee on before settling down to check my comments on the Gorilla when Dan finally decided to return my call.

“Yo!” Dan bellowed, his voice thick with exhaustion and nicotine.

“About time man, I called you after hanging up with the Dame last night,” I said with mock exasperation.

“Sorry honey, but I was busy working while you were drinking martinis and talking to a hot chick from Chicago,” Dan laughed.

“Don’t be jealous,”

“Hey dude, I’m married, jealousy’s all I got left. So how did it go?”

“Without sounding too excitable . . . fucking amazing! She’s smarter than she writes, she’s funnier than she writes and if her voice could get me pregnant, I’d be shopping for cribs right about now,”

“So . . that’s good, right?” Dan laughed whilst scarfing down a breakfast sandwich and chasing it with a couple smokes on his back porch.

“That’s great, except for the fact that she’s got three kids, and she’s having issues with them because of her neanderthal husband who won’t cut her any slack, and she lives in Chicago, and she’s given up on dating or ever being happy again,”

Granted, there were more exemptions inside that statement than you’ll find on a billionaire’s tax returns, but I was smitten. Me . . smitten. What in the blessed fuck was the world coming to?

“But you guys hit it off?”

“We hit it out of the fucking park is what we did, Tonto. And now I have to slow things down because my mind is gonna jump out of my skull if I don’t,”

“There’s time. And oh hey! I read that Rabbit Hole chick, fantastic shit man!”

“I told you! Now see . . she is crazy. But I mean, how can you not be crazy when you write stuff like that. I’m glad you liked,”

“Loved it. Hey, I’m gonna crash but I’ll call you on my way into work tonight. You gonna be around?”

“I’ll be here,” I said.

“Whoa, this girl really did a number on you,” Dan laughed before hanging up.

I thought about what Dan had said before the gurgling noise snapped me back. I ran into the kitchen to find my dime on the dollar coffee maker dying. I’d been separated for almost two years and had already gone through half a dozen coffee makers since I couldn’t bring myself to buy another Bunn. Never mind that I had the thing for ten years without a hitch, I wasn’t shelling out a couple hundred dollars without a mortgage and joint back accounts to hide it inside of.

I was able to rescue a cup of Joe from the devastation, after which I placed the carafe on the counter and escorted the scrapheap out. I’d scored a writers pad rental less than two miles from my old house and I loved the quirks included at no extra charge. Like the fire escape stairwell that was the only way up or down. It hadn’t affected my business, as evidenced by the many high heeled visitors I’d entertained, so that was good enough for me. And besides, it was the perfect way to bury my hard luck coffee makers. It had become sort of a tradition that I toss the latest coffee machine done wrong down the long set of stairs to commemorate it’s untimely demise.

I went in to grab my smokes and the cup of Joe and I turned on some Talking Heads before returning to the proceedings. I sipped and tugged and then I let go of the piece of shit coffee maker, watching it tumble to its death for a second time inside the early morning.

There was symbolism happening loudly inside that moment, but I was too high to notice.




70 thoughts on “Matters Of Little Consequence

  1. B,

    There is no way in hell a normal, healthy person ever thinks of the end when they get a puppy. That only happens when the puppy becomes an old dog who has trouble going up the stairs.

    Heartless peeps are the only ones who would bother going down that road…

    Love. Oh man. Yes, those first moments when you click, those endless conversations, that electricity, that feeling when you know – man.. this is IT. Of course, you don’t think this “IT” is going to last only so long. You are in it for the long haul. Or rather, you are not even thinking… you are just in the moment.

    The Dame sounds like she had charisma to spare and how can a poor guy resist he charms? She had what you most admire. Of course you were smitten. Wait, that is not strong enough, is it? (Even if you did use it later on in your tale) you were seduced by the sum total of her parts. You didn’t stand a chance.

    You did have trouble with the coffee machines, didn’t ya? Unlike the ladies… which were not lacking for ya, were they?

    The demise of coffee pots aside, this, as per usual, was a magnificent read. I know I repeat myself weekly (or with pretty much every one of your posts) I love your way with the word.



    • Q,

      Egg-over easy-sactly! You don’t go there, because who does? Would? And why? You just get locked inside that moment and you go. No questions asked. No need to ask ’em.

      And Trump’s press secretary. Oh, never mind. Same difference.

      Being inside that moment is a most intoxicating high. Which, I happen to think, is why drugs are still so damned popular and always will be. Because peeps are trying to take the shortcut to it. But there ain’t one. And there never will be.

      Yes, that would be fair to say that I was seduced by the sum total of her parts. Thank you for phrasing it so brilliantly, 😉

      Coffee machines didn’t get me the way women did.

      I thank you kindly and lovingly and much.



      • I really think those who do go down that path have serious issues to begin with so for them to actually fall hard would be quasi-impossible in the first place.


        Absolutely! It is intoxicating. And no, there are no shortcuts.

        Why thank you for thinking so 😉 Occasionally I can pull a Marco outta my hat 😉

        They obviously didn’t. Good thing you can throw them down the fire escape. Don’t think any women would appreciate the same treatment.

        Always from the heart.


        • Yep, those peeps got issues. Whereas those of us who have actually lived a life . . we have luggage, LOL.

          I’ve taken shortcuts, as being of master class single, I am wont to do from time to time. The results were less than satisfactory, to say the least.

          Was that a Marco? 😉

          I would never put my hand on a woman without clearance first, second, third and yes . . home plate. And a big thank you to Meatloaf for the assist on that very long pun!

          You’re the bestest.

          Liked by 1 person

          • Buahaha! So true! I’ll take the luggage over never having lived.

            I get it. I have taken a shortcut or two in my time.

            Well, it felt like it was on par with something you might write. ‘Course not quite as brilliantly but maybe a little?

            Of course you wouldn’t. Nor would you be fool enough NOT to if given the checkered flag!

            Aww c’mon… You’re the bestest!

            Liked by 1 person

          • You ain’t kidding!

            There’s nothing wrong with it. I’ve no regrets about it. Peeps say regret too much. Not sure why.

            It was yours, not Marco’s. You spit shined that beauty into being and you know it. 😉

            When the checkered flag is waved, you go.

            Go on now . . .

            Liked by 1 person

          • I know it…

            And there is no room in life for regrets, as far as I’m concerned. Each choice we’ve made, good or bad, makes us who we are today. Peeps say regret because they can’t accept that they made the choices they made!

            Oh, I know it was all mine. I was just saying it had some of that Marco pizzazz that I don’t usually manage to come up with!!

            Rev those engines!

            Don’t be so modest…


          • I ain’t got time for that nonsense. And then they want you to decipher them as if you’re Robert Langdon. I mean, really. It feels as if humans are less human than ever. And no, whining and moping doesn’t make you human.

            Pizzazz is a great word. It always makes me think of Manolo in the movie Scarface.

            May the engine rev and never idle, may the passion bloom and never bridle.

            I think modesty is one of the lost arts. Like music videos and original music on terrestrial radio, lol.

            Liked by 1 person

          • We speak the same lingo.

            It is a great word and oh yeah! I remember him!

            Oooohhh… lookit you! You could turn that into a meme…

            Duly chastised… coz you’re right. It is a lost art in this era of bravado and bullshit.

            Liked by 1 person

          • Bingo on the lingo! Roger Dodger! Ten four good buddy! Okay . . . I’m done.

            It would have to be a half funny/half dark meme- because the bittersweet has always been to my liking. Sort of like, half of it would be a Nicholas Sparks character kissing their beloved (ANY book, they’re all the same), and then the other side of the frame would have Amy Schumer in Train Wreck.

            Bravado and bullshit is why we need to always have bourbon on hand, bebe!!

            Liked by 1 person

          • Hahaha! Nutcase

            Absofuckinglutely! Wanna laugh? As I was emptying yet another box, I found a Sparks book! I’ve never read a single one of his and am wondering where it came from.

            Oh yes… cannot believe between you and Raylan I now have bourbon in my house and actually drink it!


          • Almonds.

            I think everyone has a Sparks book even if they can’t stand him. It’s alien fucking shit, I’ll tell you what. Because he’s written a ton of books and yet, you don’t need a spoiler alert if you read his first one! Because they’re all the same!

            The bourbon serves so many purposes. In the event of a blackout, you don’t need a flashlight if you have bourbon. No hot water? No problemo as long as you have bourbon. Nothing on TV . .bourbon. The list is endless.

            Liked by 1 person

          • Almonds are great. Pistachios, how about them?

            They are like Harlequin Romance books! I admit to having seen the move “The Notebook”. Then I googled him and admit to having seen 3-4 for other adaptations (I honestly had no clue there were based on his books..) The are all the same!

            Buahahaha!!! Coz you don’t need to see, watch, bathe as long as you are under the influence of bourbon… Got it!

            Liked by 1 person

          • Love pistachios. And they’re so versatile. You can eat ’em straight up, put them in your ice cream or salads.

            Seriously, if you’ve seen (or read) one, you’re good! LOL

            Hey, bourbon has myriad medicinal qualities.

            Liked by 1 person

          • Exactly! As versatile as almonds, to tell the truth… but so much cuter.

            Yep. Tragedy, separation, re-finding love, losing said love but hey, got a fabulous box to remember you by…

            I trust in your faith in the product.

            Liked by 1 person

          • Methinks so. I never could get into the “red” ones… all they do is stain her fingers.

            But AmIRight or AmIRight?

            Till you have a little too much of it… 😉

            Liked by 1 person

          • Yeah no.

            YouRight! YouRight!

            You must achieve the happy medium. It’s like when you venture out into the ocean (I use a boating term for you, the boater), and you stop just short of international waters . . .

            Liked by 1 person

          • And really. Why?


            A happy medium in pretty much anything is not a bad thing. Even when it comes to the subject of this here post, eh? (Um… I don’t quite qualify as a boater but I get it)

            Liked by 1 person

          • LOL, welp you’re way more of a boater than I will ever be. Hey, in the event of a zombie apocalypse, y’all would survive just fine while us land lubbers would be zombie biscuits before very long.

            There needs to be a meridian in everybody’s business. For sanity’s sake, really.

            Liked by 1 person

          • Right? I think they’re scary as hell in their current form! I’ve come across them in early morning runs, as they’re making their way back to the crib after a night of partying. They travel in packs. Very intimidating.

            Liked by 1 person

    • Monika,

      I really can’t disagree with this assessment, at all. I feel like that was where I had to be at that time in my life. I had to learn something about myself and I did. My kids come first, after which comes peace of mind, after which comes my cat (don’t tell him he’s third), after which comes writing.

      It leaves no room for another serious entanglement, I realize.

      Liked by 1 person

  2. More exemptions than a billionaire’s tax return… just one of the many brilliant phrases in this excellent piece.

    Afraid I am ever the heartless cynic, though. But I still get the puppy anyway.

    I need to have a lot more fun when tossing pieces of junk – like the carpet “cleaner” I tossed in the dumpster on Friday. Whoa! That could have made some lovely crash-boom-bahs!

    Liked by 1 person

    • Buahahaha! You like that huh?

      I’ve not had a dog since my beloved boxer Molly passed in 2006. Cats have been my jam, because they behave very much like me.

      I look at it like this. You’re giving a Viking funeral to inanimate objects.

      Liked by 1 person

  3. At the beginning, I just knew it wasn’t about losing pets — which is so damn hard – so I wondered where you would go. Then the 3-hour phone call did the explaining … it clicked … but you have a great way of weaving the story. Well done, Marc!

    Liked by 1 person

  4. I really do not know why I feel like crying during this optimistic and hopeful period of new infatuation. It is probably due to the clever heart pulling emotions of “your little puppy is gonna die one day” and knowing that I am going to come crashing down during the telling of this story at some point.

    Yet being a person that sees the glass half full I gotta say, I love these beautiful moments in our lives. That feeling of euphoria and wonder that has us dancing through the day. Even if we crash and burn, I find hope in the moments. May our homes always have enough room for puppies and new coffee pots.

    You can unravel a story and I’m a fan, Marco!

    Liked by 1 person

    • Ella!

      There might be a crash involved at some point for sure. And it might go dark for a short time, although I won’t draw it out for the purposes of sanity (mine). But in the end, rest assured there is no cliff. Just an appreciation for life and love. A girl I once know told me cynicism was a cop out. She was right.

      I wholeheartedly agree with your second paragraph, in its entirety. The fool is not the one who falls. The fool is the one who never gave it a shot. I regret nothing. And even though you couldn’t tempt me to so much as sit in the same room with the Dame, I really ain’t keeping hard feelings. I will always love her in a way that I didn’t know I had in me. I am not bitter over how it turned out, but rather, thankful for those moments.

      Thank you kindly. And how cool that another Chitown chick finds this story worth a read! The universe is a funky place, my friend. 🙂


      Liked by 1 person

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