Dozer, the bulldog

Dozer, the bulldog
Dozer: He was the best dog on the planet.

Bonding

Bonding
The author of Mark's Work with Ellie Mae

Guess who's coming for dinner

Guess who's coming for dinner
Blue heron, sitting on the dock of our pond

HappyDay Farms bees are happy bees.

HappyDay Farms bees are happy bees.
Air-borne bees

BFF's forever

BFF's forever
Margie and Ellie Mae

Tomatoes and peppers are us.

Tomatoes and peppers are us.
Spicy salsa with roasted peppers, here at HappyDay Farms

Much love, John-Bryan

Much love, John-Bryan
Eric at 26 on the left, and John-Bryan in January of 1973.

Halloween fun

Halloween fun
SmallBoy and Dancing Girl

Our house

Our house
The snow season approaches...

Mahlon Masling Blue

Mahlon Masling Blue
My friend and brother.

Mark's E-mail address

bellspringsmark@gmail.com

Saturday, March 3, 2012

Dickens, Steinbeck or Oprah

Dickens, Steinbeck or Oprah
or
My Acceptance Speech
The following is a dramatized rendition of a pseudo-Oscar Awards Ceremony.  Never having actually seen one, I am shooting from the hip, so to speak.  This Awards Ceremony is being conducted (ah, the nebulous passive voice) because Mark O’Neill has been granted the coveted Honor of having his name placed on the inside of the Front page of the “Newspaper.”  Mr. O’Neill has been waiting for this moment his entire life.
Camera pans the audience, as I make my way to the podium, a brilliant peacock of a figure, my sequins and baubles, glittering in the lights.  My sun glasses were specially manufactured for me, by the same people, who promoted Elton John.)
“Ladies and Gentlemen,
I stand here before you, triumphantly clutching this covetous honor, humbly acknowledging the power and force of the gods, in an attempt to convey the depths of my feelings.  Words do no justice to the honor of having my name, listed on the inside of your prestigious publication, right BELOW yours, my dear, dear Editor.”  
(Prohibitively long pause; one single tear, luminous and glistening, slowly makes its way down my cheek, carefully turned toward the spotlight, for effect.
In fact, I will begin right there.  I owe it all to you, my dear, dear Editor.  My path has been well-chronicled, how you tossed me a lifesaver (lemon) with which I was finally able to get my precious words published.  There was no other way my people could have ever heard the pearls of wisdom I dispense.  Without you, I would be nothing.” 
(Tumultuous sigh)
“Laboring during the long hours of the nights, after teaching all day, writing endlessly,*  my pencil blunt but tenacious, I could only hope and pray, that a white knight such as yourself, a venerable  Master of our own English language, would take pity on me and toss me a bone.” 
(Another pregnant pause, one which had us believing that Baby was going to make a surprise appearance, right there)
“And you did.  (a chicken wing, if I remember correctly).”
(Crowd erupts to its feet, clamoring for more.  There is no way for additional thoughts to be conveyed; the very ceiling reverberates with the thrumming of the thunderous applause.   The lone figure remains motionless.  After the same length of time, that it takes Hughe’s Knot, to download ANYTHING, the figure looks up to the heavens for a second, before continuing.)
“Now, I am the Master of the Universe.  My fame exceeds that of Dickens, Steinbeck, or even Oprah.  The list of contributors to my fame is far too long for me to list them all, so I won’t.  Yes, I know you contributed to my success, but I am just feeling petty enough today, to ignore those contributions.  After all, I am the top dog, the whole enchilada.  I don’t need to acknowledge my contributors.  In fact, this is a good time for me to tell you that I don’t need you at all.  You may continue to assist me if you’d like, and I will even put your name right on your work, but I refuse to acknowledge that you are, indeed, a contributor to my success.”  
(Crowd sits, temporarily stunned.  What’s up with that?  Why is he acting like a whiny little such and such?) 
You ask me what future plans I have, and I appreciate that.  Even as we speak, I am making plans for a shrine to be erected, alongside my Giants Shrine, in which I will place a platinum replica of your very own publication:  The Mendocino County  ********.” 
(Elephants stampede across the stage, or at least that what it sounds like.   The lone figure slowly repairs to the side of the stage and disappears from view, a calm sense of righteous satisfaction, settling deep within his breast.) 
* Actually, I only started writing again last March.  Every single word that appears on my blog, was written since then.  And I did not do a whole lot of writing last summer, when I was helping Casey build Matt and Erin’s home.

3 comments:

  1. Man! I want to see these shrines!
    and, seriously, do you really think you could be even MORE famous than OPRAH! You are certainly delusional :)

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  2. Though I have become drunk with power, I will never forget the little people, who helped me to the top.

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  3. Happy to be a little person. ;)

    ReplyDelete