Born in the Panama Canal Zone 80 years ago, Mr. Zidbeck came to California in 1944 with his mother and three siblings. He enlisted in the US Army after graduating from high school. Honorably discharged in 1952, he attended college under the G.I. Bill. After graduating from UCLA in 1958, he worked as a probation officer in LA County. George's wife of 55 years died this past August. However, he plans to remain in San Luis Obispo County since retiring in 1985.
In addition to penning observations and reflections since living in San Luis Obispo County, George has authored six volumes of a family saga that addresses the negative influence of alcohol on a family from the perspective of the mother (two volumes); the father (three volumes); and the first born son. Anyone interested in contacting the author, may write George Zidbeck.
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Rochester, George's Good Buddy |
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A Big Bang
by George Zidbeck
Do not be misled by the title. I am not an astrophysicist about to lecture you on the derivations and consequences of E=MC2. I simply want to introduce you to a most disconcerting event arising from a homegrown calamity. No, not the mundane matter of a painful hemorrhoid or a stubbed toe eliciting cries of anguish. And certainly nothing related to earthquake temblors. My calamity—fully local and personal—primarily grew from my own lack of concentration.
There I sat before the computer, harming no one, idly playing solitaire. A nice day, filled with sunshine albeit a morning's chill lingered; yet I felt no need to get out and about in the great outdoors to undertake some invigorating chore. Suddenly a loud popping sound broke through my concentration. The body tenses; the loins prepare for flight. Do I call 911? Startled and confused? Yes, and more. But, in a moment, I sighed and muttered oh no.
For in deciding to stay indoors to play with le 'puter, and given that much of the morning had expired, I had thought—perhaps half an hour earlier—to fix a light lunch. To that end, I took a couple of eggs out of the carton in the fridge, put them in a small pot, covered the chicken ova with water, and turned the flame to medium. Hard-boiled eggs and avocado make for a most satisfying repast. Oh yes, I suggest a handful of whole-wheat crackers as an accompaniment.
However, in not setting a clock-alarm, my subsequent focus remained fixed on playing a series of Free Cell games on le 'puter. For those unfamiliar with that variety of solitaire, let me inform that each challenge can be won. The chances and probabilities totally depend on your choice(s) of what/where/when to play this/that card(s). In short, I lost track of time along with having no thought about my lunch on the stove.
What's that? Yes, I hear your moans and groans. Really, you thought maybe I took a rather trivial event and magnified same simply to get your attention to this tale? Certainly I took advantage of the circumstance to provide fodder for a story on what I viewed as a calamity.
Well, Dear Reader, know that I do not exaggerate for exaggeration's sake. Yes Sir, and yes Ma'am, I had two eggs explode almost simultaneously in the pot once the water cooked out. If you don't accept that as worthy of talking or writing about, please go to the kitchen, take two eggs . . .
After you've cleaned the confettied shards of shells and countless mini sections of hardened whites and yolks strewn hither and yon, floor to ceiling, please give me a call and let me know how you felt about the matter. Maybe we can even get together and commiserate over a lunch of hard-boiled eggs and an avocado with a side of crackers.
| PS: Dear reader, I'm in a Gypsy mode – undertaking a series of three post Panama trips (one finished; two to go as of submission date) whereby I expect to visit family and friends in the U.S.A. Fishing in my bowl of finished stories, I rescued this short piece as my offering for July. Hopefully, by August I'll be ready to settle anew into my functionally comfortable country cottage and pen a piece of more substance and durability. |
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