Complaint of the Pondering Pig

Such an uncomfortable life we’ve led the last few days. Would you mind dreadfully if I sit down and complain for a moment? It won’t take long and I’ll feel ever so much better. After our long journey across the continent we’ve landed for a few days at Grandma’s mobile home on the California coast. Interrupting her neat and tidy schedule and not knowing where to flop. Trying to remember to squeegee out the shower and wipe it down with a cloth provided for the purpose.

Well, our horse Gabbin is enjoying the rest anyway. He winked at me as he dug into his oats. He said he talked to a red fox coming through the iceplant below the neighbor’s retaining wall at dawn this morning. Fox said he’s doing fine in between the mobile homes. Lots of cats to eat.

The German home cooking here is tops. Grandma makes cabbage rolls just like they did in her home town in Lower Saxony when she was a little girl. With white sauce, not tomato sauce. Mashed potatoes and gravy and a special kind of cole slaw she learned how to make when she was waiting table at a fish n chips place in East LA in the Thirties. It’s fabulous even if you don’t like cole slaw.

No internet connection of course. We’re talking an 87 year old lady who won’t even push the ‘on’ button on my computer because she might break it. So here is the closest place with free wi-fi, temporarily the office of the Pondering Pig:


Office of the Pondering Pig

Why do people want to come to the California Coast so bad? I can’t figure it out. Here’s what it looks like around here…


Hey, palm trees in the parking lots. Not bad.

Plenty of shopping for everyone…

Did I mention the parking? Unbeatable. And every lot has palm trees. I think it’s a law.

Well, people are strange. They have strange desires. I’m glad I’m a pig – – yet pigs have strange desires too – here‘s mine: I want to live in a nice little nineteen twenties bungalow out on the edge of town. Still has the original wood paneling and plenty of room for books. Big garden with tomatoes and chilies and cantaloupes getting ripe and a fast cable connection and a little office where I can write The History of the Talking Pigs in peace and every once in a while gaze out my window and there is Patrushka, the princess who married a pig, in her floppy sunhat doing the garden, digging the weeds, who could ask for more? Out behind I can see our horse Gabbin standing by the fence gabbing with the other horses about all his adventures since he came to live with us.

Who could ask for more? Well, actually…since you asked, I still want to go to Europe every year and hitchhike down wet northern highways to an overgrown, haunted spa where dukes and duchesses took the waters in 1827. And I still want to find the ruins of Great-Great-Great-Grandma Pig’s farm on the misty flatlands of Ostfrisia where my ancestors Hisko and Gerhardt Pig built the dragon that frightened off the Duke’s soldiers.

Wait, I’m not done complaining yet…I don’t want to live in a 1970’s subdivision ranchburger with corroding aluminum windows, the garage made over into a huge room nobody knows what to do with, there’s nobody home but me on the block but the driveways all have gigantic pick-up trucks parked in them and there’s a big German Shepherd behind the chain-link fence next door who won’t stop barking. Could I not live there, please?

Right now at least one of my readers is saying, “Hey, what’s with this pig? I live in a 1970’s subdivision and there’s a big pickup truck in MY driveway and I have a big German Shepherd and he’s really nice. So what’s wrong with that, you stupid pig?”

If so, I refer you to the Comments section below. We have learned to give free expression to all and welcome your comments, no matter how rude and unfortunate. It’s just not for me, not for Patrushka. We’re not Seventies people. In our little hovel we neither wear bump-toed shoes nor play disco music. Except for “Shake, Shake, Shake Your Bootie” of course. We read William Wordsworth and walk on the cliffs at midnight reciting “The Lay of the Last Minstrel”. We tune in our crystal sets to see if we can pick up Ashtabula. We have tea by the fire with just a tot of brandy in it. I spend a lot of time blathering on like this while Patrushka calls the doctor.

Hey, thanks for listening. I think I really do feel better!

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4 thoughts on “Complaint of the Pondering Pig

  1. Hi Chris, I’ve been following along in the background. Not much for me to comment on, so I haven’t chimed-in in a while. Sounds to me like below the surface your heart is at peace with how things are going. Welcome back to California. Hope to be seeing both of you one of these coming days. Jen and her fold were here last week. Let love lead the way, bro’.

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  2. When I said I found nothing to comment on in your Blog, what I meant was that I found nothing original, or new, to comment on that had not already been adequately commented on by the others in this well-rounded cheering section, so called. I, too, think Patrushka’s photos are outstanding, and Bro Piggo, with a degree in English Literature, is living up to his potential. But I can throw in something here, if I may: I think Job’s sin, if you could call this a sin, was in his thinking along towards the conclusion of the story, that God had been treating him a bit unfairly. This does appear to be what is happening. The truth is, however, there is no unfairness or unrighteousness at all in God, ever, no matter what may seem to be the outer appearance. This is sometimes hard to realize. It was for poor Job, but he came around, and his situation came around too.And this, I believe, holds true in our own lives too. We can trust in the Lord’s infinite goodness with all of our might.

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  3. Seems like Job did slip into the comment section through the back door. These things happen! The Chronicler’s last comment taken from Viktor Frankl’s observations, “…you can strip a human’s possessions away from him, but man always retains the ability to choose mentally how he will react to a situation,” is a good reminder to me of the potential power over life’s circumstances our mind possesses. Thanks.

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  4. I thought we had a pretty good rant/discussion/dinner chat last night on the subject of “modern.” Good thing there were some handy dictionaries around. I think my poor mom was clueless though. She has a pretty quiet life when the pigs aren’t around raising their voices and banging their trotters on the table!

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