Alexander J. Cameron
Bio
Stories (33/0)
She sleeps very little
When she is not sleeping, she is hiking, a perpetual motion machine. Her baby is approaching two years old but is still not weaned so hikes include the toddler, in tow. Likewise, she has a teenage son who joins these walks as do a couple of neighborhood female friends with their kids. An orphaned foster child that she took under her wing also joins the cadre on these strolls. There is safety in numbers. Hiking is a dangerous business in the 21st century. She is the wisest and most stoic thus despite no official nomination or election, she is the recognized leader of the peripatetic band, usually setting a brisk, but measured pace, permitting the younger of the troupe to keep up.
By Alexander J. Cameron3 years ago in Earth
Sir Humphry Loves Anna
July 27, 1826 My dearest aunt, I wrote you at length, in my entry of July 10, news of Sir Humphry Davy. His visit to our estate was, as reported, most delightful. He has not been well having suffered a mild incident of apoplexy. He wished he might have visited you in Blackcastle but was concerned the journey would prove too taxing. I am sure he enjoyed the short summer rides throughout County Longford. Like yours, our countryside is so very verdant this time of year. This letter is a separate epistle for reasons that will become apparent. I would ask that you destroy it for the benefit of Anna’s memory and more importantly, for Charles Henry.
By Alexander J. Cameron3 years ago in Fiction
National Unrequited Love Day
August 6th, National Unrequited Love Day must be a thing because it showed up on my Outlook calendar today. After all, Microsoft is the authority on everything. Truth be told, it is not a real holiday which seems plain wrong. We have National Pancake Day, Ice Cream Day, Mustard Day, and yesterday was National Work Like a Dog Day, which while true enough for many of us, is inspired by the hard work of service dogs. First, do dogs care that they have instigated a national day? Second, I am baffled by the paradox. Are they lazing about living their "Dog's Life" or not? Yesterday was also National Underwear Day. Granted most of us either wear underwear or have once worn underwear, but arguably, most everyone has been on one side or the other of unrequited love. I postulate if we can have a National Wiggle Your Toes Day on August 6th, we cannot be so dismissive of a day of such emotional import as National Unrequited Love Day. So, I typed it into Google search, the other authority on all things, expecting to find that I was mistaken. That while August 6th is my Unrequited Love Day, there must be a national one awaiting my calendar correction. My search query decided that I was asking about National Rhode Island Day (October 5th for all you Roger Williams fans looking for religious freedom in an intolerant world). As the Rolling Stones so eloquently pointed out, “you don’t always get what you want, but you get what you need”. I wonder. So, I pondered why a day emblazoned on my calendar and in my conscious should get such short shrift. As an economist, I suspect it might be for lack of demand. The recipient of unwanted affection, let’s call her the victim, would place the holiday right up there beside National Car Crash Day or National Home Burglarized Day. She is sauntering along, relatively content, when someone happens by and falls in love with her. She neither needed it nor wanted it. There is not much she can do but discourage and persevere. Hardly an occasion to commemorate each year, besides what do you send your perpetrator on such a holiday? Perp seems so severe. As a perp, I propose the alternative term, besotted. Why besotted is preferable is that it captures the truth that the perp is often an unwilling participant as well. For me, I was reconciled in my personal life, not searching for love, and she walked into my office, all perfect, and proceeded to unknowingly seduce me for the next few months. It is instructive to reflect that besotted also means stupefied. So, yes, besotted seems just about right. In life, we all have wins and losses. For the besotted, rejected romantic advancements are most certainly a loss. It would be very un-American to have a day set aside to celebrate losses. We are a country of winners.
By Alexander J. Cameron3 years ago in Humans
Karya
There are three kinds of men. Those who love me, my sons and husband, for example; those who carnally desire me, too many both nameless and faceless; and those who fear me. When I say fear, I don’t mean “for their lives”. The men who fear me, fear my strength, my resilience, my intelligence, my tenacity, my energy, and being on the wrong end of my biting wit. I give no ground to fools. What does not exist are men who are indifferent to my charms and wiles.
By Alexander J. Cameron3 years ago in Fiction
Jocko
Northern Montana offers an unforgiving climate. His ranch, sitting on the Canadian border, abutting Glacier National Park, in the shadow of Chief Mountain had been used to raise Angus cattle, but each year winter death loss had taken its toll. A decade ago, he turned to raising bison. He has never regretted the decision. The long nights in the calving barn replaced by playing card games with his kids or coaching them in youth hockey. He misses the science of employing state-of-the art animal husbandry versus the happenstance of natural breeding. However, he has come down squarely on accepting what nature offers, which has been extraordinary breeding and weaning rates each year. When dealing with a new employee, unexperienced with bison, that worker might ask about artificial insemination or calving barn procedures. The rancher quips, “Piss me off and I will put you in charge of bison AI.” Or, “Don’t get on my wrong side. The last guy who did was sent out to the pasture to help a bison cow deliver her calf. God rest his soul.”
By Alexander J. Cameron3 years ago in Fiction
Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary,
“Platonic flowers for platonic occasions.” It has become one of his mantras as he transitions from victim of unrequited love to being just her good friend. He does not want to lose the best parts of her for wanting all of her. As for flowers, he has never, nor would he ever, buy her roses. That is too cliché for someone as unique, amazing, and enigmatic as her. When she started her new consulting practice, he bought an orchid plant the size of a small tree. “She looks like a woman who would love orchids.” It was a lucky guess. A year later, remembering her excitement from the first, combined with a lack of originality, he bought another orchid for Mother’s Day. Three years passed before he bought her an arrangement of assorted flowers for “Best Friend’s Day”, a little-known holiday set aside on June 8th. For someone desperately in love with someone else, who rebuffs with “I think of you as a friend”, Best Friend Day seems a reasonable alternative to National Unrequited Love Day.
By Alexander J. Cameron3 years ago in Fiction
The Bridegroom's Mama
Sitting in the back of the squad car, watching the last of the ambulances trail away, Louisa reflected “murder is not an amateur’s game”. She remembers that line from one or another BBC crime series she watches on Netflix. “Motive and opportunity”, she repeats under her breath. It is clear to the police officers she has plenty of the latter, though there seem few reasons to consider this a crime or her a suspect - most likely an accident.
By Alexander J. Cameron3 years ago in Fiction