Transparent Christian Magazine

I was in a mood. It was late, very late, and I was walking through a quiet neighborhood in Green Hills. Not walking, cantering. Do people canter? I was going somewhere quickly and I was in a mood.

A car drove past. I must have looked like a jogger. White Tshirt, off-brand grey shorts, red headband I found on the ground one day and washed and now wore all the time. Maybe someone who came home from the night shift and wanted a little exercise while the air was cool. Bright, visible, harmless.

Not quite like a jogger though. In my right hand I held a staple gun purchased a few days before. It was silver, heavy for its size. In my left was a stack of 3 x 5 cards. With little sayings scrawled on them in my bad handwriting. Sayings, maxims I had written down. Maybe a dozen, not many. Just some things I came up with a few minutes before over a late bourbon.

I was about to celebrate a birthday. Celebrate was not the word. I was in a mood. People with enormous egos do not age gracefully. That was one of the quotes, actually. The one on the top card.

I rounded the first corner by my house and ran up to a tree in the front yard of a two-story brick number with perfectly square windows and no eves on the roof. Two trees out front. Sycamores? I wish I knew something about plant life. I chose the closer one. The loud pop from the staplegun made me flinch, but it was so satisfying to see the card there at eye level, a bright golden rectangle in the streetlight. I imagined what it would look like in the morning when it was discovered by the owner of the house. What would they think? Students from the university nearby. Except, Lipscomb was a good Methodist school and nice kids don’t staple trees.

A gift, a birthday gift from me to them, a piece of harmless weirdness bestowed by the court jester of green hills to give them something to tell their co-workers about. To twitter about. Yes, that was me, the twitter giver.

Nothing unpredictable ever happens anymore

was the next card. I do like a bit of irony.

I ran across the street to a dark yard with a white birch that slanted off at a funny angle. Suddenly I knew I would tag one tree in each lawn for six houses in a row, three on each side. It would be mass vandalism, a full-scale commercial campaign. It would be a communal experience for them. They would discuss it on the 4th of july, or whenever it is that neighbors get together.

There was the popping sound and the card fixed there like a police notification. “Nothing unpredictable ever happens anymore.” Man, that is funny.

It only took about four minutes to do the five other yards. One bible verse, a few sayings by Nietzsche, some random stuff I made up, like “bring back the divine right of kings” and “entropy is the real enemy.” Nothing important, and yet, friendly in a way. I hoped the charm would not go wasted.

A dog started barking in one of the backyards so I increased my pace. No need to get arrested. There was never a need. Ah but sometimes it just happened. But then that was just another story and isn’t that the point?

Anyway it was sad. I had just left my house and already I was out of cards. One left. I knew which house this one was for.

There is a mansion about a mile from mine that must be the actual, physical counterpart to the cartoon mansion owned by Mr Burns on the Simpsons. The columns, the endless sweeping yard, the gentle slope of the ground down and away from the magesterial front porch. The tall iron fence, ancient and impressive. How much did that fence cost? A fortune by the looks of it. Burnished glossy black iron that stood like an endless row of spears. Like a cartoon fence.

I walked, cantered, ran a little bit. Just off Granny White Pike, slight left and I was there, standing before the spears, gazing uphill at the broad white columns turned yellow by the tasteful outdoor lighting. The trees, a dozen of them, scattered randomly throughout the immaculate front yard. Were there dogs? I doubted it. Which is why I didn’t really hesitate to thrust my right foot inbetween two bars and lever myself in one smooth motion up and over the spears. I am from Idaho. I am athletic.

I landed with a quiet thump and reached back through the fence to grab my staple gun and index card. I looked up and took stock of my surroundings. Which tree?

The one closest to the house, of course.

As luck would have it there was a small japanese maple (I knew because of the purple leaves) about ten feet away from and just left of the front door. Perfect. I wanted who ever lived here to see the card and not their groundskeeper. I wanted then to see it in the morning. The next morning.

I picked the side that faced the door and sent one staple into the little trunk with a loud pop.

Isn’t this better than television?

Of course of course of course a light would go on upstairs. Sh** I said, turned, ran. Imagining Mr Burns upstairs shouting “Release the Hounds!” But there were no hounds, just me easily clearing the fence and disappearing onto dark and friendly Tower Road. I was laughing. I could not stop smiling. I am the youngest old man I know.  Happy Birthday Korby.

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