Filthy Ears

It’s been four weeks since I pulled into my driveway, and I’ve only now been able to clear the road grime out of my ears after a month-plus ride along the Mississippi River and across the deep South.

Dirt-filled ears are a certain side effect of a long motorcycle road trip. This is not true for every moto-tourist, as most riders opt for a full-face helmet that covers their ears. But for those of us who wear what they call “suicide buckets,” half shell helmets that prop on the top of our heads like an undersized beanie and offer little if any protection—our ears function as scoops that catch and store any dust and dirt they can grab.

As I have been swabbing my ears repeatedly with a box load of Q-Tips I have been reminded of one of my favorite childhood stories—the one in a Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle book where some kids stop washing in some sort of protest and their ears get so filled with dirt that the ever-wise Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle teaches then a lesson by planting vegetables in their ears. I could empathize with the little rascals while totally ignoring another childhood lesson—the one where we were told to never put anything in our ear that is smaller than our fist. I blew that one off from pretty much when I first heard it and have shoved all kinds of sharp objects into my itchy ear canals over the years. As detailed in my first book, Life with Death, one Halloween a small cockroach crawled into my ear and wedged itself against my hammer and sickle—on that occasion I considered sticking the barrel of a revolver in my ear.

Speaking of Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle, she features in my new book that I have almost finished. The title of the book is, Burning Leaves and other Morbid Thoughts, and it is a collection of short stories that range from a heartfelt love story to a horror/macabre journey that doesn’t end well—and quite possible everything in between—including a heartfelt but ultimately macabre love story.

If I can keep from fucking around some more on my motorcycle and sequester myself for three weeks, I think I can finish it and get it out of my head for good.

Anyway, here’s a draft of a short story from Burning Leaves and other Morbid Thoughts, titled, “Some Great Stuff.”

… A few years later I read all the books that comprise the Mrs. Piggle Wiggle series, by Betty MacDonald. I really enjoyed all of them but the one that stood out for me was the story where some neighborhood kids balked at taking a bath. If I remember right, which is tricky for me because if I remember anything at all about another person’s writing, it’s usually slightly off kilter, but if for once my memory is more or less on track the only slightly malicious Mrs. Piggle Wiggle taught the rebellious children the value of cleanliness by planting, and growing radishes in the soil that had accumulated in each child’s ears. At first the kids all thought it was cool, and I would have too, but eventually they soured on the whole thing and changed their filth loving ways. I admit now that back then I found the whole story disturbing and yet fascinating, because at that age I wasn’t fond of bath time either, but wondered what it would be like to have a pumpkin growing out of my head. I just lied though. After giving it some thought, there was one Mrs. Piggle Wiggle story that I had an issue with. It involves a few of the children becoming sassy, so Mrs. Piggle Wiggle introduces a talking parrot who gives the supposedly rude kids a taste of their own medicine and they learn the error of their ways. As I concluded the tale my overriding thought was, if I were one of those children, Kinky the Cat would have been joining Polly the Parrot in her cage for an overnight sleepover...