The Chess Master

Talking about numbers and money and chess and genius babies....

I tell you, kids say the darnedest things. My great nephew Nicholas is no exception. Provided me with food for thought if you really want to know the truth! —

Look Ma, No Hands!

Checkered Past

 

For some odd reason, I think this guy has a checkered past!  Well, well, well I bet he's thinking about a game of chess and he's considering a face-off. Who knows, who really knows.

I Ain't Gonna Buy Your Umbrella!

While  living in Las Vegas I was walking to the corner store when I was intercepted by a ragged looking man who smelled like he had slept in the dumpster for a long spell. I'm not quite sure if I had seen this man before, probably did. I just didn't recognize him now with the long scruffy beard and tattered and splattered coat. And, I couldn't, for the life of me, understand how and why in God's name was he wearing a coat. After all, the thermometer was as hot as Mercury, perhaps hotter. A good ninety seven degrees, my friends.

Whew! How this poor soul in front of me could've mistaken this Vegas heat for an arctic blast is beside my meager comprehension. And here he is, with an umbrella. You know as well as I that it doesn't rain much in the desert. Too bad, this poor specimen of a man doesn't realize it. But suddenly, it occurred to me. He could use it to block the sun from his face. Before all his skin peels off or something. Yes, that is my thought. But I guess he doesn't like my thoughts. In a raspy and hoarse, three-pack a day voice, he says, "Hey, you want to buy an umbrella?"

Not to spoil his party but I had to answer. "No, I'm saving my money for a rainy day." And he looks at me like I'm crazy or something. In which, I probably am. Something, I mean. I suggested he keep his umbrella.

"It can provide you shelter against the blazing rays of the sun, my good man," I said.

He looks at me like I'm crazy again. Which I'm not although there have been a few in this lovely world of mine who may have thought otherwise. Nah, I'm not crazy, just a bit quirky at times I suppose. Ah, so much for idiosyncrasies. We all have 'em you know. The poor man without a place he could truly call home shoves his umbrella up to my face and pleads with me to buy it.

Again, "I'm saving my money for a rainy day," I say. Now he's mad, livid. I can't help the way he feels by my reasoning but I am not going to buy his umbrella, no matter how cheap it is and no matter if, all of a sudden, the meatier ologist (the carnivorous scientist with a huge appetite) predicts rain for the next seven days. I would welcome the rain with uncovered head anyway. Living in the desert, one could easily adapt to a good rainfall. And seven days of it, a blessing. Fill the reservoir, give the little creatures a pool to play in. Oh, and send some more water to the casinos and mega-resorts. It was at one of those places where this unfortunate homeless man lost his first shirt. And then his second. And then his car. His house. His wife. A part of his sanity. And now, look at him, hopelessly trying to sell me, of all people, an umbrella.

"Keep your umbrella, my good man and follow me to the corner store. I'll buy you a sandwich and a big bottle of water. Since it hadn't rained in eons can't really get it from anywhere else." And so, after filling his belly, the man took off his heavy coat and walked away, the umbrella opened and covering his face from the blazing sun.

Ricky J. Fico