Author Archives: dave1y

About dave1y

Dave Oney was born mid last century in Middlebury, Vermont. He received his BS in Chemistry and worked as a polymer chemist in Massachusetts and New Jersey. He became a microscopist (someone who studies little bitty things using a microscope) and photomicrographer (someone who photographs little bitty things) before settling into a 35-year career in technical sales of scientific imaging equipment (the science of digitally recording itty bitty things, sending the image to a computer for analysis.) He designed and created a number of products contributing to this field. He is (was) proficient in several computer languages and is currently working on mastering English. After making a few more paradigm shift career changes Dave and his wife, Fran, retired and moved closer to their children and granddaughters and now live in the foothills of the Sierra Nevadas.

The Cell Phone

Preface: I saw a young (to me anyway) woman sitting at one of those cell phone charging counters in the airport this morning. Dressed pretty much as described here, she was alone, but apparently waiting for someone. She was charging … Continue reading

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The Factory Whistle

“Pfeeeeet…pfeeeeet.” The Factory whistle blows. “Two,” he thought. “Time to get a move on.” He tossed off the covers, petted the dog’s head, made sure Sally was still covered by the blanket, padded barefoot to the bathroom and closed the … Continue reading

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The Corn Field

The corn was tall, even for this late in the season. It must be eight or nine feet, well above my head. It was that light, dead, dried brown and would normally have been harvested a month ago, but for … Continue reading

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The Highway

I cut the lights a block before I arrived at her house. I hate this part. It was almost 2 AM and like my father always said, “Nothing good ever happens between midnight and four in the morning.” I quietly … Continue reading

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Havana Rose

“It’s 100 degrees out Rose. Do you really want to go for a walk?” “It’s NOT a choice, Dad. I gotta go outside,” Rosie said with a strong sense of urgency. “Anyway, it’s a dry heat. Not like back home.” … Continue reading

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The Pleasure Machine

She is a small, dark complexioned woman, not five feet tall, but of course, she is sitting now, one hand resting next to the button on the pleasure panel in front of her and the other holding both a now … Continue reading

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Rosie You Turkey

We left for our morning walk at 5:45 AM as usual, and, as usual, walked up the driveway  before turning left up Scenic Drive toward Newsome Heights. The hedges lost their beautiful spring red flowers, or leaves, I could never be … Continue reading

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Rosie’s Secret Garden

“Garden, Rose. Garden!” She looked up from her designated spot on the sofa, cuddled up against Mom, then put her head back down on her front paws, oops I meant feet, not paws. She had corrected me about that often … Continue reading

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Rosie, We Are Home!

Fran texted Jen when we were in Loomis to let her know we were five minutes away. We turned right, just past the Snoopy mailbox and drove up the dirt driveway continuing the big right turn, up and around the … Continue reading

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Nosy Rosie

Following our normal morning pee and poop routine I walked Rosie around 5:45 am last Tuesday. As usual, she was a good girl, marking all her normal lawns and pooping on her favorite. Rosie likes to strafe poop, spreading the … Continue reading

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