Running Down The Trash

I am in here today searching for a story and I have evidently lost it. Well, those who know me personally will tell you “I lost it a long time ago” but we are talking about the story. It was a nice slice of life, I gave it birth, I gave it a name, and I evidently killed it because it is nowhere to be found. I hate it when that happens.

Stories are like your babies, you nurture them, shape them and polish them, then you trot them out in public and hopefully everything goes well. It bothers you when you lose one like that. I often feel as if a small piece of me is lost, that it has been stolen from me. Today, because I didn’t do a save, it is lost, it is gone.

“Has anyone ever stolen something from you?.”

Pretty heavy stuff I have to admit. Real head scratcher that one. Now if that doesn’t give your “writers block” (and a headache) nothing will. In case you are wondering, yes, it was my Vinyl record collection of “Lawrence Welk Does Woodstock” it was priceless to me. Over the years I have lost some big ticket items. Occasionally, something is pilfered or stolen from me, which I do not care for.

Back in ’87 or ’88, I remember going to the State Fair, and someone absconded with my automobile, now that, was somewhat traumatic. We walked up to this empty space in the middle of this huge parking lot, and the wife sez …. “Where’s the car?” and I point to the empty hole (that at one time had contained my automobile that I just owed four more payments on) and I said ….. “Right there.” Then she says ….. “There isn’t anything there Don.” That was one of those …. My barn having burned down I can clearly now see the moon kind of life moments …. I guess you had to be there to understand.

So many questions in today’s world, and not enough time. Yeah, there is something that has been stolen from all of us, time.

Hopefully, this will be a letter perfect day for me. March makes it especially hard, a windy month on the plains. The wind has picked up the trash container, effectively emptying about 50% of the contents of same into the street, and is now blowing it towards Bob’s house. I like it here … I like it here … You dog-gone rights, I like it here! (This will teach you to install a window in your office!)

Ironic isn’t it.

Things seldom work out the way you have them planned. I had always thought upon my retirement that I would buy a motorhome and go to California, live on a river in the gold bearing areas of the state, and during the daylight and summer hours, dredge the bottom of some river or creek bed for gold.

The San Joaquin, Tuolumne Rivers would work, in the foothills of the Sierra’s. In the cool of the afternoon, we might find me sitting around thinking about profitable gold dredging techniques and untold riches stored in a Once A Day Vitamin jar.

No cell phone, pager, Email, just me an the miss’es, that old dog, a big fuel sucking Motorhome with “Driving Miss Lazy” lettered on the back and lots of chrome. Every testosterone loving sons’ American Dream.

It just naturally appealed to me, the adventure factor being there, the life and the time available to do what it is that you wanted to do. Thoughts of the Golden State of California, exciting, interesting things to do, and where to do it. Unfortunately, things did not work out, and it is just a careless fantasy now, but it was at one time, a dream.

In reality I got what I least expected ….. Running down bits and pieces of the trash of man, which have come out of my very own Big Blue container in Okie City, Oklahoma, in a brisk March wind.

Funny how things seem to never work out huh?

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