If your mirror is falling off and you don’t have a great deal of disposal income? Try duct-tape, the Silver and Gray (Alabama Chrome Plating) works just fine on a hanging mirror.
California and the Bay Area. I am sitting here in the quiet tranquil morning time, drifting off, and thinking back to the “Good Ole Days” one of the luxuries of life I can still afford. Stirring up the dust, blowing the cobwebs out of my brain … Turn right and head on down Harder Road or up to Mission Blvd, maybe to the Plunge, how does that sound? Maybe walk the long trail to the back of the park, check out the hollow dark cavities of my mind …
Sitting out front of Dad’s house, on his redwood fence, smoking a Marlboro, the cool breeze coming in off the bay, carrying the smell of tomato’s from the Hunt Cannery on B Street.
Saturday’s (and sometimes in the middle of the week, don’t tell Mrs. Ormsby) on the beach in Santa Cruz, the surf pounding, a gull swoops down to steal a potato chip off the blanket. An ice cold bottle of wine at the end of the string, buried in the sand.
A teenage girls’ husky laugh in the dark in the balcony of the Hayward downtown. Two slow dances with Marylnn Matteson-Stith at the La Vista Cafeteria on Friday night. Squatted, Indian fashion, on a boulder in the Sierra Nevada’s just outside Lake Tahoe. A sky full of white wispy clouds and dragon flies.
A stolen kiss at the Grove after a Lancer’s Football game.
The smell of fresh cut Alfalfa wafting into the cab of the pickup in the valley outside of Manteca. 12 years old, sitting on top of the Hayward Hills, looking west to San Francisco, and seeing the city clearly, along with the Bay Bridge. Remembering back then, how it used to be, not like it is now, with the myriads of people and the pollution.
Sitting in the shade of a lofty majestic pine beside a deep hole in the Truckee River. Hooking a big fish on a trip to Clear Lake. Sleeping on a blanket on the grass in Golden Gate Park. Working as a pool hand at the old swimming pool at Tennyson one summer.
Back in the day, back in the day.
Need to wrap this up, I am getting carried away.
Time to go, I have rambled on for long enough. Having sufficiently increased my word-count, I shall now retire, only to fight again, on another day. Back to the real world … I have rats to kill … checks to pay …
Life, what happens when you are not looking.
- Learning how to be humble
- Like it or not you are related
- We will all get the same size hole in the ground in the end.
- Super Market Tabloids/Bus Boards
- Louis L’amour novels
- There is someone downstairs/It is a woman thing
- How incredibly hard it is to be nice.
- If idiots could fly this place would be an airport.
- Mousetraps and grandsons
- Dee-mi Moore/See-mi Trucks
- Laughing in bed/where is his leash?
- Tom Cruise/Charlie Sheen
- Inspirational showers/Rural water systems/great water pressure
Tommy B. Lemmer was a guy I worked with on the Santa Fe Railroad. Knowing full well that there are some six billion people on this planet, I will shamelessly declare that, “Tommy was unique. He was one of a kind. He was my friend.” I have not spoken with him in years, don’t even know how to get ahold of him, but he can still make me smile. Continue reading
The old preacher pulls up a chair on the pulpit and then invites all the youngsters in the congregation “that are in Big Church” to come up and sit with him. The little dinkers settle down at his feet, in a small circle around the preacher, and he says to them:
“Does any one know what The Resurrection is?” Continue reading
“You Suck. You are the worst writer I ever read!”
To be honest about all this. I get a little uncomfortable with the label “writer.” A writer knows all about verbs, nouns, sentence structure, paragraphs, all that other organization/compilation of the English language stuff.
A writer knows (or is supposed to know) how to do this in the correct fashion. As for myself? I would be considered what some call a hack. I just hammer it out, and that is about it. I am a “writers” absolute worst nightmare. Bottom line (as if anyone really cared) I am a story teller … Never have really considered myself a writer.
So I guess that should be:
“You are the worst STORY TELLER I have ever read.”
That might be closer to the truth.
Life despite it all,
is still being good to me,
I can still maintain a healthy outlook on things in general.
I have suddenly discovered I suck
Exactly why no one knows.
And I am somewhat miserable
Just flat outta luck I suppose.
I cannot complain,
I am doing alright.
My lawnmower still starts on the first crank
Bills are paid
Have money in the bank
Today my favorite numb-chuck sent me a link
Rest is available to me when I need it.
My health is improving.
Still have my cake,
but because of Diabetes,
I can no longer eat it.
That is how it often goes.
First your money and then your clothes.
“You Suck. You are the worst writer I ever read!”
Another fan has been located; stick a bright red pin in the map. This bozo probably wouldn’t recognize good writing if someone handed it to him on a business card.
Top Posts (the past week)
The moderator at BNO asked me very politely to not trash up their site, and after considering his request, I figured it made sense. This my site and if I want to “trash it up” replying to someone who is seemingly not all there, I feel that, if I want to do it is okay. Continue reading