Growing up me
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I long for the sound of an old wooden screen door slamming oak frame, wire mesh heavy, with a new spring so the initial slam triggers recoil – residual wood WHAP! Thump! clunk. Nothing to stop an old wooden screen door save gravity those doors were rapt percussion a backbeat to youthful adventure The one… Read more
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We never had one of those TV sitcom father-imparts-his-sage wisdom, serious sit-downs that I can recall I have no fatherly counsel fortune-cookie-inclusion viral-meme-worthy wisdom to share rarely proclaiming, “As my daddy used to say…” Sans great punchline parts of my father I carry with me, mirth more tangible than profundity less open to interpretation than… Read more
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Plaid flannel shirtsof my Northwoods youthsmelled ofbeer and pine conesboat motor gasoline andfresh-caught sunfishwood smokeand filtered Winstons When I was a kid theintertwined, pungentaromas of cervelat salamiplumbers’ grease, house paintmingled freely, lockedin square-patterned fibersalways-rolled-up sleeves no amount ofFels Naptha-soapcould smother thosegodly auras When I was a kidplaid flannel shirts smelledwonderfully worn by heroes –old men… Read more
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News item: On this day in 1977, the Apple II computer went on sale, and the era of personal computing began. Developed by Steve Jobs and Steve Wozniak, it was the first successful mass-produced microcomputer designed for home use. In 1977 on June the fifth I was four days away from graduating high school four days from embarking… Read more
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I It was here that I found myself – as much as one teenager can It was here that I tallied a notable string of personal firsts, nails hammered logs split fish caught girl loved cars driven stick shift, mastered full beer drunk jukebox played girl kissed Held her hand, first Pristine milieu for my… Read more
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‘If by chance some day you’re not feeling well and you should remember some silly thing I’ve said or done and it brings back a smile to your face or a chuckle to your heart, then my purpose as your clown has been fulfilled.’ – Red Skelton I never wanted to be known as class… Read more
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Feet on the bottom of a swimming pool at times still fill me with strange sensation retaining an unknown, odd fear – wet concrete hard, dispassionate I was eight the first time I hit chlorinated water our family trumpeting middle-class arrival vacation traveling staying at a motel With a pool. Unimpressed, disappointed I was in… Read more
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On family trips when I was eight, nine plastic, primary-color cowboys, Indians, soldiers, animals fought and romped in a synthetic, nappy, dark-blue rear-window battlefield meadow Other times, it was a fuzzy ledge on which to lean, and watch the road fading, while my mother half-jokingly admonished me to turn around, see where I was going,… Read more
Ponderable polemics, poetic 