Thanks Walt, It was Fun!

 

He was born on a mountain top in Tennessee, he was raised in the woods so he knew every tree, he was king of the wild frontier and to a much younger version of myself he was a hero, before I had an idea of what a hero was. Walt Disney had a hand in creating this phase of hero worship I encountered. In the mid 1950’s, Walt made sure that every young boy in America knew about Davy Crockett.

I was not exempt from the craze that swept the country in 1955. Of course, my parents have to share some of the blame in this mania. Hey, I didn’t go out and buy Davy Crockett coloring books or that little yellow plastic record with that song that I played over and over again. I wasn’t a hard sell though, I was all in, lock, stock and Ol’ Betsy’s barrel.

You would have thought that a character that made such an impression on me would have been someone I would have learned much more about. No, it didn’t happen that way. Actually, I have to admit that it wasn’t too long after the craze that Davy was replaced by Zorro!

But, just like a lot of kids during that fling, I ate and slept everything to do with Davy Crockett. My parents had a friend who apparently knew of little Jimmy’s fondness for the frontiersman. He came to the house one day with a complete Davy Crockett outfit. I say complete and it was, it included the coon skin cap, faux buckskin clothes and, this was the cool part, a plastic replica of Davy’s famous rifle Ol’ Betsy. Family lore has it that young James wore that outfit that whole summer. Decades later my mother would recall how the sweat would cascade down my face, but that coon skin cap wouldn’t leave my head.

Recently though, I decided to give Davy a little more attention. I picked up a couple of books about the hero from the Alamo. It was fun to read up on a lot of the stuff Walt Disney left out. First of all, it was never Davy. Everywhere he wrote his name it was always David Crockett. And, it was said that people always referred to him as David. However, Uncle Walt knew that Davy would sound better to all us kids.

The books painted a picture of a quiet unassuming guy, closer to a Fess Parker than the John Wayne portrayal. Apparently his main attribute was that David Crockett could tell a good yarn. This trait got him into politics, first local and then the United States Congress. The stories he told while campaigning is what made him a legend in his own time. Others went on to embellish his stories. In fact, short stories and plays were written about him to the point he became quite a celebrity around the young country. And, he wasn’t much of a fighter. He was in the Indian wars with Andrew Jackson, but his duties were mostly filled with hunting down food to feed Jackson’s army. In fact, Crockett would much rather hunt than most anything else. Also, when he took off to Texas, he really had no intentions of going to fight. He was hoping to find a new homestead. He was looking for land and hoping he didn’t have to pay any government taxes for it.

He did fall in with the Texans believing they could replicate the revolution of 1776. He just found himself in a rough situation, defending an outpost that really didn’t matter in the outcome of the Texas revolution. The men of the Alamo did hold out but the odds were against them. They all died defending the mission. Crockett’s death may have been heroic as Walt Disney would have us believe. However, evidence does exist that states Davy Crockett may have been part of a handful of Texans who surrendered but were then executed. 

It was never about how he died, not to us little kids in the 1950's. No for us it was about his adventures. His keel boat races with Mike Fink, his tomahawk duel to save his buddy George, his exploits in the Creek War along with Andrew Jackson and, yes, his trip to the Alamo! These adventures as portrayed in the Disney stories is what made Davy a hero to thousands of young boys. The adolescent medium of television made David Crockett the first TV hero to many baby boomers. Many more would follow, I told you about Zorro didn't I. However, I must say, it was fun to go back and spend some time with "The King of the Wild Frontier".

Fractured Flickers

 There was a time, quite a while ago actually, when if a friend told you about a show they saw on television, you could find that show easily. There were only three channels that it could be on. Three networks actually, CBS, NBC and ABC. If a show started to become popular, well everybody saw it, everybody talked about it. The day after a show aired, you could talk about it with friends, at work it was discussed around the proverbial "water cooler", neighbors would start up conversations "Hey Al, did you watch Bonanza last night", "Sure, I never miss it".

These days, you could watch a telecast of the Emmys and a dozen or more programs can be mentioned among the nominees that you have never heard of. Now your neighbor asks about the latest episode of  The Expanse and you have no idea what that means. 

How did we get here? How did we lose that shared experience that television was said to offer. If you're old enough, you might remember when they first started talking about cable. Cable will be fantastic it was said. There will be a hundred, maybe two hundred channels to choose from it was promised. No antennas, no commercials! You could watch movies uncut with no advertisements in the comfort of home!

Cable came. And, at first we all saw a lot of the same thing. If you got hooked up, the big draw was HBO. So we all got to see a lot of movies that had just finished there first run at theaters. It was cool really. Now at work, you could tell a couple of co-workers you just saw The Godfather and one of them comes back with "Yeah, I saw that on Wednesday." Back to chatting about it around the cooler. 

Those other channels started coming. There were hundreds and then some. Some of them turned out to be stations from other markets. There you were in Boston watching TV stations from Chicago or Atlanta. Well it was kinda neat but then you realize these stations were playing the same stuff you could see on UHF channels you already had! The three networks you already had were still your go to.

But cable evolved. There started to be a network for old "Classic" movies, then how about 24/7 news. Soon churches would televise prayer gatherings and preaching. Independent stations found a niche showing reruns. Apparently there was a need for Gilligan's Island all day long or a weekend marathon of The Brady Bunch. And, of course, the news channels begat other news channels. Now many news sources with many news opinions.

Cable opened up a Pandora's box of different content. Your neighbor was watching Turner Classic Movies, your co-workers were watching CNN, your mother was watching The 700 Club. The news you watched seemed to be somewhat different then the news Joe from the club watched. The "water cooler" didn't seem like a familiar place anymore. We all got caught up with programs we liked and to extent grew apart from others who were caught up with theirs. Streaming has added another dimension, you can control your content, when you want it. Now you can be watching every season of Breaking Bad or binge on The Wire while your sister-in-law is having a Walking Dead  marathon.

Did cable play a part in fracturing our sense of community? Now that we all watch different things and we no longer all listen to Walter Cronkite have we lost a sense unity? Does viewing many opinions divide us? I guess the optimistic outlook would be that having many sources should be a good thing. Diversity can be healthy I suppose. Now as a friend tells us of a new show we have to listen more closely. We may not be paying the extra $10.99 for Hulu+.

Georgetown on my Mind

Father's Day and D-Day have now gone by the board and for obvious reasons thoughts of my father have been running through my brain. The solitude of a bike ride helped stoke a lot of those thoughts. As it turned out, that bike ride took me through a couple of local communities. I was riding on what was once a railroad track that stretched through parts of Essex County in Massachusetts. My ride took me into Danvers and Topsfield. However, the interesting part to me and to this story was to find out that this trail continues into Georgetown.

Georgetown, just the mention of the word brings back bundles of memories from my youth. As a kid, my family had a summer camp in Georgetown. My old man, remember I mentioned him earlier, built this camp. It was one of his big achievements. It was a simple A frame structure sitting on cinder blocks at the corner of an intersection in a community of other summer camps. Oh, but it was way more than just that.

We have an old shoe box full of pictures with a handfull of black and whites showing Dad with a couple of buddies building this camp. This was right around the time I showed up on this planet, some of my very first memories involve the sound hammers and saws as this place took shape. I can remember when the place was at least ready to move some furniture in. The first refrigerator had no electricity, we had to bring a big block of ice with us and stuck it in the ice box on top. We had an old couch, a couple of easy chairs, some beds and finally a stove powered by propane. But, believe me, this place was like heaven.

The camp was in walking distance to a little beach on Rock Pond. Right next to the beach was a little, and I mean small, country store. It was just the spot for some penny candy and a bottle of Moxie. In the lot next to our camp was The Clubhouse. See, all the camp owners in the area had formed an association. Dues for the association went towards the upkeep of the beach and the roads with this clubhouse being a meeting place. But, The Clubhouse was more than that, they had bean suppers on Friday nights, they had dances for the adults on Saturday night and they had games for the kids.

Taking the trip to downtown Georgetown was full of memories, as well. At that time, downtown Georgetown was like being in Mayberry, RFD. On Sundays, we would take the trip to go to church, Ah, but after church, we got to go to the drugstore. This was an old Rexall drugstore with a fountain. Dad would let us sit at the counter and order up a rasberry lime rickey while he picked up the Sunday paper. Oh, and by the way, their comic book selection was to die for. I got one dime on Sunday, my choice had to be a good one. I would usually walk away with the latest copy of "Sgt Fury and his Howling Commandos".

Those summers in Georgetown were perfect. Many times we shared weekend there with the Smith family. My father and "Smitty" were best buds. Smitty helped put the camp together. When the Smith family came with us, me and my partner in mischief, Dottie Smith, would spend hours on the beach, explore the surrounding woods, read comic books, pretend to be cowboys fighting indians or just lie in bed listening to the sounds of the big bands being played at the dance nextdoor at the Clubhouse. Yeah, summer time in Georgetown, you couldn't get any better than that.

D-Day plus 4

So, we have just had the 75th anniversary of the D-Day invasion. I always try to acknowledge the occasion, remembering the day in some little way not only because of the history of the event, but also as a little tip of the hat to may old man. My father served in the Army during World War II. However, he didn't go over to the beaches of Normandy on that fateful day. He was assigned to the 4th Armored Division which was attached to General Patton's 3rd Army. It was pretty much accepted at the time, and mostly by the Germans, that Patton would be the one to lead the invasion of Europe. Supreme Allied Commander Dwight D. Eisenhower was banking on that theory.

Eisenhower played into the German's thinking and he used Patton as a decoy. He had Patton set up his command in an area across the English Channel from where conventional wisdom dictated the invasion was suppose to happen. You might say Ike was trying to create fake news. The Germans had a lot of spies in England and were trying to get information as to when and where the much anticipated invasion was going to occur. So, the Allies were trying to feed information to these spies that would keep the real plans for D-Day secret. A big part of the fake info was creating a fake build up for the invasion. In a small way, Dad was part of this fake army.

I know there were many veterans of the war who felt it hard to talk about their experiences during that time. Yet, my father opened up quite a bit about what he lived through. Many Sunday afternoons as we waited for Mom to finish cooking that all important Sunday dinner, Dad would sit and tell us stories about his time overseas. Hell, by the time I was out of highschool I felt like I had lived through the war myself. I remember those days sitting and listening to my father's stories. I remember as each June 6th started to come around again and how he would relate what was happening leading up to that June in 1944. As far as he and the rest of the troops in his unit were concerned they would definately be involved in the "Big One".

All around the camp where he was based in England there was a major amount of activity. Hundreds of trucks, tanks and jeeps drove around the base throughout the day and night. New equipment was delivered daily, including inflatable tanks and aircraft. The rumor was that the blown-up vehicles were to make it appear that Patton's army was much bigger than reality. This was true in a sense, however the big reason was to convince any snooping Huns that this was the true build-up for D-Day. My father and the rest of his unit had no idea they would be left behind when that Allied armada set sail for the shores of France.

Dad and the rest of the 704th Tank Destroyer Battalion learned of the events of June 6th 1944 much like everyone back in the US of A, from the radio broadcasts. After the Longest Day unfolded, the 704th like other units still left in England went on high alert. Once they got over the surprise of not being part of the 1st wave, they prepared for what was to come. The 704th and the rest of the 4th Armored Division headed south to Southhampton England. They shipped out on July 11th and landed on Utah Beach the next day. They moved up to the frontlines almost immediately and joining other forces they started the Breakout. Even though the D-Day invasion was beyond huge it still wasn't a done deal that war was won. There was plenty of fighting left to do.

As a kid, I often wondered about the stories my father told us. Later in life I read a book by Ken Follet, "The Eye of the Needle" and watched several documentaries detailing the story of the "fake army" and they told of the inflatable tanks with other aspects of the build-up. Also, a member of the same company my old man was in kept a diary of the unit's movements through France and into Germany. The author's name was Norman Macomber and I remember my Dad mentioning him several times. One day in the early eighties, Dad received a package in the mail, it was a bound copy of Macomber's diary. He had had it printed and copied, then sent to the surviving members of "C" Company. I have read and reread that diary many times. I no longer have to wonder about my father's stories - they're all in there.

Getting in That Christmas Spirit

So, here it is. We're getting down to crunch time. The big jolly guy takes to the stage Sunday night. And, we're all suppose to have that Christmas spirit, right? I'm sorry, but sometimes it doesn't quite hit me. I suppose, the fact that I don't have to get into buying too many presents anymore takes me out of the game a little. I haven't rubbed elbows with the anxious crowds at Macy's for a few years.   So no, sometimes it takes a while for that holiday feeling to grab me.

The wife and I never had children, so we have not had to go through the toy purchasing frenzy that many parents find themselves in at Christmas time. We've had small hints of it back when the nephews were young. Having them over to help decorate the tree always brought that Christmas spirit to the front. Wrapping up presents for the other nieces and nephews when they were kids was always fun. They're all in their thirties now and probably buy they're own toys.

No, these days I have to dig a little deeper to bring out that Christmas spirit. I've tried the Christmas music and not right after the turkey dinner on Thanksgiving. I waited until the first week of December. Then, after a few days of Bing and Nat it just wasn't doing it for me. So, I had to turn to my old stand by - Christmas movies!

Now, I'm not one to sit and watch hours of the Hallmark Channel. Did they start playing Christmas movies Labor Day weekend? I know some people like it but I really can't watch much of that kind of thing. That would get me in the spirit of canceling cable.

So, I'm more of a Christmas classics type. The first one out of the gate was "Holiday Inn". I actually put that one on the weekend after Thanksgiving which is fine, it has a lot of holidays not just Christmas. I played with the idea of watching "It's a Wonderful Life" but I've gone through George Bailey's life so many times that it's not quite as wonderful as it once was.

What I decided was I had to go with a trump card, appropriate this year I suppose. Scrooge that's the ticket! "A Christmas Carol"! But, which version? There's a lot to choose from. Dickens little tale been box office gold over the years. I've always been partial to the Reginald Owens version, although the Cratchit kids are a bit annoying in that one. In 1979, there was a made for TV version called "An American Christmas Carol" with Henry Winkler playing a Scrooge like character set in the Depression. It's worth watching. I also recommend a British made version with Alistair Sims. They skipped the real title and called it "Scrooge".

Of course, there are animated versions. Disney came out with one in 2009 with Jim Carrey. That one might be geared towards the kids a little, but it's done well. I have a real soft spot for the 1962 cartoon version, "Mr. Magoo's Christmas Carol". That might just be the one that will do it for me.

Since I picked a few versions on DVD in the past couple of years, I think that's what I need to do to get the yuletide juices flowing. I'm sure Mr. Magoo and Reginald Owens could make the spirits bright. Then, I'll be ready to welcome Christmas and get myself comfortable that night to witness a true holiday classic, the annual Dr. Who Christmas Special. God bless us, everyone!

Plenty of Time to Read

So, I've been retired for just about two months now and I'm getting quite used to living without an alarm clock. I come and go as I please, as they say. It's kind of amazing how you can fill your days with things that aren't work or actually job related. You can really start to forget a lot of the trappings of what was once your work life. I don't know how others make this transition to the retired life but for me, I sometimes wonder how I found the time to go to work.

I've been filling my days with a lot of different activities. A lot of things are getting done around the house. A lot of long walks have taken place, a lot of them. I've even tried a little hiking in New Hampshire's White Mountains without a huge amount of success, a story for another time maybe. I have gotten reacquainted with old friends, other retirees who also have the time to do as they please. One thing I haven't been doing is keeping myself as informed as probably should.

Way back when I was a working man, the department I worked in had someone who always picked up a copy of the local newspaper. Break time was my time to sit down with a cup of coffee and catch up. Police logs are always interesting in local newspapers. You get a good appreciation for the many calls the local police departments deal with on a regular basis. The number of calls they get from people who can't find their keys, for instance. Or, the lady who often sees men on boats, in the harbor. Or, the crime wave in one township of a number of houses having cook books being thrown onto a porch or deck.

The other pastime the papers were good for was obituaries. I had one lady in the department who would check the obits, make sure she wasn't in there and declare, "Well, I guess I have to go back to work". However, it was useful in the event that you did see someone you knew and find out if you had to prepare for wake later that night.

And, that leads me to the purpose of this essay. Since retiring I have been remiss in keeping abreast of the local news. I've not read a local newspaper for two months. I get a Boston Globe each Sunday, I glance at the headlines, I check the sports page and then look at the TV listings to plan my evening, but that's it. So, I've missed reports of car keys that may have been found or of any new recipes have caught on locally. I have also missed out seeing the obituaries which can be a bad thing.

Recently, a friend whom I've known since childhood lost his remaining parent. Years ago, we lived across the street from each other. We played the neighborhood together, went to school together, we were close back then. My parents were friends with his parents and even when my family left the neighborhood we all remained friendly over the years. I didn't see the obituary for his father and I missed a chance to go and pay my respects. I feel bad about that.

Coincidently, last week I ended up having breakfast with my friend just days after his father's funeral. Oddly enough, nothing was said about his loss and I still had no idea. We parted and planned to get together again. It was later that day that I found out about his father's passing.

I have since called my friend and gave him my condolences and apologies. Of course, he said there were no apologies needed but, I knew there were. I recalled how he was present when I lost each of my parents.

So, now I've added checking local newspapers to my routine in retirement. Believe me, those police logs are worth it.

Take a Hike, Pal!

So, I've got this question I've been wrestling with lately. It's not one of those burning questions that keep me up at night. Nevertheless, I keep wondering about it. I wonder at what point does a walk become a hike? Is it a distance thing? Yeah, a hundred yards and you're just out for a walk, as soon as you step out to 301 feet, well, now you're taking a hike. Maybe its the terrain. You're walking down the sidewalk or across a parking lot, as soon as you go off road with a little gravel under your feet you've changed gears and you're hiking. It's a little thing, but its been on my mind.

I've been thinking about it lately because in the last few weeks with this warm weather pattern, which is undoubtedly caused by global warming, I've been out several times for long walks. Could these have actually been hikes? I can remember back when I lived with my folks, my old man would occasionally say he was going to take a hike up to Rich's, this was a department store in Salem up the hill from where we lived in Lynn. Now, I've done this trip, many times before I had a license. It's not that far. Other times after making that announcement, my father would go out the door and get into the car. Did he mean he was going to hike from the car to the store? Rich's parking lot wouldn't be considered huge. Now, I'll agree, that once he was inside the store he may have done a lot of walking around looking for whatever items he needed, would we call that hiking.

Like I said, I've been out there stretching the legs not only because the planet is on a path to destruction but I'm trying to keep up with the Jones's. On Facebook, I have several friends who have mentioned getting into hiking, recently. Some of these friends, none of them, by the way, named Jones, are folks I grew up with and knew in high school. So, I'm attempting to keep pace with other old people.

Unfortunately, several months ago I started having a pain in my right foot. I went to a doctor, at least my assumption was that he was a doctor. I did, in fact, see some of those framed certificate things in the office. However, I never got close enough to read. Anyway, upon a brief examination, he declared I was suffering from gout. Now, I enjoy good food and I'm fond of many wines and ales. So, I supposed it wasn't out of the realm of possibilities to be inflicted with the so-called disease of king's. But, after blood work and further co-payments, the fine doctor rescinded his diagnosis and convinced me he had no idea what was causing the pain. So, my plan was to obtain new foot wear and just walk it off or, perhaps, hike it off.

I'm glad to say that my plan has not made anything worse. In fact, a new pair of New Balance Walking shoes have made some long walks if not comfortable at least quite bearable. Now, the question is, can I actually hike with these shoes and, really, have I been hiking all along. I believe the question does have to concern terrain. Even though this global warming thing will, I'm sure, eventually make winters in the White Mountains of New Hampshire seem like early fall, I don't think it's going to happen on my time table. I would like to get back into hiking through some of the trails in that area. However, I think I'll have to wait until mid-spring. Also, I don't think the New Balance shoes will quite handle the rough trails in, say, the Crawford Notch area. I may have to start checking out real hiking shoes.

In the mean time, I'll have to settle for going for walks. I can spend the winter enjoying good meals. I can sit down with a few nice glasses of port and burn plenty of wood in the wood stove. Who knows, maybe next year we can have those warm fall days in the middle of February.

Never Again? Are We Sure?

Never again! We've all heard the phrase. A slogan taken up by victims of the Holocaust of World War Two. Just a two word phrase meant to give strength to morally right minded people to stand up to atrocities wherever they may be rise.

In 1948, after the Nuremberg trials, member states of the United Nations General Assembly, repulsed by the scale of crimes committed by Nazi Germany passed the Genocide Convention. The signatories agreed to punish perpetrators who oppressed and murdered victims simply because they belonged to an "undesirable" national, ethnic or religious group. The moral consensus in the United States and the rest of the world was that these crimes against humanity should "never again" happen.

The phrase has gone on to be the slogan of the Jewish Defense League and is a sort of rally cry in the face of injustices being brought upon any group. It is meant to solidify the resolve of people, of nations, everywhere to not allow a group to be put upon by another because they dislike their ideas, the color of their skin or the way they worship.

In the America I grew up in, we seemed to embody the meaning of this phrase. We, as a nation, would not let it happen again. The civil rights movement made us look into what we had done to African-Americans. Then the truth of what was done to Japanese-Americans became public. But, the country faced these atrocities of our own and tried to make right the wrong that was done with the echo of that phrase present throughout. Never again!

Now, we find ourselves faced with a deadly threat coming from a number of members of a religious faith. This is a dangerous worldwide threat and many are looking to blame the entire faith for these actions. The Islamic State, a radicalized branch of the Muslim faith, kills indiscriminately on their quest for a new Caliphate. They post their depraved videos of beheading western journalists and hostages for the world to see. Many see this as an all out war against western civilization. However, the killings of fellow Muslims is vastly outnumbering that of non-Muslims. Thousands of Muslims continue to flee the embattled regions. Many hoping to get their children out of harm's way.

Never the less, we now have a faction in this country who believe we should not allow refugees from the Middle East to come to this country because of their religious belief. There is a leading candidate for the office of the President of the United States who believes we should shut down places of worship. He wants to ban any Muslim from entering the United States. He wants members of a religious group to carry identification papers. Will he next suggest they should have the star and crescent sewn onto their garments?

Is this how it starts? Is this how it began in 1929 Germany? Will Americans garner such hatred towards a group of people to once again bring us to the brink of segregating them away from the rest of society? We are already at the point where otherwise sane, logical people are out buying weapons. People who had never in their lives entertained the thought of owning a gun are now standing in line waiting to get their hands on a Glock or Ruger. Will these gun-wielding citizens follow in lock-step with the Donald?

This campaign of Donald Trump's has stopped being amusing. His talk of collecting data and issuing ID's for a certain class of American citizens is dangerous. Dangerous because he continues to have rising poll numbers. This means others believe as he does, that it is just fine to take away the rights of people in order to feel safe. Would we be alright watching our Muslim neighbors being "relocated"? Do you think this sounds far-fetched? I don't, not after I listen to people being interviewed as they exit a Donald Trump rally.

Not again? I'm not so sure about that, anymore.

Just a Couple of Months

A couple of months. That's all it took, a couple of months. I had visions of myself enjoying the feeling for... a while, not just a couple of months. In the back of my mind, I kept wondering how long it would last. Each new day, I would breath in and wonder... when will this stop. You keep it to the back of your mind though and you just enjoy. You do tend to forget about it. Every once in a while, you might buckle up and it comes back to you and you just crack a little smile.

However, that day comes. You climb into that vehicle that you're starting to get very comfortable with and you notice. For the first time, something is missing. You notice, this now just smells like your car. It's not a bad smell, I keep the car clean. But, it's not that new car smell!

Dealerships must have cans of this stuff to spray into cars. Nowadays, even used cars, I'm sorry, previously owned vehicles come with that new car smell. There is a feeling, though. A feeling that you get sitting in the car and smelling that smell. And, after you sign those papers, you drive off the lot and that baby is now yours, you take pride in that smell. When friends get in for their first ride, they've looked around the car and given you an approving nod, then they settle in and you watch as they start to fill their lungs. Then, they look over at you and you see the hint of a smile. Yeah, that's a new car smell.

Well, you get to enjoy that smell every time you open the door and step in. As the days go by, you drive along and that new car smell is giving you a feeling that has a smile stuck to it. You don't have to smile, you're just tooling around and that smile is planted in your head somewhere. You enjoy the ride, you play with a few gadgets on the dash, you give a glance into the back seat, you might even go a week without opening the windows, maybe two weeks. You get in, you get out, you get back in, you're thinking to yourself, this car is really something. The thing is, a lot of that might just be because of that new car smell.

Of course, then you really do start to take ownership of car. You not only transport yourself from work and back, you start to do errands. You do the grocery shopping. You pick up a few things at Home Depot. You get dressed up for a night out with the wife, you might even decide its time to take a little trip. Maybe, just a couple of days. A night or two at that motel/resort you've been to before. Well, maybe that's when it starts to wear off. Now, you're carrying a few things with their own special aroma, shall we say. You've had some fruits and vegetables in there, you've traveled with a couple of different coats, oh yeah, you had to bring laundry back with you, but it was a nice trip.

So, that's what happens and one day after work, you open the door, you get in, buckle up and you notice it's not there. You take a couple of extra sniffs. Nope, it's gone. That new car smell is no longer there. Yeah, there's a little feeling of melancholy, a little something has worn off your new toy. But, now, you can really start to fall in love with this machine. Now, you start really settling in and getting comfortable. This is the car you wanted. You might even start adjusting the bass and treble. You're not really adding any unpleasant odors, you're just putting your own unique stamp on the vehicle.

And, you know what, if you really find yourself missing that new car smell, I really do think the dealerships have it in spray can form.

Well, I've Got My Health

I have been very lucky in my life. I have always been reasonably healthy. I have had very few illnesses through the last six decades. I've had a couple of broken bones, I think I might have had my tonsils out, I've still got my appendix although I'm not sure what its doing for me, I've never had any major surgery, a few colds, a flu here and there, a couple of whopper sunburns, a recent bout with pneumonia and mononucleosis when I was a second grader. Sorry, I can't kiss and tell about that one. Anyway, the point is I'm healthy. And, believe me, its not like I've worked at this. In fact, a lot of times the exact opposite was true.

In high school, I had my share of drinking parties and foolish pranks and stunts. In my twenties, I took up smoking along with turning drinking into an art form. I experimented with whatever drug was handy at the time, I drove recklessly and I took stupid risks. Through all of this I stayed pretty healthy.

When you have your health, it's very easy to take it for granted. When you come across sick people sometimes you get that little feeling and you say to yourself, "I'm glad I'm not that poor bastard". Of course, as you grow up and hopefully you get more responsible, you try to help others, you give to charities, but there still might be a little of that, "Damn, I'm glad that's not me." feeling.

However, the whole concept of health starts cutting deep when people close to you are on the wrong end. When close friends and relatives start getting sick, seriously sick, attitudes change. When you're faced with the prospect of losing someone you care about then you wish there was a way you could share being healthy.

I've watched parents and in-laws suffer and die. Yeah, it's that circle of life thing that the aged go forth before the young but the loss is still painful. Then, I've had some really tight friends get ill and have to fight like hell, some have lost the fight. I've had my siblings suffer through ailments and sometimes you find yourself giving the only thing you can, comfort.

These things make me appreciate the health I have. I try to take better care of myself these days. I've learned to be thankful for my good luck. I try to help family and friends fight the battles they get stuck with because I can. When you have your health and others don't, I'm finding that maybe the best thing to do is be there.

One Giant Leap

July 20th is one of those dates that will always stick in my head. It's like June 6 or December 7. I always stop and reflect a little on these dates. D-Day and Pearl Harbor stuck with me because of my father. These dates were huge with him and there was no way I'd forget them after hearing about his experiences on those days, every year!

I suppose if you live through historic events the dates will stay with you. I'll always remember where I was for November 22, 1963 the same with June 6, 1968. Those tragic dates seem to get seared into everyone's memory banks. July 20, 1969 wasn't like that. That summer day 45 years ago was more of an exciting day for me.

I was always a space nut when I was a kid. Early on, I remember watching the adventures of Captain Midnight and he had a Skyrocket that he named the Silver Dart. He didn't exactly go into space, but that Silver Dart flew pretty high. Then there was Men Into Space. This was a show with astronaut Col. McCauley, played by actor William Lundigan, who's name was close enough that I thought we could be related. Anyway, this show had moon landings and space stations, this was the real deal, my friends. Then, of course, I had to have props. I must have had a dozen different Aurora models of space crafts. I had the Mercury space capsule, the Gemini and Apollo capsules, the Lunar Landing Craft, sometimes different versions of each. I remember trying to talk my parents into letting me buy the 4 ft model of the Saturn V rocket complete with the Apollo spacecraft including Command Module, Service Module and Lunar Landing Module. Hell, what kid wouldn't want that. Of course, I never got it.

Throughout the sixties, I followed what was really happening in the race to space. I would sit in front of the television as Walter Cronkite would explain what was happening. Not to mention he had every plastic model you could ever dream about. But, he would use those models to explain how the astronauts were carrying out their missions. He showed you how they would open the hatch of the Gemini capsule to perform the first space walk. This was fantastic stuff for me.

So, in the summer of 1969, I had to stay glued to the television as Apollo 11 took off on one of mankind's greatest adventures. Unfortunately, my father felt that high school aged kids should be out working for the summer. I did get a job that summer. I worked making sandwiches in a Lena Sub Shop on Western Ave. in Lynn. On July 20th, I was behind the counter working the evening shift.

Now, the way this moon landing worked, Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin put the Lunar Module down in the Sea of Tranquility early in the day. Then, they sat there, waiting. What! You're on the moon for cryin' out loud! Open up that damn hatch and get out there. We want to know if there's green cheese there or blood sucking insects or big huge black monoliths. What are we waiting for?

Well, as Walter would tell us, they were to land then go to sleep for a while before taking the moon walks. However, I guess the astronauts were just as excited as the seventeen year old kid making foot long Italians at Lena's. So, I couldn't wait to get home and see this actually happen on television. One little problem for me was, I was the only one working the shop that night and I had to close up.

Now, I think closing time was 10pm, and the place had been very slow since earlier in the evening. I figured Tony Lena wasn't going to mind if I closed up early on such a historic occasion. About twenty past 9, four people walk in and stand there reading the big menu board and thinking and reading. Meanwhile, I'm tapping my foot looking at the clock. Finally, I shout out, "For Christ's sake, make a decision. There's people on the moon!" They walked out. I got home just in time to see that small step for man, which wasn't quite that small.

That was 46 years ago. I am really amazed that we don't have bases on the moon. That is what we were led to believe. It's as though we got there and that's it. Nothing left to do. There are those who believe we should be spending resources here on Earth. Make things better here. Yeah, well, how's that worked out? I believe man's destiny is to push the envelope, to explore the beyond. Somehow, I think ventures like the moon landing bring the human race together. Anyway, I thought it was fun while it lasted.

The Gathering

This weekend is the annual golfing/kayaking trip with the guys. I look forward to this trip every year. There's a lot of men out there who have similar excursions. Yes, nothing like a weekend with the guys.

I think of my gathering as a little special, as I'm sure most guys do. You get together with a bunch of friends that you know you can let your hair down and just goof off. Throw back a few beers and make fun of each other's receding hair lines. If, you have any hair left. Yes, we laugh at our golf swings and how utterly graceful we are getting in and out of a kayak.

It's a little hard to explain just how special this particular gathering is. This group has been meeting for over 25 years. Paul is the one guy who has taken it upon himself to keep this thing going. It is safe to say that if he had not done so, it would not have lasted. Paul started this out of personal tragedy, it took on a life of its own but Paul is still the lifeblood of this assemblage. He is the organizer, the planner, the man with the whistle and clipboard.

This group is made up of a lot of guys who have known each other a very long time. The biggest common denominator is high school. Many of us graduated from the same school. Mostly from the classes of '69 and '70. However, there are some of us that go further back. There are a lot of us that went to CYO together, we were in the same Boy Scout Troop. Paul's father was our Scout Master back then. No doubt, Paul gets some of that planning stuff from his old man. There are a few of us, that were even in grade school together. It is quite something that some of this history lives in all of us. We knew each other when we were kids at school, at church, we went off to summer camp together, we shared experiences in our so-called formative years. We played cowboys and soldiers and gladiators together. We discovered rock and roll, grew our hair a little longer and started noticing girls. After high school, a lot of us went in different directions. There was college, the service, jobs, we had lives to live. Somehow, Paul was able to get a bunch of us back together and he has made us stay together once a year for over a quarter century.

As special as our gathering is, this year has a bit more of a special feel to it. Back in the fall, we lost a frequent member of our gang. Kevin was well liked by anyone who had ever met him. In any group there is always a core team. Kevin was part of that team. He knew the efforts that Paul went through to make this weekend happen every year and he made sure we recognized and thanked Paul. Kevin was what we all call a stand up guy.

So, this year, we will meet, we will goof off and make fun of our golf game but, in some way, I'm sure we will pay tribute to our friend Kevin. I'm sure Paul will make that happen. I'm also sure Paul will make sure we gather again next year.  

Those Thrilling Days of Yesteryear

I follow a blog by a guy named Mark Evanier. He writes about movies, comics, TV, Broadway, cartoons and a bunch of other stuff. Mark has been a professional writer for many years. He's written for television and comics. I think I may have mentioned here that I like comics. Anyway, I can't remember how I stumbled upon his blog but I think it was a good find.

You see, the thing is, this guy Evanier is the same age as me. Actually, I think I have a couple of months on him. So, we grew up during the same times. Apparently, we watched the same television shows, went to the same movies on Saturday afternoons and, oh yeah, read the same comics. The only difference is, he grew up on the west coast and I grew up on the east coast.

It is pretty interesting reading his stuff. He writes a lot about the old stars of television like Milton Berle, Phil Silvers, Sid Caesar and a lot about obscure acts like comedian/songwriter Alan Sherman or that guy that would spin plates on The Ed Sullivan Show.

Like I say, being the same age he brings up a lot of the same stuff I remember. He talks about toys he had as a kid and I had some of that same junk. He writes about watching The 3 Stooges, Laurel & Hardy, Abbott & Costello and, yeah, I was watching the same stuff. A favorite TV show of his was The Dick Van Dyke Show, I watched it. He gets into the old Broadway musicals and I remember my mother had some of those soundtracks on vinyl. I listened to those things, not that there's anything wrong with that. He happens to be a huge fan of the movie It's A Mad, Mad, Mad World for some reason. I saw it and it was funny. I wouldn't go out of my way to see any chance I had, but apparently this guy Mark would.

Anyway, I like reading his stuff. You might say there is some sort of connection, same age, some of the same tastes, similar experiences, I told you about comics, right? It's kind of funny, all this shared stuff and we were a whole continent apart. Do you think the country was more of a community years ago? Kids who grew up in the fifties and sixties didn't have too many channels to choose from on the big console TV. Chances are a lot of people were watching the same thing. That doesn't happen much anymore. I wonder if that kind of thing has created more of a fragmented country. We'll see what memories folks will be blogging about in another thirty years.

However, if you came from the early fifties and were into the pop culture of the sixties, you might want to check out Mark Evanier's blog. He calls it News From Me. Here's a link NewsFromMe. Enjoy.

Musings from a Sunday Morning

I really love the Sunday newspaper. I get it delivered to the door or at least within a fifty meter radius from my door. Some mornings I'm reminded of Tony Soprano as I march down my driveway in my bathrobe to pick up the paper. It's almost always worth the trip, though.

Even though the Sunday paper is nowhere near as big as it once was, it's still worth the price. Not only do you have the news and sports from Saturday but you've got expanded sections about business, arts & entertainment, opinions, editorials and did I mention the comics. Yeah, the Sunday funnies aren't what they used to be. I miss The Phantom and Mandrake the Magician and, come on, everyone who can remember has a soft spot for Lil' Abner, right?

A great Sunday morning means a good pot of coffee and a couple of free hours to browse through the contents of the paper. I hope we never go completely digital because I like the feel of the newsprint spread out before me as I jump from story to story. It won't be the same just sliding my finger across my tablet. I'm sure the cat would miss walking through every article I happen to be reading, too.

I read a lot. I read much more than I write, you lucky bastards! Sundays I like reading a lot of the columnists. And, since everyone knows I'm the lefty liberal socialist commie that I am, I read the Sunday Boston Globe. There is a writer in the regional section that I happen to read a lot. Beverly Beckham is more of a lifestyle columnist. She touches on a lot of everyday stuff, a lot of it concerning being a mother and a grandmother. Mostly, she writes about life's little occurrences and how she perceives them. Hey, I happen to like it. What can I say.

Last Sunday, she wrote about another mother and author who happens to have a book coming out. This author, I'm not even remembering her name, started out as a blogger. She, too, wrote of the joys and foibles of motherhood. Her blog wasn't followed so much until she started inserting a few colorful words. Then, as the story goes, her blog took off. Now, I'm not a prude. I use raw language, a great deal actually. A lot of people do. One just needs to smash one's finger with a sledge hammer to find a suitable use for such language. However, this author started invoking these colorful words in describing her kids. Apparently, people loved it and she quickly had many hundreds of followers for her blog. Which brings us to her book, still unpublished it has a 5 rating on Amazon. Someone's gotta tell me how that works. Anyway, her book's title is I Heart My Little A--holes and, yes, she's talking about her kids.

Now, I'm not a parent but over the years as a real uncle and an honorary uncle, I've seen kids try to pull a lot of shit. The little urchins will try to get away with whatever they can. Have I screamed, "You little shit!" at a tot or two? Yeah, no doubt. However, I think compiling moments like that in book length form might be a little much. And, to come out and refer to your children as "My Little A--holes" has got to be crossing some sort of line. Yet, what does it say about readers who gobble this stuff up?

I think Beverly Beckham was making at least a couple of points in her column. She wondered why many readers may be drawn to the type of analogy that labels young children with pretty rough profanity. Maybe because it hits home more than we think, I guess. I certainly hope the swearing is laced with many more hugs and I love you's than you little a--hole. But, she also admonished the author for her lazy writing. She thought the author should have strived to be more creative about the relationship with her kids.

Beckham might be right. It may not be a great thing to put down in print what you're really thinking about the little brats. But, you know, if I found a way to make money writing about bitching at people, that would be tempting. I mean, maybe not like real little kids except that Honey Boo Boo bitch, but as they get older. That would be okay, I think, especially if we're talking like good money. Then, Beverly could write about how lazy she thinks I am and I'd be okay with that. 

The Movies! Ya Gotta Love 'Em

I love movies, I always have. It may be something I inherited. My parents loved movies. They loved watching a good movie on TV, but they really loved going out to the theater to see a movie. For them, going out to a movie was a great time. They were children of the depression and going to the movies was their high end entertainment. My Dad use to tell me about going to the movies when he was a kid. He grew up in Lynn, Massachusetts, as did I, and he said he had seven different theaters to choose from. He would go to the Saturday serials for a nickel, get to watch a couple of serials, a newsreel, cartoons and a movie. He told me about those days with great fondness.

By the time I got around to going to the flicks, there were only three theaters in Lynn. However, I started making my own Saturday memories. I remember walking up over the Highlands and down Rockaway Street to Joyce Street and around the corner onto Union Street. The Paramount Theater was there on the right, maybe a hundred yards down the street was the Warner and then further, where your mother didn't want you to venture, was the Capitol Theater.

Saturdays were great times back then. Thirty five cents would get you into seat to watch two movies, if you were lucky you got a couple of cartoons in between. Many times we would stop into the five and dime next to the Warner and grab a ten cent sleeve of pop corn. Many other times Mom would have us pop our own corn and save the dime. It was rare that we ever bought anything at the concession stand inside the theater. Once in a while, if you were able to save some of your allowance, you got a box of Good 'n Plenty. Then into your seat, the lights would go down and you were all set for three or four hours.

I read on a friend's blog about his memory of going to the movies. He recalled how he and the other kids would cheer or boo for the action up on the screen. I guess I had forgotten that we use to make a little noise ourselves. I do remember cheering loudly when the film you had been waiting for started to light up the screen. I almost got tossed by an overzealous usher one time because he thought I was little more animated than he thought I should be. That, with a hundred other kids screaming and yelling. Go figure.

These days I don't go to the movies anywhere near the amount I did as a kid. The big factor is the cost. Now we're talking ten bucks to see just one flick. Years ago, they stopped letting you bring your own pop corn into a theater. If you want to chomp on the kernnels, you have to buy from them. Some places seem to have a full menu at the concession stand. I feel kinda weird sitting down with a soda, a burger and a plate of nachos at a movie theater.

The prices at the concession are gonna break you, too! Seven bucks for a bag of corn no bigger than the sleeve I paid ten cents for. Yeah, ok, we're talking maybe fifty years have gone by. But still!

Anyway, I just went to a flick recently. I had a gift card I had gotten, so no cash had to come out of my wallet. I started waiting in line to get a bag of highly inflated pop corn, then thought better of it remembering my youth. So, went straight to my seat in one of these narrow auditoriums they call theaters. I sat there waiting through more commercials than I would suffer if I were home. Had to listen to them instruct me to turn off my phone. Come on, really? Then the lights went down and the show began. I had that kid feeling again. It was a good flick. And, when the end credits rolled, there were a few people applauding. Yeah, I joined them.

Let's Have a Happy December

And, so it is December. It means the tenth month even though it is the twelth. It is known as the most festive month, however, it does lead us into winter. I actually like December. The lights are going up, people are decorating the house, the tree and the music starts playing on just about every station. Of course, the shopping frenzy has already started, I'm one of those who like to go out in the thick of it. At least once or twice during the season, I like to go out into the mall and mix it up with crowds. I like bumping elbows within the throng and I try not to get too stressed. I don't like to see others stressing out, either. So, in a Dickens way I try to be of good cheer, wishing people Happy Holidays.

I like saying Happy Holidays! I like it for a few reasons. I have friends of different faiths and friends of no faith, saying Merry Christmas to them seems a bit awkward. Also, Happy Holidays sounds a bit more cheerful to me, you know, like happy! And, it seems to cover all the bases, its more encompassing. I can start saying it the week before Thanksgiving and I can keep on saying it right through the first of the year. I like it because it's been around awhile, too. I remember people saying Happy Holidays back when I was a kid. And, they all seemed to mean it, too. Why, they even made it into a song, a nice one.

Lately, there's been a lot of people claiming we shouldn't be saying Happy Holidays. They're saying we should only be saying Merry Christmas. That seems a little odd to me. There is more than the one holiday and Merry Christmas is great, I say it myself, but, hell, what if you don't know whether someone celebrates that one holiday. Well, Happy Holidays has you covered.

People arguing over a salutation like Merry Christmas or Happy Holidays seems a little petty to me. Especially at this time of year. That good will towards man thing should be the important part of the season. Why do people want to harp on a harmless greeting. There are a few out there that say that this is all part of a war on Christmas. A war on Christmas? Seriously? Have they seen the parking lots at the malls? This country embraces Christmas, lock, stock and Santa Clause! Commercialized? Yeah, of course it is. It has been since the beginning. The birth of Christ? That has been a marketing thing since day one. They didn't know when it was, so they stuck it into December which already had some festivals and they have been selling it ever since.

It caught on though. And, people have been shaping it and repackaging it through the years. It can be a very religious holy day to many and that is fine. If that is how you keep it, cherish it. But, it can also be a party to bring friends and family together. And, that's fine, too. However, there are other celebrations going on as well, there are those who are lighting they're menorahs, some are celebrating the Solstice, hell these days there's even people putting aluminum poles up and performing feats of strength. And, why not? It makes them happy and theree's nothing wrong with having Happy Holidays!

Lest We Forget

The Boston Red Sox winning the World Series was a little different this time around. Much like saying ...this time around is different. Three rings within ten years, John Henry you're the man! But, no, this time I ended up having to deal with life and ultimately death. Oh, I stayed in touch with what the Sox were doing. Every morning before work, I wasn't just turning on the tube for the weather, I was checking the scores of the last night's game. However, I had something else to deal with that kind of took my head out of the game, as they say.

My good friend, Ray had been dealing with a genetic disease called Alpha 1 for the past ten to fifteen years. I suppose being genetic you could say he was dealing with it his whole life. However, it's been the last five years that this thing has really taken hold of him.

Ray and I go back a long time. We met when we were both in the Army back in 1972. That first summer together we both volunteered to be stationed at Natick Laboratories in Massachusetts. It was a big deal for us being stationed in our home state. As a couple of kids, we were just out of our teens, we made the most of the situation and had a hell of a summer. When it came time to move on to our next duty station we said our good-byes and felt we'd never see each other again. Fate changed all that and we kept connecting several times over the next few years. Then, five years after we met we found ourselves sharing an apartment in Lynn and attending Salem State College.

A couple of single guys going to school on the G.I. Bill and both with full time jobs, yeah we had some more great times. It was through Ray that I met the girl I married. Ray would sometimes bring a crowd back to the apartment after working his bar tending shift. That is how I met Karen at 2am after being awakened by a small gang in my living room.

That's how it was, though. Ray and I stayed in touch throughout the years. We talked about the times we had in that flat, our days in the service, going to school, playing darts at the Blue Note, all the shit that friends have to talk about. A lot of times we did just talk. He would call me or I would call him. Many times during games, Red Sox and Patriots. A good play would make one of us pick up the phone and start dialing. Ray was at my place for two Superbowls. We both caught Janet's nipple. For the World Series runs in 2004 and 2007 the phone lines stayed open even though the games went late into the night.

This time there were no phone calls. Oh, back in August we talked. We joked about how this team might even go deep into the playoffs. When it got to the playoffs though, Ray wasn't doing well. When he went into the hospital, I would visit and we looked at each other, and baseball or football was no longer on our minds.

When Ray was in his last few days, through Facebook I learned of another friend who was suddenly in ICU. I grew up in the same neighborhood as Kevin Doyle. We hung out with the same group of guys. I don't ever remember Kevin saying a bad thing about anyone. He was the type of guy that even though I wasn't real close with him, I respected him.

Kevin was part of the same group of guys that I get together with every year for a weekend of golf, kayaking and friendship. As we all grew older, he was one of these guys who stayed in pretty good shape. So, hearing that he was in critical condition came as a shock. However, as the outlook for Ray got dimmer, the news about Kevin improved.

I was at Ray's service when I got the news that Kevin had passed. That was last Sunday, both the Sox and the Pats were playing. I didn't see either game. I knew the Sox were coming back to Boston with a 3 to 2 lead. I watched game six of the 2013 World Series in my living room. As I watched I wish I could have picked up the phone. I thought of both of these guys, Kevin and Ray. They both loved watching the Red Sox. In the ninth inning with two outs, I picked up the phone and texted my friend Ray, "This is it, Buddy". It's different, but I don't think I'll forget this World Series.

A View to a Kill

I've had a lot on my plate lately, some good some not so good. I'm not one of those people that posts a tremendous amount of personal stuff on Facebook. I'll show a picture of a trip I've taken, I get into threads about bike riding, I've talked about losing my mother recently. But, I don't get into a lot of details, so your not going to see pictures of my breakfast or my ham sandwich at lunch. Just like I don't post whether I had a bowel movement, today.

However, Facebook is a great tool to catch up with friends you don't get to see for awhile. It's fantastic to get the word out about an event. It is now being used to help raise funds for local, regional and even national charities of every kind.

Some people don't like it but Facebook has become a bulletin board for political views. I happen to like that aspect of this network. In a way, it is like a digital version of the old neighborhood soapbox. Anyone can climb aboard and have at it. You can post how you feel about congress, the President or whatever party you support or oppose. It can get quite interesting. Sometimes people bring things to a thread you hadn't realized. It may even make you take another look at your own view.

The problem these days, is that like our society in general, Facebook reflects the partisan views we share. And, like our good friends we've sent to Congress, we get pretty adamant concerning our hard held views. So that we start lashing out at folks that might feel differently about an issue. The people that disagree with us become assholes because the reps in government that disagree with us are assholes. I'm thinking this is why a lot of folks feel that posting anything political sucks!

It is a shame it has to be that way. My feeling is that even an argument can be fun. People can oppose each other, even throw a few lighthearted barbs at each other, but at the end of the day still be able to sit down, have a couple of pops and watch the Sox. And, if you can't go along with that philosophy well screw you!

Time to Play the Ant

It was just a beautiful weekend, weather-wise. Nice blue skies, warm but still a little crisp in the air. Great New England early fall weather. The kind of days you'd like to go out for a hike, get a bike ride in or maybe just go watch a high school football game. Saturday would have been ideal for walking around downtown Salem, mixing it up with the tourists who are now streaming in by the busload.

So, where was I while we had such great weather? Jim was in his back yard. I knew I had to cut the lawn. The damned weeds are still growing. I also took a look at all the patio furniture and knew that had to be put away.

I hate to put the backyard table and chairs away. That to me is definitely a harbinger of winter.

Well, I put aside any thoughts of enjoying the weather in any recreational manner and got down to preparing the yard for the coming season. I emptied the shed, pulled the snowblower out and got it to the garage. I refilled the shed with all the summer things, got the yard-vac by the door ready for the freakin' leaves. Yeah, a stack of lawn bags near by.

The lawn got cut. Probably won't be the last time. Stacked some wood over by the wood stove. Ok, so it felt good to have this stuff done. The shed is packed just right, summer stuff to the back and in the loft, tools I'll need for the fall right by the door. I'm ready.

Still, it would have been nice to goof off. Maybe take a ride to the north see some foliage. Go pick a few apples, carve a pumpkin, hell I don't know. How the hell did I get to be an ant, anyway? The damned grasshoppers seem to be having way more fun!

Sometimes You Can Go Home

I cut the lawn at my parent's house in Lynn, yesterday. We've been trying to sell the old homestead now that both of my parents are gone. We actually rented the place out for a while, however, we thought we had a buyer recently so the tenents moved on. The renters were great people and kept the place looking good. They did shoveling during the winter and cut the lawn throughout the summer. You can say, I had it easy as a landlord.

Anyway, the buyers backed out, the tenents moved on and Jim finds himself cutting the lawn he was quite familiar with 40 someodd years ago. Actually, I don't mind cutting grass - too much. It gives me a chance to really listen to those voices in my head.

Funny thing happened as I mowed the old family estate. I was, all of a sudden, transformed into that 17 year old kid who cut the grass Saturday mornings as part of my family chores. When I was in high school, my old man gave me two things I had to do during the summer cut the grass and take care of the pool.

I suppose there were plenty of times that mowing the lawn seemed like a heavy burden. As fall approached, I do remember not being able to head out to the football game at Manning Bowl until the lawn was cut. Yeah, it sucked being in the back yard and listening to the crowd at the Bowl. The old Manning Bowl was great for crowd noises. We heard them pretty well at the house and we were a couple of miles down Western Ave. I bet you don't get that same effect from Manning Field. That's too bad, another Lynn memory lost to Father Time.

As I was cutting the grass yesterday, there was a moment when in my mind I looked up at the patio and there was my father sitting there having a beer, smiling as I labored over his yard. It was good to see him again even though I was thinking it might be nice for him to pick up a damned rake and lend a hand. It's kinda cool how you can picture things that haven't been for decades. Just up and down that yard, maybe for one of the last times ever, life as a teenager and a son came flooding back to me. Hey, it was one of those moments, what can I say.