5.22.2014

Ghosts of Birthdays Past

"...The year I turned 19 my birthday drew the Selective Service Draft lottery number 319. Had I been born on June 6, my lottery number would have been 127. And I'm so glad that our family doctor gave my mom the wrong date. 
Had I been born on Memorial Day that year, my lottery number would have been 19, like my age. I would have found myself working in the service of Uncle Sam and likely sweating the last of my teen years in a foreign jungle instead of a coffee warehouse in Moonachie, N.J....   
I grew up with my Army men. They pounced on each other, shot each other, blew up on our living room rug, were bombed by all sorts of toy planes, attacked enemy convoys – all while my father, nearby, watched our black and white TV or slept in his recliner. He never said anything when I had my armies lined up to face off for battle...."
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5.19.2014

Taking Your Labrador Retriever Fishing

The first year I had my johnboat, I took Libby, my black Labrador retriever, fishing with me at Lake Musconetcong. 
Fortunately, I was not too serious about fishing that day because Libby took to the lake like she had canvasback in her A.K.C. lineage. 
All Labrador retrievers, Libby included, have webbed feet and what is described as an otter tail that acts like a rudder to help them swim. 
I should have realized Libby would enjoy the water and mud, after all, Labradors are used to retrieve ducks from half frozen marshes in winter. 
Libby was having the time of her young life. 
I regretted showing her, or, I admit, throwing her, out of the boat and into the water. 
I tried to row away from her but she swam faster than I rowed. 
When she climbed into the boat, she got even with me for trying to leave her behind. 
I remember seeing a doggy boat ramp in a catalog, but I hadn’t ordered it. 
Libby got her monstrous front paws on the side of the boat and looked at me to help get the rest of her seventy pounds of fat, smelly, wet dog into the boat. 
How could I resist that look? It was the same look she used on me at the puppy store to make me pick her out above all the other pups.
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5.07.2014

What's Going to Happen to My Stuff?

Whatever happened to George Carlin's stuff? 
Actually, I don't care what happened to the entertainer's stuff. His stuff was crap. My crap is stuff. He would say so himself, except he's gone, and as an atheist, probably not far. But as for me I've been thinking about my stuff as I sit here in my man cave/bunker/warehouse with about sixty of those white storage boxes full of my stuff. 
I'm not a pack rat. I've been writing for more than forty years and I don't have any notes from before 1971, more or less. So, I've got a lot of notes about stuff I wrote about, and probably a lot more notes about stuff I wanted to write about but haven't done so yet. And boxes of books that I used in my research. And more boxes of books I intend to read when I get some time. I can't bear to part with any of them.
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5.05.2014

Spring: Time to Move the Air Conditioners

Every year here in New Jersey when we change our clocks to save time, there's another chore around our house. About the last week of April when we spring ahead, it's time to break out the window air conditioners from their closet hibernations. 
In October, it's time to rip off the sealing tape and bring in the units without dropping them on an innocent foot or to the pavement below. The two bedroom air conditioners need only cross from the closet to the window. 
It's the monster dining room air conditioner that has been stored in the basement that elicits the most grunts and groans as it travels up a flight of stairs, through the kitchen to rest and catch its breath in front of the window.
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