Saturday, June 21, 2014

Stayin' alive; So much depends on; Looks; And speaking of

the blonde woman who drops a potato
in the supermarket parking lot where it rolls
beneath the 89 Dodge Ram with rust patches
near the left rear fender from contact with
too much road salt during the winter of 91
which was actually one of the mildest on record
though the driver tends to remember it
as the season he was fired from his job
at the aluminum window factory where
he had worked for nearly sixteen years
without promotion as he shifts into reverse
and backs over the potato which squishes
as softly as a dream's last breath and leaves
slick asphalt for the lot boy to slip on
as he pushes a train of shopping carts
and sprains his lumbar vertebrae just
days before he is scheduled to leave
for basic training to become the cool
killing machine he's always craved
but will now have to settle for someday
making assistant produce manager
and marrying a girl he almost loves just
as the blonde woman finds herself
one potato short with dinner guests
ringing the doorbell.

"So much depends upon" by Tom Chandler from Toy Firing Squad. © Wind Publications, 2008.


I finally have the beard where I want it
after years of trying different configurations.

This selfie in the bathroom the other day
while holding the great LVD Nikon
about to be put to good use in August
at my 60th year high school reunion

shows the ultimate look attained
by (secret:) tying it together at night
while asleep
with a rubber band, then voila -

 as the day progresses and the 'scrawn guard'
opens up like a flower
 the great 'fillip' is wrought.

Earlier attempts when I didn't exactly know
what I was striving for are
still rendered an A for Effort.

I got the message on this version, though, when fellow Congo-ite
Mike Leidel (the Druid) once
told me as we filed out of service
that he really liked my GOANY-TAIL....

(Great word, but I thought, Hey you should talk...)


And speaking of the Congo
this is the weekend of their annual church camping outing.
It is there, and I've been to a few, where various degrees
of equipage are trotted out, from pup-tents to The Brian G.
aka: THE TOOL MAN's Super Trailer:

Truth be told,
the very name of this organ
- The Sewer Raccoon News -
was instilled in my mind back in high school
when I became acquainted for the first time with raccoons.

It was in Peninsula State Park up north
when my then girl-friend's family took me
on my first camping trip.

There I saw the nocturnal creatures up close
in our campsite on Nicolet Bay, Door County,
 at that early time part of a rustic gravel-roaded state park.
No fancy bathrooms back then...oh no.

The raccoons were above ground dwellers then,
and they loved to hop onto that family's antique folding
camp table, scrounging after dark for something to eat.
Any missed smidgeon unstowed would do.

That very table is pictured below, for it reposes
to this day here at the Odd Fellows hall.

My custodianship will cease when I croak
and it is designated to pass to the children I had with that girlfriend
who became wife number one.

I've spent many golden hours in immediate proximity with this table
both here at the OF, in other homes, and mainly in the intended-for woods.
It harks to the day when camping gear was tied to running boards
and camping meant something much different than it does today.

The Congo campers with their varied gear captures the communal intent of group camping.
We have not joined then since my health bout but I would be up for it now
were it not for my 3rd and final wife's lack of camping disposition.  She has unpleasant
memories of camping from before we became acqainted.

So each year for the past circa nine years we (I) muse about the Congo-ites frolicing
in the great outdoors with their assorted shelters.  A small few go on the outings 
but opt to hole up in nearby motels.

Those maybe (?) lucky few have no gear to set up and tear down, and if it rains
as it always may,
have only to enter their vehicles and quickly retreat
to their dry rooms or at the end time, home.

Meanwhile for those friends who lament our not going with them
I say: "Don't cry young [campers], wherever you are...."