The Raccoon Says:
see link below
When I Was Seven
the war in Europe moved in on the domed
wooden radio with its gothic front where
Let's Pretend arrived every Saturday, brought
to us by Uncle Bill and Cream O' Wheat.
Nathalie and I conspired to send a bomb
to Hitler hidden in a bouquet of wild flowers,
or better, in a jar of mayonnaise: either bomb
or mayo would kill him. I built cities
out of dominoes where Hitler lived
and bombed them flat with other dominoes,
but he hid under the couch and I fled onto it
so he couldn't grab me by the ankles.
One of Waukesha's nicest turrets
juxtaposed with the new Prairieville Apts
Midway down the block between Grand and Clinton is the very outstanding
Outpost Music Store. Many music lesson-takers have been taught there
over a period of our residency going on five years.
The place is older than that, too.
Parents seeking instruments for their children
and their famed lessons
as well as folks of all ages find competitive
costs in a happy setting.
I saw an old accordion once in their eclectic display window that I wanted badly, but I resisted it.
This dread-locked chap, Craig Bauman, is the owner of the Outpost Music Store. On my stroll this day I took my old Roy Smeck Vita Ukelele in for a problem with not holding a string's tune.
This uke dates back to the 1920s when my dad had it at Iowa State Teachers College.
Subsequently four of my children have played with it
sometimes roughly, but I always managed to fix it, not always well.
It looks battle-scarred but the tone is still marvelous.
An instrument like this needs to be played.
I intend to resume my playing.
After tinkering with the uke at the counter for a little while Craig identified
the problem, fixed it, and I was happy.
He seemed to know he was handling something valuable.
He played it expertly and with a burst of speed that made for a blurry picture.
When I asked him what I owed him he kindly said, NOTHING!