Only the Game Fish
Swims Upstream...
museum piece
The Rev.
A rerun for Rev Leroy, fisherman, from a 2008 SRN:
David, John fishing on Pewaukee lake
1949
Getting the short end.
Long before there was even a dream of a Sewer Raccoon News, the future editor
was constrained to fish with a Stubcaster(registered trade name). He begged and begged for a regular length fishing rod, but there was something out then that supposedly offered the action of full-length rod, but which was break-downable into just two short and highly transportable parts. It was deemed to fill the bill for the diminutive boy who was brand new at fishing.
Other fishermen would row past sometimes and utter belittling words at the boy with The Stubcaster(Reg). There was tittering by little girls behind shoreline shrubbery. "Look at HIM, "he's got a S-T-U-B-C-A-S-T-E-R!!!!!!
Soon he became KNOWN as Stubcaster (reg).
It was, unbeknowst to him at the time, a nick-name that would stick to him until adolescence. He stayed short for years, all because of that unresolved equippage.
But then a change came over him.
In the boys locker room they calld him the STUDcaster.
http://hotspotoutdoors.com/forum/ubbthreads.php/topics/3139672/What_kind_of_rod_is_this
^,^
Yay boo - yay boo...
Ed. Note:
Frank Bruni put our feeling on the presidential race
of Gov. Walker
so well in last Sunday's NYT Opinion piece
that we merely provide the following link:
http://www.nytimes.com/2015/07/15/opinion/frank-bruni-haste-hustle-and-scott-walker.html?_r=0
(image taken from the Waukesha Freeman photo the day after.
Kleig lights we're told were everywhere!)
"Blinded by The LIGHT !"
^,^
Backwards
In the Sun
A man loathe to give up the
manual typewriter
To bow to
the age of computers
Who liked
push reel lawn mowers
Wringer
washers
And
treadle sewing machines
Announces that
Something
good happened there to mitigate
His reluctant accessions adopting the new over the old
While
sitting as a machinist
Marveling at what his word
processor
And color
printer could do;
I
He likes to correspond with fountain pen
He likes to correspond with fountain pen
And then
hang the letter backwards in a sunny window
For a
while before sending
To study
the line without the ability to read text
As though
the right or wrong will
show
And save him from mistake or unmeant innuendo
Hand
script, even supposedly horrible hand script
Sometimes
dangerous from the front side
Takes on
a loveliness when viewed backwards
And thus it is when one thinks
Of
evaluations involving all angles and facets
Rather
than merely the most obvious surface
(Permit him to say YIBAWE)
(Permit him to say YIBAWE)
How
often has he sent letters or Emails not so carefully
inspected
The
thinner the paper for this sunlit viewing
The
better:
I
He remembered a box of old onion skin typing paper
He remembered a box of old onion skin typing paper
He had
from when thinner meant more copies
Yielded
by typewriters and carbon paper
Before
clicks and double clicks and infinite production
I
He got this dusty box down and opened the lid
He got this dusty box down and opened the lid
To find a nearly full box of crispy thin sheets
Audibly-crinkling onion skin paper
Talking
paper very loud to the touch
After all
that time being cooped up
Like a
presumed useless ugly duckling
Or
love-starved oldster getting dryer
It leaps
to respond to the slightest tactility
And you
cannot buy it anymore
(Who needs
it?)
On the
word processor so novel to him
He can
practically put cardboard through
And
obtain glorious-looking pages
But they
don't talk when
he handles them
he handles them
They are
dead except for the images on them
Not so
with onion skin
It says
something
You must be of an age to
appreciate V Mail
From
World War II when loved ones communicated
Across
seas on government-mandated crackling tissue paper
To keep
the weight of transport down
And to
reduce bulk
It was a practical and beautiful
medium
He inspected his father's letters then on the flip side to the
light
After he had digested all from the most obvious facade
He knew
there must be more from him than that
Which
showed on just one surface;
He was only six years
old
He searched side-ways both sides and between the lines
He became familiar with the look, feel and
sound of onion skin
His one
contact with Dad and so much
preferred
To the
dreaded telegram on dead yellow paper;
That bad
paper never wanted never came here
And to
find a whole box of lively paper seventy years after
Those
haunting hungry scrutinies was a blessing
He had it among his high basement cobwebs
Must have
known it had value
It had
escaped years of throwing out
In silent
peace like a covered bird
Intact a perfectly good box of crispy paper
Backwards fountain-penned
sheets in sunny windows
Will
vibrate while this irreplaceable and
Obsolete
box of thin paper lasts
It will
last long this new lost art
Because
there are so many dry leaves fitted in the old box
Like
memories they are so very thin
But
strong
Tearing
such gossamer is not as easy as you'd
suppose
In his cyberspacial kingdom
there are many color images
In his computer's memory favorite old snapshots
And vivid
drawings he's committed to that realm
And his fountain pen will not quit till he does
A way is
pointed to a blending
Validating procedures and leanings in the doing,
Printing
computer-generated transparencies
On
talking paper - with penned script -
And
backlighting these marriages not on an electric monitor
But in
the window backwards in the sun
(D. Zep Dix)
Backwards in the sun
Lee, here from NYC last week
works the Times crossword collaboratively
Pluto 7-15
Lee's pizza dough where he lives in Harlem
He punches it down
Eats
^,^
Missa Gaia
Paul Winters Earth Mass
'Kyrie'
^,^
Missa Gaia
Paul Winters Earth Mass
'Kyrie'
Play:
Sun sets at Odd Fellows 7-14-15
Seattle's letter to the American President
^
