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Post by ---gush!--- on Jun 18, 2007 8:06:52 GMT -5
Had me a plan of life once. A good plan. Had everything all figured out. But I wasn't payin attention, like when Rose met that fella. Kind of left me knocked out too, like Wally. But you get ever over it and move on, and make new plans. And you tell yourself you'll pay attention, but other things seem more important, and you get to worrying about them, and pretty soon you ain't payin attention again. Same with my plans it seems now that I look back on it. Always wanted to fly an airplane. So I would save my money from the Mill, and just about the time I had enough to take flying lessons, something would happen. One time, I was just about to put the money down for them lessons, when Charlie got his hand mashed up in the pulp machine at the Mill. We didn't have no insurance at the Mill, and those Doctors charge a lot of money. So I give the money to Charlie to help pay his bills. Now I ain't a complainin you see, but everyone else's problems are always more important than your own, so you have to put your own life on hold for a little while, and pretty soon you realize that a little while is your whole life. And then you want to take one last shot at catching your brass ring before it's too late. Went down to the airport last month, ready to take them flyin lessons. Had it all figured out and was smiling from ear to ear. Put my worn old bills down on the counter, and said I was raring to go,except I forgot one thing. The brass ring was gone. Jim, the pilot tells me, he can't teach me to fly, because I don't see so good anymore, and I'd get killed if I tried. Well, I darned near cried in front of Jim, but I turned to go so he wouldn't see me crying. Nothing worse than seeing an old fool cry. But Jim puts his hand on my shoulder and says, "c'mon let's go soar with the eagles." That half an hour or so was the best part of my whole life, so far, and if it's all I get, I can die a happy man. Ya see, at least I got to hold onto the brass ring for a little while, before it slipped from my fingers, along with my dreams....
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Post by ---gush!--- on Jun 18, 2007 8:07:44 GMT -5
Looks like it’s startin to snow. Always like it when it snows at Christmas time, not too much mind you, but just enough. Snow has a way of filling in all the little holes, making things level and even again, if only for a little while. Folks are nicer around this time of year. Politer and kinder and wishing you a Happy Holiday season. Maybe like the snow, the season fills in their little holes, the ones that make them rude or unkind sometimes.
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Post by ---gush!--- on Jun 18, 2007 8:08:18 GMT -5
For some of us though, the little holes are the pain and hurt that we carry through our lives. And it seems no amount of snow can fill those holes. Take Charlie for instance. Now Charlie’s a fine fella, but I ain’t seen him for days. Stopped coming down to the store in the morning for coffee a couple of weeks ago. Don’t get to frettin, he ain’t hurt. He does this every Christmas time, well every Christmas time since his sweetheart left him. Must have been 12 years ago, now I reckon. He and Mary were all fixin to get married, and I ain’t ever seen him so happy. He didn’t go sparkin with many girls, on account of his mashed hand. Was always embarrassed by it, and kept it in his coat pocket. But one night Charlie and me were at the Diner, just talking like we always do, and Mary who was a waitress, who never paid him no mind, starts a makin eyes at Charlie. Asks him why a handsome fella like himself didn’t have no lady friends and all. Well, old Charlie he gets red in the face, and he can hardly get his tongue out of the way to talk. Don’t think he said more than a "huh" and "yes ma’am, no ma’am" but before I knowed it, Charlie and Mary were gonna go to the picture show together. He was so excited about it; he couldn’t talk about nothing else on the way home. Well them two got to being like two shoes, wherever one was, there was the other. Charlie didn’t come by too much after that, can’t blame him. Fella’s with lady friends ain’t got too much time for the fellas. But whenever I did see Charlie, he was always smiling and happy. Happiness looked real good on him. He even got to not hiding his mangled hand, swinging his arms as he walked down the street, whistling. Funny, come to think of it I never heard him whistle before he met Mary. I guess being happy just lends itself to a fella whistling.
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Post by ---gush!--- on Jun 18, 2007 8:08:52 GMT -5
Charlie was whistling the day he told me him and Mary were gonna get married. I was real happy for Charlie. They were gonna get married around Christmas time, and then go to Florida for a honeymoon, it being nice and warm there. He asked me to be his best man. That’s about the only time a fella really needs a fella. Being best man I mean. It made me feel real good. Cause then I knew, Charlie and me were really best friends. We had never said it too each other, still haven’t to this day, but being asked to be a best man means your best friends.
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Post by ---gush!--- on Jun 18, 2007 8:09:45 GMT -5
Well the night before the wedding, me and Charlie go down to the Diner, on account Mary is working, and Charlie wants to make sure I know what to do the next day. Now, how hard is it to stand there and hand the ring to Charlie. But Charlie was nervous, and excited, so I played dumb and went along. It started to snow when we got to the Diner, and it sure was nice and warm inside. We sat down, but another waitress came to our table. Charlie asked her where Mary was, and when she found out it was Charlie, she handed him a letter. I watched Charlie read the letter, waiting for my coffee. When he lowered the letter, I could see he was cryin. He crumpled the letter in his good hand and got up real quick and left the Diner without his coat. I picked up the crumpled paper, and got his coat and ran after him but he was already gone. I still got the letter, though Charlie doesn’t know it. He never wanted to talk about it, and so we never did, but I ain’t ever heard him whistle or seen him take his bad hand out of his coat pocket since.
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Post by ---gush!--- on Jun 18, 2007 8:10:56 GMT -5
You mind if we take our coffee and go for a walk. Doc says it’s good for me to get some exercise. Says I will live to be a hundred. Not that he ever asked me if I wanted to live to be a hundred. When you reach the age you want to leave this world behind, you just know. You've done all you are going to do, said all you are going to say, and done your best. And that's all anyone can ask. Well c'mon let's get to going. Just grab a stick, a good walking stick, and we’ll go down by the marsh. Can’t take a good walk without a stick to prod and poke things along the way. That’s how you discover little secrets and do your real learning, by prodding and poking things until you understand.
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Post by ---gush!--- on Jun 18, 2007 8:11:33 GMT -5
But sometimes it’s best to mind your own business, like today, for instance. When I went into Johnson’s to get my coffee, I could tell Evie had been cryin. She wasn’t bawling or nothing, but she had been wipin away tears. That’s why I wanted to go down to the marsh, so as to leave her in peace. Sometimes folks just need to be alone and sort things through by themselves. And if Evie had a mind to tell me, she would, I’m guessin. Women are funny that way, I mean, sometimes they want you to ask, and sometimes they don’t. And sometimes they just expect you to know. Now there’s a whole lot a things I know, but what goes on in a woman’s head ain’t one of them. And I think God planned it that way. Just imagine if you knew what a woman was thinkin. Mercy. Why you’d always pick up your clothes, close the lid on the toilet, help her with the housework, go dancing with her, and never watch football, just to make her happy. Come to think of it, sometimes I'm kinda glad I don't know what they are thinkin.
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Post by ---gush!--- on Jun 18, 2007 8:12:09 GMT -5
Now women know everything. They know when you’ve been drinkin and smokin and havin a good ole time with the fellas. It’s cause they go through your stuff and take all the little clues and put em together. Regular private eyes they are. Besides which, they know about fellas and their habits. But they know a whole lot more. Like when you lose your job and are scared to tell em, or you’re feelin blue and want to be hugged, or when you just don’t feel like talkin and want to be alone. Those are things a fella just doesn't tell a woman. But they know. How they know, I don’t know. Never will I guess. Will go to my grave never knowin, as God planned it. He made the women to be the tenders. To tend to the important things. To care about the things that really matter in this life, not jobs or money or things that guys think about, but the little things, like a smile or a hug or a gentle squeeze of a hand that makes a fella feel important, or better.
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Post by ---gush!--- on Jun 18, 2007 8:12:45 GMT -5
That’s why fellas with sweethearts live longer, so Doc was tellin. Their sweethearts tend to their feelins, where single fellas have no one to tend to their feelins. Guess it works the same way for women, although God gave them children. And children always need their feelins tended to, no matter how old they are. I think God planned that too, since women always seem to live longer than their men do. Sometimes a good stick will help you find things out. Yes it will.
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Post by ---gush!--- on Jun 18, 2007 8:13:58 GMT -5
Sure smells nice in Johnson’s today, I mean with all the flowers and all. Not that it always don’t smell nice, but it’s a special nice this time of year. Sure is nice to smell and see pretty flowers in the winter time. Just lifts your whole spirit, with everything being gray and glum and cold outside. I just like sitting here at the table watching the folks pick out cards and flowers and candy. Most fellas look for a big heart on the card and grab it without even reading it. But most women read lots of them, I suppose lookin for the just the right words. Funny, but just saying I love you always seemed the right words to me. Don’t need no help from a card or flowers or even a box of chocolates. Don’t even need help from a special day. Kinda sad that they had to make a special day to help fellas remember to tell their sweethearts they loved them. But I guess everyone is in such a hurry these days that they don’t even have time for that.
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Post by ---gush!--- on Jun 18, 2007 8:14:53 GMT -5
On the way over to Johnson’s today, ran across a fella with a flat tire. He was a cussin and a fussin about the flat and rummagin around in his trunk for tools, I imagine. I offered to give him a hand, on account of he was all dressed up in a suit, and I had on my usual old jeans. He said he’d give me ten dollars, and complained about some AA outfit. I always thought AA was a good organization, helpin folks with liquor problems, but I didn’t want to get him any more riled than he was. So I just told him to stand back and I would do it for him. I couldn’t help noticin the pretty flowers he had in the trunk of his car while I was fetchin the jack. So, I kinda stood there and admired them and smelled them. Smelled real fresh and crisp. Had a pretty bow around them and one of those nice little cards. I guessed they were for his sweetheart.
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Post by ---gush!--- on Jun 18, 2007 8:15:32 GMT -5
Well he comes around and asks me what’s takin so long, and I tell him I was just admiring the nice flowers. Now he didn’t take to kindly to that, and I can’t repeat what he said in case there are ladies present, but he was awful upset. He was in a big hurry and he was going to miss his appointment if he didn’t get going.
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Post by ---gush!--- on Jun 18, 2007 8:16:08 GMT -5
Now I can understand when a fellas gonna meet a lady, that is reason enough to be in a hurry, so I got to workin as fast as I could. The fella goes back to sittin in his car and talkin on his phone. I ain’t usually one for stickin my nose in other people’s business, but I kinda listened to him talk while I was changing the tire. He was talkin kinda loud so it wasn’t like I was eavesdropping. And just as I tighten up the last lug nut on his tire, I hear him tell whoever he’s talking to send a dozen roses to his wife and you know what to say on the card. I put the jack back in the trunk. He comes around and says, how much do I owe you. Well, I didn’t do it for the money, so I wouldn’t take any. But he wouldn’t hear of it, so he gives me the bouquet of flowers in his trunk, since I was admiring them so much. I stood on the sidewalk holding the flowers and watched him drive off. I pried open the card with my greasy fingers as a light snow started to fall. The card had this real pretty handwriting on it.
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Post by ---gush!--- on Jun 18, 2007 8:17:13 GMT -5
Thanks for takin the time to listen a spell. I know you got places to go and things to do. Shoulda just told me to shut up. I would have understood, yes I really would. Us old guys never know when folks have had enough of listenin to us. They try to be polite and listen, but with us grabbin their arm and bendin their ear, there just ain't a good way to get away being polite. So I apologize for bendin your ear with a lot of old fool stories that don't amount to much in your life. You got a life to live, so go on, go ahead and live it. Just remember, every once in a while to stop and have a cup of coffee. Nothin better than a good cup of coffee for seein the world as it really is. Only wish they served it where I'm going. Somehow, it just wouldn't be all that I imagined it would be without a good cup of coffee, and a nice place to sit. But I guess I won't be needin to remember anymore. Now git, before I talk your ear off somemore. Go on, git.
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Post by ---gush!--- on Jun 18, 2007 8:20:21 GMT -5
Road Pizza
I was on the freeway the other day when a Ferrari Testa Rosa passed me. Visions of speed, power, and the excitement of tearing up the open road instantly filled my head. Too bad the Ferrari was only creeping along at 3 miles per hour, stuck with me in the same bumper to bumper traffic. The stallions reigned in, chomping at the bit, waiting to be given their head that wasn’t coming. I was in the "fast" lane at a dead stop. It used to be called the number two lane until they built the car pool lane. I watched enviously as pick-up trucks crammed with people sped by me at the unheard speed of 70 miles per hour, that for me, are only a distant memory. But because I refused to be hindered by fellow passengers and left all that seat space vacant, I got to creep along and slowly but surely become more and more irate. After completing another mile of the commute in a blistering 40 minutes, I vowed never again, I would carpool, hallelujah. I have made that vow every week day and some weekends for the last two years, but somehow today was different, a defining day in my life as I jotted down the Rideshare number on the sign I had been staring at for five minutes. Heck, I could have built the sign in the time I just sat there and looked at it.
This was the first time I had ever written the number down. I called the number when I got home and after providing enough information to get security clearance to be the President’s body guard, I got the numbers of three prospective riders who met my time and location requirements. I dialed. The first two didn’t own cars and I had to hang up on them in mid-sentence when the pleading stopped and the swearing began. I just don’t know how people find out about your mother and her values. I didn’t even think they knew my mother. The third person I called was a rather attractive sounding young lady with a bubbly yet seductive voice. Women for some reason always sound young and attractive on the phone, unless of course you meet them and they don’t like you. Then they sound like disc brakes with no pad left on a Fiat. We agreed to use my car the first week, she had a car, and I would pick her up at the local park and ride.
"About 5 a.m." I suggested.
"That’s much to early. I leave by myself at 5:30. Now that we’ll be able to use the carpool lane, I think 6:15 would be good."
My computer brain kicked into gear. Travelling at 70 mph and going 42 miles it would take 49 minutes to get there. Give or take 5 minutes on each end for getting up to speed and the like, that would be about 60 minutes, meaning we would be 15 minutes late. I had never been late to work in my life.
"That’s too late," I said. I started to explain the logic when she cut me off.
"Please," she said seductively.
"See you there at 6:15," I said. So much for logic.
I sat down to drain a few beers when the thought struck me that my car was dirty. Where that thought came from is one of the great mysteries of the human brain. I went outside and peered into the car. It looked normal. A few sun yellowed newspapers and empty cans were on the backseat floor, and empty cups and cigarette packs were on the passenger seat floor. A sudden need to clean and vacuum the interior swept over me. I’ve heard this happens to women on steroids. I was staring at the car when my neighbor walked over chomping on a slice of pizza.
"Something wrong with your car?" he asked.
"It’s dirty."
"How can you tell," he said sarcastically.
It wasn’t until 10 p.m. when I finished waxing the car. It almost looked like new. I went to bed, satisfied, in a giddy mood.
I woke up fully alert at the usual time. After showering and shaving and a few quick strokes with the toothbrush, I looked in the mirror. For some strange reason I didn’t like what I saw. My teeth were yellow, my eyes were baggy, my hair looked dorky, in fact I was a mess. When did this happen? To make matters worse, when I looked in the closet it was filled with dorky clothes. Of course my favorite shirt was in the wash. I finally settled on an outfit, took two extra shots of Right Guard under each pit, filled my road warrior mug with coffee and drove to the park and ride. It was 5:15 a.m. I sat and waited and every few minutes checked my watch while the park and ride filled with cars. With each passing minute I knew I was going to be late. When 6 a.m. rolled around I began looking for her in earnest. Surely she would be early. By 6:15 I was dying. I’d have to drive 100 mph to get to work on time. I was about ready to start the Indianapolis 500 when her car pulled up next to mine.
"George?"
"Susan?"
She got out of her car. She was very young. I’d say attractive, but she was barefoot, had sweat pants on, a tee shirt with a profane four letter word on it, and her hair had soup cans rolled up in it. Is it just me or have the work place dress codes deteriorated in the 90’s, especially for a high school Home Ec teacher.
"Hi," she said. She tossed two gym bags into my car and a purse that might as well have been a gym bag.
"Hi," I said back. I watched her balance a 44 ounce super tanker between her legs as she closed the door.
"Ready?" I asked.
"These cup holders are too small," she said.
I pulled out of the park and ride and onto the freeway. I deftly crossed three lanes in gridlocked traffic without signaling and started the half mile creep to the carpool lane.
"Mind if I change the station," she said. She turned the knob.
"No," I lied. I hate when someone touches my radio. But I remained calm. I’m sure a music scholar could prove that jazz and rap originated from the same roots, but I won’t buy it. A severe headache was beginning at the back of my head, but the anticipation of the carpool lane now within my sight lifted my spirits. My heart was racing, my palms sweaty as I gripped the wheel tighter and tighter, my shoulders tense, my eyes wild with desire, as I watched cars up ahead get in the lane and speed away. God, I couldn’t stand it any longer, and then bang. I turned the wheel hard, punched the accelerator, and watched the speedometer climb, 25,35,45,55,65,75....
"Yes" I screamed. We we're in.
"Wow, you really get off on this," she said.
I forgot she was in the car. I put the car on cruise control at 75mph, giggled, and lit a cigarette. Life didn’t get better than this..........
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