Time to give up the dream

When I was in high school, I stunk at basketball.  I was really really un-good.  Every simple, uncontested layup was a Hail Mary.  I could bounce the ball OK, but that was about it.  

 As a freshman, at the suggestion of a friend, I went out for the team anyway. Classic peer pressure from a cute girl (thanks Valerie). After the first couple of days of practice, the coach pulled me aside and leveled with me.  "You know, it'll be a very long time before you see any time in a game.  Would you consider being a scorekeeper instead?"  And so it was, official team scorekeeper for four years.  And it was actually a good gig - when the team got out of school early for an away game, I got out of school early for an away game.  Free admission to all games, prime seat to watch the game (although didn't include seats for friends).  

You may be asking, "where does the dream part come into play?".  Well, here's where.  One of those years, I received a basketball backboard and hoop for Christmas.  It was a nice one - with solid metal frame, designed to mount to a garage or a pole or some similar structure.  Unfortunately, we had no such structure.  The driveway was barren gravel, the end of the barn was a rubble field, and installing a pole was about as likely as renting a spaceship for the weekend.   So, actually installing the hoop would be put on hold until... later.  

And that brings me to today, when it is years later.  Decades later.  The hoop and backboard went by the wayside a move or two ago (although I wouldn't be surprised if they traveled to Florida and back).  And today, we still have a gravel driveway, but now I have a garage and can put up a pole if I want.  But it's not going to happen.  So today, the steel angle that was intended to comprise the support structure is in the recycling bin, cast off so no one else has to do it for me.  It's a little sad, but I'm good with it.  And it the final analysis, I REALLY stunk at basketball anyway.

Island Sounds

It's a big world out there, and the sounds of our first day in the Lesser Antilles remind me just how different it is. 

We awoke to a cacophony of roosters from every hillside heralding the arrival of a new day. Not just the occasional call, but an endless fermata that sang from five until noon. 

The flowering tree out back is a mecca of  hummingbirds and honey bees, each with their distinctive sound as they go about the business of provisioning their stores. 

We enjoyed a stroll along a desolate stretch of sand, listening to the terns call in the wind and the waves lap the shore. There was the occasional scretch of a burrowing crab as it made its way to the safety of its hole. 

And now i sit in the cottage looking eastward toward her majesty's dominion as the thunder echoes against the peaks and thru the passages that surround the harbor, and listen to the rain pelting the metal roof, replenishing  the cistern. In the distance, a dove calls its mate. And a lizard rustles in the tree branches. Some twenty miles to the southeast the sky is clear and bright. Yes, it's a big and varied world out there. Hon once told me that variety is the spice of life. He was right. 

Recycling

As my loyal follower may have noticed, I've recently been coming up short on stories.  So, like many others, I'm recycling used material. This particular narrative was written some 36 +/- years ago, and was found in a spiral notebook in the basement at the farm. There is no real plot, just a description of the day.  If you're looking for a seat-gripping, nail-biting plot twist, you'd best move on to something else.  Also note that I have not touched up the grammar (yes, I cringe) nor style - (well maybe a light touch of punctuation), nor have I changed the names to protect the innocent.  I considered just scanning the original page, but it is written in my cursive (anyone remember cursive?) - and I can hardly read it.  So, here it is...

A day in Johnsville

The year is 1976 and the month is October.  I think the town is just waking up.  Mr. Warner just rode by in his pickup, going to his Frederick office; and that guy with the blue pickup that goes by every morning also went by.  As I look down the street from my house that is sort of on top of a hill, I can see Chris Martin on her front porch waiting for the bus.  Old Mrs. Wilson is late again.  But suddenly, by standing on the chain link fence, I can see her lights flashing down at Danny's house.  She continues up the road to pick up Carla, because David, her brother, had already left in his car.  She continues on up and picks up Chris and they my sisters and I.  I go straight to the back of the bus and sit with Carole, across from Danny.  We go on down to Joey's house and pick him up, and of course, he has to sit with me, making it three in a seat.  She makes her other three stops, then heads for Linganore High School.  We get there just in time to hear the second bell ring, so we are all late.  There is a big line in the office and Mrs. Veenordall is very busy writing out late slips.

School isn't too bad today because we have two fire drills and in science, we go outside to do an experiment with the diameter of the sun.  We also have a half-day, but we still have fourth period.  In fourth period, our class has social studies with Mrs. Rini.  There was an argument over who got to go to the library, and finally she picked Cathy, Carole, Evelyn, Jeff, Doug and me.  We are supposed to be working on Latin American countries, but Doug and Jeff decide to have a battle with rubber bands and paper.  Carol and Cathy shoot every once in a while, but they aren't really in the battle.  I walked over and started talking to Chris Bassett and Jenny Nelson, two 9th graders who are studying.

Since it is a half-day, we go home right after fourth period.  When we got to the bus, we find Tooty driving, and the whole bus was immediately ready for a paper battle. Once the bus started moving, the paper started flying, but it didn't last too long because Tooty drives about 60 miles per hour.  Once I got home, I changed my clothes, got something to eat and headed for Stitely's.  I started to try to get a football game going, so I used Carla's phone and called as many people as I could think of.  Jack, Joey, Mark, Danny, Carole, Jane and I started playing with the teams of Danny, Carla, Jane and I against the rest of them.  After the game, everyone decided to go home to eat, then a few of us would get together and get rowdy.  

When we came back, all that were there was Carla, Danny, David, Lorene and I.  We decided to throw a few tomatoes at cars then soap Mr. Martin's (Donny Baby) windows.  I got the tomatoes out of the garden and we went up to Grossnickle's lane so we could run back the lane or across the road and through Strohm's hay field.  We hit a few, but only one stopped.  When he did so, we took off back the lane.  No one chased us, so we stopped and returned to the scene of the crime.  There wasn't anyone there, so we put all of the tomatoes in a pile on the road and left.  We had to get soap from somewhere, and David's was closest, so that's where we got it.  David and I were the only ones who could do anything, so we cracked up and wrote "Donny Baby" on the garage windows.  It was starting to get late, so we all said goodbye and went home.  Today was a good day in Johnsville.   

(with a nod to AA Milne, below is the accompanying map of our "hundred acre wood")

 

Can't take much more

It's Easter. It has been spring for more than ten days now. While we have reserves, the pile is getting sparse. Please. How much more?

A Friday afternoon in January

It's almost five o'clock, it has been snowing since lunch and I've had an orange cat camped on my desk all afternoon. Not a lot of work done, but it ranks high on the serenity scale. Happy Friday!

I wonder what was under their tree

Dear Inconsiderado,
I'm glad you received a new television for Christmas. Really, I am. But please don't foist your old television on society as it is just wrong.  But don't worry - I've picked it up and will cover the $1.52 that it will cost to recycle it properly. Also, if you must get rid of your dead deer, please don't leave it in a plastic trash bag.  Instead, take it out of the bag and move it well away from the road for the scavengers to find.  I've taken care of this as well.  Please don't do this again.  Thank you.

Christmas Wonderland

And only slightly more than a quarter year until Christmas. Complete with Bing Crisby crooning White Christmas in the background. It is still closer to Independence Day!