Jim. the Bread Man

His name was “Jim.” He drove a bulky, white step-van, journeying endlessly on planned routes throughout the interconnecting and tightly-closed villages of Country Club Meadows within Evansville’s evolving north-side in the 1960s. He made the route once and sometimes twice daily, depending on the weather and other circumstances, to deliver his goods. This was a time long-before all-night groceries and convenience stores.

With near Swiss watch precision, you could count on Jim’s arrival, long before hearing the quick horn beeps. Moms and kids would gather at roadside awaiting his perfunctory stop. More milk there, Jennie and Dottie?... Okay, Bonnie  and, you there, Pat, here’s some bread and I’m ‘bout out of it until the next run… You over there – I told you I can’t run too much lunch loaf and bologna ‘cause I can’t icebox that much… Okay, y’all tell me what I might need to load up on my next run and I will make a list.

Most paid in full; others were given an extension which, no doubt, would be paid, by his next visit. Or conveniently forgotten if the debt was not too deep.

The Wizards of Ahhhhs! (and Ooos!)

With profound apologies to Walt Whitman

I resurrect this humble morsel from nearly two years ago with a few edits..
 

I Hear America Bitching

 

 

I hear America bitching, the varied noises today I hear,

Those of media commentators of every chordless type, each singing and underestimating the good sense of folks who don’t see the world and its myriad issues splattered against a black-and-white canvas,

The well-paid extremists from right and left who who swarm in to condemn a drunk-driving cop who kills an innocent biker, yet remain light years away and mute when a decent officer is gunned down dead,

The minions of a Kansas maniac professing God’s hate of gays, Catholics, Jews [for that matter everybody] and who show up at military service members’ funerals merely to grab sound bites for the news media,

The benign bleatings of career politicians, whose melodies of promise and pledges are shorn swiftly with such sheepish ease,

The warped arias of pin-striped, corporate cowboys on whom so many livelihoods depend, falling safely and richly beneath canopies of gold in the aftermath of their misdeeds and mismanagement,

The song of the lazy and those who don’t give a damn who thrive on a sense of entitlement and  whose misguided measures seek full harvest without sowing one seed,

Perhaps soon we shall hear new tunes, each measure robust and hopeful,

Singing with open mouths a similar lyric echoing 1776 and stretching for future harmony.

When all else fails -- just shut up!

We are bombarded more than a Syrian suburb each day by an endless barrage of stupidity, absurdity and blather from every direction. Talk radio, TV commentators, blogs, Facebook, Twitter and so forth. The “truth” machine guns us from every direction.

And even the trusted guardians of “public trust,” the nearly dead news media – gasping its last breaths of what the Fourth Estate once was and should be – cannot resist the urge to pile on to the heap. Shall we begin with what some people are saying and doing?

“It seems to be, first of all, from what I understand from doctors, it’s really rare. If it’s a legitimate rape, the female body has ways to try to shut the whole thing down.”  Rep. Todd Akin (Missouri), a U.S. Senate candidate.
Yeah, I know, he claims he “misspoke" himself and it was misconstrued. He must have consulted with Drs. Frankenstein, Mengele and Kevorkian to make such a claim. I think many would take issue with "legitimate" rape and the notion it prevents pregnancies. But I think we can all agree that treating such such haunting psychodrama and all other aftermath is so simple. Let this learned lawmaker spend a few days in the gen-pop of  a state penitentiary and he might gain a better understanding of the issues -- from an illegitimate perspective. Nonetheless, his campaign for the Senate is virtually aborted. To that end, just shut up, Todd. We'll try to forgive because you apparently have no clue as to what you have said.

F-bombs and flexitarians -- Merriam-Webster tells us so

Our language continues to evolve. I know it’s true because the bright folks at Merriam-Webster Collegiate Dictionary have just announced new words and their definitions to be included in their latest edition. Well, I say right on!  to you righteous lexicographers in Springfield, Mass.

Many of these words have been in use for quite some time; others somewhat foreign to many of us unwashed savages. But among those making the list and their definitions.

F-bomb (noun): Used metaphorically as a euphemism. That’s a nice way of saying the four-letter word somehow slips out at the most inopportune time and is heard by an audience.  Remember Biden whispering into Obama’s ear when the health care bill passed a couple of years ago, unaware his adjective use of the word was picked up by media microphones? You can hear this expression while visiting any Wal-Mart at any hour or location merely by listening in to some angry couple bickering over who should be pushing the kids in cart. Anymore, sorry to say, this commonly used term seems no more explosive than a water-soaked Fourth of July sparkler.

Energy drink (noun): A usually carbonated beverage that typically contains caffeine and other ingredients (as taurine and ginseng) intended to increase the drinker’s energy.  I might be wrong, but haven’t there been a few beverages available called Coca-Cola, Pepsi and Mountain Dew for more than a few years. Granted, they aren't  laced with ginseng and other natural additives; however, there’s no doubt some energy boost is realized.

'Pried' and prejdice when needed

My granddaughter is on the cusp of that magical age of thirteen. She is involved and seems most happy with her overall environment, particularly her love for the excellent Catholic school she attends, the many sports in which she participates, and her ever-evolving circle of friends beyond family and her experiences.

Surprisingly, she still likes to “chill out” with me on most weekends; challenge me to card games; and hit the local Subway on Saturdays. She politely laughs at my dumb jokes and howls at my occasional PG-13 expletives. And she endures occasional “boring” and “un-cool “excursions with me, my girlfriend and our worlds

But understanding that misty, mysterious transition between girl and young womanhood is something males never fully fathom. At any age, including geezers like me.  I have lived long enough to recognize what those rolled eyes and tight-lipped expressions mean. I do my best to avoid prying and poking too much and playing the friendly grand inquisitor.

The brief journal entries and stuff she writes about and leaves following a weekend visit with me are sacrosanct and not for mine or anyone else’s eyes. I trust it and leave well enough alone.  

God: How about uploading a bit more decency to one another?

Aloha:

How goes it with all of you? Just wanted to check in again – as I continually do, and thought I would try my hand with this new demo tablet Steve Jobs wanted me take for a test drive. Far cry different than the tablets Moses used back in the day, but if there’s one thing I have learned it’s that you have to write things down sometime so that others remember.

My previous message was fairly lengthy, and if you forgot what I had to say, just click here.  I promise to keep this message shorter. I like that line Shakespeare crafted for Polonius in “Hamlet”, and I believe it to be true: Brevity is the soul of wit. Billy occasionally violated that axiom in his writings, but on balance, he kept it fairly consistent.

All in all, I’ve been doing pretty well. The universe and vast galaxies keep me pretty busy, and it’s sometimes hard to get in decent round of golf. Fortunately I have plenty of help to tend to those things. Still can’t figure out what I should do with the wormholes I placed out there. What in My Name was I thinking back then?

Finding a wave for an endless summer

Many American generations are defined by their music. The tunes, melodies and lyrics that spoke to their hearts and hormones at a younger age. My parents had Glenn Miller, Benny Goodman, Hoagy Carmichael and a very hip Cab Calloway. Their younger siblings  had Bill Haley and the Comets and the trio – Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens and the Big Bopper – whose short-lived legacies live on beyond a plane crash.  

Growing up in Evansville, Indiana, in the mid-1960s there was so much music exploding we embraced because of their newness and variety: Beatles, Dave Clark 5, Rolling Stones, Hollies and novelty bands such as Sam the Sham and The Pharaohs and Paul Revere and The Raiders (featuring Mark Lindsay on vocals).  A few guys named Hendrix and Clapton were slowly evolving.

Running on empty

I could hear the situation long before I pulled into growing the left-turn lane. Late afternoon and the scramble was on with motorists to get home or wherever they were going after work. Horns were blaring and I could hear some of the angry comments coming from the open windows of the three inpatient drivers’ ahead of me.

A battered Buick Century was in the lane, its bumper and backlights held together with Duct tape and bungee cords. The tailpipe was dangling maybe six inches above the ground and the emergency flashers weakly warned a timeout. When the driver stepped out of the car, he held a one-gallon milk jug in one hand and was jiggling change perhaps he had found beneath the front seat or ashtray.

The Speedway gas station was less than a football field away, but the Buick’s gas tank was empty.

In-A-Gadda-Da-Dreama

I woke up laughing. It wasn’t a high-pitched giggle that middle-school girls explode with when they observe manly 13-year-old “boy-hunks” in the hallway at school. .Not that polite chuckle that weakly acknowledges a public speaker’s dull, predictable unfunny punch line. 

No, I woke up with a genuine gut-busting, thigh-slapping get-the-hell-outta here laugh. Funny thing about dreams. The real converges with the unreal; fear sometimes forges a quirky alliance with courage. The past oddly stitches itself into the fabric of the present. When you dream, anything is possible.

For you see, I had just taken the early morning train back Z-ville, a trip which had taken me back through the matted cobwebs and wormholes of time to Ft. Jackson, S.C.. Good old 3rd Platoon, “Echo” Company, 6th Battalion, 2nd Training Brigade. 

Wonders and wondrous things of this world

If I recall it correctly the story goes something like this. A class of junior high school students were studying the Seven Wonders of the World. At the end of the lesson, the students were asked to list what they considered to be the Seven Wonders of the World. Though there was some disagreement, the following received the most votes:

Egypt's Great Pyramids

The Taj Mahal in India
The Grand Canyon in Arizona
The Panama Canal
The Empire State Building
St. Peter's Basilica
China's Great Wall

While gathering the votes, the teacher noted that one student, a quiet girl, hadn't turned in her paper yet. So she asked the girl if she was having trouble with her list.