Nothing is foolproof to a sufficiently talented fool.
All posts by Jim
Under the Side Yard Maple Tree
i heard him talking underneath the maple tree in our side yard;
i could not understand what he was saying,
nor to whom he was talking
but
i could hear him
and
wondered why.
i mean, why would someone even be in our side yard under the maple tree
talking to someone
in the late afternoon
toward dusk?
there was no drama in his voice, no humor, no anger, no angst;
from the sound of him:
it seemed to be a droll monotone to whomever he was addressing
and
why do i assume it was a woman?
and
why are they in our side yard under our maple tree? at dusk?
i wondered if i should go out to the side yard
and
introduce myself
to see what was going on.
would it be dangerous?
who was this man talking to someone under the maple tree in our side yard?
i turned on the television to the Five O’Clock News,
the only one we could receive in our small Tennessee town.
NBC, John Cameron Swayze, the clock that keeps on ticking,
but
i kept thinking
why would someone be in our side yard underneath the maple tree
talking to someone else?
his talk had turned to quiet murmurs;
i did not know why.
maybe i should go out
and
ask why he was talking to someone underneath the maple tree in our side yard?
if that worried, i queried myself, perhaps i should take my gun,
a snub-nosed version of the 44-magnum,
the same Harry Callahan used to wipe out many bad guys,
just in case, just in case;
but
as John Cameron Swayze droned on with the evening news and Timex resisting failure in spite of being tied to a 75-horsepower boat engine propeller,
the voice underneath the maple tree in our side yard
began to fade;
i was no longer sure he was underneath our maple tree in our side yard;
he, probably the two of them, were moving away;
i could no longer hear
his voice underneath our maple tree in our side yard,
and
i wondered why?
Young’s Rule of Argument
They can’t agree with you if you don’t agree with them.
Family Sense of Humor
My parents took my two widowed aunts on a trip around the country in the late 80’s, sort of a bucket list of places my parents had been on their many RV trips. The trip is legendary for a family trip. One of the stops was at Mount Rushmore.
My Aunt Bettye Kate Hall sent me the below post card.
i think it represents the kind of humor both sides of my family loved:
mid watch on an open bridge
Oh, let me climb those ladders again,
machinery gray steel ladders,
to the pilot house with an open bridge,
the enclosed pilot house holding
the large helm for steering her by
and
the engine order telegraph for the lee helmsman
to send the orders to main control
for speeds and engine revolutions
and
at the center gyroscope repeater
just below the portholes
looking out on the forecastle
shine the flashlight’s red light
on the captain’s night orders,
signing them as if in blood
to relieve the officer of the deck,
announcing
i have the deck and the conn,
and
when the off-going watch has struck below,
walk out to that open bridge
to scan the horizon to determine
if there are any contacts about,
undetected by combat information center,
with the olive-green foul weather jacket
zipped to the top,
with the cover pulled down
to face the wind,
feel it biting into my cheeks,
smelling the salt and the sea,
awed by the millions of heavenly objects,
take a breath, a deep breath,
and
say to myself:
when you are feeling the wind
on a ship at sea
you are alive.