Readus Interruptus

Bob sits on a park bench, raises his newspaper and begins to read the front page.

A stranger walks up, yanks it from Bob’s hands, then hands it back with a smile.

Bob’s not smiling.

Bob begins to read again. Another stranger kicks his paper away, goes to retrieve it and gives it back to poor Bob, who only wants to catch up on the day’s news.

Bob is getting a red face. He grinds his teeth, but must take the abuse.

Third time’s the charm. Arms up, paper in hands, a ruffled Bob scans the headlines … then a pigeon slams into the paper, flaps its grimy bird wings, struggles to get free, then hops down.

Bob slays the pigeon.

This is how it feels to read from some websites, which rather than a stranger or a bird sends surveys or popup ads to divert a reader’s attention.

In the midst of reading about the latest from Washington, instead, how about an ad for Preparation H or the latest in penis enlargement?

We’re better than this, corporate America. Put the ads on the sides of the web pages and give us a friggin’ break.

Growing up

My red, white and blue ABA prize basketball would splat in a puddle in my driveway during a drive to the basket. The familiar noise instantly caused me to lower my hand to pick up the subsequent short bounce.

Then in the distance on the horizon across the valley, I heard another familiar sound. I picked up my dribble and stared north toward the rail spur in the distance. I could see the green and yellow cars of the Peabody Coal train snaking across the living canopy.

The track was several miles away, but I had a clear view across the way. Always loved trains. The track was beyond my yard, the woods where we played, over Park Street, Wilcox Grocery, past U.S. 431 in the direction of Owensboro, the big city. It was a mural that sprang to life when the whistle blew. I stared in wonder.

I loved it.

It’s but one memory that is etched in my mind of growing up in Central City, Ky.

I am tapping into that vast well of reminiscence to write about that place and time.

The sledding, camp outs, schoolyards, gymnasiums, Broad Street, railyards nearby, band shows, playing in the reclaimed strip mine land, Green River — I want to capture the essence of that place because it is so special to me and many others.

I hope to have a draft in a year or so.

If you grew up in CC, it will be a special read.

If you did not, it will shadow times from that period in your lives when every day seemingly meant something, feeding and shaping your impending adulthood and who you would become.

Central City was and is a special place.

 

 

The Legend of Omar

So here’s the thing. No other word suffices. Our cat is an asshole.

My apologies for such language, but there no other apt description.

Omar, alias the Tentmaker, the Terrorist (apologies to Achmed), the Ankle Biter – nope, he’s an asshole.

You can see it in his eyes, the diabolical plotting, the thoughts scrambling into plans of destruction and evil.

This process can take days, even weeks. But retribution will be Omar’s.

My sister inadvertently slammed a closet door on one of Omar’s mountain lion-like paws. He ran under the bed to plot her demise.

He was out of sight, but surely he was performing complicated math equations to set up his revenge. No bad deed goes unpunished. An eye for an eye, he says, as he presses his el Diablo costume for a future attack.

It’s been witnessed before, Omar’s retribution. Sometimes months on end will pass before he initiates Operation Payback. Seemingly out of the blue, he will attack my wife’s ankles, sinking one of his remaining four teeth into her flesh, then sprinting away at 10 percent of light speed.

He will bide his time. He will watch all variables, including my location, the mood of the family dog, Carly, who sees herself as a sort of superhero, and getaway opportunities.

He will do this, because he’s an asshole.

HEADLINING

Headlines that lift me up, in the face of others’ stupidity:

“Guy shocks his own tongue to learn more about electricity” (There are books, dude.)

“Kanye West 2020 presidential campaign has already begun on Twitter” (Prepare for Armageddon)

“Driver posing for selfie crashed into tree, police say” (Snapshot of bad decision)

“Ashley Madison says it’s adding new members despite hack” (Men are suicidal)

Say what?

“How come you aren’t talking to me?” my wife asks.

“What?”

Never heard her say anything. I sat in my recliner, oblivious to her spoken words. Beech Bend Raceway had temporarily bonged my hearing. I spent several hours watching dragsters, funny cars and others roar down the quarter-mile track at the Bend.

This was Saturday.

Today is Monday.

Still awaiting 100 percent auditory return.

I noticed my car stereo’s volume was only one notch from maximum today on a morning drive.

Springsteen was still screaming, but I kept turning that dial up to get the normal effect.

Headphones, next time.

Hear me now. Beech Bend racing is worth the experience for a park vendor’s tenderloin sandwich. They are fabulous. Double-dip of ice cream settles well, post-tenderloin.

One step closer to a world of hearing aids, canes and shuffleboard.

A sharper eye

My pastor delivers a constant message. If you’re not in a life crisis, one is on the way.

When two come along, well, I haven’t heard that sermon.

There’s some fodder for the pulpit. Certainly it’s not unheard of, losing a career job and nearly losing a parent in the same week.

It does test one’s mettle. Guess my family and I are holding our own. Not without deep prayer and consideration – consideration of whether to take my mother to a hospice or go with what’s behind door No. 2, a feeding tube.

We chose the latter, and it’s working well, albeit with risks.

Time off gives one time for deeper thinking. I’ve done my share, in terms of spirituality, mortality. In terms of life work and a deeper love for family. In terms of letting go of things one cannot change.

Timely reflection magnifies, and can alter, insight into past events and into those upcoming.

Here’s to looking at a crisis turned into opportunities.

Prayers are for patience, wisdom and humble consideration for decisions to come.