I CHASED AN ICE CREAM TRUCK AND IT FELT GOOD     

I am 50 years old, ill in all the ways half century old men are supposed to be ill.  High blood pressure, type II diabetes,  creaky back and creaky knees.  The American Red Cross pays me not to donate blood and over the years, three friends in need of various spare organs, kidneys, portions of liver, bone marrow, etc all turned me down.  Apparently the old and infirm need not apply.

I worked an extraordinary number of hours last month and will do the same this month.  There is no rest for the wicked or the weary.  There are bills to pay, kids in college and all the drudgery of daily life.

My angst is further compounded by the problems normally associated with work and the article in today’s newspaper reporting rising tuition at the school of higher education attended by son 1.0.  Someday science and technology will resolve these problems.  But, for today, I have no flying car, no video wrist watch and no functional mechanical heart.  Somebody lied to me in 1972 and I am not happy about it.

As those of you who don’t live under rocks already know, times are hard all over; but, today I heard the bells and whistles of an ice cream truck.  I am 50 years old and have not screamed or run after an ice cream truck in well over three and one half decades.  You may recognize the ice cream truck song; but, I bet you don’t know the words:  Do your ears hang low, do they wobble to and fro, can you tie them a knot, can you tie them in a bow…..Do your ears hang low?

Imagine the electronic organ over a very bad loud speaker accompanied by whistle and bells calling to you while dreaming of a very cold very sweet multicolored popsickle shaped like Buck Rogers’ rocket.  Imagine the fields of your youth, the lazy riverside cane pole fishing trips and all of a sudden you are nine years old sprinting down the street, screaming and begging for the truck to stop.  Dress shirt un-tucked, sock footed and wearing the remnants of the day’s dress clothes, I caught the truck on the fly and bought the largest ice cream bar in the place.  For the time required to consume the ice cream, I was no longer old and infirm.  I was nine years old with grass between my toes and squaring up to catch Denny Teeter’s long fly ball to left field.  I even heard one neighbor say to another :  “He moves pretty good for a big boy.”

So, at half a century old, I chased an ice cream truck and it felt good.

See you next time (God willing).

How Paul, Art, and most of all, I, got very old.

How Paul, Art, and most of all, I, got very old.

If you grew up in the 60’s and 70’s, you grew up around music.  Very good music.  The Doors, Jefferson Airplane (before they had the Starship), the Beatles, Styxx, 38 Special, Boston, Foreigner, Dobie Gray and too many others to list.  They were all great. But, I found my inner voice in Simon and Garfunkel, Paul and Art. They spoke to me. 

As only the great grandsons of Adalbert and Ottillie can attest, it was very hard on Miller Street.    We dealt with it in our own ways.  The number one son was mad at all of us and left at 18.  The number two son lived in his own mind.  I had Paul and Art.  I learned the words of Bridge Over Troubled Water, The Boxer, Scarborough Fair, Cecilia.   If you knew all the words, you got a pass from the world for a few minutes.  So, I learned all the words.  Every single one.  The other kids knew the preamble to the constitution, Hamlet’s soliloquy and that sunday’s Bible verse.  I knew “Are you going to Scarborough Fair, parsley sage rosemary and thyme.  Remember me to one who lives there; she once was a good friend of mine.”  Paul and Art were my friends.  They soothed the hurt, physical, mental and emotional.  “Like a bridge over troubled water, I will comfort you. I’m on your side.”

Like some 1970’s Holden Caulfield in a modern Catcher In The Rye, I struggled through adolescence. The great grandsons of Adalbert didn’t need Viet Nam, we had Miller Street.  “And here’s to you Mrs. Robinson, Jesus loves you more than you can know. … Hiding in a hiding place that no one ever goes.”

Paul and Art went with me to junior high, high school and college; but, I lost them my sophomore year. “I’m sitting in a railway station, got a ticket for my destination. On a tour of one night stands, My suitcase and guitar in hand…homeward bound, I wish I was homeward bound….where my loves waits silently for me. 

The problem was there was no home, just Miller Street.  “Like emptiness and harmony, I need someone to comfort me…..”  I had Paul and Art.  Then for some reason, they weren’t cool any more.  I still knew all the words,  I just didn’t sing them anymore.  I just didn’t sing anything anymore.  “Coo coo ca choo”

Brother number one recently sent me a video of Paul and Art.  They were gray and weary and their voices not as powerful as in years past; but, they were Paul and Art and they sang and three decades later I was able to sing with them.  “The moon rose over an open field…. Kathy I’m lost, I said, though I knew she was sleeping….I’m empty and aching and I don’t know why…  We’ve all gone to look for America”   

Paul and Art got old since sophomore year at HSU in 1979.  It turns out that I too have aged 32 years in the last 32 years.  But, tonight, I sang. I sang with Paul and Art.  Sang for the first time since Miller Street.  “I’m on my way, I don’t know where I’m going; but, I’m on my way.”  I don’t ever again need to go to Miller Street.

Thanks Edwin. Thanks Paul.  Thanks Art.  It turns out that I am indeed, “Still crazy after all these years.”

See you next time. 

Chiklin And Dumplins With No Chiklin

Chiklin And Dumplins With No Chiklin

I apologize for the delay since my last missive; but, one of my New Years’ resolutions was to not   say anything unless I really had something to say.  It happened today. 

Son 1.0 is well into his second semester at a university far far away (well, three hours) and Wife 2.0 and I don’t see him nearly often enough.  We were blessed with a visit this weekend and as fate would have it, he was at the right place at the right time.  We had our coldest night of the year and our first power outage at the very same time.  No problem, we have a generator.  However, said generator is very heavy and at the very back of a very full storage building.  So, without a single word of complaint, Son 1.0 got out of a warm bed at 7:00AM after having gone to bed at 3:00AM (well, someone had to shoot the video game villains).  Son 1.0 cleared the way to the back of the storage building and drug the very heavy generator into the back yard.  The generator hadn’t been started in two years and unfortunately had two year old gas.  Further complicating the situation was an early morning in the teens.  Again, with no complaints,  Son 1.0 pulled and tugged on the starter cord and after an epic battle, the generator started and the home was warm, the lights were lit and most importantly, Wife 2.0 was happy.  

 We next worked to repair a leak in the innards of the family truck, a real chore for the manually challenged.   Again in the very cold, and again with no complaints. 

The next calamity was the loss of our cable and internet service.  Our very tech savy Son 1.0 performed various voodoo incantations, restoring the television.  Those as hooked on TV as I am will understand this was a near miracle.  Again, no whining and no moaning from Son 1.0.  Just cheerful service.     

One would think we had completed the weekend’s tale of woe.  One would be wrong.  Wife 2.0’s computer went to heaven.  I think it had a faulty flux capacitor.  Son 1.0 said it was a bad cpu.  What does he know?  Son 1.0 worked on the computer and when it was administered its last rights, accompanied his parents to the computer store, sorted through the techno jargon, selected the just right computer and then demonstrated extreme patience teaching Wife 2.0 (he calls her “mom”) to operate the new machine. Again, no whining, no complaints.  As taught in scouting and our faith, just a “servant heart”.

Did I tell you this was Son 1.0’s first opportunity to relax after a very serious round of tests in a very serious set of courses in a very serious major.  I suspect Son 1.0 is looking forward to returning to college just to get a break.  By the way, what is calculus and why must one take Cal I, II and III?

You may wonder about the title of the story, “Chiklin And Dumplins With No Chiklin”.  Well, when Son 1.0 was four years old, we met the extended family for a meal and Son 1.0 declared he was old enough to place his order with no assistance from mom and dad.  The waitress arrived at the table and after patiently waiting his turn, Son 1.0 told her he wanted “chiklin and dumplins with no chiklin”.  We laughed until it hurt to laugh and I told that story 100’s of times and as a 5^th generation story teller, it was easily my all time favorite story.  Well, it used to be my favorite story.  My new favorite story is the one I just told you of the very bad day and the very good son.  I swear.

See you next time.