14 thoughts on “1951

  1. “Juice” (a Marine Corps nickname nearly 50 years “issued” is something of a master at such juxtapositioning – “thorns and leaves fondle the window glass,” etc. Man has a cany eye for “un” likely descriptives, no?

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  2. He pens a wicked short story as well. I have what appears to be chores creeping “above the fold” and looking into the house wondering why I am not there to comfort the collard greens or the kale before even more rain blesses me into wishing an Ark might pass by picking up passengers: I can imitate an extinct species of pigeon so I yet might qualify. A foot of rain the past 10 days…fortunately the people who lie to me about weather say warm, humid, cloudy but no rain…the same kinds of people who, as doctors, assure me “This will only take a moment,” and “this will not hurt at all.” Should I give them a chance for a third lie? Be well, Shehanne. I go not to pester Bruce Jewett before I swim away.

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      • I have several “hasty” cisterns about the house’s dripline and haul buckets to the containers in the garden, and then slosh the rest into the “row” garden, which at this time of justsummer is limited to okra, eggplant (ichiban and regular globe) I believe the term your side of pond is aubergine, no? We are alleged rain this afternoon and tomorrow and then the wet season is “promised” to return to normal. Normal and weather are mutually incompatible, as am I, so we three get along famously: I have learned to love heat and already have fallen for cold since a child in Newfoundland. I have woolen trou and shirts – and even a heavy canvass parka – among my many Winter and Fall clothes – Hey! someone must feed the moths! – and I know where to go when the option is none. Pity not the poor Jehovah’s Witnesses who trek to the front door and I answer unclad: one of my dearest friends is a JW of decades’ good standing and she has assured me the mak for “visits” clearly remarks I am to be approached only when outside as in days of yore when I smoked filthy cancer sticks I might appear at the front door clad in a towel, a beer in one hand and a stogie either stuck in my face or clutched in the other paw. The towel like as not was draped and not tied. Donna always got a kick out of that: she has wonderful daughters, grands and great- greats to the seventh generation and nothing shocks her. And, she says, she’s ever indebted to me for teaching her two things: one, she is a worthwhile piece of life and due respect and honor; and, two, the proper term is “since,” and not “beings as,” but she never did fall prey to the split infinitive, which perhaps was among others, my first attraction toward her and her boisterous and sometimes contentious – and now, unsurprisingly, calm, mature and loving – clan with all the usual bent, broken and tarnished pieces allowed under law and contract. Everyone I know, must have at least one former lover – or still – who lives by the notion that to be a friend one must allow a friend one glaring flaw…so long as it is not grammatical. No?

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  3. In my case, Shehanne, I believe many of my friends allowed me many more than just one flaw. I mean, after all, overweening pride and arrogance really are not flaws at all, are they? Character waypoints, I would say. When asked which road I might take by a junior high school English teacher after studying “The Road Not Taken,” I replied without hesitation: “The ones with the bumps and ruts and interesting things sticking out beside the way. Always. More frogs, too.”

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  4. Oh, sure. Blame The Board, Mizz Key! My keyboard – of the C/PM 8-bit Kaypro (circa 1984) machine still clacks away but it is impossible to find 5-1/4 inch “floppy” discs anymore. Besides the others also still are too young to be allowed on the internet. I save that for my usual twice, thrice or more weekly walks down-hill – and yes, Flat Florida does three have hills? Some approaching 50 feet above sea level! – to the downtown Sanford library. Sometimes it takes an hour or more to walk there what with all the neighbors, friends and fellow fiends with whom to share pleasantries and receipts and what’s fresh in the gardens: many of them, too, think beer’s too expensive and economize by gardening. We share seeds and cuttings and such: under (actually in- unless tubers or rhizomes) ground economy, donchaknow?)

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    • I think this is excellent economics. After all one must buy certain things. And plants are way too expensive… Good to hear you have hills, sort of hills anyway. My keyboard sticks after I spilt coffee over it.

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      • Biggest hill in Florida a long ways off and it’s a nose-bleeding 360-some feet high. In Seminole County (Central Florida just above Orlando and West of Kennedy Space Center – Cape Canaveral – it lofts upwards of 60, 70 feet above sea level. The place is so flat The Saint Johns River flows at a 3-to-4 miles per hour pace because of that “heady” drop of a foot or two every five or twenty miles, all 360 miles of it! Even when I was a working – okay, paid, anyway – newspaper writer/editor I never allowed anyone to smoke, eat or drink anywhere near my computer hookup to the main IT shack 20 miles South. One time a distraught circulation manager wanted me to go with him to make sure The Captain Morgan spiced rum wasn’t poisioned at our favorite hangout on Sunday mornings before the bars and poolhalls opened in a Black part of North Brevard County called East Mims – one of but two towns in all of the Eastern Seab oard of the United States which had Blacks living between the North-South interstate railroad tracks and the beaches…the other was a hundred miles or so South of us…and it was for the same purpose located nearer the beaches than where The Whites like us lived: to be closer to the orange groves where The Blacks worked, so as to save on transportation of labor costs. He dumped a 40-ounce rum and coke into my office computer’s keyboard so I had no excuse bu to joint him in that weekend debauch. Little did we know that drink into the keyboard trick put down a whole network of three newspapers’ computers for 24 hours. When asked by my publisher what happened, and was I there when it did happen – they traced the problem to my computer monitor/keyboard setup – I smiled and said: Yeah, Bob. I was there. No, Bob, I did not dump the drink down the keyboard, but I do know who did. And you do not want to know who, trust me. He then knew, too, who, and agreed. The Circulation manager was a big star in the corporate world that included the then-newly fledged U.S.A. Today empire and he was still trying to get me to trim my beard, cut my hair more reasonably and take my tennis gear over to Pumpkin Center on Merritt Island right below the space center on the beach and join the muckety-mucks for a weekend of tennis, alcohol and tepid talk about nothing whatsoever: I had a college football preseason to prepare and a trio of Little League baseball teams to go follow not to mention the girls’ softball championship tournaments to photograph and copy down from the scorebooks to run the next two months of Summer to give those 10-to-16-year-old girls their just desserts – if a bit late. And I did not like drinking with people I neither knew (very well in most cases) nor trusted (in all cases.) Coffee? Yes. About three cups a year: sometimes even without the requisite Makers’ Mark inside to make sure all the bugs if not killed at least given headaches.

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