September 2013

10 articles in September 2013

Mmidday saw the father and son sitting on a sunny park bench. The wind gently caressed the young man’s sandy hair while his father watched in admiration. “What a beautiful day,” remarked the father.

“I suppose it is,” replied the son.

A silence followed as the young man evaluated his father’s comment. The weather certainly was fine, much better than it had been recently. There was no trace of the storms of late but instead, tiny spots of white littered the horizon like mild little lambs. The weather was fine indeed.

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Tthe lieutenant turned, his slight frame casting a shadow upon the pink ceramic wall that, due to its angle, caused the shadow to lean slightly back from the vertical: ‘You know what you are being charged with?’

Ken leaned forwards in the hard wooden high-backed chair.

‘Yes and it’s all bull, we didn’t do any thing, the cops found nothing.’

The lieutenant pushed back the black, peaked hat an inch or so, in order to scratch a dark forehead. He restored the hat’s peak to just above the eyes.

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Ii finally hit a benchmark in my travels through life. I was not thrilled about it because it had to do with my weight. On Thanksgiving Day I broke over 206 lbs. and I thought that I had reached a point of no return.

I had finally hit the third part of the trilogy of old, balding, and now fat. Was I destined to never see my feet again? Would my mid-line be greater than my chest? Was the concept of looking good in casual clothes becoming a thing of the past? Thank God, I am married to an intelligent woman. She saw my plight, took the cheesecake out of my hands, and off to a weight-loss center we drove. At first it was a bit embarrassing. My wife took me to Jennie Craig’s in Portsmouth where she led me into a place I thought I would never see.

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Ii lost one of my best friends the other day. It was with me almost 15 years but my wife was very happy about this because she had wanted a new couch for a while, and there was tell-tale evidence of age in the old couch in the form of gaping holes and discolored upholstery.

Not that I cared, because the couch and I went back a long way together. I remembered when it was new. We bought it at a tent sale at a furniture store that went out of business a long time ago. It was raining and the owner of the store had surrounded the tent with plastic so that his merchandise would not get wet.

I assumed the couch was a surplus item because it was marked down. It caught my eye as we walked through the tent, which the owner forgot to ventilate. Every now and then you had to go outside to get some air, so you wouldn’t pass out and die on some of his merchandise. I remember being immediately attracted to the thing that would become part of the history of me for the next 15 years.

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Iit is difficult to believe that a few weeks ago the beaches of York were filled with vacationers and sun-worshippers, enjoying the warm air and beautiful white sands of our shores. The warm air and the smooth sands are still here, but the inhabitants are now very different. Few are seen lying in the sands. Most are walking up and down the beach where the water meets the sand, enjoying a remarkably sad serenity. This has always been one of my favorite times of year. It is a time of rest when I can make myself slowdown to enjoy my fortune of living in York.

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Tthe Thanksgiving holiday makes people slow down. This is a good thing because, in New England, there are so many things to worry about in late autumn with winter and the holidays drawing closer and most of us hurrying to get ready.

Then, all of a sudden, the leaves are off the trees, lawns have turned brown and the phones start to ring. Families that are spread out all over the country start talking to each other again to organize the annual holiday reunion. One of the most important decisions that has to be made is where the festivities are to occur. As people and times change so does the location of the Thanksgiving feast. When I was young I remember driving north from Long Island to celebrate the holidays with friends and family who lived in New Hampshire.

Back then I had no clue that I would one day call northern New England my home. I remember there were multiple old aunts and uncles who always sat at the head table and I had no idea who they all were. My parents would introduce them and I would forget their names as soon I was told them. Being a kid I would sit with the other kids in the other room, eating at a card table that was used throughout the rest of the year to play poker or Parcheesi.

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Rremember, early last spring when our lawns were evolving from a light shade of brown to different hues of green? Remember how excited we were to take our trusted shiny lawnmowers out of storage to trim our lawns into the smoothness of putting greens?

Remember the smell of the freshly-cut grass and how, after you mowed it to that perfect length and raked perfectly round piles of grass, you would stand in the middle of your yard in order to take in all of its magnificence? Even the blisters on your hands felt good because they came from a labor of love. Remember the first time you had to unravel your trusted garden hose to water the small plants around your house? Remember how you would hurry home to make sure the tiny, green stemmed plants would have enough water to turn into magnificent blooms of every possible color?

Well, it’s now mid-September and most of us have long since hoped our entire yard would be attacked by a virus that would kill it all so we could put back in storage that dreaded oil-leaking machine we had to push around every Saturday morning for the past six months. We now hope that same virus would kill off all those damn flowers so we don’t have to feel guilty every time we’re too tired to pull out that stupid hose. Many of us came to hate the weatherman when he predicted rain only to have our hopes of a night off shattered by a cloudless sky.

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Mmy wife and I were watching the news on TV the other night when we had a visit from one of our neighbors. She came to deliver the storage jar my wife had given her earlier, it contained the pesto we had been making throughout the summer. It seems that my wife had told her that she would not give out anymore pesto unless the jars were returned. This is a fact she tells everyone.

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Hhave you ever noticed how times change but you don’t? The concept of time hit me square in the head the other day at the dentist‘s. These great discoveries tend to happen where and when you least expect them.

I was sitting in the chair that has always looked like the type of chair you would find in any run-of-the-mill torture chamber, waiting for my teeth to be cleaned. I happened to look down at my feet and, because I was wearing sandals, noticed my toes were a bit green from having just mowed the lawn.

Glancing out the window I saw a beautiful summer scene with the trees full of leaves and birds and I remembered waiting in the same chair six months earlier for the same dental hygienist, (who looks about twelve but had just told me she was getting married). Back then I was wearing heavy winter boots and the scene outside was the dead of winter and the trees were filled only with snow. I had another reminder of the passage of time when I had to go get a new photo for my driver’s license.

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Oonce upon a time there was a blue island in the middle of an ocean. It was the island where a blue god, wearing blue birds on his shoulders, came from time to time. There the sea sent its foamy waves to kiss the ankles of this great, good god.

One day, the blue god met a woman, a creature of Earth and tethered to the earth, since she was unable to fly. The god gave her his hand and she sat down next to him, on the blue rock by the edge of the sea. They did not talk to each other; they only swung their legs in the waves, looking at each other, in silence.

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