Life
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On Choosing A Cool Last Name
One of the things that my future wife told me when we were engaged was that she wanted her married name to be Swan (actually, лебедь) and that she’d dreamed about it since she was a little girl. At least the cards were stacked in my favor. “Well,” I said. “Then let me tell you a little story about how I almost didn’t get this cool last name.” The surname swan isn’t all that rare and comes in several flavors. One “n” or two. We are of the two “n” variety. You see, my last name was pure happenstance. Or the fulfillment of a little girl’s dreams. My father was…
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Pennsylvania Or Bust
Why local place names can be deceiving Dad and I were driving home on the (local only) interstate. Just before we exited, we saw two people walking on the side of the road. It was freezing at the time, which was unusual for for South Alabama. Secondly, the Interstate ended at that exit. It would take another thirteen years to complete the Interstate through the Mobile River Delta onto Montgomery and beyond. A large green sign at the previous exit stated: “For Local Traffic Only.” In other words, it was a dead-end road. Dad pulled his blue and white 1971 Chevrolet Silverado Pick-Up over, put his half-full cup of coffee…
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Was The Groundhog Paid Off?
It’s been thirteen days since the little guy in Pennsylvania “allegedly” didn’t see his shadow, thus promising an early spring to a waiting public. I have concerns. And I don’t mean to be harsh. After all, this cuddly little critter has been called upon for years to announce either the arrival of an early spring or continued misery for at least six weeks. It is the latter that I now wish to discuss. It’s cold today here in central Arkansas. In the northern part of the Natural State, it’s snowing. Snowing! This should not be happening. The little guy promised an early spring by not seeing his shadow. It ain’t…
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The War That Followed
A Short Story A firm Spring breeze swept deceptively across Camp Shelby’s old Vietnam War-era barracks. Within minutes, skies darkened, and a calm quiet blanketed the entire post. Most of the local inhabitants of the Gulf Coast knew the drill. Listen for emergency sirens, stand on the front porch staring at dark clouds in the distance, continue to gaze at the horizon as if you’re welcoming an unlikable distant cousin, and finally go back inside to watch TV like you were doing five minutes earlier. There was usually no point in seeking shelter because, often, no better shelter was available in these rural enclaves of South Mississippi. The weather prognosticators…
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The Race to a Better Matchstick
A long time ago, I went to Russia. I met, fell in love with, and married my translator. Not long after we got married my Russian bride and I were at home just getting to know each other. For some reason, she really wanted to know the location of military outposts nearby. Crazy, right? One day, she was trying to light a candle with a little book of American-made matches, which she didn’t know how to operate. Really. To be fair, she had never seen a book of paper matches in her life. She grew up in Northern Russia and they just didn’t have paper matches, only superior wood matchsticks.…
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Hello New Zealand
My dad is on the top of a 40-foot pine tree next to our house, but it’s okay. No, really. He has emphysema, a bad heart, 40 year’s worth of very hard-living, an unfiltered cigarette addiction, and clearly a lack of trust in others. He believes he is the only person who can install a new CB/short wave antenna even if it is at the top of a 40-foot pine tree. CB (citizens’ band) radios were a big thing then in the 1970s. Once he installed it, he could talk to new friends as far away as New Zealand. He’d sit in his room with a large shortwave radio shouting:…
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Not a Singer
At the end of the year in elementary school, the band teacher at the middle school arrived to test us, fifth graders, to see who had “the music.” If you had the music, you could be a part of the middle school band the following year. If you did not, then you took woodworking. We lined up by the stage. The band director played a few notes on the piano. It was strange to be in the cafeteria when it wasn’t time to eat. Every sound bounced off the floor and empty tables. Some students hummed in tune. Many were off. If you hummed in tune, the director would look…
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Never Rescue Frogs (They’re Evil)
I am sitting on the couch in the lobby of our local gym because I rescued a frog. Now, normally, I’d be upstairs working out — in the very limited way that I do. My wife is upstairs in the torture room she calls “exercise.” Healthy people walk by with their frou-frou water on the way to the weight room, racquetball, or one of the other torture rooms. They look at me smugly as they sashay by. Maybe I remind them of a mangled car wreck. It sure looks that way by their looks. Meanwhile, one of my lower back disks is continuing to press upon the sciatic nerve going down my…
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Russian Gasoline
My translator’s mother, who had a broken leg at the time, hops into the small Russian made car, which looks like a cheap ripoff of a 1970s Toyota Corolla. Her grown daughters also make their way in. We pull out of the parking lot and fifty yards down the narrow snow-packed road, the engine stops, and I know why. At this point, the oldest daughter informs me, in her direct I-will-kill-you Russian way, to make the car “go.” “Make it go American!” She motions with her arm to make the car go because one, we’re all hungry and two, her mom has limited walking ability. She can’t understand just why…
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Gas Station
I’m probably 15 or 16 years old, riding around the metropolis of Saraland, Alabama, with two guys I knew from our neighborhood. While I don’t remember the exact car we were in, I do remember that both Jerry and Derek were hotrod aficionados. And they were really into fast cars. Probably a 1970 Chevy Nova or something like that. But it really didn’t matter because in a matter of seconds, neither we nor half of the county would be around to tell our children the difference between a 350 short block, a slant-six, or a Lego-built truck. Jerry and Derek were regular consumers of nicotine and, as such, needed a…
