Spitball Army

A few weeks ago, I noticed that there were an awful lot of black hash marks on my swimming chart. Counting them, I found that I was closing in on one hundred miles.

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Holy time capsule! Where did some of these artists go? Rees Shad? Gillman Deaville? (Who is Rees Shad, anyway?)

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It may never have occurred to many of his critics that Ted Kennedy acted as a mirror, showing them not only the best, but also the worst, in themselves.

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Here are more found things from one corner of one room of my little house. This little batch, like the last two posted, are buttons, proclaiming support for certain “causes.”

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One of the pool’s occupants was a young black boy, about ten years old. I could see him jumping up and down in the four-foot free-swim zone as I was swimming my laps. His feet would leave the pool floor, then come back down – his knees would immediately bend and he would jump back up again. Over and over and over.

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Marlon motions to me silently to follow him to the third register. He appears to be in take-charge mode and is going to process my transaction himself. He enters the hard drive’s barcode and the price comes up.

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The second person in line is a woman returning food. She is cradling a plastic basket in one arm and a baby in the other arm. I can see that the basket contains several items, including Pop Tarts, baby socks, and those unnaturally orange cheese crackers. The baby leans over and drools on the crackers.

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Rain;
The library;
The Dexateens’ Singlewide

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There was a large attic vent perched right up on the crest of the roof. It dated back many decades, perhaps even back to the ’20s or ’30s (the house was built in 1925). There is only one other house with such a vent on its roof on my block. Now it is the sole house with that artifact, as I had the roofing company take it down (it was not functioning).

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I read the e-mail message completely, rather than deleting it immediately, as it was obviously not spam. I have been receiving e-mails for some other Fred for years, and they rarely have been of much consequence. This day I was feeling frisky, so I decided to have a little fun.

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