Wednesday morning

22 February 2017

— I walk on untrodden ground. There is scarcely any part of my conduct which may not hereafter be drawn into precedent. George Washington

Good Morning All,

I’m heading towards that beach metaphor, but first here a few random moments I recall from the age of six: :

1. A fly lands on my finger and I notice for the first time how gleefully it rubs its hands together; when I do an imitation, the fly flies away.

2. My friend Mark gives me a smack because I say I like Ike.

3. I am standing on my porch railing, hugging the post, and yelling my lights out because a dog is on the porch barking at me, when my dad rushes out, swoops me into his arms, and takes me inside.

4. On a rainy night, my mom sticks her hand out the back door, then wipes her hand on her apron, then takes me up to bed  and reads to me Mike Mulligan and His Steamshovel.

5. My brother and I go to a shop miles away (a couple of blocks from out house) to get baseball cards; on the way home I see all the leaves on a tree suddenly fly away; David explains about locusts.

6. My teacher puts a gold star on my forehead, but I lose it on the way home. With my fingertip, I can feel the slightly sticky area where it had been.

7. My friend Debbie and I are sitting on her porch steps; she recites: Fuzzy Wuzzy was a bear; / Fuzzy Wuzzy had no hair; /Fuzzy Wuzzy wasn’t fuzzy, was he?” We kill ourselves.

 

8. I overhear my dad saying to Debbie’s dad that he’s always been uncomfortable around dogs.

9. We hear the bell of the ice-cream truck; Mom gives David and me a dime each; we scamper out with all the other kids on the street; I have a terrible time trying to decide between a grape or rootbeer Popsicle.

10. I see some black ants on the sidewalk; they are going every which way; perhaps they are hungry; I bring them some Cheerios; once I break the Cheerios in half the ants shoulder them up and carry them off.

11. David and I climb a fence to get to James Joseph’s house where a bunch of people in their Sunday best are standing around watching a tv screen the size of a baseball card.

12. Debbie gets a patch over one eye and explains it’s because the other eye has been lazy.

13. I am lying in bed with one of those fairly pleasant child fevers; my mom has brought me flat Coke in a  Howdy Doody jam glass; there is a pink accordion straw in it; my mom pushes my hair back up off my forehead so she can check on the fever; she asks if I need anything; I tell her I would not mind her reading about Mike Mulligan again.

14. My dad comes up later that same day and reads to me about Old Mother West Wind.

15. Debbie and I are on our tricycles in the school yard; a girl in our class comes up to me, shoves her thumbs into her ears, wiggles her fingers, and sticks her tongue out.

I have no doubt you could come up with a similarly random, slightly wonky list for when you were six. For that matter, you and I could doubtless make such lists for every year. 

The point being what, Bheka? 

The point being I am working up to this bloody beach metaphor!

Go Well and Stay Well

Bhekaron