Wednesday, May 9, 2012
Shooting on Knox!
Well, it's been some interesting times here on Knox street as of late. A few weeks ago old Lucky, as always, needed to go outside, (boy, does he pee a lot). His hearing and eyesight aren't so good anymore, nor his bladder control for that matter. I let him out A LOT so he doesn't pee on the floor. He wanted to go out front so the two of us limp out into the street, with me wearing only my boxers, and Lucky pees on everybody's mail box post. As we walk by the next-door neighbors house at 1:00 a.m., she's really hollering at her boyfriend, Andy. Lots of "fu*# you" and "fu*#ing liar"; she sounded really angry. Still lots of yelling later that morning.
I was in the backyard early that afternoon getting ready to BBQ and they are still at it. She's hollering like you wouldn't believe. Suddenly, a gun shot rang out from their backyard... then all was quiet. I don't know what to do. I know I don't want to go over there for fear of being shot myself. A few minutes go by and the phone rings. It's one of my other neighbors telling me they're cops every where and they've blocked off the street with their cars with lights flashing and guns pointed at Andy's house and do not go outside. I look out the front window and, sure enough, there is a cop in my front yard with a rifle pointed at Andy's house. I had the front door open at the time and the cop tells me to evacuate the premises. I said I'll just shut the doors and stay inside. He tells me to stay inside and stay away from the windows as, "This is a very serious situation."
Some time passed and I saw that the cop that was in my yard was gone and some of the neighbors had gathered in the street . They told me Andy and Adrian had both been handcuffed and hauled away. I went out to talk about all this craziness when a plain clothes detective came over and interviewed me about what I saw and heard. This led to the police coming to my house for 5 days straight, asking me questions. Everyday there was a big cop in my house, grilling me on what I knew about Andy and his girlfriend, which was not much as I barely knew the guy and his girlfriend at all. They stayed to themselves pretty much and just waved to me as they drove down the street.
Andy's mom started calling me several times a day from So. Cal. I had never met her before so I didn't know her either. She was just a concerned mom worried about her son and decided that, because I was her son's neighbor, I would take care of all these things: Hire a lawyer, get a locksmith to change the locks, go to the court house, get copies of documents, visit him in jail and on and on and on... She also dragged Christy into this mess as well.
Finally, after a week of this madness, a cop stopped by the house (again!) and advised me to withdraw myself from this whole thing. He said I could be subpoenaed to stand before the court and testify and then I'll need a lawyer and it could draw on for a very long time. I told the cop, "I'm done with this whole thing." I mean, after all, I'm just the neighbor and really have nothing to do with any of this.
So it looks like, after all was said and done, Andy got bailed out and moved back to So. Cal and she stayed there next door for a few weeks, taking all his stuff out, and even though she is charged with attempted murder (she fired the gun), she is out partyin' and havin' a great time selling his belongings.
So things have quieted down as the the the-house-from-hell seems to be vacant. Working on planting in the vegetable garden and the boat mechanic should be towing the boat to his yard today for some work to get it ready for the summer. I've already got the same dock lined up that I had the last couple of years so that's one thing I don't have to worry about.
Lets hope for a great summer,
Bob
Wednesday, May 2, 2012
Slot Cars on South Shore
Back in the mid 60's Slot Cars were all the rage. One year for Christmas there was a big box for me under the tree. I couldn't wait to tear off that paper to see what it was. After making a mess of the living room with wrapping paper, there it was; a box that on the front had a picture of two race cars battling it out on the track. The driver in the foreground was depicted with a look of fierce determination, wearing goggles and leather gloves. My own Slot Car track!
For those of you unfamiliar with these things, here's what's in the box. A bunch of pieces of snap-together track, some straight, some curved, with each section having two slots embedded into the track and two metal strips that are on either side of the slot allowing two cars to race one another. Then there are two controllers and a 12 volt transformer that got plugged into the side of the track and, of course, two cars. A figure-eight was how most of these were set up but you could make any shape you wanted if you had enough pieces of track. Man, I zipped those little cars around that track for hours and hours, laying on my stomach in the living room. Well, winter gave way to spring and I had to take apart my race track, put it back in the box, and slide it under my bed. The motel was getting busy and my folks didn't want my track taking up so much of the living room floor.
That next summer two big commercial tracks opened, one on Ski Run and another on Hwy. 50, both within walking distance from the Echo motel. I put my controller and one car in a shoe box and walked on over. Now this place was the real deal. 6 lanes, banked turns, and a configuration that was all over; ups, downs, and going under and over. I pay the guy behind the counter for 15 minutes of track time. He turns on the power to my lane and I plug in the controller and put my car on the track and close down on the trigger of my controller. My car goes backwards and kinks over to one side. I take it off the track and the older kid next to me explains that I need to switch the wires that are soldered to the brushes, left to right and right to left. The guy behind the counter calls me over and tells me he'll give me my money back. Then he pulls a couple of new cars and controllers out from the glass case and puts them on the counter for me to see. Way cool! Real sleek bodies with a neat paint job and big fat spongy tires in the back. I turned it upside down and the electric motor made my little car motors look like the toys they were. Also these cars were slightly bigger; my cars that came in the box were 1/32 scale the new ones were 1/24. So I was working at Ski Run Beach and Marina and figured that if I could stay away from the ice cream sandwiches and the pinball machines I could save up to buy a new set up in 2 or 3 weeks, which is what I did.
Those tracks closed after just a few years as popularity waned for the hobby. In the 90's one opened by Keys Blvd. on Hwy. 50 and a few years later he closed. Then another guy I know and his wife had one on Hwy. 89. I bought 3 new cars there (Dale Earnhardt and Ernie Irvan, plus a wicked fast one that was super low with plastic wings and air foils on it). But it was the same story; not enough customers to pay the bills so it, too, closed.
I've still got that original track and all the stuff that came with it. I lost the original box years ago so now it sits in a plain old card board box out in the garage. I've been lugging that thing around for almost 50 years. A boy and his toys! And don't you dare call it junk!
Take care,
Bob
Saturday, January 28, 2012
Learning to Ski
Well, it was back in 1962 when my folks bought the Echo Motel here in South Lake Tahoe. It was right on Hwy 50, close to the lake and just a short bit from Ski Run Blvd. which led to the Heavenly Valley ski resort. Along with the 22 motel units and pool came an old 4-wheel-drive; a yellow Willys pick-up with "Echo Motel" painted on the doors and with a snow plow mounted on the front. My dad had never plowed snow before but he figured out how do it on his own.
I loved riding along with him as he plowed the parking lot. We would start at the front of the property, lower the plow, and then push the snow all the way back to the end of the parking lot. Then he’d put it in reverse and make another pass. Once we got a good pile going, Dad would put the clutch to the floor right before we got to the snow pile and we would drift into the mound of snow. It would come billowing over the hood and onto the windshield. We would both laugh as he turned on the wipers and backed up to make another run.
Not one to let a perfectly good pile of snow go to waste, I made a ski and sled run out of it. The front side where dad pushed the snow was a steep drop but short and do-able on a snow saucer. Ah, but the backside of the pile was a gradual slope that emptied onto the vacant property next door: my own private ski slope! But to be honest, it wasn't much more than about 35 feet long, give or take a few feet.
Now the only thing I new about skiing was what I saw on TV via the antenna on the roof. At the time we only got 3 or, sometimes, 4 channels on the little black and white. Remember "The Wide World of Sports?" That was the extent of my knowledge of skiing. But after sending my little brother, Eric, down the back side of the pile on his saucer several times (he was my test pilot), I figured it was time to strap on the skis as the little slope was now packed down. I can still see Eric's face... eyes wide, hands gripping the handles of the saucer as I pushed him off the top, twirling round in circles until he came to a stop at the bottom all the while screaming, "Bobby, Bobby!"
Well, now the moment of truth came. I had to ski. I put on the skis with cable bindings, my rubber ski boots, and bamboo ski poles in hand I pushed off. I made it! I didn't know how to stop or turn, but I made it to the bottom of the little slope with out crashing. Hooray! So this went on for several days and I figured out how to turn and come to a stop. I even put a little jump (okay, it was just a little bump) in the run so I could get airborne for a couple of feet.
The next thing I know, my folks are telling me that my aunt and uncle, along with my cousins, are coming up to visit and will stay at the motel during Christmas vacation. I remember being really excited to show my cousin Woody my ski run at the back of the motel and my expertise(?) at skiing. Why, I was so excited I went to bed that night wearing my ski boots, ski pants, and sweater... all underneath the bed covers, anxiously awaiting the next morning so I could get an early start to hit the hill with my cousin Woody. Now, Woody didn't have any ski boots so he strapped on a pair of rubber galoshes over his tennis shoes and we took turns using the skis and poles to make many runs down the little slope. Great fun!
After Christmas vacation was over, my folks signed me up for the "learn to ski" program at Bijou Elementary which was held at Heavenly Valley. A big help! The Austrian, German, or Hungarian instructors were a bit strict but they really taught me how to ski... graceful, rhythmic, and stylish. Skis close together, weight slightly forward, carving big long wide turns. That got me into some ski racing in junior high as well as four years at high school.
Then, I worked at heavenly for four years where I skied and raced a lot. Eventually, I got sick of the scene as skiing had changed. It was now all about shiny ski clothes, really short skis, and a bunch of people calling themselves skiers... but they really weren't. Just a bunch of yahoos who didn't know what they were doing.
So that got me off the chair lifts and in to cross country skiing, snow camping, and ice fishing. For about a dozen years I did both, Alpine(downhill skiing at a resort) as well as Nordic (cross country skiing and mountaineering) but my knees continued to get worse so I had to give it all up.
So, all in all, it was a good ride, or maybe I should say glide, as I glided for many years on the glistening slopes, carving turns through the trees and the wide open runs. And to think it all started on a little pile of snow at the back of the Echo Motel.
Take care,
Bob (aka: Old Long Skis)
Saturday, July 30, 2011
Bent Nails
So earlier this summer my neighbor that lives behind my lot was putting up a new fence. The heavy winter had blown the old one down, too much snow, too much wind, and those old 4x4 posts were getting rotten. Craig propped it up with some pieces of pipe temporarily. So one day I see him building the new fence and I walk over to say howdy. Craig and his wife Lynn are very nice folks, about my age and they keep their house and yard nice and are always friendly. So as I'm talking with them I ask what they're going to do with the old fence. He wants to cut some of it up to make bird houses and the rest will go to the dump. I ask if I can have the rest to which he readily agrees; saving him dump fees and I get free wood. Bit by bit I've been trying to dismantle the six foot sections which Craig stacked neatly in the lot. The fence boards are very dry and brittle so they crack easily. I figure if nothing else I'll use it for firewood. So from time to time I go over with my hammer and try and pry a few boards loose. I've been saving the nails, bent and crooked as they may be. Which brings me to this...
Right around '67 or '68 my folks bought 32 acres of property in Garden Valley, which is a remote area north of Placerville and Coloma, up in the mother lode region where gold was discovered in the 1800's. The property was beautiful rolling hills, two springs, some trees, and lots of open space. No buildings, no water line, no sewer or electricity... but nice! There was an old barbed wire fence that was in disrepair but other than that it was just bare land. My folks vision was to build a ranch there, from scratch; an ambitious goal, to put it mildly. I don't think we ever intended on moving there permanently; it was more of a weekend place or a summer getaway type thing.
One day, when I came home from school, my dad said he needed my help to tear down a little one room cabin/storage shed building out in Meyers. I recruited my friend Rob Calvert, who had a pickup, to help. The place was just a small, one room structure with a corrugated metal roof. My mom and dad did most of the work. Rob and I mostly just hauled away the stuff that couldn't be reused to the landfill. Dad saved every board, the window, door, and yes, even the nails. The boards, the tin roof, all of it was stacked on the side of the driveway at our house on Glennwood.
My dad would make weekly trips with his pick up loaded with these old boards down to "The Ranch." One of my jobs was to straighten the nails. Hold the nail by its head, lay it on the work bench, and tap it with a hammer to get it into something resembling straightness. The ones that were really bent over, I put in a vice. I had 2 coffee cans full of nails, the bent ones and the ones I "fixed." A regular little assembly line!
So my dad, the self taught carpenter, built this one room cabin at our new ranch in Garden Valley. Now, granted, it looked nothing like the building it was up at the lake; my dad just sort of eyeballed it and, with no plans or anything, he built a new cabin using old wood, the tin roof, and even my somewhat straightened nails.
It was a fine little cabin. Mom and Dad had a bed in one corner and my brother Eric and I had cots and sleeping bags off to the sides. By this time we had electricity run in and a well dug. So we had running water and electricity but we had no toilet. Dad built an outhouse about 50 yards from the cabin out of some more old lumber. This was 1968 so the outhouse was named "The Far Out House." My Mom and Dad had put in a small wood stove, a refrigerator, sink unit, and even a little 12 foot, snap together above ground pool to cool off in during the hot summer days. We all kidded my dad about about the cabin even though it was built real well. We ended up naming the cabin "Cattywampus" as in maybe a little crooked or off kilter. We had the fine little one room cabin and outhouse but now we needed cows and horses. So my dad buys a pair of Black Angus yearlings in Gardnerville and loads them into a U-Haul trailer... an enclosed trailer! He shows up at the the Tahoe house and says he needs my help with the cows he's taking to the ranch. I go out into the driveway and sure enough there are 2 cows inside this little trailer and the thing has no air vents. I crack the door and brace myself against it to give them some air. So Dad and I head over Echo with the cows, stopping frequently to crack the doors so they get some fresh air... crazy. The cows made it fine and I hosed out the trailer once we unloaded them at the ranch. Lottsa cow shit on the inside of that little U-Haul, that's for sure!
My dad kept building and fixing things on the property. I helped string new barb wire fence along the front of the property as well as help build a wooden fenced entry way from the road. Dad made a large hanging sign on the arch over the entrance that read, "ROCKING R RANCH", spelled out in white rope on a dark stained piece of wood. That name, "Rocking R" has been in my family as long as I can remember and now it was becoming a reality. We had a few horses and a burro and some cows. Everything was going along good. Every chance we got we'd leave the lake and go to the ranch. At night I'd lay on my army cot in my Coleman sleeping bag and listen to the rain pelting the tin roof, my brother Eric to the left of me in his sleeping bag, Mom and Dad in the corner in a small bed. All was right in the world.
Then things began to change. It was the late 60's and a lot was goin' on. Protests against the war in Vietnam, rock and roll, sex, drugs; hell, people were rebelling about everything. It was a chaotic time and I jumped in with both feet (bare feet, of course) with a big smile on my face. I didn't go to the ranch as much as I used to but my folks forged ahead. They heard of some horses for sale in Idaho - not just a few but fifty. Yes, 50 horses. Some old guy had a herd and he was in bad health and wanted to sell the whole lot of them. They weren't in the best of shape; hooves overgrown, skinny, and only green broke. Green broke is a horse that's just barely used to humans. You can't ride them as they won't stand for being saddled, let alone brushed or fed by hand. I guess you could say they're just a bit below being full-on wild horses. They were all registered half Arabians with papers, but we found it near impossible to match which horse to which paper. Dad had a large corral built and a bunch of stalls where they could feed and get out of the sun. Also a squeeze chute was built so we could inoculate and tube worm the horses.
A squeeze chute is two fences that come together into a "Y" that funnels into a narrow fenced enclosure with no room for the animal to move. Once you push, pull, or drag the horse in there you slide boards in behind it so it can't back out. So this is how you do it. You corral maybe ten horses at a time and approach them slowly with lasso in hand. Be sure to be wearing leather gloves and a good pair of boots. Spot one horse and stay focused and calm. If the horse doesn't get spooked you may be able to walk up slowly and place the rope around his neck and lead him to the chute where the veterinarian is waiting with the syringe and worm medicine. But all too often the horses panicked and it was rodeo time. Good thing I watched all those Roy Rogers films as a kid! I actually roped some of those crazy horses and dug in my heels as we tried to herd the beast into the chute.
Tube worming was quite an experience, for the horses as well as myself. Once you get the frightened horse into the chute the vet jabs him in the hind quarters with two different shots. The next thing you do is try and grab him under the jaw and lift his head. You have a quart bottle of de-worming liquid that's attached to a length of surgical tubing and at the end is a nozzle that you insert into the horses nostril and then pour in the medicine into the horses nose. Challenging? You bet! Fun? No! I did about ten horses and that was it for me. The horses were terrified and I was exhausted. My folks ended up hiring a guy named Twister Heller and his wife to finish the job and start breaking and training the horses.
We were now in over our heads in this venture. The price of alfalfa and oats was on the rise and there wasn't much of a market for barely ride-able horses. Eventually my folks sold the ranch and the horses and things returned to normal... well, sort of anyway. My folks did lots of things as I was growing up that made me scratch my head and go, "What?" But the 50-horse deal definitely ranks in the top 10 in the "What?" category.
So this all came to me as I was pulling out some bent nails from some old fence next door. Yes, I will straighten the nails and yes, I will re-use those old boards. Who knows, maybe I'll build a cabin with a tin roof.
Happy Trails, Bob
Right around '67 or '68 my folks bought 32 acres of property in Garden Valley, which is a remote area north of Placerville and Coloma, up in the mother lode region where gold was discovered in the 1800's. The property was beautiful rolling hills, two springs, some trees, and lots of open space. No buildings, no water line, no sewer or electricity... but nice! There was an old barbed wire fence that was in disrepair but other than that it was just bare land. My folks vision was to build a ranch there, from scratch; an ambitious goal, to put it mildly. I don't think we ever intended on moving there permanently; it was more of a weekend place or a summer getaway type thing.
One day, when I came home from school, my dad said he needed my help to tear down a little one room cabin/storage shed building out in Meyers. I recruited my friend Rob Calvert, who had a pickup, to help. The place was just a small, one room structure with a corrugated metal roof. My mom and dad did most of the work. Rob and I mostly just hauled away the stuff that couldn't be reused to the landfill. Dad saved every board, the window, door, and yes, even the nails. The boards, the tin roof, all of it was stacked on the side of the driveway at our house on Glennwood.
My dad would make weekly trips with his pick up loaded with these old boards down to "The Ranch." One of my jobs was to straighten the nails. Hold the nail by its head, lay it on the work bench, and tap it with a hammer to get it into something resembling straightness. The ones that were really bent over, I put in a vice. I had 2 coffee cans full of nails, the bent ones and the ones I "fixed." A regular little assembly line!
So my dad, the self taught carpenter, built this one room cabin at our new ranch in Garden Valley. Now, granted, it looked nothing like the building it was up at the lake; my dad just sort of eyeballed it and, with no plans or anything, he built a new cabin using old wood, the tin roof, and even my somewhat straightened nails.
It was a fine little cabin. Mom and Dad had a bed in one corner and my brother Eric and I had cots and sleeping bags off to the sides. By this time we had electricity run in and a well dug. So we had running water and electricity but we had no toilet. Dad built an outhouse about 50 yards from the cabin out of some more old lumber. This was 1968 so the outhouse was named "The Far Out House." My Mom and Dad had put in a small wood stove, a refrigerator, sink unit, and even a little 12 foot, snap together above ground pool to cool off in during the hot summer days. We all kidded my dad about about the cabin even though it was built real well. We ended up naming the cabin "Cattywampus" as in maybe a little crooked or off kilter. We had the fine little one room cabin and outhouse but now we needed cows and horses. So my dad buys a pair of Black Angus yearlings in Gardnerville and loads them into a U-Haul trailer... an enclosed trailer! He shows up at the the Tahoe house and says he needs my help with the cows he's taking to the ranch. I go out into the driveway and sure enough there are 2 cows inside this little trailer and the thing has no air vents. I crack the door and brace myself against it to give them some air. So Dad and I head over Echo with the cows, stopping frequently to crack the doors so they get some fresh air... crazy. The cows made it fine and I hosed out the trailer once we unloaded them at the ranch. Lottsa cow shit on the inside of that little U-Haul, that's for sure!
My dad kept building and fixing things on the property. I helped string new barb wire fence along the front of the property as well as help build a wooden fenced entry way from the road. Dad made a large hanging sign on the arch over the entrance that read, "ROCKING R RANCH", spelled out in white rope on a dark stained piece of wood. That name, "Rocking R" has been in my family as long as I can remember and now it was becoming a reality. We had a few horses and a burro and some cows. Everything was going along good. Every chance we got we'd leave the lake and go to the ranch. At night I'd lay on my army cot in my Coleman sleeping bag and listen to the rain pelting the tin roof, my brother Eric to the left of me in his sleeping bag, Mom and Dad in the corner in a small bed. All was right in the world.
Then things began to change. It was the late 60's and a lot was goin' on. Protests against the war in Vietnam, rock and roll, sex, drugs; hell, people were rebelling about everything. It was a chaotic time and I jumped in with both feet (bare feet, of course) with a big smile on my face. I didn't go to the ranch as much as I used to but my folks forged ahead. They heard of some horses for sale in Idaho - not just a few but fifty. Yes, 50 horses. Some old guy had a herd and he was in bad health and wanted to sell the whole lot of them. They weren't in the best of shape; hooves overgrown, skinny, and only green broke. Green broke is a horse that's just barely used to humans. You can't ride them as they won't stand for being saddled, let alone brushed or fed by hand. I guess you could say they're just a bit below being full-on wild horses. They were all registered half Arabians with papers, but we found it near impossible to match which horse to which paper. Dad had a large corral built and a bunch of stalls where they could feed and get out of the sun. Also a squeeze chute was built so we could inoculate and tube worm the horses.
A squeeze chute is two fences that come together into a "Y" that funnels into a narrow fenced enclosure with no room for the animal to move. Once you push, pull, or drag the horse in there you slide boards in behind it so it can't back out. So this is how you do it. You corral maybe ten horses at a time and approach them slowly with lasso in hand. Be sure to be wearing leather gloves and a good pair of boots. Spot one horse and stay focused and calm. If the horse doesn't get spooked you may be able to walk up slowly and place the rope around his neck and lead him to the chute where the veterinarian is waiting with the syringe and worm medicine. But all too often the horses panicked and it was rodeo time. Good thing I watched all those Roy Rogers films as a kid! I actually roped some of those crazy horses and dug in my heels as we tried to herd the beast into the chute.
Tube worming was quite an experience, for the horses as well as myself. Once you get the frightened horse into the chute the vet jabs him in the hind quarters with two different shots. The next thing you do is try and grab him under the jaw and lift his head. You have a quart bottle of de-worming liquid that's attached to a length of surgical tubing and at the end is a nozzle that you insert into the horses nostril and then pour in the medicine into the horses nose. Challenging? You bet! Fun? No! I did about ten horses and that was it for me. The horses were terrified and I was exhausted. My folks ended up hiring a guy named Twister Heller and his wife to finish the job and start breaking and training the horses.
We were now in over our heads in this venture. The price of alfalfa and oats was on the rise and there wasn't much of a market for barely ride-able horses. Eventually my folks sold the ranch and the horses and things returned to normal... well, sort of anyway. My folks did lots of things as I was growing up that made me scratch my head and go, "What?" But the 50-horse deal definitely ranks in the top 10 in the "What?" category.
So this all came to me as I was pulling out some bent nails from some old fence next door. Yes, I will straighten the nails and yes, I will re-use those old boards. Who knows, maybe I'll build a cabin with a tin roof.
Happy Trails, Bob
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
Winter in the Mountains
Jason Milby's first year living in his cabin by the lake was quite a learning experience. The first thing he learned was why he got the place so cheap. There was little or no insulation in the walls and gaps around the front door and windows were letting in the cold air. It was fine that first summer but on the cooler nights of autumn the two electric heaters were on constantly. The wood stove became a central part of the cabin. Milby and cat in the rocking chair soaking up the heat from the little wood stove. He didn't have a whole lot of firewood when he moved in and what he had was going fast.
There was a small shed behind the cabin and in there were some old rusty and well worn tools left behind by the previous owner. A few shovels, an ax and hatchet, two hand saws, and a wheelbarrow, along with an assortment of odds and ends. Jason got in the habit of loading up the wheelbarrow with a saw and ax and going out looking for wood. Once he'd collected everything close by he started to expand his search across the dirt road that ran behind his place and up the hill. He found a couple of dead trees that had blown over in a storm so he got right to work. He made many trips with the wheelbarrow and had a pretty good stack along the side of his cabin. Although this gave him some degree of security he knew it wouldn't be enough for winter.
Jay, as he liked to be called now, had bought an old pick up when he left the city. It had a little rust and smoked some when you first started it but over all it was a good truck; the heater worked and so did the four wheel drive. Now he started searching with his truck for more wood. He had some success just going down the dirt road that led to the main two-lane paved road. Since he was this far he figured he'd go to the general store and pick up a few things. The store was only about a mile away once you got on the two-lane and he liked going there to visit with the owners and stock up on provisions for his pantry.
The general store was an interesting place. There were two gas pumps out front along with a pet goose named Patrick. The goose could be pretty aggressive as Jay found out his first time there; wings outstretched, neck bent down, running after you honking and hissing. The trick was to have some kind of treat on you and make a peace offering. Jay found that a little dry cat food from his pocket would make Patrick your friend for life. What always got to Jay was that the store, while not much to look at from outside; weathered wood, a faded sign reading General Store up near the roof; the weird thing was, it seemed bigger on the inside than on the outside. He knew that was impossible but every time he went there he got that same feeling.
The proprietors, Dick and Trudy, were very nice and always busy dusting the rows of cans and jars, sweeping the floor, and generally making things look clean and orderly. The inventory was amazing. Of course there was lots of food, canned goods, jars of fruit, peppers, pickles, dry goods, and just about everything you could think of. They had a cold case for dairy products and another for fresh vegetables. But what was interesting to Jay was all the other stuff; fishing tackle and bait, wool blankets, kerosene lanterns, a small tool section with some home repair items, candles, snow chains, plastic tarps, and on and on. Everything was stacked neatly and in some places went all the way up to the ceiling. That's when Dick would get the ladder and climb up to get an item from the very top.
So Jay fills his little hand held basket and sets it on the counter and visits briefly while getting his purchases rung up on the antique cash register. Just then the little bell that's above the door rings announcing another customer. It's Erik, the county road worker that Jay had met at the store earlier on one of his shopping trips. He asks Jay how he's fixed for firewood and Jay says he's alright for now. Erik asks him, "You still at the same cabin?" "Yes," replies Jay. Erik tells him he's got a load of firewood from a road widening project in the dump truck parked out front; he was on his way to have it chipped to be used as ground cover. "It's yours if you want it, Jay. I'll bring it by and drop it wherever you want." Jay can't believe his good fortune, free firewood! Before he leaves he buys a tarp to cover his new heat source when he gets home. So now he's set for heat. He sealed up the most obvious gaps that were making the house so cold. There was a small leak in the roof and he patched that.
He was still concerned if he had enough food in the freezer and in the pantry. The dirt road from the lake to the highway doesn't get plowed in the winter. If it's a heavy winter he may get snowed in and have to live off what he has on hand. As he's stacking wood he decides he'd better make at least one more trip to the store to be on the safe side. As he's making a mental check list of what more he needs, two cars stop on the road. It's the Olson's and the Stevens families. They have a pair of cabins side by side further down the shore. Like everyone else at the lake, they're all packing up to go back home as summer is coming to an end. Mr. Olson hollers out, "Jay, you stayin' the winter?" "Sure am," says Jay. Mr. Olson and Mr. Stevens get out of their cars and talk amongst themselves, then walk down to where Jay is still working on the wood. "Jay, we're on our way home and were wondering if you'd like the food we have boxed up that we're taking back with us." Jay at first refuses, saying he was going to the store when he's done with the wood. The two departing visitors offer him a deal. Take the food and in exchange keep an eye on their cabins, as a few had been broken into a few years ago. They all shake hands and it's a deal. They unload the boxes and put them in the pantry. Now Jay has more than enough to get by. Now his only concern is if that old wooden floor can hold all that weight!
Jay takes his new responsibility seriously. Every day he walks the shore line down to the cabins to check to make sure the doors are locked and everything is secure. Oh, and of course he brings his fishing pole with cat staying close by his side as the new "unofficial caretaker" makes his rounds.
It was a good thing all the summer people left when they did; the first snow came in early October. Cat was not too excited about the snow, so she made herself content curled up on the seat of the rocker with the occasional break to look out the window at the birds and squirrels in the trees and on the front deck, scrambling to get the birdseed that Jay put out every morning. So Jay and cat were ready for their first winter in the cabin by the lake. Lots of firewood, a full pantry and freezer, and plenty of books plus his radio. In the back of the shed he found and old pair of snowshoes, he might just try those out sometime if the snow gets too deep. Life was good at the lake.
....to be continued....
There was a small shed behind the cabin and in there were some old rusty and well worn tools left behind by the previous owner. A few shovels, an ax and hatchet, two hand saws, and a wheelbarrow, along with an assortment of odds and ends. Jason got in the habit of loading up the wheelbarrow with a saw and ax and going out looking for wood. Once he'd collected everything close by he started to expand his search across the dirt road that ran behind his place and up the hill. He found a couple of dead trees that had blown over in a storm so he got right to work. He made many trips with the wheelbarrow and had a pretty good stack along the side of his cabin. Although this gave him some degree of security he knew it wouldn't be enough for winter.
Jay, as he liked to be called now, had bought an old pick up when he left the city. It had a little rust and smoked some when you first started it but over all it was a good truck; the heater worked and so did the four wheel drive. Now he started searching with his truck for more wood. He had some success just going down the dirt road that led to the main two-lane paved road. Since he was this far he figured he'd go to the general store and pick up a few things. The store was only about a mile away once you got on the two-lane and he liked going there to visit with the owners and stock up on provisions for his pantry.
The general store was an interesting place. There were two gas pumps out front along with a pet goose named Patrick. The goose could be pretty aggressive as Jay found out his first time there; wings outstretched, neck bent down, running after you honking and hissing. The trick was to have some kind of treat on you and make a peace offering. Jay found that a little dry cat food from his pocket would make Patrick your friend for life. What always got to Jay was that the store, while not much to look at from outside; weathered wood, a faded sign reading General Store up near the roof; the weird thing was, it seemed bigger on the inside than on the outside. He knew that was impossible but every time he went there he got that same feeling.
The proprietors, Dick and Trudy, were very nice and always busy dusting the rows of cans and jars, sweeping the floor, and generally making things look clean and orderly. The inventory was amazing. Of course there was lots of food, canned goods, jars of fruit, peppers, pickles, dry goods, and just about everything you could think of. They had a cold case for dairy products and another for fresh vegetables. But what was interesting to Jay was all the other stuff; fishing tackle and bait, wool blankets, kerosene lanterns, a small tool section with some home repair items, candles, snow chains, plastic tarps, and on and on. Everything was stacked neatly and in some places went all the way up to the ceiling. That's when Dick would get the ladder and climb up to get an item from the very top.
So Jay fills his little hand held basket and sets it on the counter and visits briefly while getting his purchases rung up on the antique cash register. Just then the little bell that's above the door rings announcing another customer. It's Erik, the county road worker that Jay had met at the store earlier on one of his shopping trips. He asks Jay how he's fixed for firewood and Jay says he's alright for now. Erik asks him, "You still at the same cabin?" "Yes," replies Jay. Erik tells him he's got a load of firewood from a road widening project in the dump truck parked out front; he was on his way to have it chipped to be used as ground cover. "It's yours if you want it, Jay. I'll bring it by and drop it wherever you want." Jay can't believe his good fortune, free firewood! Before he leaves he buys a tarp to cover his new heat source when he gets home. So now he's set for heat. He sealed up the most obvious gaps that were making the house so cold. There was a small leak in the roof and he patched that.
He was still concerned if he had enough food in the freezer and in the pantry. The dirt road from the lake to the highway doesn't get plowed in the winter. If it's a heavy winter he may get snowed in and have to live off what he has on hand. As he's stacking wood he decides he'd better make at least one more trip to the store to be on the safe side. As he's making a mental check list of what more he needs, two cars stop on the road. It's the Olson's and the Stevens families. They have a pair of cabins side by side further down the shore. Like everyone else at the lake, they're all packing up to go back home as summer is coming to an end. Mr. Olson hollers out, "Jay, you stayin' the winter?" "Sure am," says Jay. Mr. Olson and Mr. Stevens get out of their cars and talk amongst themselves, then walk down to where Jay is still working on the wood. "Jay, we're on our way home and were wondering if you'd like the food we have boxed up that we're taking back with us." Jay at first refuses, saying he was going to the store when he's done with the wood. The two departing visitors offer him a deal. Take the food and in exchange keep an eye on their cabins, as a few had been broken into a few years ago. They all shake hands and it's a deal. They unload the boxes and put them in the pantry. Now Jay has more than enough to get by. Now his only concern is if that old wooden floor can hold all that weight!
Jay takes his new responsibility seriously. Every day he walks the shore line down to the cabins to check to make sure the doors are locked and everything is secure. Oh, and of course he brings his fishing pole with cat staying close by his side as the new "unofficial caretaker" makes his rounds.
It was a good thing all the summer people left when they did; the first snow came in early October. Cat was not too excited about the snow, so she made herself content curled up on the seat of the rocker with the occasional break to look out the window at the birds and squirrels in the trees and on the front deck, scrambling to get the birdseed that Jay put out every morning. So Jay and cat were ready for their first winter in the cabin by the lake. Lots of firewood, a full pantry and freezer, and plenty of books plus his radio. In the back of the shed he found and old pair of snowshoes, he might just try those out sometime if the snow gets too deep. Life was good at the lake.
....to be continued....
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Roy Rogers, Ratnose, and the Round House
In the mid to late '50s I was a big fan of Roy Rogers. I always watched his show every time it was on our little black and white TV. It featured Roy and his horse Trigger, Dale Evans and her horse Buttercup, and their comic sidekick Gabby Hayes who sometimes rode his horse Phineas or drove an old military jeep he named Nellybelle. They usually either fought bad guys or rescued somebody from some dire situation.
There was also lots of singing of western themed songs on the show. Roy had a band called the Sons of the Pioneers. They sang and harmonized really well. When I'd lie in bed at night it would be real dark; the only light coming from the dial of the radio next to my bed. Whenever "Ghost Riders in the Sky" came on I would get kinda spooked but at the same time I liked it; a lot. They had a lot of good songs; "Tumbling Tumbleweeds", "Cool Water," and of course the show ended with "Happy Trails." I had a whole Roy Rogers outfit, cowboy hat, vest, chaps, toy guns, pajamas, and a lunch pail; with Roy Rogers name on all of it.
So one day I'm waiting at the end of our driveway for the school bus to pick me up and take me to Loma Prieta Elementary school. The houses were so far apart in the Santa Cruz Mts. that there wasn't really a bus stop you walked to. They just picked you up at your house. So I climb aboard the bus and right there in the front seat are two hoods right out of one of those bad '50s movies about rebellious teenagers. Hair greased back, t-shirts with the sleeves rolled up, black pants, and a menacing sneer on their faces. I could almost hear the sleazy saxophone music in the background. As I walk by them one of them sticks out his foot and trips me, sending me to the floor. My Roy Rogers lunch pail goes flying. I pick myself up, grab my lunch, and find a seat. This went on for some time. Occasionally the bus driver would yell at the hoods but not much came of it. I learned their names were Ratnose and Clancy. They were much bigger than all the other kids on the bus and they were scary. Once, after getting an elbow to the ribs from Ratnose, I'm looking for a seat and this kid says I can sit with him.
His name was Jason and we became fast friends. He had lots of freckles, buck teeth, and always had his mouth open. He also had a tendency to drool on his shirt. He was a little older than me and told me not to worry about Ratnose and Clancy anymore; he'd take care of it. Sure enough the hoods left me alone. Maybe they didn't want to get drooled on.
One afternoon my Mom calls out to me from the kitchen, "Bobby, there's someone here to see you." I run to the door and its Jason asking if I can go to his house to play. I ask my mom and she says yes. We climb into his mom's car and off we go. His mom is talking non-stop and I thought she was talking to us in the back seat but Jason tells me no, she does this all the time. She was having a conversation with herself. We went for quite a ways and she finally turns off onto a gravel road. It winds up and up this mountain until we get to the very top.
I had never seen a house like this before; it's very large and it's round. There's a second story that was a little smaller with lots of windows; it too was round with a round roof. The house looked like a flying saucer built out of wood and glass. There were some old rusting cars and tractors off to one side by a dilapidated old barn. Jason opens up the big double doors and we go inside followed by his mom who, for the time being, has stopped talking to herself. Jason gives me a tour of the house and explains that his dad is an architect and he designed the house and built a lot of it himself. There's a huge sunken round living room and in the middle is a round fireplace with the metal chimney that looked like an upside down funnel suspended by chains from the ceiling. We went outside and played on the rusty tractors and pretended we were driving them. I really wanted to see the little turret type room on the second floor but Jason said that was off limits. That was his dad's office and no one was allowed up there. His mom fixed us some sandwiches for lunch and then drove me home.
This was repeated many times. They'd pick me up; the mom talking to herself; Jason and I would play on the tractors and then go home. Eventually Jason and his mom started giving me a ride to school and back which was great because that meant I didn't have to deal with Ratnose and Clancy.
Then one day they didn't show up and Jason wasn't on the bus. He wasn't at school either so I thought maybe he was sick. After several days he's back on the bus but he looks really different. His head was shaved including his eyebrows. There were cuts and lumps all over his head and he didn't look too happy. He told me his mom was sick and in the hospital and then he just turned away and looked out the window. I think he was crying. Several years later my mom told me that Jason's mom was put in a mental institution. My mom felt bad for letting me ride around with Jason's mom but she didn't know about the lady's mental problems and looking back on it, my mom told me any number of bad things could of happened to me.
We moved away and I don't know what became of Jason, his mom, or Ratnose and Clancy; not that I care much about those last two! I've still got a few Roy Rogers record albums and although my original cowboy outfit is long gone, I bought a boxed set of DVD's of some of his shows and I bought a reproduction of a Roy Rogers lunch pail. So sing along:
"Happy trails to you... until we meet again... happy trails to you, keep smilin' until then....."
The Roy Rogers Show - Happy Trails to You
There was also lots of singing of western themed songs on the show. Roy had a band called the Sons of the Pioneers. They sang and harmonized really well. When I'd lie in bed at night it would be real dark; the only light coming from the dial of the radio next to my bed. Whenever "Ghost Riders in the Sky" came on I would get kinda spooked but at the same time I liked it; a lot. They had a lot of good songs; "Tumbling Tumbleweeds", "Cool Water," and of course the show ended with "Happy Trails." I had a whole Roy Rogers outfit, cowboy hat, vest, chaps, toy guns, pajamas, and a lunch pail; with Roy Rogers name on all of it.
So one day I'm waiting at the end of our driveway for the school bus to pick me up and take me to Loma Prieta Elementary school. The houses were so far apart in the Santa Cruz Mts. that there wasn't really a bus stop you walked to. They just picked you up at your house. So I climb aboard the bus and right there in the front seat are two hoods right out of one of those bad '50s movies about rebellious teenagers. Hair greased back, t-shirts with the sleeves rolled up, black pants, and a menacing sneer on their faces. I could almost hear the sleazy saxophone music in the background. As I walk by them one of them sticks out his foot and trips me, sending me to the floor. My Roy Rogers lunch pail goes flying. I pick myself up, grab my lunch, and find a seat. This went on for some time. Occasionally the bus driver would yell at the hoods but not much came of it. I learned their names were Ratnose and Clancy. They were much bigger than all the other kids on the bus and they were scary. Once, after getting an elbow to the ribs from Ratnose, I'm looking for a seat and this kid says I can sit with him.
His name was Jason and we became fast friends. He had lots of freckles, buck teeth, and always had his mouth open. He also had a tendency to drool on his shirt. He was a little older than me and told me not to worry about Ratnose and Clancy anymore; he'd take care of it. Sure enough the hoods left me alone. Maybe they didn't want to get drooled on.
One afternoon my Mom calls out to me from the kitchen, "Bobby, there's someone here to see you." I run to the door and its Jason asking if I can go to his house to play. I ask my mom and she says yes. We climb into his mom's car and off we go. His mom is talking non-stop and I thought she was talking to us in the back seat but Jason tells me no, she does this all the time. She was having a conversation with herself. We went for quite a ways and she finally turns off onto a gravel road. It winds up and up this mountain until we get to the very top.
I had never seen a house like this before; it's very large and it's round. There's a second story that was a little smaller with lots of windows; it too was round with a round roof. The house looked like a flying saucer built out of wood and glass. There were some old rusting cars and tractors off to one side by a dilapidated old barn. Jason opens up the big double doors and we go inside followed by his mom who, for the time being, has stopped talking to herself. Jason gives me a tour of the house and explains that his dad is an architect and he designed the house and built a lot of it himself. There's a huge sunken round living room and in the middle is a round fireplace with the metal chimney that looked like an upside down funnel suspended by chains from the ceiling. We went outside and played on the rusty tractors and pretended we were driving them. I really wanted to see the little turret type room on the second floor but Jason said that was off limits. That was his dad's office and no one was allowed up there. His mom fixed us some sandwiches for lunch and then drove me home.
This was repeated many times. They'd pick me up; the mom talking to herself; Jason and I would play on the tractors and then go home. Eventually Jason and his mom started giving me a ride to school and back which was great because that meant I didn't have to deal with Ratnose and Clancy.
Then one day they didn't show up and Jason wasn't on the bus. He wasn't at school either so I thought maybe he was sick. After several days he's back on the bus but he looks really different. His head was shaved including his eyebrows. There were cuts and lumps all over his head and he didn't look too happy. He told me his mom was sick and in the hospital and then he just turned away and looked out the window. I think he was crying. Several years later my mom told me that Jason's mom was put in a mental institution. My mom felt bad for letting me ride around with Jason's mom but she didn't know about the lady's mental problems and looking back on it, my mom told me any number of bad things could of happened to me.
We moved away and I don't know what became of Jason, his mom, or Ratnose and Clancy; not that I care much about those last two! I've still got a few Roy Rogers record albums and although my original cowboy outfit is long gone, I bought a boxed set of DVD's of some of his shows and I bought a reproduction of a Roy Rogers lunch pail. So sing along:
"Happy trails to you... until we meet again... happy trails to you, keep smilin' until then....."
The Roy Rogers Show - Happy Trails to You
Friday, May 6, 2011
Jason Milby
Jason Milby was a miserable man. He had no friends and was stuck in a dead end job with no chance of advancement. His life was the same every day. Get up, get dressed, and walk to work. His job was boring and redundant just like his life; just keep doing the same thing over and over. He didn't care for the people he worked with in the large nondescript building. They all talked about the scores of last nights games or about their children or any other topic they wanted to foist upon anyone within earshot. The one exception was a girl named Betsy who worked in a different department. She was always kind and helpful. She was concerned about Mr. Milby living alone with no friends, no hobbies, and no family. What relatives he had all lived far away and never called or came to visit.
One day Betsy brought in a kitten and insisted that Mr. Milby take it. He was reluctant but finally agreed. On his walk home he put the kitten in his coat pocket; it's head poking out looking at everything with an occasional little "mew." He stopped by a small grocery store and picked up a bag of groceries for himself and some food and kitty litter for the kitten. He'd never had a cat before but after a short time they became best friends. He never named the cat; just called it "cat." The cat would always greet him at the door to his small apartment when he came home from work. The cat was a small blessing for Jason Milby. At least someone cared about him and he had someone to care for. After a small dinner, cat would curl up on his lap while he read one of his favorite books, usually an adventure novel. Jason Milby would get lost in these books. He imagined himself in some far away jungle hacking away through the the underbrush with his machete or sailing to exotic ports on a three masted ship visiting beautiful deserted islands. But this was not to be, as Jason Milby was in his small apartment with his cat in his lap waiting for another day to pass.
Mr. Milby always took the same route to and from work. He had done this for so many years he often thought to himself he could do it blindfolded, except of course for the intersections with the cars whizzing by. So Jason Milby is on his way home from work with a stop at the small store for a frozen dinner and maybe a treat for cat. He rarely cooked a dinner; just bought things that could be heated up; frozen pizza, canned stew, or soup.
He was almost to the store when he saw a big commotion ahead. Firetrucks, ambulance and police cars. The whole area was blocked off with yellow caution tape. He was directed to use an alternate route by a policeman. There had been a bad accident and no one could enter the area.
Now all the years Mr. Milby lived in this city he had never walked on this other street. He was so close to the market and then just another block to his apartment. He kept looking back over his shoulder at his familiar surroundings wishing he could just go the way he always did.
It was a warm afternoon so he stopped to take off his coat and carry his hat. He even rolled up his shirt sleeves; something he hadn't done since he was a kid. He starts walking and sees an attractive young woman dressed all in white walking in the opposite direction. She smiles and says, "Hello there." Mr. Milby, not used to talking to strangers, especially pretty ones, manages to stammer out, "Uh, hello." Strange, he thinks, I don't know that woman. Why would she say hello to me? Just then a small boy runs past and brushes against Milby's pants leg. The boy stops and says, "Sorry Mister." Milby just smiles and waves to the young lad.
The sun is beating down on his thinning hair and reflecting off his glasses. It reminds him of when he was a boy and his grandfather took him fishing ever so often. The sun bearing down as they sit beside a clear cool mountain lake. Fishing pole in hand; hoping for an interested trout. His grandpa always looked like he hadn't shaved in a week. White stubble covering his lined face with his ever present pipe clenched between his teeth. The smell of the cherry flavored tobacco mixed with scent of the pine trees.
He makes a turn at the corner and is relieved as he's getting closer to home. Half way down the block he spots a small butcher shop. He enters, hoping he can find something for cat and himself. He walks by all the glass cases with steaks, chicken, and pork. He notices, at the very back of the store, a section for fish. The butcher says, "The trout is fresh; just came in today and I'll sell it to you at half price." Mr. Milby picks out a nice big one to share with cat. The butcher wraps it up and wishes him a good day. Jason Milby thinks, my, people sure are friendly around here.
Jason Milby is now walking with a little spring in his step. He's going to have trout for dinner, something he hasn't done in so long he cannot remember when was the last time. He finally makes it to the apartment building and climbs the stairs. Sure enough, cat is waiting at the door and smells the fish instantly. Mr. Milby and cat are excited; fresh trout stuffed with chopped onion and fried in butter. This is a special occasion so Milby digs through the closet to find an old radio that he hasn't played in years, plugs it in and it still works. Jason Milby gets busy chopping the onion and getting out a suitable pan. He tunes in a good radio station and finds himself humming along to the music. He is smiling as cat rubs back and forth on his shins hoping he'll drop something to the floor. The fish starts to sizzle and pop in the pan.
Suddenly there's a knock at the door. Who could that be? He rarely has visitors. Opening the door it turns out to be the young couple who live down the hall. "Um, excuse me Mr. Milby, but is everything alright? We heard music and could smell something cooking." You see, Milby had lived such a quiet existence eating his canned food this was quite out of the ordinary, and certainly no music ever came from this apartment. Milby invites them in, Bill, his wife Karen, and their young boy, Tim. Milby has never had this many people in his apartment before. He scrambles looking for some folding chairs and an old bottle of wine he had saved.
The house guests are seated and Milby explains how he bought the fish at the butcher shop. He turns down the music and Bill and Tim walk into the small kitchen area to look at the trout. It's so big it barely fits in the pan. Bill says, "Man, I haven't been fishing in years, Mr. Milby." Milby replies, "I haven't either and please just call me Jason, or better yet, Jay." Milby pours the wine and finds a soda for Tim in the back of the refrigerator. Milby, the host, invites them to stay for dinner but they decline. Bill asks Milby if he knows of any good fishing spots around the area. Milby tells him of where he went as a boy with his grandfather and it's not too far away. He describes the beauty of the place and the hungry trout that ply the cool clear mountain waters. Bill asks, "Mr. Mil...er I mean Jay, could you show us where this lake is sometime; it sounds like heaven. We could all go together and make a day of it." "I'd be glad to; how about tomorrow?" replies Milby. Bill responds, "But a couple of things, Jay, I smoke a pipe and I don't want it to bother you, and also, don't you have to work tomorrow?" Jason Milby smiles and says, "I'm fine with pipe smoke and I'm calling in sick tomorrow. I'm sick of work and the only cure is to go fishing."
The next morning the four of them pile into Bill's car and head for the lake. Tim sings a song he learned in school and pretty soon they're all singing. They arrive at the lake and it's just as Milby remembered it. Bill lit his pipe and sure enough, it was cherry flavored tobacco. The water is like glass, reflecting the mirror image of the trees and the mountains which still had snow on the very top. Karen had packed a picnic lunch which they enjoyed as the sun shined down. The water was occasionally disrupted by a trout leaping catch an insect. They all caught a fish or two, but Tim caught the biggest. It was a wonderful day. One they would repeat many times.
If Jay hadn't taken that detour that day to the other street he never would've met his new friends. He never did go back to his job. He moved out of the city and into a cabin close to the lake. But then again, maybe he was the one in that bad accident by the store and this was all a dream. Either way, he's in heaven. It's said you can still see old Jay walking along the shore of the lake, fishing pole in hand, with cat following close behind.
One day Betsy brought in a kitten and insisted that Mr. Milby take it. He was reluctant but finally agreed. On his walk home he put the kitten in his coat pocket; it's head poking out looking at everything with an occasional little "mew." He stopped by a small grocery store and picked up a bag of groceries for himself and some food and kitty litter for the kitten. He'd never had a cat before but after a short time they became best friends. He never named the cat; just called it "cat." The cat would always greet him at the door to his small apartment when he came home from work. The cat was a small blessing for Jason Milby. At least someone cared about him and he had someone to care for. After a small dinner, cat would curl up on his lap while he read one of his favorite books, usually an adventure novel. Jason Milby would get lost in these books. He imagined himself in some far away jungle hacking away through the the underbrush with his machete or sailing to exotic ports on a three masted ship visiting beautiful deserted islands. But this was not to be, as Jason Milby was in his small apartment with his cat in his lap waiting for another day to pass.
Mr. Milby always took the same route to and from work. He had done this for so many years he often thought to himself he could do it blindfolded, except of course for the intersections with the cars whizzing by. So Jason Milby is on his way home from work with a stop at the small store for a frozen dinner and maybe a treat for cat. He rarely cooked a dinner; just bought things that could be heated up; frozen pizza, canned stew, or soup.
He was almost to the store when he saw a big commotion ahead. Firetrucks, ambulance and police cars. The whole area was blocked off with yellow caution tape. He was directed to use an alternate route by a policeman. There had been a bad accident and no one could enter the area.
Now all the years Mr. Milby lived in this city he had never walked on this other street. He was so close to the market and then just another block to his apartment. He kept looking back over his shoulder at his familiar surroundings wishing he could just go the way he always did.
It was a warm afternoon so he stopped to take off his coat and carry his hat. He even rolled up his shirt sleeves; something he hadn't done since he was a kid. He starts walking and sees an attractive young woman dressed all in white walking in the opposite direction. She smiles and says, "Hello there." Mr. Milby, not used to talking to strangers, especially pretty ones, manages to stammer out, "Uh, hello." Strange, he thinks, I don't know that woman. Why would she say hello to me? Just then a small boy runs past and brushes against Milby's pants leg. The boy stops and says, "Sorry Mister." Milby just smiles and waves to the young lad.
The sun is beating down on his thinning hair and reflecting off his glasses. It reminds him of when he was a boy and his grandfather took him fishing ever so often. The sun bearing down as they sit beside a clear cool mountain lake. Fishing pole in hand; hoping for an interested trout. His grandpa always looked like he hadn't shaved in a week. White stubble covering his lined face with his ever present pipe clenched between his teeth. The smell of the cherry flavored tobacco mixed with scent of the pine trees.
He makes a turn at the corner and is relieved as he's getting closer to home. Half way down the block he spots a small butcher shop. He enters, hoping he can find something for cat and himself. He walks by all the glass cases with steaks, chicken, and pork. He notices, at the very back of the store, a section for fish. The butcher says, "The trout is fresh; just came in today and I'll sell it to you at half price." Mr. Milby picks out a nice big one to share with cat. The butcher wraps it up and wishes him a good day. Jason Milby thinks, my, people sure are friendly around here.
Jason Milby is now walking with a little spring in his step. He's going to have trout for dinner, something he hasn't done in so long he cannot remember when was the last time. He finally makes it to the apartment building and climbs the stairs. Sure enough, cat is waiting at the door and smells the fish instantly. Mr. Milby and cat are excited; fresh trout stuffed with chopped onion and fried in butter. This is a special occasion so Milby digs through the closet to find an old radio that he hasn't played in years, plugs it in and it still works. Jason Milby gets busy chopping the onion and getting out a suitable pan. He tunes in a good radio station and finds himself humming along to the music. He is smiling as cat rubs back and forth on his shins hoping he'll drop something to the floor. The fish starts to sizzle and pop in the pan.
Suddenly there's a knock at the door. Who could that be? He rarely has visitors. Opening the door it turns out to be the young couple who live down the hall. "Um, excuse me Mr. Milby, but is everything alright? We heard music and could smell something cooking." You see, Milby had lived such a quiet existence eating his canned food this was quite out of the ordinary, and certainly no music ever came from this apartment. Milby invites them in, Bill, his wife Karen, and their young boy, Tim. Milby has never had this many people in his apartment before. He scrambles looking for some folding chairs and an old bottle of wine he had saved.
The house guests are seated and Milby explains how he bought the fish at the butcher shop. He turns down the music and Bill and Tim walk into the small kitchen area to look at the trout. It's so big it barely fits in the pan. Bill says, "Man, I haven't been fishing in years, Mr. Milby." Milby replies, "I haven't either and please just call me Jason, or better yet, Jay." Milby pours the wine and finds a soda for Tim in the back of the refrigerator. Milby, the host, invites them to stay for dinner but they decline. Bill asks Milby if he knows of any good fishing spots around the area. Milby tells him of where he went as a boy with his grandfather and it's not too far away. He describes the beauty of the place and the hungry trout that ply the cool clear mountain waters. Bill asks, "Mr. Mil...er I mean Jay, could you show us where this lake is sometime; it sounds like heaven. We could all go together and make a day of it." "I'd be glad to; how about tomorrow?" replies Milby. Bill responds, "But a couple of things, Jay, I smoke a pipe and I don't want it to bother you, and also, don't you have to work tomorrow?" Jason Milby smiles and says, "I'm fine with pipe smoke and I'm calling in sick tomorrow. I'm sick of work and the only cure is to go fishing."
The next morning the four of them pile into Bill's car and head for the lake. Tim sings a song he learned in school and pretty soon they're all singing. They arrive at the lake and it's just as Milby remembered it. Bill lit his pipe and sure enough, it was cherry flavored tobacco. The water is like glass, reflecting the mirror image of the trees and the mountains which still had snow on the very top. Karen had packed a picnic lunch which they enjoyed as the sun shined down. The water was occasionally disrupted by a trout leaping catch an insect. They all caught a fish or two, but Tim caught the biggest. It was a wonderful day. One they would repeat many times.
If Jay hadn't taken that detour that day to the other street he never would've met his new friends. He never did go back to his job. He moved out of the city and into a cabin close to the lake. But then again, maybe he was the one in that bad accident by the store and this was all a dream. Either way, he's in heaven. It's said you can still see old Jay walking along the shore of the lake, fishing pole in hand, with cat following close behind.
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