Bucky the Wascully Wabbit – Blackey Needs a New Home

You want me to go where?

            You want me to go where?

The night I began writing this true tale is in the middle of December, just a couple of days before the coming of the shortest day of the year. We are so busy this month as we prepare for a final relocation to Phoenix. There is so much to do when moving and especially when downsizing. The biggest job of course is the rummaging through 2-3 decades of ‘stuff’ – do we keep the three bins of the kids’ kindergarten artwork? What gets sold on EBay? What gets donated to Goodwill? Should I send my name and address to this guy in Jackson, Florida so he can send me a check for my wife’s curio, the one he just loves from my Craigslist ad? And what about Blackey, the outdoor cat who adopted us 12 years ago?

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Regret is a Four Letter Word – Interview with Grandma & Granddad

Why?

Why?

When I was a little kid, we went only to one place for my parents’ vacations – Vincennes, Indiana.  The negative aspect of this fact is that we never went anywhere special for vacation.  I guess that’s why I think it’s so important to give my kids great vacations.  As a kid myself, I can recall only once, when we went to Mammoth Caves.  The pro though of going only to Vincennes is that because we usually stayed at my dad’s parents place, I got to spend a lot of time with Grandma and Granddad.  If given the opportunity, I’d love to interview them both today, to learn and write their story…..so many questions I’d love to ask.

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All I Want for Christmas is a Little Magic (and a One Man Army Killing Machine)

What do I want for Christmas? How 'bout your hand out of my crotch?

What do I want for Christmas? How ’bout your hand out of my crotch?

 

I’ve written a couple of Christmas related stories I think.  Let me go look.  Yes, here is one where my Dad felt the urge to be benevolent so he shared the truth about there not being a Santa as he was walking out the door (link), (probably headed out to the local tavern).  Oh, and just to prove that the teasing gene does indeed get passed down through the generations, you’ll read about a couple of nice tricks I played on our youngest boy in this same story.