Thursday, September 22, 2016


We ate spaghetti on the work table
for Christmas Eve dinner. My friend
came over with his yoke. Seven of us,
just standing around, waiting for my
wife to arrive with the food. There was
so much to do, and we still had to get
the mailing done before the next day
off. Not the stupid holiday, the day after.
It hadn't snowed all Winter, and the day's
weather itself had been pretty balmy.
And then someone said, 'Huh? It's only
the 24th, the damned Winter just got
started.' Actually, I said that, and then
everyone agreed. I'm always a cynic
around beer. There were six vehicles
parked outside. I had walked over, 
and one friend has his work truck.
Iselin Lumber. Rack-body Ford or
Chevrolet, I even now can't rightly
remember. Except that it was dark
green. He used to deliver truckloads
of lumber, to sites. And they also used
him for installations  -  in homes, for
doors and windows. Hanging a new 
door, he felt, was mostly pretty easy,
except when you had to change the
jambs and hinge-cuts and all that.
Windows were always a pain. But he
used to always dig the housewives
he dealt with. (I don't know, and
I ain't sayin'). Sometimes life is
just good like that, all around.
Doors and windows. Windows
and doors. Sometimes it just
rains. Sometimes it pours.

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