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| << July11, 2006 - Hearts and Humor - Hang On |
July20, 2006 - Hearts and Humor - Tippy >> |
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It's mid-week! I hope your's is going well. Here is my mid-week repeat post. We have major thunderstorms rippping across New Jersey and New York. We have warnings of tonadoes, which is rare for this area. This week, the membership for the group jumped to over 600 people. Thank you for being members. Summer's End We didn't have much of a spring this year. It was cool and rainy, but a little over a week ago, summer dropped on us with 90 degree temperatures and humidity so high that even the little patch of hair that is left on the top of my head became unmanageable. I sat on my deck the other night, mopping sweat from my face, and pondering the coming summer. My son is excited. After he finishes his final exams this week, he'll have more than two months to do what he wants to do. I remembered what it was like when I was young, in school, and waiting for those final days of school to end. On that last day, I would be so excited, I wouldn't hear a word my teacher said. When the bell rang, summer began, and we'd run out the door, yelling and tossing old books into the air. I'd rush home, show my mom my report card, tell her I had graded, and run outside to…to what? I was free for two months. I could do whatever I wanted, but my mind was blank. I was used to the routine of school that I didn't know what to do with myself. I'd miss my friends, who were bussed five or ten miles from neighboring communities. I wouldn't see most of them again until the fall. It made me sad. Sad on the last day of school? I should have been ecstatic. I sat by a rock. My old dog, Blackie, came along, licked my face and settled beside me. "Come on, Blackie! Let's go to Grand Mum's." My grandmother lived down the street from us and always had a plate of muffins ready. Sometimes they had white icing and other times pink, but they were always good. It was my morning routine to visit her for a muffin, talk for a bit and wait for my Grandfather's boat to enter the harbor. When it did, I'd rush to the wharf and wait to see how many fish he'd caught that day. After a few weeks, a routine would set in. I would wake, go to my Grand Mum's, eat a muffin or two, play on the shores around the harbor, look for things that had floated in, and go home for lunch. In the afternoons, I would go to the brook. The brook was the place to be on hot days. My friends and I would spend every afternoon there. It was about a mile from my house and was the gathering place for kids of all ages. We would bike, walk, or hitch-hike to it every day - sometimes twice a day - with towels draped over our shoulders. The "Brook" was wide enough to be a river, but it was only a mile or so long. It flowed from a lake, cutting a rocky swath through the forest. In several spots, the rocks opened to form natural pools. The two swimming spots were called the "Little Hole" and the "Big Hole." The "Little Hole" was shallow and had only a small current. It was perfect for kids learning to swim. The "Big Hole" was further up the brook. It was deep and had a swift current. It was the place the big kids went and the little kids envied. Every small kid couldn't wait to graduate to the "Big Hole." On one side, the "Big Hole" was a pile of rocks, mostly or partly covered with water. On the other side was a rock cliff. One side of the cliff sloped to the water and the other dropped six feet - perfect for diving. The entrance to the pool was narrow. The water squeezed quickly through, and dispersed throughout the pool before running out the lower end. After a heavy rain, the current would be very strong, where the water rushed in. If you were a strong swimmer, you could swim in one spot, until you tired and the waters won the contest. My friends and I would play "tag" in the water. All afternoon, we'd chase each other, running over the rocks, and diving from our pursuers. We were as nimble as mountain goats on the rocks. I never saw anyone seriously hurt. There were a few scrapes, but never serious injuries. Years of play made us sure-footed. We had the fish plant. It was an exciting place for a young boy. The boats came back in the afternoons with their catch. We'd check to see who had a good day on the waters. I once saw a halibut weighing more than 180 pounds. When the sword fishing boats came in, I saw fish close to 1000 pounds. If it was hot, I made extra money going to the store for the workers. On a good day I made more than a dollar - a huge amount for a young boy in the 1960's. "Mike, go to the store and get me a lunch cake and a can of Coke," one man would say. Then another would say, "If you're going to the store, get me a pack of cigarettes, a bag of chips and a Pepsi." Soon I had an order too large to remember. One man would write it on a piece of paper or cardboard for me. The store keeper would help me make sure I had everyone's change correct. Each pocket held a different man's money. When I delivered, the men would each give me a dime, a nickel, a quarter, or whatever change was left. I saved this money and bought a bicycle. It was the first new bike I ever owned. My other bikes were handed down from my older brothers. By the time I got them, they were third-hand and in bad shape, but they were mine, even if they were used. In the evenings, we would either go to the brook or fish from the wharves, catching blue fish, cod, perch, and mackerel. Mackerel were our favorite, a fish that has a greenish-blue body with dark blue bars and a forked tail. They fought like demons on the end of the line and tasted wonderful The days sped along, and soon August arrived. I hated August. I dreaded August. With its end came September, the end of summer, the end of freedom. I'd get depressed and not go to the brook. I'd still fish a little and still go to the fish plant, but not as often. The thought of school starting took all the enjoyment out of my remaining summer vacation. I'd stay home and read or walk in the woods. I was withdrawn. September would come and so would school. I would go back to the routine I missed back in June. I'd leave my summer freedom behind. I wasted summer dreading its end. Sitting on the deck the other day, I realized I was doing it again. Like many people, I dread the end. We waste time worrying about it. We waste our August. As a kid, I knew August would end. It was on the calendar. There is no calendar of life. It could end tomorrow. Don't waste your August. Live life to its fullest. Michael T. Smith I love your comments and include a few every week. Send them to mtsmith@qwestonline.com You can read more of my stories by going to: http://subs.zinester.com/86758/ To sign up to my twice weekly post: http://subs.zinester.com/86758/ Now from comments from last week: Concerning my story called, "Just Imagine." Louis writes: Born in the 50's and after reading this article...it made me think about kids back then and kids today...it is true, by today's standards, our kids are letting the video games and other influences do the imagining for them. if only to go back and/or find those toys and place them in front of kids of today....what and how would they react with those toys? just imagine.... thanks for bringing back some great memories... LOUIS Thanks, Louis |
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| << July11, 2006 - Hearts and Humor - Hang On |
July20, 2006 - Hearts and Humor - Tippy >> |
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