From a Fable -- A "Spark" -- Then Brass & Pewter!

Memoirs of a Geezer

  

Reflections and Observations -- A Bright Passage from the Fantasies of Youth to Illuminations of Advanced Maturity!

It may be an old story, an old fable, but it continues to resonate,

have meaning even in today's complex, often strange and 

frightening era!  

This Episode:           From a Fable --  A "Spark" -- Then Brass & Pewter!

 

Along an ocean's coastline, a young woman and her small daughter strolled leisurely, enjoying fine weather, large breaking waves and the beautiful vistas that lay on all sides, like gorgeous paintings of both land and seascapes.

As they continued, in the distance a figure seemed to be performing a dance, a kind of arabesque.  "What is that?  Is that a someone, a person?" the child asked, looking up at her mother.  

"I can't tell from this distance," the mother answered.  As they drew closer, the figure defined itself, a tall man wearing a slouch hat.  In regular intervals, he bent, picked something up and hurled it into the sea.

Eventually, the mother and daughter closed the distance, approached the man, and stood near him, watching in wonder, his odd actions, his "dance."  

"What are you doing?" the child asked

"Sweetheart," the woman admonished her child, "Perhaps the man wishes to be left alone."

"I don't mind," said the man.  As he looked down at the sand, mother and Child followed his gaze, staring in wide-eyed surprise at the enormous number of starfish lying on the beach, many quite obviously dead, sun-bleached and twisted.  Many had bent limbs, oddly curled as if attempting to move and find their way back to the surf.

As the two stared, suddenly recognizing the incredible number of starfish, the man once again bent, picked up an apparently still living starfish and tossed the creature as far as

he could back into the sea, doing his best to heave it beyond the rounded, about-to-be breaking waves.  Some of the waves were so large and so loud they startled the small child.

"Why are you doing that?" the mother asked, amazed and more than a bit surprised as she regarded once again in wonder the enormous number of beached starfish.  "It'll never make a difference!"

At that, the man bent and pickup up another, and in one swift motion hurled it back into the sea beyond the breaking waves, his body seeming to perform again the strange dance viewed from afar by the mother and child.  

"It made a difference to that one," the man said as his posture returned to a straight and upright position.  

And then he grinned at the mother and her child.  They, in turn, looked back at the man, smiles of understanding brightly curling the contours of their young faces.

****************************************************************************

Whether true or a sweet story or a fable conjured by a beach-combing poet or writer, doesn't really matter.  The moral, or the idea is clear...   MAKE A DIFFERENCE! 

Some years ago, as if having heard the fable, the story having penetrated, a spark entering and joining forces with a synapse, like a collision of creative energy, someone borrowed the idea, had to have it, to share it with a group of followers.

The concept then morphed into something tangible.  It had to, and starfish bloomed and multiplied into many incarnations of brass and pewter.   Whatever the event that it spawned, it succeeded admirably.    

To my aged, "geezerized" brain, the idea is a marvel that demands to be shared and re-planted into the heads and hearts of everyone, proselytizing annoyingly if necessary.  We can all MAKE A DIFFERENCE, meaning a positive one, an empathic one that helps others to find paths to do good things, to make a difference in their own lives and those of anyone with hearing or shouting or "throwing" distance.

If you happen to find yourself on an ocean beach, one dotted liberally with beached starfish, bend over, pick one up and toss it into the sea... 

Humbly Submitted -- 05-15-2026 by Joel K.  

       

 

  

  

Probing the Histories That Lie Beneath...

 

Memoirs of a Geezer

  

Reflections and Observations -- A Bright Passage from the Fantasies of Youth to Illuminations of Advanced Maturity!

This Episode:          Probing the Histories That Lie Beneath... 

I was thinking just the other day...   and, yes, I do think occasionally despite my standing as a geezer of an "historic" age (according to a brilliant contributor!)...     I should perhaps explain.   Many of us have reached an age that should, in the young, I think, prompt wonder, respect and a desire to ask questions, seek answers, probe for history, lest the opportunity is lost forever in the blurred mists of passing time!

I regret I did not ask my grandparents and parents more about their pasts, their own

We / They are not as old as
those fine features on 
the Acropolis in Athens!
Truly, We / they aren't!!  It's
merely symbolic...

histories....   Other relatives and friends too, parents' friends...  I'm guessing many of my contemporaries harbor the same regret.  Shucks, Alas and Drat!  Too late now for too many of us...

SweetHeart and I, some years ago, became "Chief Volunteers" (or Volunteer Coordinators) at a school for seniors, along with installations upon -- having been unanimously asked and appointed to -- its Board of Directors, a dual honor or sorts.  (Again, one of those profound distinctions after it having been determined that we were indeed still breathing!)  

As we've grown into our roles and the comfort levels that come with longevity, we've been privileged to meet a number of extraordinary and talented fellow members and volunteers of "historic" standing!  

Here's the revelation that materializes in the mind as realization dawns like a rising sun on a summer's day:   People in their 60s, 70s, 80s, 90s, and centenarian status as well, have histories, remarkable ones!  They were not born in the senior portions of their lives.  They have history, some if not most of it fascinating stuff!

One need merely probe a bit, ask questions, ask them about themselves....   Mind telling us your life story!  Start at the very beginning...!

Where they've been, what PATHS they've taken, where they come from, ancestral homes and homelands, what schools they attended and what professions or career paths they pursued prior to appearing somewhat different -- you know, grey or white-haired, faces and necks lined, hands and arms spotted and creased, road maps of achievement. 

 Like great, glorious and enduring symbols of antiquity.  Astounding!  It's true...    People have history, and they travel along interesting pathways throughout their lives...  Explore those pathways and discover...

In conversation with one of our school for seniors colleagues, those of us listening were delighted and fascinated to learn that he was a lawyer, in fact a patent attorney.  He spent time in the U.S. Army, in Berlin, Germany and other stations during his military service.  He's in his 90s.  And  he was a championship swimmer, having placed 7th in the entire U.S. collegiate swim team population!  He has a helluva history!

On the same board and among our friends, both new and of long standing, we have a past school principal and administrator, a former star reporter and editor, a professor emeritus of anthropology, a former and highly successful business founder and owner...

One of those historic personalities continues to play competitive tennis, another competitive softball.  A few of us played highly competitive volleyball for more than 40 years, well into the venerable 70s.  I mean, all of that background, that history, is quite amazing.  You'd be wrong, and maybe a bit addle-brained if you don't agree!!  Take the time to think and to inquire...  And, you'd make the objects of your inquiries very happy!  That alone is a gift, a significant and generous gift.     

One wonders how many young people would look at those individuals who have achieved "senior status" and register only their obvious ages, never bothering to look deeper or inquire about their lives, accomplishments and experiences.   Seek sit-down meetings and long conversations!  You know, "Tell me about your life...  Leave nothing out...  well, that is, almost nothing!"

And if there isn't enough self gratification in initiating a fine conversation with wonderful older adults, wouldn't it be a great way to "break ice."  An even greater means of making a friend, ingratiating oneself to a person with whom you might just build a friendship, a confidant, someone with whom you might start a valuable network!  

 THANK YOU!   Tune in again for fascinating reading, superb ideas and scintillating conversation, meaning of course sort of written conversation... 

However, I am available should readers wish to have an actual, verbal conversation.  Wouldn't that be swell!!??  

Humbly Submitted 05-09-2026, by Joel K.

  

     

  

A Hoops Revelation...

 

Memoirs of a Geezer

  

Reflections and Observations -- A Bright Passage from the Fantasies of Youth to Illuminations of Advanced Maturity!

This Episode:               A Hoops Revelation...

🌰🏉🌰🌰🌰

People tend to jump
when playing Hoops!

Our sweet friend Kathy, sometimes an enigma!  She traveled to Indiana frequently to visit with her brother, Pat, and his family.  What many of us did not know, sister and brother had a secondary motive, one of perhaps equal, maybe even greater anticipatory importance.

We, or perhaps just I, discovered that ulterior reason just very recently, and I was very much taken aback, completely surprised, really kind of amazed.  Sometimes we have no inkling about those we think we know so well.  We sneeze in wide-eyed wonder and surprise!

Had no idea "Hoops," March Madness was -- to me, in any case -- a passion of hers, a crazy Mad Passion, something that compelled her to travel to court sides and venues all over the damn place.  Remarkable!

If she couldn't travel to the games, she'd install herself in front of a large plasma television to savor as many of the contests as she could, probably all of them, each and every game until and of course including when the brackets reached the "Elite Eight" and then the "Final Four." Obsessed with buckets!  How 'bout that!  

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I'm reminded of my great friend, Steve, the greatest -- in my biased opinion, I readily admit -- gatecrasher of all time.  I was aware of his talent, but the variety of it often had me flabbergasted!!  

On one highly memorable and treasured occasion, a group of his friends -- happily, myself included -- albeit a small group, traveled to Louisville, Kentucky to enjoy a slice of the fabled NCAA tournament.  Yes, more Hoops-Centered Obsessions.  But it wasn't just the game itself.  Steve created the "Honor Guard," a fabricated title that had his special group seated right on the basketball floor, meaning right next to the players' benches.  

No tickets for the game, no special passes, just Steve and his brilliance as a creator of special entree to events none of his peers would ever had thought possible! How'd he do that??!

Steve is no longer with us.  Our friend and her brother, those mentioned in the opening paragraphs, are also among the departed, sadly to say the least.  

What a hoot, and what wonderful "Hoops"of action and adventure!  What marvels, what extraordinary people populate our lives.  What memories.  We think we know them, and then remarkable revelations are driven unexpectedly into our awareness.  Like metal-tipped darts hurled into the bullseyes of our consciousness.        

 

  

Days of the "Cowboys"...

Memoirs of a Geezer

  

Reflections and Observations -- A Bright Passage from the Fantasies of Youth to Illuminations of Advanced Maturity!

This Episode:        Days of the "Cowboys"...

A random thought, a cliche...  He thought of stuffing a plug of tobacco into the empty pouch of his left facial cheek, just to appear more natural as an authentic chaps-wearing, gun-packin' cowhand!  But, he didn't like chewin' nor did he fancy six guns, or any other bullet-firing contrivance, for that matter.  Didn't have a plug of tobacco in any case.  (Gave up the "shootin' life" when he left military service!)  

Jack was a journalist, a writer.  He sometimes looks behind himself from the heights of GeezerHood and wonders if his memory is intact, accurate, correct...   Years past, he

lived in Cheyenne, Wyoming and his labors earned $75.00...  hmmm, was it per week, or once a month? Must have been per week.  Who could possibly live on $75 a month, even in 1969 and 1970!?
 

Jack worked for a daily newspaper, and often wrote for the morning daily's evening companion paper, and its combined Sunday edition.  He was young, often foolhardy and not terribly conscious of safe behavior or the needs of self-preservation.  Who the hell is at 25 or 26, or thereabouts, in the prime years of youth or early manhood?  

There were two colleagues, or associates, maybe, at the same newspapers.  One was the Sports Editor, the other the Staff Photographer.  The former had some difficulty with strong drink, spirits, alcoholic beverages.  The latter was ancient, maybe old as the geysers at Yellowstone, and magnificently nicotine stained.  Jack thought he resembled a totem made of seasoned wood, or a carved figure standing sentry at a main street cigar store.     

The sports editor sometimes did not appear for days.  The photo chap was often taken ill

or maybe, himself, stupified or overly stimulated by an excess of refreshment --  strong spirits, booze-glutted tumblers of rye whiskey, for example.  As a consequence of the aforementioned, Irving or Edgar -- Editor in Chief and Managing Editor, respectively -- would ask Jack to step in and fill the empty roles.  Jack was delighted to accept, and so he did on several occasions. 

A Cowboy Football Player from the
University of Wyoming, in Laramie

As fill-in sports editor, Jack would feature much of the sports section with appropriate local news (e.g.  Laramie's University or Wyoming Cowboys football squad), but some with stories close to his own heart -- copy featuring Midwestern sports teams -- a bit subjective, maybe selfish or self-absorbed, but no one ever seemed to complain.   

The other fill-in role, as erstwhile photographer, was far more exciting, fun and adventurous...  like a cavalry scout or a horse-mounted cowpoke herding and driving hundreds of head of cattle to a stockyard, or a bold and brave buckskin-clad hunter slaying and bringing home fresh game for denizens of the Wagon Train! 

Hmmm...  Maybe, Possibly...  Jack might have
concealed himself, for safety sake, in that
kind of barrel...  Might could be the 
actual one, come to think....  maybe...

At Cheyenne-based rodeos, as the "man with a camera," Jack would position himself if a padded barrel, pop up as required and shoot pictures of bronc riders, or steer ropers or chuck wagon racers or even bull riders!  It was a helluva hoot was for a cub reporter, an  occasional fill-in editor and photo journalist.   

These are the tales, the adventures and memories he liked to keep in his Psychic album for posterity, to relate to family members, relatives and friends...  Materializing occasionally, like specters that appear to the unsuspecting in old houses and haunted inns or English castles or mist-shrouded city streets on moonless nights.      

Whether people, the aforementioned, wish to believe it or not believe it, the tales were mostly true, if sometimes embellished or enlarged, like a retouched photo or a poster painted by the story-teller him or herself, possibly re-touched to include and suggest something larger or bolder than the thing or event of origin.

When the sports editor and photographer were at their respective desks or at the horseshoe-shaped table near or across from "the slot" occupied by the editor, Jack would return to the more mundane tasks of writing up the days news he had gathered on his rounds, his beat.  At a relatively small newspaper, a reporter would cover everything...  Police news, the State House

(Wyoming's capitol building), crime, fires, accidents, academic news, community services, federal happenings to which the state might have been affected or economically allied...  all of it and more, everything!   

On occasions of so-called "slow news days," Jack longed for the barrel or the sports desk, not always, but on those rare, spare news days, something itched.  Those times when the excitement of the dust-choked rodeo grounds and the hoof beats and the drama of cowpunchers being thrown from bucking broncos and huge, snorting bulls...  The sights and noise of rocketing chuck

wagons, racing round barrels....  When those images came to mind, Jack fell under a spell, a kind of irresistible beckoning, and let his thoughts, his attention and daydreams be lassoed, captured by a band of shadowy cowhands!   

*******************************************

"Ahem...  Jack..."  Edgar was an excellent managing editor, always quiet and composed.  But he never lost sight of the objective, get the paper out; do it professionally, and on time.  He was always, in Jack's view, an effective leader and manager of the reporters under his supervision.  Edgar coughed lightly and cleared his throat...    "Jack, snap out of it.  We have deadlines to meet."  

Humbly Submitted 03-17-2026...   by Joel K.  

      

    

    

Life on a Mississippi Houseboat!

 

Memoirs of a Geezer

  

Reflections and Observations -- A Bright Passage from the Fantasies of Youth to Illuminations of Advanced Maturity!

This Episode:          Life on a Mississippi Houseboat!

                     (Not an Entire Life...   A Brief Portion of It!...)

There was even a slide!... so if we chose to do so, we could immerse ourselves in the River, swim, or commune with fishes great and small!

Superb seamanship or Sea-Woman-ship -- an extraordinary skill, particularly noteworthy in the Age of Geezerhood!  "Hey, gang, why don't we book a trip on the Great River, you know, the Mississippi, crusin' on a houseboat!"

Our grand adventure began with that profound suggestion!!??   "Did I just hear correctly?  Did someone propose something exceptionally idiotic?"  

...Soon -- whether or not completely idiotic -- we were in a motor vehicle bound for Alma, Wisconsin, a rather small but handsome community perched on the Mississippi River, north of LaCrosse, WI, south of Red Wing, MN.  Once having arrived, we sought the marina of one Captain Jack and his flotilla of houseboats, each an aquatic dwelling, each an ark, happily, devoid of pairs of animals great and small!  

On board and touring the commodious interior, Captain Jack posed a question to the four of us, "Which of you wants to pilot the boat?"  We deferred to Rob, thinking he'd be the most capable skipper.  Rob has a vast knowledge of things, all kinds of things, including those mechanical, you know, sort of "clockwork" contrivances.  

"Watch out for wing dams," cautioned Captain Jack.  "Steer clear of them.  There are

I think that's us down there!

many on the river banks.  Also, when you moor the houseboat along river banks, because of the current, you'll have to 'crab' into your mooring points.  That means, not straight in, but left, then right, as if 'tacking' into or onto each bank, each mooring point." 

[Wing dams, for those of you interested and still reading -- as I'm certain you are! -- were built and positioned along the river banks by the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers.  The function of such dams is to maintain a channel for commercial barges by reducing sedimentation and dredging.  They also act as "fish magnets" for species such as walleye.  Fascinating, what?!!] 

Once trained or indoctrinated, Rob steered our floating home southward along the glorious Mississippi River, its current a fear-inducing force to behold.  He did well, and piloted the craft safely and efficiently.  

We were watching the bonfire
from afar.  Quite hot if too
close, you see!

As we began to lose light on our first night on the Great River, Rob guided the houseboat into an inlet.  Once anchored, we unloaded the food we brought along, and some kindling and logs, beach chairs as well.  The inlet included a waterway channel and sandy islands suitable for human respites and temporary habitation. 

We built and started an excellent bon fire, greeted and were greeted by fellow houseboaters, mostly young people, but some older, more seasoned mariners as well. 

That evening, we marveled at the enormous river tugs pushing "trains" of barges northward along the river, the lights of the tugs enhancing the stunning and truly

magnificent engines of commerce, like great illuminated river monsters moving smoothly and resolutely along the winding Mississippi corridor.  

Enjoying the pleasant evening and the sights and sounds along the river, one of our party burst into a baritone rendition of "Old Man River," the song enjoyed by our companions, all of whom pronounced the experience delightful, and appropriately adding to the setting and the overall adventure. 

Early in the evening of the following day, Rob artfully crabbed into an inviting looking bank of the river, just across from an enormous eagle's nest, but safely nestled between a couple of wing dams.  We all felt, and remarked upon it, that a party of four could book  a night's lodging in that huge nest.  It was really big!  I mean, really BIG!!!

In the middle of that night, we spied a gorgeously illuminated river tug pushing its queue

of barges!  Mesmerized, we watched until it cruised past our lines of vision.  Crawling 

Wish you could see the lights...  
Truly a  spectacular
 sight under the night time sky!

back to our beds -- the houseboat contained two comfortable bed chambers -- and once again blissfully unconscious, but only briefly, we were awakened by a mighty thump.  In the light of an early morning, we noticed a large tree limb protruding from the stern. 

It turned out to be an entire tree that had obviously fallen

into the river, floated along and decided to stop its 

southward progress by lodging itself under our vessel.  We

tried in vain to remove the beast, finally having to 

summon  Captain Jack and his motor launch.  

Jack was forced to loop a chain around the visible part

of the giant limb and haul the thing out from under. 

We made pals with this pair
but they didn't invite
us into their living quarters!  Odd!

May or may not be an authentic image
of Captain Jack, but probably really close!
 

Only then did we witness and marvel at the size of that entire tree.  We could never have removed it with our humble efforts...  Might have had to take up permanent residency had it not been for Captain Jack, his "first mate" and their effective exertions, along with the powerful motor of the launch! 

It may or may not have been during that same river / houseboat adventure that we witnessed

lots of bald eagles, some in an eagle sanctuary

 for wounded birds, based on the Minnesota

side of the Great River.  Beautiful sights, those

majestic eagles, whether in flight, diving for sustenance (river fish) or merely perched in trees scouting for a robust meal!  You've no doubt heard the expression, "Eagle Eyed"?  Of course you have!!

The four of us will surely never forget that extraordinary time we had houseboating on the Mississippi.  We departed with reluctance, but made our way homeward via the Great River Road, stopping off at Trempealeau -- still within sight of the River -- for a delicious feast.

Would we reprise that wonderful adventure?  Hell yes, but when?  That we'll have to figure out, when time and tide find us yearning for another great moment in the lives, times and legends of intrepid explorers!  Thank You!

(Special Note of Dedication:   For "Skipper" Rob, Mary (SweetHeart) and, in Memoriam, our Beloved and Wonderful friend and fellow mariner, Susie!  Too Soon departed, but always in our thoughts, in our hearts and in the fondest and very Best of our Memories.  Thank You!)