The Drinking Culture! Or, Fine Pubs and Their Pickling Potions!

Memoirs of a Geezer!

Reflections and Observations -- A Bright Passage from the Fantasies of Youth 

to Illuminations of Advanced Maturity!

This Episode:      The Drinking Culture!...    or, maybe...  "Pickles" at the Gate!   

“Where the hell's ‘Lare the Hair' ?” I bellowed within the private confines of my skull, silent rage and  impatience growing inside my brain like a bulbous nodule of fatty tissue, my face a plate of purple beets.  I was seething.  He was seriously late.  I hated to be anything but on time for a Seattle Totems hockey match, though they were doing poorly in the 1970 season. 

Didn’t matter.  I was hooked; we were both hooked on the "Totes."  “So where the hell is he?” I asked aloud to Arnold, the bartender on duty at The 400 Club.  Arnold shrugged. He murmured, "Huh?"
  

The tavern’s name was a small mystery that, long before, may have had something to do with its location or address (but of no relevance at the time!), perhaps the number of drunkards thrown out and banned for life?!  No one really knew, and there was no one in the place who had the answer, nor was there an obvious clue to provide one on its walls or from those wobbling on its vinyl-padded stools.

I dumped down a couple more bottles of Rainier beer, paced nervously, played the punch boards.  At some point in the anxious and impatient waiting game, I walked to the men’s room where a smallish, high window was the only “periscope” through which to view the tavern’s parking lot.  I climbed onto the commode, the sole elevation from which to see the lot and its contents, searching for Lare’s “midnight blue” Pontiac.  I slipped off the rim of the bowl, my right foot twisting badly as it and I fell into the bowl, plunging into the cold water of the toilet.  I hollered in agony.

I hoped no one in the crowded bar had heard my pitiful screech of pain, something like the ear-piecing cry of a particular owl -- so named for its strident sound -- streaking from its perch in pursuit of a hapless rodent.  I hobbled to the bar.  “Arnold, gimme a bottle of Olympia this time.  I feel like I fell off a precipice.  I got a ‘soaker’ when I hit bottom.” Arnold was unlike the stereotypical bartender. He lacked the quality of attentive listening!

  

“Hey,” said Arnold, at some point coming round to the patrons' side of the bar to prop up a drunkard, then turning his quizzical gaze to me, “Why’s there a puddle under your foot?”  The “Hair” finally showed up, wearing a sheepish and apologetic grin. 
"We've missed the whole damn first period," I complained. "Why so late?! What if we missed Claudie DuFour catching a puck in his mouth?!"

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

My own dear father collected them!  Saloons, taverns, bars, gin joints, whatever one's preferred nomenclature might be!  He had a catalog of them, his favorites and those of secondary appeal, given what they charged for a large beer (the chaser!) and a shot of brandy, and whether or not they had a cribbage board.  As I look back in time from the high mountains of wizened geezerhood -- soberly these days -- I freely admit I inherited his fondness for them. I had my own collection!  Sometimes when I'm daydreaming in my office -- on extremely rare occasions, of course! -- I recall certain brilliant episodes of tavern life, glorious

"Yeah, that's the ticket!  Back
me up Five Deep!  Hey, where
are my shots?"  

memories of the Boozing Culture! 

There's a village in the "Lakes Country" west of our major metropolis.  Okauchee -- with its nearby waters of the same name -- boasted, like so many small towns in Wisconsin, a saloon for every 10 residents, or so it seemed! Westphal's was our favorite. Always the joint resounded with brilliant conversation, and equally brilliant patrons.  
"Hey, Stinky, what's it again you do fer work?"

"I'm a drunkard."

"Is the pay any good?"

"Yo, Durwood, I like that sweater.  Argyle comes alive on youse! I could, maybe, sometime borrow it, if I ever, like, have a date??!"

"Anybody got any dope to sell? What?... I'm talking too loud?!"

"Hey Bry! Why must I always pay for my drinks? Am I not your duly-invited guest here? I mean, when you come to my house for cocktails, social and cultural interaction, do I ask you to pay for your drinks?"

During my days living in the Seattle, Washington area, my friend and fellow beverage host, Leonard, was frequently assaulted by his estranged wife, Mavis.  She'd sit at the bar, become extravagantly inebriated and then pelt him with the lemons he'd just cored.  She often grabbed him by his tie and punched his face.  Poor beleaguered Leonard.  Such elegant times! The boozing life at its zenith, its finest! Leonard disappeared after Mavis drove into the plate glass window at his last-known saloon job. As if it were a regular occurrence -- glass shards cascading onto the hood, twinkling like cheap baubles -- she calmly got out of her car, entered the joint and bombarded Leonard with lemons! (We don't know how she found him! But I believe at that point Leonard had already begun to wear clip-on neckties! Mavis was furious! No one's heard from Leonard since 1973!)

University life! Just like scenes from The Student Prince, eh?! The Ardmore, The Gym, The Vogue... Such sophistication! Entire mornings and afternoons spent in glorious intoxication. "Hey, you through with classes for the day already?"

"What?...  Oh, uh... I must check my schedule...  What time's Epistemology?"

Might be an interior shot of The
Ardmore, possibly the Vogue!
Doesn't really matter.  They
were both on or near the old
Marquette U. campus, an image of
which is pictured below...  (Suitably,
kind of tipsy in the mid-day sun!!)

My great friend, Pat, and I used to perform grand "hook-a-thons," meaning road trips on which we'd try to stop at every saloon we almost passed. Wonderful times, I think?? Prior to enlisting in the military he and I secured a case of cheap beer -- in quart bottles, 6 for each of us -- and consumed the entire ocean of suds at a drive-in movie theater. Police arrived at 2:30AM, roused us from our peaceful if unconscious state and hauled us to the town jail, and there we remained incarcerated until a parent came to spring us. Brilliant!  Oh yeah, and "flaming shots," particularly memorable at two different joints on Burleigh Street; often I resembled "Beppo the Human Torch" -- a brightly illuminated by-product of those highly intelligent episodes, hair and whiskers gorgeously ablaze!

There's a two-pronged point to all this nonsense! (At least I think there is?!): 

1.)  In the "drinking culture" -- the local bar as poor persons' club -- we hang with kindred souls, some tortured, some merely perpetually drunk, we regard ourselves and our companions as terribly amusing, wonderfully funny! Aren't we?  Are we merely forcing laughter and trying too hard to entertain and be entertained, to forget, to blend in, or to "be somebody"!

Not the "905" we actually consumed,
but, you know, quarts is quarts! (Please
see Paragraph 10 above for reference!)

2.)  When we've either quit entirely or cut way down on our consumption of alcoholic spirits, are we permitted to look back on those earlier times of life and recall them with laughter, with actual joy in our hearts, as cherished events worth remembering?

How the hell would I know? On the other foot, Sure! Why not?! I mean, I think we can't simply ignore or try to forget our days of magnificent inebriation, when we were stein-hoisting, falling-down members of the Drinking Set! That was simply us, or that was me, in a different sphere of consciousness, in younger times, in a previous "compartment" of life's richly eclectic trajectory! Aint it? Sure, they may not have been our finest hours, but they helped to mold us into who and what we are today, to construct and form our characters, to solidify and validate our attitudes and values! (True! Some of us never actually make the transition... !)  

Oh yeah, one more bright memory in the great panoply of boozing adventures...   Red Top, Muskie Don and I succeeded in being thrown out of Hooligans Super Bar, that was before it became gentrified! It was a beautifully planned affair. We were running drunk until it got yellow out, went to an all-night market and bought a half-gallon of Tutti-Frutti ice cream. We offered the frozen confection to Hooligan's early-morning opening bartender, and ordered him to make us each a cream drink. We decided to call our creation a "Tutti-Frutti Pink Gin Sissy." "Oh yeah," one of us insisted, "Don't forget the paper umbrellas and the fruity-tooty garnish!" 

"Get the hell out of here now," the bartender bellowed, as he reached for his Louisville Slugger, his red-blotched eyes blazing with ire!! We stumbled out, but with exemplary dignity!!

A couple of concluding thoughts! I have to state quite honestly, we truly enjoyed the Drinking Life while it lasted. It was our inheritance, in a manner of speaking. SweetHeart has often said, "Alcohol abuse doesn't run in our families, it gallops," borrowing a line from a famous movie comedy. Just as honestly, having now parted company from strong drink, we find our lives happier, more manageable and, in a sense, more secure in many different ways. We have no intention, here, of denigrating the Drinking Set and those who do imbibe alcoholic beverages. It's just not for us at this juncture. Many if not most of our

frequent companions drink. No problem for them, nor for us...  it's just a different beverage choice, and almost always in sensible moderation.  
So raise your glasses, friends and fellow lovers of fine literature (and the sweet nectar of your own choosing!), and drink a toast to great saloons and the great friends who frequently or occasionally populate them. Or, if the coffee house is your "social club" or gathering place of choice, raise your mugs! Thank You!

Humbly Submitted, 04-19-17 -- Joel K.

Questions:

What's your favorite tavern or bar or saloon?

What's your favorite beer?

Your favorite mixed or blended drink?

What's your favorite or funniest memory of tavern life?
What's your favorite coffee house, and its location?

           

      

    

  

   

  

It's Spring!... Wait!... What?... It's Tax Time... Again??!!

Memoirs of a Geezer!

Reflections and Observations -- A Bright Passage from the Fantasies of Youth 

to Illuminations of Advanced Maturity!

This Episode:      It's Spring!...  Wait!...  What?...  It's Tax Time...  Again??!!

It's all so "trilling"!!  Soaring hearts of youth -- geezers' too, of course -- pulse with joy! Like songbirds that presage warmer temperatures and outdoor strolls unhampered by galoshes, greatcoats and heads wrapped in wool babuskas, they perch on media waves crooning their promises of enormous refunds and clever means of evasion.  Adorned in frighteningly silly neckwear or frilly frocks, the gorgeous

A "Tax Bird" in Full
Fiduciary Regalia!

green plumage of the "Tax Birds" -- accountants and CPAs -- beckons us to mahogany perches, calculators and dazzling software!  It's income tax time! "Oh, lo, how the purse thins as the coin shrivels...!!" (Shakespeare:  Little Known Sonnet of a Tax Collector!) 

In the blissful autumn of geezerhood, I stare in bewildered stupefaction at my current "Profit (?) and Loss Statement," its feckless scratchings and negative bottom line. Back in the 1970s, SweetHeart and I fell victim to the IRS and its legion of auditors.  In the first year, we were nearly driven into bankruptcy as a result of...  well, many factors, including bad advice and my own guileless stupidity!  That first experience, however, taught us to keep impeccably thorough and accurate records, receipts of each and every tax-deductible expenditure, business and personal. We became giants of stuff fiduciary, digits flying deftly among the beads of our 

abacus, stuffing envelopes and shoeboxes with documents and receipts and amulets designed to ward off evil karma and demons! 

In subsequent audit years, friendly and efficient IRS luminaries invited themselves into our home (unless there was insistence on a visit to his or her office in the Federal Building; thus we'd comply, clutching shoeboxes glutted with papers!).  They'd rummage through all of our business file drawers, heads often shaking, emitting occasional ejaculations of muddle!  Ms. Myrtle Fine-Em was one of those officials who came to our home, her objective to investigate every scrap of parchment with punctilious precision!

"May I do something to assist you, Ms. Fine-Em," I asked as she leafed through every slice of of printed paper in my outrageously disorganized filing system.
"No thank you," she responded, "and you may call me Myrtle."
"Oh I could never presume on such familiarity with an official of the Federal Government, Ms. Fine-Em," I replied, as I shelled and chewed pistachios inches from her right ear. "Would you like a chair, or a garden kneeling pad?" I asked, "perhaps a cushion or a bean-bag seat?"  She knelt near our short file cabinet as she searched and examined and mumbled.
"No thank you.  I'm fine as I am."  I continued to shell and chew.  "You're welcome to go about

other business," she nearly commanded, eyes stinging with irritation.  I think she cared little for pistachios... or chewing!
"May I get you a beverage? Soft drink, coffee, water, juice, kefir... We have chocolate milk, whiskey, beer, vodka...? I could make you a foo foo beverage in the blender; I used to be licensed bartender."  
"Thank you, no!" It was more a growl than a mere refusal.  
"Well," I said, "I'm here if you need me. I'll just get you a glass of water.  I'll leave it here on the filing cabinet. Ice?" She issued a grunt in reply. I went into the kitchen, needing a potable myself, something to slosh down the pistachios.   
  
I don't recall his name. I dubbed him Seymour Reasonstopenalize. He was one of several astute IRS auditors in the parade.  Upon spending hours -- probably it was more like days! -- inspecting every conceivable tax record we had collected, he peered at me sheepishly and asked, "Uh...  Joel, um, how do I put this delicately? Do you think you'll ever actually...  (here, he paused!)... well, um, actually earn any money?!  I mean...  actually realize a profit from business??!!"

"I rather hope not," said I.  "We're doing splendidly as we are!" I quipped foolishly. "I don't know how we'd manage if we ever actually made any money!!" I elucidated, further, stating I would quite likely be voted the worst peddler (salesperson) in this or any other hemisphere! My business acumen suffers by comparison to others of the self-employment ilk. Seymour was very understanding. He left a gold star, stuck it onto my file cabinet!   

"Be assured, madam, your information will not be shared!
Now, where may I Email your receipt...  you know, for
your record-keeping and income tax purposes!"

In time, we felt magnificently triumphant, escaping assessment of penalties and interest in those subsequent six or so years of audits, a tribute to adroit record-keeping...  And lots of receipts -- barely decipherable jottings on foolscap and torn bits of brown paper sacks!! But legitimate, acceptable stuff! Tax time became joyful, like a warming sun following a cascade of hail balls, the sweet kiss of dew on clover, a brilliant summer's morn...  a large refund check!(??) (The latter we have not enjoyed!!)

Having thus poked a bit of fun at honored, respected and much-loved agents of the income tax continuum, I feel I must add a tribute to an outstanding Tax Accountant of my own particular ken. I've always called him, Freddy, and we've been great friends since grade school... paper routes, baseball in front of his family's garage... crazed and reckless bicycle riding... everything that kids do and enjoy. We're both grown geezers now, and he has graciously deigned to handle our income tax matters -- ridiculous as they may be -- and has done over the past few years. I dubbed him a "Fiduciary Genius," as he is most deserving of the title! Our returns had never before been accomplished with such detailed and glorious professionalism. We are blessed! (I hope he never sends me packing to one of those creatures who walks about looking like Verdigris Statues with spikes coming out of their heads!!)    


And, thus, I conclude this happy journey along the "Tax Road" and the adventures on which it has taken us. We intend no disrespect to accountancy, the IRS, bean-counters or other noble fiduciaries. This posting is merely our tribute to that magnificent "season of every new year" that is supposed to conclude on April 15th, the gods, computers and sundry circumstances permitting!!  

[ Special Note of Dual Dedication:  The perpetrator dedicates this writing to his dear friend, Freddy, a tax and accounting professional of exceptional talent and grace. He has generously taken on our income tax morass with unusual understanding and acceptance...  hardly any grumbling over the state of our convoluted income tax narrative, records and spreadsheets. We are grateful in the extreme for his skills and expertise. (Now then, Freddy, old chap, where are we lunching next month??!!)  In addition, I dedicate this blog to SweetHeart, whose contributions to our tax records and overall preparation are far better than my own inane ramblings, and whose encouragement is always vital and most welcome during the proceedings! With love and hugs to both dedicatees! Oh yes, and thank you too, Pat! Your scheduling and communications skills play a major role as well. ]   

Humbly Submitted, 03-24-17 -- Joel K.        

  

          

   





            

Disassembly and the Medical Profession!...

Memoirs of a Geezer!

Reflections and Observations -- A Bright Passage from the Fantasies of Youth 

to Illuminations of Advanced Maturity!

This Episode:      Disassembly and the Medical Profession!...

"Where are the Simple Joys of Geezerhood..."  Remember that great tune from the play,

Camelot (...a bit of poetic license here!)?  So?  What's become of those simple joys?  As we reach a venerable age, you know, like genuine Geezerhood, aren't we supposed to be inundated with "simple joys"?  Lots of leisure time... Unremitting respect from the young... Stable health that

would enable us to bask in the warm sunshine of wise maturity, able to enjoy a simpler lifestyle in peace and comfort? Fah!! We're too often treated like swine to the slaughter!   

Here's the problem!  Modern medicine has apparently conspired to cure our ailments by removal, disassembly! Complain about a source of pain and a doctor might remove your spleen, a lung, a bowel or a pancreas or something...  other vital members!! When my father was in his dotage, he started losing his members, meaning toes and other things! I don't wish to make light of our health care industry and the injuries and diseases upon which it must focus, nor to accuse it of disassembling bodily organs for the mere sake of practicing medical disassembly!  However, the medical profession, like any other, requires occasional fun-poking!  

Sadly, it's not all fun and riotous humor. For example, SweetHeart, my best friend and dearest companion was recently diagnosed with a 5 cm mass of carcinoma in her right kidney. Following a biopsy, a stent placed in the connecting ureter and lots of discomfort, all experienced on a Monday and throughout the following three days, she underwent a "procedure" -- meaning surgery, of course -- to remove the affected kidney the following Friday. (Today's medical professionals love to use euphemisms...  e.g.  "Some discomfort"... "a small incision is all that's required"... "Laparoscopic surgery, also called minimally invasive surgery (MIS)"... "Bandaid Surgery"(?!)... There was a bladder scan and a dye-injected full-organ CT scan that preceded the biopsy. For poor SweetHeart, it was all like undergoing a one-person battle against a horde of frenzied barbarians wearing fur-rimmed metal hats on stampeding and snorting horses squirting venomous mucus-covered darts with every gallop!! 

"Whatever it is
that's causing you
discomfort, it has
to come out!!"

We can be thankful in the extreme that some cancers are eminently treatable, even curable, in this modern era of medical science in which we are privileged to live!  SweetHeart, after seeing her GP to determine that blood in the urine was not caused by a Urinary Tract Infection (UTI), was referred to a urologist, a terrific specialist with an excellent reputation in his field.  I should mention that our much loved and outstanding GP has never steered us afoul in the referral department.  (I was seen by a heart specialist, for example, who removed nothing from my anatomy!  Oh...  I did see a gastrointestinal MD who removed my appendix, but only because he was "in there" untwisting a nasty brute of a bowel...  a prime example of expedient medical disassembly!) 

But, who am I to judge or complain. My closest encounter with medical training was occupying a desk in a biology lecture for a, then, dental student friend of mine who had other important matters to which he wanted to attend. The professor frequently looked at me rather askance! I believe he knew me for the interloper I was! However, to my undying gratitude, I learned a few things about streptococci, knowledge forever stored in my personal medical lexicon!! (Sometimes we're truly blessed and don't realize it until much later in life.  Oh, and my friend paid me a dollar!!)

I should also point out that, as a youth, my tonsils were disassembled. I played a good joke on the medical profession on that occasion! My mother was told not to give me anything to eat or drink several hours prior to the "procedure." Unbeknownst to mother, I drank a large glass of milk. Upon having the ether pumped into my small person, I bubbled over, necessitating an emptying and re-application procedure. What a good laugh on the medical guys, eh??!!  

Medicine can be a fertile source of amusement for some. My brothers-in-law for example. SweetHeart and I are in California visiting friends. We lose a wedding ring, convinced it fell into a vent filled with an army of dust rodents and other horribly toxic and hairy stuff. Both of us reached in, holding our noses and breath, but to no avail. Returning home, we noticed our entire bodies covered in red pustules!

SCABIES!! Holy human excrement! Scabies!! I went to see a crack dermatologist, Dermis Bumpimple, MD. I hauled out my most private appendage and attempted to hand it over. He eyed me and my appendage with utter disgust and said, "I'm not touchin' that thing!"  

"But," I stammered, "what about an examination? Don't you have rubber gloves, maybe a medical appendage tongs?" He offered a prescription and ushered us quickly out the door. The story had my brothers-in-law consumed in mirth for hours. On another occasion, returning from a pre-marital holiday in Colorado, I made an appointment with a GP, Dr. Eustus T. Fyreblanks. I had what I described to him as a broken testicle. I displayed the full majesty of my private region. He asked, "How long you had that rash?"

"I don't know," said I, "I've had a history of fungus in that area, like 'athlete's crotch,' " I quipped, trying to add a note of humor to the uncomfortable proceedings.

"Here," he said, handing me a prescription, "spray this on your feet and your crotch'll clear up."  The brothers-in-law were convulsed over that one. I don't recall that we ever actually took care of the broken globule part!! But, I suppose the doctor may have given me a pill or something!

Needless to state, and returning to the more serious nature of this writing, cancer is scary as hell, and we never want any of the people we love having to hear that sort of dire pronouncement from medical doctors. The turn to humor, however, trying to make light of the thing, is a coping mechanism, a device or tool we humans tend to use to some advantage, to remove or at least lessen the fear. To cite an example, I suggested to SweetHeart,

in order to ease the discomfort of having to explain her recent weight loss to a certain party, "Organ removal is not the best means of reducing!" The party of the second part seemed to be put at greater ease, made apparent as she chuckled merrily, if nervously.

In the end, we have to acknowledge that cancer is, for now, an un-arrested thief that steals our parents, much-loved relatives and dear friends, way too many of us, often far too soon, without regard to age or value to those left behind. The big and happy "however" part is the increasing rate at which medical science and we humans generally are able to defeat cancer, at least certain forms of the dreaded thing. For that, we are grateful beyond words!! I've had SweetHeart in my life for more than 50 years; we plan to be together for many, many more to follow, and no snot-nosed slug of a cancer is going to stop us!!!  Thank You.   

(Special Note of Dedication:  The perpetrator dedicates this posting to his Beloved SweetHeart who underwent a major medical procedure with calm acceptance, great dignity and exemplary courage. I hope she'll forgive the tangential digressions, but in the end will know that the essential aim of this writing is to express my growing love and admiration, attempts at humor thrown in just to soften the overall theme. SweetHeart is my ultimate hero!) 

Humbly Submitted 02-06-17 -- Joel K.        

           

          



      

Chicken Pox and Imagination!... Kids Want to Know!... An Illustrated Children's Book!

Memoirs of a Geezer!

Reflections and Observations -- A Bright Passage from the Fantasies of Youth 

to Illuminations of Advanced Maturity!

This Episode:       Imagination!...  A "Stab" at Children's Literature!

Thrill to a Dancing
Pickle!...  this and so much
more:  Read:  An "Awful"
Beautiful Day...  Or, Me
and My Chicken Pox!

"From a bright pen they dripped away, 

Thin and filmy, whirling, elusive,

In the end but shreds, scattered and lost,

Caught on the breath of the wind..." 

          -- Anon.

With any passionate discipline, the imperative is action, movement...  an inexorable journey! If one is driven to write, for example, the pen or keyboard tends to fuse with fingers and mind! The writer is compelled to stab nouns with adjectives and send the pair skittering off with eager verbs... It's a kind of madness, some say, an obsession.  a thing that has to be done with compulsive regularity. Or is it a blessing? Who the hell knows what it is, and why the urge is so insistent, like eating, sleeping and other natural impulses. Within the vastness of words corralled in books and libraries, how many are actually remembered, cherished?  Very few, it's true... but, that's not the point. If you love to write, well then you just have to carry on...  For many it's not even a matter of choice, I suppose!

Yeah, Right!  More shameless self promotion!  But, you see,
it's my blog, so I get to throw these images in from time
to time...  You know, to edify...  to annoy! It's a swell book;
it contains a good story, funny and educative too!  Get a
copy:  www.amazon.com; www.barnesandnoble.com;
www.booksamillion.com; www.outskirtspress.com...

With the great success achieved with my first published work (stated with admitted sarcasm, tongue placed solidly in cheek!), I thought I'd try my hand at a book for children. It has now been completed, and includes wonderful illustrations created by an exceptional artist / collaborator, my brother, Kris. SweetHeart's deft hand, too, of course, always a superb editor and contributor! Why not?, I figure!  Other lunatics have tried writing and having books for kids published; many have even succeeded.  Why not one more delusional lunatic?!

Perhaps it's an ego-driven madness of sorts. I make no lofty claims.  I'm no prolific writer or oft- published novelist. I've not achieved fame; I have no bookshelf filled with hardcover volumes bearing my name. In fact, as I recall, there was a Jesuit teacher in my high school who, when asked if writing could be in my future as a possible vocation answered, "That's the last thing you should do!" In spite of that rebuke or because of it, I chose my profession... And thus I write, whether anyone reads what I write is another matter entirely.      

Possibly I should have been wisely counseled prior to embarking, but in any case...  The result of my latest effort -- accomplished recently, and well into my geezerhood -- is entitled, An "Awful" Beautiful Day...  Or, Me and My Chicken Pox! It's based on an episode experienced by my remarkable daughters, Alie and Bethie.  Well, perhaps I should reveal at least the beginning of the story, in its own words, just to demonstrate that the thing is indeed a fait accompli...

             



  


















What the hell...  I'll include another, maybe even two more of the gorgeous illustrations...  I'm certain readers, devotees and others will be excited and delighted. Won't they? Here are more of the illustrations, with text even!:

























The story's central focus is on IMAGINATION! Quite a few readers have pronounced it "Fun and Funny"...  "Delightful Reading..."  "Entertaining..."  "...an Interesting Reminder of a Nasty Virus Kids Used to Get...  and about Which They're Still Quite Inquisitive!"... Yeah, say I!  That's the whole point, fer crying out loud!! Interested literary agents are most welcome to call or write! I must warn you, however, I'm quite discriminating!...  Anyone out there??!!  Hello??!!

Bethie (left) and Alie in their present
day manifestations.  I tried to give
them a kind of "cartoon-ie" look, in
keeping with the theme... 

Writing is a joyful and can be a somewhat lonely experience, but almost always gratifying, that carries with it a sense of accomplishment. Something you can step back and admire once it's done. And so I say to you, my friends, empathetic comrades and kindred souls, pick up a nib, a quill, a pencil or a keyboard and write something. Even if you and a family member or a friend are the only market or audience for your work.  

Oh yeah, one more thing.  There's a Chicken in the book, a rather large, cartoon-ie one! A truly glorious fowl creature to behold! It alone is worth a look...  Ba Gawk, Ba Gawk...  Buk... Buk... Buk! Its words are translated within the story, and that, too, should generate interest and readership

throughout the entire poultry farming community, agriculture in general... the entire planet, even the inhabited parts!! For those of you who many not be fond of chickens, we apologize, and remind you that there are many other redeeming parts of the book, Characters too, that you're certain to find enjoyable, possibly even memorable! 

[ Special Note of Dedication and Attribution:  The perpetrator extends giant thanks, and dedicates this writing to his beautiful, incomparable, fun and funny daughters for their unending gifts of themselves, their humor, support, understanding, patience and love. In addition, a special joint dedication to Brother, Kris, and to SweetHeart, my best friend, muse and cherished co-collaborator in life! (But not also dedicated to the pantomime chicken I met the other day in the mall!) Thank You, and Good Night...! ] 

(A Second Note:  "And Good Night to All the Beautiful Young Women..." is available through www.amazon.com; wwwbarnesandnoble.com; www.booksamillion.com; www.outskirtspress.com! The Illustrated Children's Book -- "An 'Awful' Beautiful Day..." is not yet in print, but can be made available to interested parties...  Contact:    jkriofske@att.net    or    joel.mary@icloud.com!)     

Humbly Submitted, 01-16-17 -- Joel K.         

      

    

Old Friends Renewed... A Sort of Re-Awakening!

Memoirs of a Geezer!

Reflections and Observations -- A Bright Passage from the Fantasies of Youth 

to Illuminations of Advanced Maturity!

This Episode:     Old Friends Renewed...    A Sort of Re-Awakening! 

Long before entering the depths of Geezerhood (or should it be heights?), in my student days, I read Jean-Paul Sartre's The Wall, in which his protagonist is condemned to death by firing squad against the "eponymous," much-feared wall. The story is set during the Spanish Civil War.  The man is ultimately reprieved for "consideration," temporarily, but not before "surrendering the illusion of immortality."

At least that's one interpretation, admittedly an over-simplification of a classic existentialist narrative.  Nonetheless, it leads nicely into the theme, setting up the topic of this month's attempt at constructing a story!  I think that as we age, we engage in more and more self-reflection, looking behind to consider where we've been, ahead through tunnels of presumptive destinations as they grow ever nearer.  Notions of Mortality, even the "illusion" (we all make future plans, don't we??!!) we all seem to hold on to, creep increasingly into consciousness. I haven't actually "surrendered," but I think about it more often these days...  

I don't know if that's the sole motivation, but in recent years it's the thought of mortality that perhaps moved me to seek out old friends, even after 40 or 50 years' absence.  I'm happy and gratified that I did, and wonder often why I waited so damn long to do so.  Noteworthy among them...  

Freddy and I had been childhood friends.  We had paper routes, played ball in the gravel lot adjacent to his family's garage,

cut lawns, rode our bikes recklessly... had great fun and many adventures.  I'm sitting one day staring a my computer, and the word, "rice-a-floffa" (not sure of the spelling!?) wanders into my head.  I look up Freddy's phone number and ring.  To my delight, he responds happily, enthusiastically, and with a hearty laugh as I begin, "I'd like a large order of rice-a-floffa to travel!" Now we get together for lunch at least once a month.  I was in his wedding many years ago, and attended his and Pat's recent 50th Wedding Anniversary Celebration. A renewed friendship...  pure joy!

This famous Milwaukee
custard stand served
equally famous skinless
wieners made by Johnny's
family business...

Johnny B. was one of the first friends I made during freshman year of high school.  Beginning recently, we E-Corresponded, we talked, and now we get together for lunch or dinner, once a month when time and schedules permit.  In our younger days, we prowled around the old neighborhood, "borrowed" his father's car, went to Louie's cottage for boat rides and water skiing.  Now that we're older and far more brilliant, we talk about politics and former bad habits, the Peace Corps, travel and many other topics of significance that great minds crave.

Richard M. and I were in school together, and enjoyed a friendship in the 60's and 70's.  A couple of weeks ago, following some re-introductory E-Messaging, we set a lunch meeting, and caught up, each of us in turn summarizing perhaps 45 or so years since we last saw one another. It was a Great Time! We plan to get together again, sometime after the start of 2017, perhaps even including other mutual old chums...  

Above is a badly-fabricated image of
the fabled saloon, Morry's on Prospect,
where many great friendships were
forged from a crucible of booze,
juke box tunes and good times!!  

Such as...  Mike B.  We met for coffee, sharing recollections of highly amusing if possibly self-destructive adventures.  Mike reminded me of one of them.  After working a day shift in my profession as "beverage host," he and I stuffed 7 "long necks" each into our winter coat pockets and motored off to a basketball game during which we consumed our booty.  We drove back to the saloon using nothing but alley ways, for reasons I can't readily recall.  Brilliant lads! Brilliant times (uh...  weren't they??!). (I've been counseled not to mention our "famous" automotive backing race the wrong way on Prospect Avenue...  ?!)  I should mention, Richard, Mike and I often encountered one another at the fabled and now famous, but former, Morry's On Prospect. And speaking of Morry...  

He and I had lunch together after a similar span of years had elapsed since we last had any purposeful and protracted conversation.  Here again, so good to see and interact with Morry, both socially and culturally!  A great friend and a friendship renewed! We, too, plan to make it a somewhat regular occasion.  In our most recent telephone chat, we even settled on our next choice of lunchtime cuisine!  Now that's a true sense of commitment, yes?!  Wonderful!!  Lest I forget, great, also, to see Dave K. over lunch!

Greg G. is yet another gem, an old friend with whom coffee and great conversation is a

somewhat newly initiated routine upon which I place great value!  Greg has a way of discovering the best in people and their ideas.  My time with him is always edifying and revealing. He has a generosity of spirit that is both admirable and enviable. Oh, and he admires Jungian Philosophy! (When's our next coffee date, eh, Greg??)   

Though I place equal value on (fairly) newly formed friendships with people of a "shared generational map," we've discussed such as those within the context of "film club" postings.  (Please see archival writings...   http://geezerjoel.blogspot.com/)...  I won't lengthen this piece with a repeated litany of names or the themes of our gatherings.

By contrast, and to her great credit and that of her fellows, SweetHeart enjoys uninterrupted friendships -- celebrated each month over dinner! -- with nearly lifelong good friends. Women, I suppose, being perhaps smarter (some apparently assert!) and more socially conscious than men, at least many of us, have the skill and emotional gifts to maintain relationships, even those that began some 50 and 60 years ago! Men can sometimes acquire such gifts in later life, and as in my case, emotional growth finally blossoms.  (It's a right brain thing, I think! Aina??!! One wonders why it can take so long for right brain functions to function?!)

This is SweetHeart, not with an
old friend, but a relatively new one!
(Possibly an Eagle Scout?...)

Do renewed friendships that originally commenced long ago tend to last?  Or are they ephemeral, like novelties that tend to capture our imaginations briefly and then fade as interest wanes over time?  I sincerely hope not. And to be honest I don't think so...  I think friendships with those with whom we became pals long ago can actually be stronger, more fulfilling! Why, you may ask!  Because in later life we're far less likely to try or want to impress one another.  We're able to be ourselves, without pretension, without the youthful proclivities of competition on too many levels...  financial success, who owns more stuff, number of marriages, who's funnier or more clever, who has a bigger house or garage... Maybe I'm being naive, but I sincerely hope these re-connections, renewed friendships, last a great long time, in fact, as long as those good friends and I do.   (Questions listed, below!)  

Humbly Submitted 12-30-16 -- Joel K.

Questions You May Wish to Consider, Even Answer:   

1.)  Have you re-connected with a friend or friends after the passage of many years?

2.)  How you did you arrange the re-connection, and by what means...  Email, letter, social media, chance encounter, school, the county jail...?

3.)  How do you meet...  lunching, drinks, dinner, at a skating rink, your home, her / his home?

4.)  How often do you get together, or plan to meet...  monthly, bi-monthly, weekly?

5.)  What's the history of your friendship with an old friendship renewed, and how did you first get together?