History in the Making

Ballard Street

0600 hrs.

Martin stood poised on the brink of greatness. He always stood on the brink. He had yet to make his mark, but today was the day.

No one was stirring along the whole street. Why should they be—it was a Saturday morning, July 17. Not a day which had any historical significance, at least not any that Martin knew of. Martin wasn’t concerned with what significance the day used to have, however. He was set to make history.

He bent down, tightened his skates on his feet. He checked the fuel level in the tank. He plucked a few blades of grass, checked the wind shear. Light, perhaps two or three knots. Barely a breeze crossing from the left to right.

One hundred yards of clear smooth road stretched out before him.

He inserted his earplugs.

He reached for the pull cord.

The small engine sputtered, coughed, then, on the second pull, started.

Agatha appeared on their porch, near the end of the street. She appeared agitated. Martin could not hear what she was yelling—the engine, combined with the earplugs, made that impossible.

Martin took a deep breath, reached over to release the already straining anchor ropes. His eye twitched.

Real Life Adventures

Real Life Adventures

Randy crunched his cereal methodically, a thousand-yard stare firmly set upon his face. Another day begun, another day to be endured at work. “I really hate my job,” he thought. “At least I only have fifteen more months before I retire.”

He poured another bowl and topped off the milk. The snow pattered softly on the windowpane and the sky lightened slowly with the coming dawn. Though the kitchen was warm, he shivered as he watched the snow fall. Snow always depressed him. Maybe he should go see a therapist. Without looking, he thrust another bite into his mouth.

crunch, crunch, crunch.

Sometimes, Randy wondered if the sound of chewing was damaging to his hearing, or if the sound was merely amplified by being literally connected to his ears. Another bite—something wasn’t quite the same with this

crunch.

He looked down at the bowl. “What the hell?” he thought. Myrtle came into the kitchen carrying the newspaper.

Little Girls are too much fun

I sit here tonight with my daughter, who will be five years old in two days. She is such a little princess. She loves all things pink.

Currently, she is "working" on her Barbie(r) laptop, while I work on mine. Of course, mine is not from Mattel. There are several games she plays, mostly about spelling. She is so smart. She gets shy when I look at her, but she already knows how to read, and won't start kindergarten until the fall. Mrs. Carter enrolled her in a dance class with her cousin recently, and she loves that as well. I am not really sure what to do about a little girl, but I do love her, and she is so much fun just to watch.

One day, I suppose she'll grow up, and then I won't have her around to watch. Until then, I keep her close to my heart.