Oct. 26, 2004 - 20:08 MDT

THE WONDERING JEW

Loose Ends

Fumbled and stumbled through this day. Thought I was doing quite well in my recovery from the gastric disaster of Sunday night. However, when time to make my entry came tonight, the items I had set aside to consider for an entry are just too darn depressing to think about.

But there were days when I was a kid that were pure joy to live and pleasant to remember.

Can't remember exactly how old I was, ten maybe, when several of us kids decided to start a butterfly collection. Pin 'em on boards and all that fine stuff. We made our nets out of some kind of mesh that one of the kids Moms had, and started off. Chasing butterflies on the wing, the thrill of the hunt pumping blood through our veins at a great rush. Success, put the specimen in a killing jar, then later pinning it to the board.

Saddening thing though was that there weren't that many different kinds of butterfly in the city of Denver.

But we had fun though and excitement galore. The grass was green, the trees in leaf, the sun was warm and the wine of young life made all things enjoyable. Shade in Denver was nature's air conditioning. The air was so dry then, that to cool off all we had to do was get in the shade and shed the self produced steamy water.

Of course there were other things, taking empty bottles to the store and cashing them in for Popsicles or candy. Errand running coin to get cold pop or ice cream cones. Sometimes going down to the (even then) dirty Platte River which ran past our area about 8 blocks away perhaps -- nearby anyhow. It was shallow and muddy but wadeable and fun to have mud fights, oh those mud balls carried a lot of weight, causing a big oof when someone would catch one in the belly.

Then as time has a habit, I grew a bit older and was allowed to buy my own bicycle with money I had earned and saved in dribs and drabs by running errands, door to door distribution of grocery handbills and other gofer work.

Mom and Dad were both employees of Western Union. My Dad started there as a messenger boy on a bicycle, Mom became a branch office manager. I think she would sooner have given me a shotgun rather that let me have a bicycle. She told me once, "Son, I spend too much time going to visit messenger boys in the hospital who have been hurt in bicycle accidents, I don't want you to get hurt riding one." Dad having "been there and done that" let Mom have her way.

So it was an accomplishment of diplomacy and proof of self that let me have a bike. Then I was no longer tied to our neighborhood. On a warm day, a brown bag lunch, jacket wound around my handlebars I, either alone or with a pal or two, would be off to the country.

Back then the country was close to us as we lived on the edge of town. Nearby were the truck gardens where produce was grown to take to the city market for grocers to buy. A bit further out were the bigger farms. City hicks we were who delighted in watching cows and horses in pasture, hearing roosters crow, cows moo and dogs barking. We often went to a nearby stream where the water was clear and cool, sit with our feet in the water and just relax and enjpoy the peace to be had there. Telling jokes that would make Mom blush and get a reprimand from Dad -- but 'twas but a hint that we were gaining a bit of knowledge of the world.

Sure it is a pleasure to me Bastion, to remember the good things and times. The bad memories are stacked on a shelf and only recovered when one of them might be instructive to me or mine. For what other reason does one have bad memories ?

In recovery tonight so am not "out of sorts" but more tired and at Loose Ends . . . . . . . .

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