FREE WRITING VIA TYPING

I takes a little longer to free write on a keyboard. Unless you're a typing whiz like our kids. I'm not, so mine won't quite be as spontaneous. But yesterday I wrote of an assignment I gave/ I challenged readers to write, Like several of my assignments given, I, too took part. So here's my two minutes of stream-of-conscious.

Fridays don't mean as much when you're retired, Mondays are lots better though. Friday Night Lights. I taped a Cardinals Spring Training game today. So my tv time will be filled. Full, yep. Very rarely do I feel a hunger pang. That's my doctor's name. Herman Pang.

I'm swelled on my right leg. Sausage leg, ready to pop. I did squirt blood at a tech today when she had me stand up. Bright red, the flow of life. jutted out. Staples. That's what I got. Three of them. I stapled my finger once when I was sitting on my teacher's desk playing with a stapler as I talked.

I had a crazy grad teacher that was married to a Chinese woman who told him that you dissed a Chinese person when you sat on a desk. Some kind of relative disrespect. I didn't buy it, but I didn't do it in his class; I needed the grade. I wonder how much longer I have to compose.

Why is it compost? We used to have a clubhouse in a compost bin at Vaught's house. It was lined with newspapers,

That's it. Mine sounds a little too organized. A little non-descriptive. A little too narrative.

So what would I circle? What would I develop? Maybe the old clubhouse situated next to an alley by a crab apple tree.

So give it a try. Remember it's free.

WRITING: an exasperation

One of the least favorite styles/genres of writing that I least liked to read in college lit classes was stream-of-conscious. Where a character's random thoughts often defy logic and time. But that's the way they re written and the reader has to do the sorting.

It's more fun to write than read that way. Before the days of easily available computers in the classroom, I had my students take a pencil or pen and write whatever came into their heads for one minute. If nothing came into their heads, they were to write that. By the end of that line, something would have popped in there. If not, they were to write that again. They couldn't stop writing. They had to push the pen or pencil or catch my stern glare. That was the object--not my glare--but to keep writing since writing is a somewhat physical task.

At the end of the one minute, they were to examine what they had written and circle something that they might write about and expand into one page. If they couldn't find something, then they were to repeat the one minute of free writing as it was called. And circle something they could develop.

It was a fun assignment. Some students actually wanted to read aloud their free writing. To share what was in their minds. It was fun to hear. Most of the time. Of course they were told to filter out anything not appropriate. But except for a few restrictions, they were unrestricted in their stream-of-conscious writing.

So, readers, give it a shot. It only takes one minute. See what's there. Just under the surface waiting to get out.

I won't be standing over you. I won't require a follow up assignment. I won't have you read yours aloud. But hey, you'll waste a lot more time today than that one minute. go ahead: it's fun.

HILLARY AND ME

I found a commonality with Mrs. Clinton. We have so very few. But on a recent trip to China, she said she preferred the early Beatles to the later ones. But I shouldn't be surprised. You see Hil and I go way back.

Somehow she came to speak at MTV High while her husband was ruining the country. Against the wishes of a few conservatives on staff. But whatever she was promoting, she was allowed to speak in our hallowed gym to our student body.

Most loved her. The only protest was by our civics teacher who ranted and raved with the Superintendent to no avail. As for me, I wore a lapel pin of the Republican Party on my golf shirt. When a few students asked about it, I merely replied, "I'm just trying to level the playing field."

I did crop and blow up a close up picture of her standing at the podium displaying our high school logo. She looks beautiful in it. I'm not kidding. It was a very, very flattering shot. I should have sent it to the White House. Instead, it's stashed somewhere. I just couldn't help make the Clintons look good.

But she's right on the mark with The Beatles as far as I'm concerned. The ticket I found on Ebay sports the same price that my friend Larry and I shelled out to see them in St. Louis on August 21, 1966. I've yet to see a ticket stub or advertising poster for that concert. If I ever find one, I'll splurge.

Maybe I could trade the Hillary picture for the ticket stub or poster. I'd do it. But probably regret it later. Kinda like selling my soul or something.

JUST DUMB

You'll have to excuse some of my sarcasm today. I'm under the influence. Of two kinds of pain killers blahblahblah, a generic for yadayadayada. And an inflammatory.

You see I'm having laser leg surgery for some unsightly and somewhat unhealthy veins that have protruded in my legs for years. When I first noticed them, I thought they were cool, like those veins in the arms of the strong guys. When I shared that theory with my doctor, he laughed and corrected me.

I'll write more about the EVLT treatments, out -patient surgeries when I'm all finished. For now, I'm hurting, except when I walk, which I'm required to do. Three to five miles per day. I've gone 4 once and 3 all the rest.

But Monday as I was on my walk, I had to pee. Bad. I was at least 1 1/2 miles from home. I looked around. No neighbors around that I knew. No place to go.

A cart girl on the golf course saved me. She offered to take me home, but I declined, thinking I might not make it that far. She took me to a restroom on the course. There were guys on the tee box but no carts parked by the restroom.

I hurried in and in the one-holer stood a guy. I waited. I thought, "this guy must be old, prostate trouble". He was done. Then he stayed and blew his nose a couple of times. Keep in mind it was a small bathroom and I could hear all. Finally he walks out. He was a golfer. A fairly young guy.

I head to the much needed toilet. He hadn't even flushed! I thought, "how dumb!" Then I remembered, "He didn't wash his hands either".

When I saw Pelosi, Biden, and Mr. Obama pictured in the paper, my thoughts returned to the guy in the bathroom. "How dumb!" How could voters place these three in the highest positions in the land?

I have to go now. That's right: nature is calling again. See; even my body knows the similarities.

YOUR NAME DRINK

If Shirley Temple and Arnold Palmer can have a drink named after them, why not you? So my question for pondering today is what would your drink be?

I'd need more than one for The TQ. Well water from the Hays' well on Benton Road in MTV would be one. That was the best, coldest, purest tasting water that I ever had. And I'm very discerning about my water. Desani is my drink of choice now, but it will probably change. The Hays' well water was cool, actually very cold and just good tasting.

Another would have to be the old Coca-Colas in the glass bottles. The kinds they had in the '50's when they'd burn your nose on a little burp. Ice cold of course. Back then there were no diet sodas. But I remember drinking some Tab that my mom drank. Cough syrup was better tasting.

My third TQ is Crystal Light peach flavored iced tea. Unsweetened. Not that I don't like sweet tea, but as a health conscious codger, I have to limit sugar intake. The water used in mixing is Desani as previously mentioned. No ice, but ice cold. Ice is extremely important, but our ice maker even after being outfitted with a reverse osmosis system doesn't make the kind I like. The little pellets are my favorites, but not many places have them anymore.

Since the Hays' moved, Desani, and Crystal Light already have names, I guess I'm out of luck. No drink called TQ. How about a blog called On the QT? That'll work.

A COTTAGE, NOW THAT'S THE PLACE TO WRITE

Two novellas, a thousand poems, several travelogues, several newspaper articles (when I was the high school's public information officer for four years or so) lots of minutes from lots of meetings. And four blogs. But that's the extent of it, unless you count all those research papers I had to write in college.

But I'm still not satisfied. I still want to write more. While I really like our house, it's not a writer's house. Now, just look at that cottage. That's where writers live. That's where thoughts could flow. Quaint, yet protected. Warm yet so cool. Picturesque.

Quiet, tranquil, but with an air of attention to detail. A sculptured yard. I'm sure the inside has the orderliness reflected in the yard. I'm certain there is wood in the fireplace in addition to starter logs or kindling. I'm also sure that in the back yard is an ornate chaise lounge for an afternoon nap in the sun.

Wood floors, highlighted by a big throw rug. Some kind of shutters for filtering or blocking. A granite kitchen. A smell in the house of homemade bread. Not pot roast for that would be too overpowering.

A huge writing desk with computer and printer. An intercom system for the right kind of music to fit the right kind of mood.

Yep, I could write there. Or I couldn't write anywhere.

J. WELLINGTON WIMPY

Until a little Google search, I had no idea that was Wimpy's full name. You remember Wimpy who was way ahead of his time when he uttered "I'd gladly pay you Tuesday for a hamburger today." Actually the entire quote was "I've informed my bank that I'll gladly pay you Tuesday for a hamburger today." See what I mean?

But this entry is not about our current economic fiasco, but about hamburgers.

And if you're not an MTV product, it may not mean too much to you. Unless it sends you down old memory lane.

Broadway Drive-In ran by Bernard Tapocik had a great plain cheeseburger that I scarfed whenever I could get away from his loaded up ham sandwich. I can still taste both. His drive-in restaurant was the best non-chain anywhere. Actually, much better than any chain.

Kelly's Bowling Alley had a grill with the juiciest burger around. It was probably filled with grease, but it was a terrific sandwich, made by daughter Patti.

Maid-Right Drive-In despite its misspelling made ground up hamburgers that were also excellent. You know--the kinds made into little balls and lathered over a toasted bun.

There were lots of other restaurants in our little community back then, but those three were the best for burgers. The Mug, the most popular of teen hangouts, must have had an undistinguished burger, because I have no recollection of it.

Of course the best burger now is made from bison and cooked out by me. With some garlic salt of course. I could make Mr. Wimpy salivate.