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I don’t recall running for the position, but then again, the eighth grade was an eternity ago- thankfully. Even though I can’t say how I got there, I do have a vague memory of attending one of the meetings. As I stop and dig deeper, there is a realization that I’m not even sure whether this remembrance concerns a place on the student council or simply being a homeroom representative or what it was exactly.
I haven’t been getting out much lately, but when I do it’s to meetings. This has seriously cramped the possibility of my vying for the most interesting man in the world qualification round, although that is not a title that might even become a doodle in my mental notebook.
To all of those paying attention to this space, apologies are in order for my dropping of the ball the last time around. While some of my scribblings did appear, they were from a year ago, and adeptly substituted by our editor at the last minute when I failed to produce any words at all.
I don’t know about you, but I’m sick of my family at the moment, and since nothing of consequence is happening in that regard right now we will step back within the watery boundaries of this place until something of relative importance that is emanating from the northeast part of this country stirs my interest once again
In truth, as of late, I feel as though I could be floating in a translucent haze just about anywhere. I woke up the other day to the sound of dog claws on a hardwood floor.
I have been locked into a different routine as of late. My day generally begins with a plate of eggs and a cup of coffee that I carry out onto the back deck.
One might ask, given all the entertainment and recreational activities open to one on Vashon on any particular weekend, why anyone would actively strive to join in on an event that touts a passage to pain as its main drawing card
Yesterday morning at about 5 a.m. New Hampshire time I had a rather hollow and knotting feeling in my stomach. This wasn’t due to a lack of food, but rather an absence of a crucial document.
Many people are planting vegetables this year, some of whom have never gardened before. I gardened with great passion and little skill before I had children. We have a near-sunless, sodden little yard, but I planted in faith.
The only female in the competition, Alexina Slater was more than a long shot. She was seen as a risk to the whole event. Too young, too reckless, too weak and too female for such a challenge, the organizers sent a special boat along with the swimmers to trail the main group and pick up the girl once she fell behind and before she drowned.
I was floating around in the Vashon Pool this past Saturday, taking advantage of lap swim on this first day of the pool being open this year. I was trying to remember how it feels like to be in shape for swimming, as I was feeling quite far from that point on my first day back in the water since last October.
I have a mixed relationship with guns. On my Mother’s side, her parents had a Korean War era bolt action rifle propped up behind the floor lamp that stood to one side of their fireplace.
From a time way before the magic of shopping the internets, I’m still trying to remember how I wound up in a hobby shop in New York City buying that radio controlled plane kit.
Things have definitely changed in my times with the television set. Having gone from Captain Kangaroo and Leave it to Beaver to South Park and the Daily Show, we have seen what some might call a shift in the available viewing spectrum of shows.
“If you look at what we did, is we acquired an asset for, like, uh, fifty cents on the dollar, because we got the state to pay more than half.” Bill Ameling
With the clock radio flashing over the head of the bed in the dark, I knew the time it displayed would now be totally wrong, rather than the six to ten minutes ahead of normal time that it’s usually set at.
I don’t care what anyone says- I loved that movie. To be truthful though, if the trimaran had not been a part of the screenplay, the film might have lost a bit of its appeal.
No matter how you slice it, you do not drift, bask, bob or immerse oneself in forty nine degree water. In that sense, Scott Bonney got it totally right when he dubbed the recent day after Thanksgiving, Burton to Dockton harbor swim as the "Too Much Turkey/ Pilgrim Plunge".
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