Wrestling for the Patriots


As Heavyweight for the TJ Patriots, I took on all comers.  Jim was a big farm-raised brute from Westminster, six feet six and three hundred pounds.  I was five feet seven, two hundred twenty-five pounds soaking wet.  This brute had a thick beard and so did his mother in the stands.

I had eaten a whole sub in the locker room given to me by our 98 pounder.  I didn’t feel like wrestling.  When my teammates showed me who I had to wrestle I made a scared look and let out a fart.  I was always clowning.  The brute actually caused me to lose consciousness somewhere in the third round.  Everybody thought I was clowning.  When I came to I gave a thumbs up and hugged one of the cheerleaders.


Back to the Rocky Mountain Way


Vance G was a crazy character.  On the way back from away football games he would lead the team in singing, “spent the last year Rocky Mountain way,” then the team sang “ba na na na,” and then Vance, “couldn’t get much higher.”  The team sang, “ba na na na.”  This bonded us.  He even sang it after a loss, which infuriated our head coach.

Later in life we shared a house.  He was a womanizer which was fine with me.  We had women coming and going.  The sounds emanating from his room became a bit much, so I wore earplugs.  When three of his rent checks bounced, we got into a fist fight.  After that our friendship was never the same.  He died several years back at the age of fifty from a brain infection.  He will not be forgotten by me and not by many women.

My Mother In Spring


My mother grew up in New York City never learning how to drive a car before she left.  When she moved to Frederick, MD for college, she fell in love with the country life.  She loved gardening and flowers.  Her gardens were quite unorganized and messy compared with my father’s orderly rows of onions and cantaloupe.

When the daffodils came in, she would send my niece off with scissors and a grocery bag to gather them from the neighbor’s lane.  I remember walking in the kitchen and the table covered with mounds of daffodils.  My mother would put vases of these flowers all over the house.  She was as reliable as crocuses in the spring.

It’s So Cold….


The other day it was so cold out I saw a deer wearing long underwear.  I saw two squirrels putting their nuts in a microwave.  When I stepped outside there was a cute little chipmunk, frozen solid. The wind was howling, and I told my girlfriend, when you go outside, stand next to me because I’m good at breaking wind.  She agreed.

It is too cold here. I want to go to Miami.

Aunt City


I heard my dad yell up the stairs, “Boys, we’re going to Aunt City’s after church.”
I put on my best blue sweater. My Aunt City was a real chef–I had seen a picture of her with a chef’s hat on. She welcomed us into her kitchen with kisses on our cheeks and big hugs. She filled the kitchen table with foods like country ham and cheese spread with Ritz crackers. It was so good, cheesy and salty.
Her homemade kinklings were very special: square donuts designed to hold more powdered sugar. I ate one at the table and ate two later when I hid in the broom closet. I was sneaky like that, but Dad noticed that my sweater was covered with sugar.
She served a powerful eggnog. I drank a cup and threw up in her spotless bathroom.

Uncle Joe and Aunt City had been eating this good food all their lives, and they were both quite large. Uncle Joe’s back was three feet wide. He could really block your view of the TV. Aunt City had big ankles which carried her through a loving life of cooking and taking care of Joe, a railroad worker.

When mass ended, the priest said, “The mass has ended. Go in peace.”  My brother and I would smile and reply loudly, “Thanks be to God!”
We knew we were going to Aunt City’s.

The First Time


In 1972, my hippie sister got married. The wedding was in our front yard, on a hillside overlooking Frederick valley. I was twelve years old then and quite naïve.
So, when my cool cousin, who was eleven, asked me if I wanted to get high,
I said, “yeah, you want to climb some trees?”
He said, “no, lets catch a buzz.”

I liked this cousin. He lived in McLean, Virginia, in a big cool house next to a United States senator. I was not going to let him know that I had no idea what he was talking about. He said, “come on,” and, we walked down the lane into the woods. He got out a little pipe, flipped his Zippo lighter and started smoking. I had never smoked anything, never tried alcohol, but, I hit that pipe like I was Popeye. Some things just come naturally.

Exhaling smoke was fascinating. I was hooked.
He said, “I’m wasted,” and I said, “I am too,”
although I didn’t know whether I was buzzed or not. My eyes felt funny, and later, I did eat four pieces of wedding cake. A couple weeks after that my best friend told me that he smoked it, and, shortly after that, I became a young pothead. I can’t say what happened that day was a bad thing. I do know it’s been a factor in my taking the road less traveled. I have been high for most of the journey.

The Residents


The residents of the Record Street Home for the Aged are my responsibility as far as breakfast, lunch and dinner are concerned. Thirteen women with an average age of eighty-nine. While cooking I also have to answer the telephone.
“Good morning, Chef Stephen, Record Street Home, how can I help you?”

“My mother is in the infirmary and I would like to come by
with some of her Depends underwear,” some lady says.
“Let me send you to the Nurse’s Station.”

I have worked here five years and have not totally figured out the phone system. I have cut many people off by accident, especially when I am busy in the kitchen. The responsibility and the help that I am given have caused me to lose my temper on several occasions.
The residents, who are hard of hearing, have complained to the director of yelling and banging in the kitchen. She said one more incident and I am history. She yells this at me. She has threatened me with dismissal four times. The one time I quit she called me the next day and for the first time in four year she said, “You do a good job. Please come back.”

I don’t handle stress well. It can cause me to eat like a hog, smoke mother nature, and watch weird movies on Netflix. It is a good thing I only work on weekends…