Hey There
As August wears on Mr. BC's mom wonders what is wrong with that boy and his blog. Doesn't he have anything to say? He mumbles in response, no ma'am not really. She taps the table with her coffee mug and says I can't hear you, did you say something? No, I didn't. Well, what are you doing? I'm just looking at the shirts hanging in the closet. Why?
They are freshly laundered.
Is your arm broken?
Nope.
Tummy ache?
No.
Stub your toe?
I think not.
Lose your rhyme and reason?
Not really.
How about that swine flu?
Yeah, it's really something.
Are you still feeling remorse over that mole you shot with the bb gun at Lake O' the Pines?
I think about it from time to time.
How long ago was that, must be...?
About 40 years ago.
Think maybe you should move on, get over that?
I am going to work it out very soon.
Well don't wait too long.
I am in North Carolina, getting ready to go to the Duke Medical Center for a routine follow up for that kidney stone I passed a few weeks ago. Then I have to go order some roofing supplies and set up a delivery for next week because I got a guy who said he can put a new roof on this rental house I have been puttering around with over the last year. I finally got my passport in order and am going to Italy for two weeks in September. I have never been to Europe or any other place that requires a passport. I lost my previous passport thirty years ago and never got around to getting another one. My last trip to Europe in 1980 ended after hitchhiking from Austin to the Dallas airport where I lost my non-refundable one way standby ticket to London. I had 200 dollars in cash and a belief in adventure. Some have argued it was probably better that I lost that ticket, others have suggested that I lost it on purpose, and still others have implied that maybe the hand of God reached down and swiped the ticket, which was bookmarking my place in The World According to Garp. I had only been out of the bathroom for a few minutes when I realized I had left the book there and when I went back it was gone. My attempts to retrieve it proved fruitless. I was nineteen or barely twenty and the drinking age in Texas at that time was 18 so I went to the airport bar and had three shots of tequila, then phoned a friend who picked me up and let me spend the night at her mother's house, because I hadn't really told my own mother that I was in town, much less that I was going to Europe one way. I told her about it later though. Boy, I used to put some worry on that woman. You can't really blame me for her gray hairs though, because as you know she was pretty much gone gray when she had me, and certainly was by the time you met her, five years after she brought me into this.
Sometime this year I have to get to New Orleans and do a little maintenance on my house there but I haven't figure out exactly when that will be. In the meantime I'm finishing up this NC house and acting as absentee manager of your son's weekend property in the Shenandoah foothills of Virginia. And slowly, ever so slowly I am gravitating towards New York to spend more time with my sweetheart, Bernadette. We both occasionally wonder how that's going to work as one of us is pigheaded and the other muleheaded. I'm not sure which of us is which but in the end I will be whichever one she tells me to be. Give my regards to the Mister, hope you are both doing well. jml.
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