By: John Carlson— I am a weightlifter. Literally. By this, I mean I lift a single weight. One. Eins. Uno. This lonely barbell came into my possession Christmas morning, courtesy of my wife, Nan. But while it is only a 10-pounder, it was far and away my biggest gift, both in terms of weight and life-changing potential. Along with a certain book of poetry, I asked for this barbell, which means I am getting old. Were I younger and more…
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By: John Carlson— I’ve recently inherited two hats. One is a classic fedora, the type that as a little boy I called a “daddy hat.” That’s because back in the day, it was the kind my father wore to funerals, dental appointments and similar somber gatherings. The other is a snazzier golf-style hat, or cap, that rides atop one’s head like a black-leather cheese wedge. It’s the sort of hat Dad would wear to our favorite burger joint, Baptist root-beer…
By: John Carlson— I don’t believe in ghosts, much, but I do believe in raccoons. If I ever doubted raccoons exist – which, of course, I didn’t – proof of them has become irrefutable of late, since a whole family of the pesky varmints has apparently moved under our house. It all started with an occasional bump in the night. “What’s that?” Nan would ask. Naturally, being a world-class chicken, my first thought would be that somebody built our house…
By: John Carlson— Academy Awards time, also known as Oscar Night, is nearing, so I decided to offer my thoughts on movies. Of the Best Picture nominees, Nan and I have seen two, “Manchester by the Sea” and “La La Land.” Both of us loved the former, but were divided on the latter. Oddly enough, I liked it more than she did, even though it is full of girly stuff like romance, joyful music and happy dancing. Why did I…
By: John Carlson— I love snowless winter days for any number of reasons, not least of which is this: They eliminate any chance I might go sledding. Oh sure, I used to go sledding. This was when I was a grade-school child. We lived in a city near Lake Erie’s shoreline, meaning it was major lake-effect snow country. On any given winter’s day, my fellow little twerps and I would frolic in snow way over our heads. In fact, every…
By: John Carlson— Every now and again, I think about digging out my old saxophone and giving it a toot. Then, usually, I don’t. I had taken ten lessons on a rented horn before Dad bought my sax for $500 back in the early 1960s, when a brand new Chevy cost you about $2,000. Why he spent that kind of money on an instrument I didn’t want, I’ll never know. Even back then, just before the British Invasion hit the…
By: John Carlson— Lately I’ve been drinking tea at my writing desk, which has been fine in every respect but one. I hate tea. OK, OK. Hate is a very strong word, as Nan always reminds me when I say things like, “I hate french fries without ketchup,” or, “ I hate it when my jockey shorts ride way the heck up,” or, “I hate trying to touch my toes.” So let’s just say, I dislike tea very, very much….
By: John Carlson— Based on my dental hygienist’s recommendation, I recently began using an electric toothbrush. This isn’t the first time, though. As I recall, my family had one way back in the 1960s, except that brush’s gears were attached by pulleys to an archaic electric generator powered by a paddle wheel turning in the stream flowing alongside our grist mill over behind the outhouse. Like I said, it was a while ago. Anyway, that old toothbrush worked so slowly,…
By: John Carlson— It’s time to start making New Year’s resolutions, an annual endeavor in which I am commonly guided by four little words. The easier the better. For example, I could vow to lose 30 pounds in 2017, but I’d be setting myself up for failure, my chances of losing 30 pounds being roughly equal to my chances of Donald Trump naming me ambassador to Sweden. Why invite such disappointment? But suppose, instead, I resolve to eat more onion…
By: John Carlson— Frankly, I’m usually not too enthusiastic a Christmas celebrant, though occasionally I do miss being Santa Claus. What? Me? Santa Claus? Oh yeah, baby, I was the Big Guy once, way back when my previous employer drafted me to be Jolly Old St. Nick for the company Christmas party. Now, I’d like to think they picked me for my overriding holiday spirit of love and compassion, but it probably had more to do with my pear-shaped physique….