Joys of simplicity

 Only those of us who lived this far can truly understand the happiness of simplicity, or the joy of lifelong friendships that weren't solicited on some chat room. We grew up in a post-war society when family was everything and friendship was earned. Manners were expected, as was discipline when a wrong must be made right.

Men walked on the outside of a lady just in case a passing car hit a puddle, and always held her car door open, while tipping their hats was a show of friendliness and nothing more. Cat's calls and whistles were all in good fun, as the construction workers just wanted her to know she was a looker.
Don't mistake me: there are a lot of beautiful women today who go to great lengths to look amazing through surgery, but back then, natural beauty was in the lady herself. The way she carried herself and the confidence she had in her clothing choices. Like June Cleaver on the Leave It to Beaver television show, always wearing a simple dress, high heels, an apron, and a stylish hairdo.

It was a time when Saturday night meant dancing at a large dance hall with a live band that played all the day's hits. No screaming guitars or fireworks, just couples in love, others looking for it. It was always crowded as a slow dance brought couples closer and the smell of perfume and aftershave collided in mid-air.
Those days of courting a girl and asking her father for permission to marry her made more than one guy gulp his words as he came face-to-face with a father's stern warning: have her home by eleven, not one minute later.

Friday nights at the drive-in movies meant some heavy kissing, but no meant no, and stop meant stop as she fixed her lipstick and brushed her hair, asking him to get her some popcorn and a Coke. which he did, talking under his breath as he walked away, knowing even first base wasn't going to happen.

Back then, after the war, men who served came home to offers of new jobs in many factories that had been converted to the war effort, now producing steel, paper, and dozens of other things the country needed to rebuild. Others dressed in business attire searched for jobs in the business sector, where many succeeded. New houses sprang up like tulips on a late spring day, creating row after row of cookie-cutter houses nestled together in what was named subdivisions.

Backyard swimming pools and Sunday picnics, brand-new automobiles proudly shown off as the men gathered around the owner, explaining every little detail. While inside, a new bride shows off all the modern conveniences, like an electric coffee pot and an automatic ice maker in the freezer. And her most prized possession was the washer and dryer that made her life so much easier.
From there, as the years passed and things began to change, life seemed to get easier, maybe even too easy. More gadgets that saved time and less time with family. Although many of us tried to go along with the changes, we also tried to keep certain traditions alive for the next generations.

Then everything changed at lightning speed as the computer arrived in our world. A magical machine capable of solving complex mathematics and allowing scientists to explore new horizons they never could before. In the scope of things, every home had a computer, making schoolwork much easier and shopping possible without going to a store. Video games were designed, and every kid in America and around the world would soon have handheld controllers in their hands as zombie-like looks replaced backyard games, ushering in the age of obesity.

But I realized in time that if I was going to live in this new age, I'd have to adapt to certain things. My grandson did his best to show me how to send emails, browse, and Google, and even hooked me up with a dating app for seniors looking for love. That backfired when I saw the picture he posted on the site, taken when I was 20 years younger. Needless to say, the first meeting didn't go very well.

I'm 72 years old now and content with living the way I always have. I like the simple life of opening a lady's door, and I always walk on the outside in case of a passing car going through a puddle. On occasion, I put on my best suit, splash on some Aqua Velva, and head to the old dance floor, still standing with a thousand stories. With any luck, I'll ask a lady of my age to have a dance or two.

Mike 2026                                                            

The sky as I see it

 To most, looking at the sky means little. But to me, it's like looking at an artist's renderings of barnhouse animals or a rabbit chasing something. The sky is a gathering place for stars and the ever-changing shades of blue. The sky can be calm, with clouds as soft as a pillow, but it can also become angry, surging over the calm, crushing it with darkness and the roar of thunder. It moves quickly and with a purpose until it runs out of juice and disappears, sometimes leaving behind destruction and heartbreak.

The sky will make you pause as you look upward and see jet trails and flocks of birds.  It gives off a scent as rain begins to fall, sometimes on one side of the street and not the other. It's like a child at times, turning the bathroom faucet on, off, and on again.

At night, when a million stars are visible, we look up and try to understand just how vast the sky really is and how small we are. We make wishes on a shooting star whose lifespan is over, dropping from the heavens in one last ball of fire, soon to be extinguished somewhere around the globe, as it no longer belongs in the sky.

To most, looking at the sky is just something that's there, but to me, it's a place where earth meets sky, and imaginations run wild.

Mike 2026                                                     

Days of Summer

 Lazy days of summer have arrived. Swimming pools are uncovered, and bicycles are out of the garage. The grill master dad has had for years finds its spot in the backyard, and work resumes on the project boat that's been taking up too much space. Fresh coats of paint and storm windows are replaced with screens. Picnic baskets are taken down from the attic, along with a box labeled 'kids' beach stuff'.

Lawnmowers are heard every Saturday, and the aroma of fresh-cut grass is one of your favorite smells. Cars and trucks in the driveway get a good cleaning as girls in their bathing suits get whistled at by boys passing by in a souped-up car. The Fourth of July meant a day at the beach with burgers and dogs cooked on a small grill that Dad brought from home. Endless fun in the lake and the two words that stayed with you for a week, Marco, Polo.

Darkness brought with it fireworks displays and sparklers, you would try to spell out your name with before they burned out. Fire crackers, M80S, mortars, and cherry bombs so loud that small kids cried. The ride back home was quiet as kids fell asleep after a full day of fun in the sun. The car radio played softly as Mom hummed along to one of her favorite songs, while Dad looked through the rearview mirror and smiled at his sleeping angels.

Summer meant iced tea and lemonade, potato salad and ice-cold Cokes. It meant a slip-and-slide in the yard and chasing mom with a garden hose, while dad laughed until it was his turn to be chased. It was warm nights on the porch as crickets sang their songs and countless stars shone in the heavens. But all good things come to an end, and summer's end always came too soon. But the memories stay with you as snow tires are put on the car, and picnic baskets and a box full of beach toys are put in the attic. The pool is covered, and Dad's grill is tucked away in the garage along with bicycles as dreams of summer lull you to sleep.

Mike  2026                                                         

Rich soil and pine

 Since I was seven years old, I have usually spent summer vacation on my grandparents' farm. They were only ten miles away, but to me it seemed like another country. The days leading up to my leaving, Mom washed and packed most of my clothes, even though once I arrived, I changed into my coveralls like granddad wore, except for going to church on Sunday. On the morning I was leaving, Dad pulled me aside as Mom loaded the car, telling me to mind my manners, since Granddad was old-school and sometimes demanded a lot. I assured him that my granddad and I got along just fine, but I said it to myself as I nodded and promised to do as I was told.

The car ride to the farm took only about twenty minutes, but Dad seemed to drive more slowly than usual. I think maybe he didn't want to see me go for the next two months. As we pulled onto a dirt road that led to the farm, I looked out of the window at cows grazing and fields of corn that seemed to go on forever. As we got closer, I saw granddad and grandma standing on the front porch, waving as dad honked the horn to announce our arrival. I jumped out of the car as Lucky, my granddad's dog, jumped up on me, almost knocking me to the ground, and gave me sloppy kisses.
One of my fondest memories of going to the farm was the clean air and the smells of the country, like rich soil and pine. But the best by far was the smell of Grandma's cooking. Don't ever be told there's no difference in the way a country lady cooks than that of a suburban home maker. Mom always said she could never understand why Grandma would go through so much work in the kitchen when all she had to do was go to the supermarket and get everything needed to cook a proper meal.
Mom and Dad left to go home after a nice visit, and I settled into my room. I put on my coveralls, which Grandma had washed and folded on my bed, and headed out the squeaky screen door at a full-on run to catch up with Grandpa, who was climbing onto his tractor on his way to plow for the next crop. Jump on, he said, and next time run faster. Yes, sir, I said, knowing full well he wasn't angry, it was just his way. Fast forward nine years, my 16th year, and my continued vacation on the farm turned into weekends throughout the seasons. Granddad had a mild stroke a few years back and couldn't do some things he took for granted. None of which he admitted to as he climbed on a tractor, spending entire days doing what he loved best, but slower than he once was.
After I graduated from high school, I had the opportunity to attend college and decided to take night classes studying agriculture, so I could learn how to properly run the farm. My folks weren't too happy with my choice, but they supported my decision, and in Dad's eyes, I saw a kind of relief, as I often heard him talking to Mom about what would happen when Granddad could no longer run things. And now in his will, he left everything to me. We'd spend hours on the front porch after a delicious meal, talking about my plans for the farm. Some he agreed would be good, while some things that have proven to be in good working order would be left as is.
I was twenty-six years of age when we buried granddad alongside grandma, who left this earth for a better place. Lucky the dog rested with them, living a full life over the rainbow bridge, where he could chase rabbits as often as he liked. As for me, well, I never did find a wife or have children of my own, but I found a calling by offering kids a place to learn. Several times a month, a school bus would come down the dusty drive to the farm, with Lucky Junior running beside the bus. I'd show them life in the country and all that goes along with it. And wouldn't you know. Some of those kids became farmers, neighbors, and friends.
My days of farming are nearing an end, but the farm lives on through a grant I started so kids from all walks of life can work the ground, plant the crops, and harvest the fruits of their labor. Today, the farm belongs to every kid who wants to learn and, hopefully, become a guy or girl in overalls, with a great love for rich soil and pine.

Mike 2026                                                         

The struggles of words

 One of my bigger fears is not being able to write anymore. As I age, my brain keeps some memories alive, but at other times I feel as if small bits are forgotten and cast aside, lost forever. I suppose it's just how life works for some; words flow with a graceful transition to paper, and for others like myself, we have to reach deeper to remember even the simplest of thoughts.

I never want to forget things like my children's births or their first tooth. Homecoming dances and trophies for Little League Baseball. I want to recall without the struggle of having to remember so hard, trying not to admit defeat. It's like a star that burns out among a million others, but if you look closely, you'll see it still struggling to be bright one more time.
I want my visions to always be a part of me, as they are real, even larger-than-life at times. I see my Mom and Dad, lost loves and first dates, and my first kiss with my one true love, who may be gone but still comes to me so vividly. I reach out to touch her, but hear only a whisper telling me that one day we'll soar through the heavens together again.
I suppose I chose to write something every day because I don't know when it will be my last entry. I've penned thousands of stories and published three books that never gained any traction beyond family and close friends. But that's okay, as in many cases, a writer's fame comes after the pen runs dry and the stories are discovered in dusty boxes.
I get up every morning and have a seat ready to write the next bestseller, but my mind remains quiet as I click the pen time and again, as if to wake it up to join me on my quest for lost thoughts. One thing is certain: I will never stop trying to stay one step forward, where new memories await me, as others rest peacefully behind me.

Mike  2026                                                      

Sunday memories

 Lying in bed on a Sunday morning, I could smell coffee and the sizzling of bacon coming from the downstairs kitchen. I hear mom humming a tune as she tries to be quiet, knowing soon we'd wake up and may already be, as we struggle with going down or staying in a warm bed, covered to the chin, and breathing in the smells of Sunday morning.

Then the house came alive as siblings raced to be the first downstairs, where mom greeted each one with a cheerful good morning and a glass of orange juice. Dad was the last one down, smiling and giving Mom a kiss on her cheek with a whisper that made her blush. Our mouths were watering as we said grace, then dug into bacon and eggs, biscuits and homemade strawberry jam. Sometimes, Mom would go the extra mile and serve up a batch of pancakes and warm maple syrup.
Sunday morning meant lying on the living room floor with the comics as Dad read the entire Sunday newspaper. At ten thirty, we went to church, smiling at friends and saying prayers for those in need of some heavenly help. Sometimes after church, we'll take a ride in the country, usually in autumn when the trees put on their best show of colors. A stop for ice cream topped off the day as we returned home and changed from Sunday best to playing clothes in our backyard.
Sunday evening meant another feast as mom baked a ham, complete with yams and mashed potatoes, baby peas, jello, and warm dinner rolls. The conversation ranged from talking about school grades to the names of school crushes, making a sibling blush, and flicking a pea at the tattle-teller. After helping mom clean up and take out the trash, we'd all settle in to watch a Sunday program like the Ed Sullivan Show, which we all enjoyed.
Another Sunday back in the day went down in the history books as the kids went to sleep and mom and dad shared some much-deserved quiet time together. Tomorrow would soon arrive, and the bustle that went with it, as I was already thinking about next Sunday and the smell of sizzling bacon.

Mike  2026                                                     

Imaginations of childhood

 I remember, as a boy, letting my imagination run wild and untamed as I turned everyday objects into whatever my mind saw them as. A metal trash can became an army tank with me as the gunner, using a stick for a machine gun, complete with sound effects. The garden hose was used to fuel my tank, and two-by-fours laid under the tank served as the tracks with different sound effects.

Sometimes I was a big-game hunter, climbing a tree to set up my sniper nest. I'd cover my clothes with small branches, hiding my location from the big cats and other predators hunting me as I hunted them. There was an apple tree I liked to hide in and eat the sweet apples as I patiently awaited an approaching animal below. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a large jungle cat as our eyes locked, and I readied my shot. With precise and controlled movement, I aimed and took my shot. With an award-winning sound effect, the neighbor's cat, Missy, ran for safety under the porch.
Another adventure found me standing on the bank of a mighty river, fishing gear included a pair of dad's rubber boots that turned into waders, a pool cue for the pole, and one of mom's empty flower baskets slung around my shoulder where I'd put the fish. I found some string in dad's tackle box, along with a cork bobber I tied to it that would disappear beneath the water, letting me know something had taken the bait. Patience was required when fishing, so I didn't speak when I heard Mom calling me in for lunch. Then, with a mighty tug on my line, the bobber floated to the surface as the monster fish broke loose and disappeared into the murky water. Mom spoke again, telling me to get out of the puddle, put my dad's boots back where I found them, and get inside right that minute.
Every kid wants to be someone they admire at some point. Girls become ballerinas and princesses, dressing up in old Halloween costumes, while others are homemakers like mom, baking award-winning pies at the county fair. Some want to be nurses using their baby dolls as patients as they wrap their arms and legs in rags they found in moms rag box. From astronauts to firemen, police officers to army generals, there was no end to the imaginations of a child. As for me, well, I ate my lunch and went back outside to venture further than anyone had gone before, as long as I stayed in my own backyard.

Mike 2026