Whittling Away with Dick Brooks - Sand

Is there anything better than a large mug of coffee first thing in the morning? The Queen, who arises early, not requiring as much  beauty sleep as I do, turns the machine on.  A little later I arrive after fumbling my way down the staircase to the music of the cartilage chorus, I snap, crackle and pop my way to the kitchen where my coffee mug awaits.  My mug of choice is a half-liter stoneware beer mug.  It holds two cups of my morning drug of choice and keeps it warm for a half an hour or so.  I fill it, add a dash of French Vanilla creamer and head for my recliner.  A couple of large sips and the world starts to come into focus, a couple more gulps and I start to hear the birds singing outside.  I realize that another busy day of being retired lies before me and that once more coffee has saved my life.  My brain starts to function, it usually doesn’t wake up until a half an hour or more after the rest of us gets up.  The Queen heads out for her day’s activities, Telly, our trusty canine companion, curls up for his after breakfast nap on his comfy bed and since the night’s fog is working its way out of my system, it’s an excellent time for a ponder.  I have a mental file of one word topics for pondering, today I chose “Sand”.  I remember sticking that word in the ponder file the other day when I was stopped at a highway construction site for five or six minutes.  There was a little boy playing in a dump truck load of sand next to his driveway.  He had a small plastic dump truck and was doing some major road construction project that involved much filling and dumping accompanied with appropriate truck noises.  The flagman singled me forward and I reluctantly left the little trucker to his work.  It brought back memories of another small boy seventy years ago in a pre-television world who loved playing in the dirt.  There was a sand bank a little way down the dirt road we grew up on that someone had dug a couple of pickup loads out of leaving a good sized sandy depression.  It was in the perfect spot, close enough to home that I could hear my Mother call and yet far enough that Heckle and Jeckle, my younger brothers, didn’t know where I was.  I whiled away hours making roads, hills, houses, and bridges that I drove a variety of smooth stones over and around.  Eventually the smooth stones were replaced with a small variety of cars and trucks, usually pirated from the afore mentioned little brothers, which were garaged under a convenient flat stone when not in use.  That little sandy depression taught me things that still serve me today, imagination is a wonderful thing, you can entertain and amuse yourself, little brothers can’t remember where they left their toys, it’s hard to build a bridge out of sand and most importantly, sand in your underwear is very uncomfortable.

Thought for the week—If you choke a Smurf, what color does it turn?

Until next week, may you and yours be happy and well.

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