Tuesday, June 30, 2009


I am very uncertain about this post. It is about a real incident in my life. However, I am not certain how it will make you folk feel. Be patient with me. Do not feel bad if you laughed at the title to this post... I laugh about it a lot. It's a joke in our house and a secret code for whack-o.

The day before I was to start my first year at Alexander Hamilton Junior High School, my friend, Diane and I decided to have a picnic on the lawn of the college that was only half a block from my house. I had been playing here for years. We rode our bikes through the open halls and on the maze of sidewalk. We played hardball on the lawn where Diane and I sat down to eat. It felt familiar and it felt safe.

We sat at the edge of what I considered right field next to a bed of shrubs. Diane had a Barbie lunch box and I had a brown paper bag. Diane was very girly-girl. I was tom boy to the nth degree. We were happily chatting about the big event… becoming young women.

Diane sat there demurely, long legs criss-cross-applesauce. She was about six feet tall then. I was about 4 foot 8. We made quite the pair. I’m wolfing down my food and she’s taking little tiny nibbles. Diane often tried my patience. This was looking like one of those days. The nibbles were pissing me off. Eat, damn it and let’s get this show on the road! I had things to do.

A man walked by on the sidewalk about ten feet away. I didn’t think much of this, but made a mental note that he existed. Conversation would be altered accordingly. A few minutes later the man walked back the other way. Was he dumb or lost? The next time he came back, he entered the shrubs next to us. This set off my odd behavior alarm.

“What are you looking for?” I demanded. He was annoying me.

“A bath… I mean, a rest… I mean the shit house… Do you know what a shit house is?” he replied.

I had heard kids swear plenty, but not adults. Not yet. Not at that age. I was a little shocked but damned if I was going to let him see! I rolled my eyes.

“The RESTROOM is that way… Go straight to the street and make a right. It’s where the pools are. You can’t miss it.” I pointed toward the street a few buildings behind me.

I’m pretty pissed at this point. Some guy talking like that to us! I look over and Diane is crying. She’s sitting there, criss-cross-applesauce, big fat tears running down her dumb cheeks. What the heck is that all about? I’m trying to puzzle this development out and the guy starts talking again.

“Do you want to show me? I don’t think I can find it.” He says.

I repeated my instructions and turned to Diane, who was blubbering for all she was worth.

“If you show me, I’ll show you my pee-er. It’s big. Have you ever seen a big pee-er pee?”

I flipped over from annoyed to furious. Stupid Diane sitting there blubbering and jerky Jim were too freaking much! I began to pack what was left of my lunch into my bag and barked at Diane to pack up hers too. She just sat there crying.

Behind me the guy is still talking and I know that he’s got his zipper moving down because I can hear it. I refuse to look in that direction. I am so mad I just want to slug someone… like Diane… who needs to wake the fuck up and get a move on NOW. All she is able to do is cry. So I stuff her junk in my bag, grab her hand and haul her to her feet. She’s like a reluctant dog on the end of a leash as I haul her to the street and down the sidewalk…a zombie that blubbers. I take her home.

You might think that the above is the significant part of this post. Not really. It is the catalyst to what troubled me for years upon years. Just the intro to the real damaging event.

When I knocked on Diane’s door and her mother answered it, she ordered me to wait in the living room. She took Diane, still sobbing, upstairs to put her to bed. She then called the police. Once that was done, she came to the living room to tell me off for taking her daughter to such a dangerous spot. Diane was not allowed to play at the college. Diane had never told me this, but I did not argue. The woman was mad. I sat rather uncomfortably and took the verbal barrage. She told me that I was a danger to her daughter and not allowed to play with her anymore.

When the cop knocked on the door, I was left to sit in my misery. I was an obedient child. I stayed put. The cop took a statement from Diane’s mother and never spoke to me or to Diane. Who knows what her mother said to him. Did she even know what the guy looked like? Did anyone care? Diane was not coherent enough to give any detail.

The cop left and I sat. I sat until it was dark and I knew that my mother would be worried sick. It was law to be in our home before the sun set. No exceptions. I gathered my courage and found Diane’s mother.

“What are you still doing here? This was all your fault! You go home right now… and you are not to mention this to anyone. Not to anyone! Do you understand me?” she shouted at me.

I said I did and made a hasty exit. Walking home was a terror. I had to pass the college and while I was angry when I’d left earlier, I was now truly scared. Diane’s mother had reacted so strongly that I was sure I’d been in great… and extremely shameful danger. I skulked through the bushes across the street to get past the college. The guy was long gone of course. He’d left the area as soon as we had or he’d have risked getting caught.

I was sent to my room without supper for being late. I offered no explanation for my tardiness. I was not supposed to tell anyone after all. I went to my room and tried to figure out what the hell had happened. It made very little sense to me, but you know adults were mysterious things.

I would be alright if I behaved and didn’t tell anyone. That was what the adult in the situation said to do. Adults were right. Adults did things to protect you. I listened to the adult. It became law in my head. I was never, never to tell. The message I got: It was okay for another person to abuse me in some manor as long as I did not tell. Besides, it was all my fault for going to such a dangerous place. That was the parting gift I picked up that day.

What she really did was rob me of something good I had going for me. She robbed me of that anger that told me that this was unacceptable behavior and I did not have to stand for it… that I should pack my crap up and get the hell out of that situation. I am not going to tell you examples of how this has affected my life. Only that it has... and that it is also the highest hurdle I have had to jump… to get that anger back where it belongs, protecting me.

If I could tell her now what I think, I’d say “I did the right thing, you dumb bitch… you should have thanked me and gotten me home safe. It was not my fault... it was the perv's fault. You sucked as the adult in that situation. You fucked up big time.”

As for the perv? I saw him again in high school. He was the husband of a teacher’s friend. He walked into the room where we were learning and did a quick turn back out of there. He knew my face as well as I knew his. I kept my mouth shut. I kept him safe. I wonder how many other little girls have Diane’s mother to thank for my silence?

Before you say it, allow me; Diane’s mother was upset and frightened. She was angry about what happened to her little girl. I understand that she was not thinking clearly.

But I also understand that she did not bother to tell my parents about what happened. That was wrong. We were not molested for heaven’s sake. We didn’t even get a peek at his big pee-er! She made a mountain out of a mole hill… albeit a nasty little mole hill. There was nothing shameful in what happened to us until she made it so.

That is the entire point of this post. Words have such magical powers! That mom hurt me more with her powerful words than the pervert. She laid a curse on me to feel powerless for years. Granted it was the actions of the perv that set it all in motion. He was the initial cause of all of it.

While words have the ability to curse us and damage us, they also have the power to heal. My curse was broken by ridiculously simple words spoken to me;

“That was a long time ago. You are a different person now.”


It’s not always good enough that we know words are true. I knew them in theory. Sometimes we have to hear the magic said out loud.

I know that this is an uncomfortable subject matter. You are hereby released from the implied obligation of commenting, unless of course, you wish to. My thanks to you for letting me tell.

It's long overdue.

Tomorrow back to normal sane things.



This was the answer to a question posed to bloggers by Mr. Shife on his blog two weeks ago. We were given the task of answering... using the titles of Def Leppard songs in our answers. The question was "Why didn't you accept the last collect call you recieved?" I like stuff like that.
The trouble is that I am not clever enough to think stuff like that up.

These are all over town right now. Asiatic lilies. They must be easy to grow or cheap. Maybe both. Whatever, they are pretty.

Last night I fell asleep before doing my blog post for today. I like to

give it a great deal of thought. Yeaaah... not happening today.

I woke up on the edge of a dream. In it, I was in Santa Cruz .

Not in the black and pink houses of my friend Kelly or our lovely white beach house on the cliffs with the deck on top. We were staying at Deck's beach house, which was one street over from Kelly's houses.

The "we" I speak of is my team in the scavenger hunt. Not the Saturday Scavenger hunt, but the one our Geography class had way back at Ananda the school.

Our teacher, Bill had come up with the idea. The class, which was not at all large, was split into two and we were each given maps and a clue to our first stop in the hunt. The rules were simple...

You could use any type of transportation available to you. That included buses, cars, bikes, etc. Three of us... Annie, Sheila and I chose to hitch-hike. You could do that then.

I'd like to say that we were safe hitch-hiking then, but we weren't. A few of us had some close calls. You never knew what sort of nutbag was going to pick you up. But as long as there were three of us, we should be okay, so off we set.

I don't know which clue we were on when the nutbag found us. All I can recall is that we did not stay in the car for long. He was from somewhere down south according to his accent. He wanted to know if we took drugs. He wanted very much to know where the closest orgy was. I don't think the car had even completely stopped before Sheila had the door open and was on the sidewalk.

When you found a clue, it gave you the clue to the next stop. I don't recall much else about the race to find the end of the game other than that I was sure that we could not possibly be on the winning team. It was getting late in the day and finding that last location had been tough. Surely the other team had won and it was past over.

We did end up winning. I think some of the other team's members gave up and went home. We stuck it out. Or maybe some of our other team members finished way before we did. It does not matter. We ended up in Santa Cruz as a reward for being the winning team... which led to my dream this morning about John screaming that he wanted "little nippers!" as he ran down the sidewalk in the heat to the mom and pop on the corner.

That was about Cheese Nips. John had the munchies. To this day I call "Cheese Nips" or
" Cheese Its"
"Little Nippers". It's funny that a dream can be that short... just a mental youtube of John running down the street in those clunky biker boots yelling for Cheese Nips. Or that I swear that I could smell the ocean with a tint of popcorn in the salty air. How curious that my sleeping mind would notice how brilliantly blue the sky was or that I could feel the reflected heat from the side walk. Stranger still was the feeling of being half-baked myself as I struggled into reality.

I think that dreams are reflections of reality. Not quite clear memories. More like a mirror image. Something that has been flipped. It looks the same. It feels very much the same. But if you look carefully, it is not the same at all. It's a ghost of what was.

Care to share a dream?

Sunday, June 28, 2009


Mikey's new summer buzzzzzz.
Cool, easy to keep clean and no mess.

Squeaky tells Bear and me a terrible joke.
We laughed until we snorted.

Some of the folk in my town are a bit crazy, but have
good hearts. They threw candy from this... our only "float" in the parade to all the spectators.

You might confuse this with a float, but it's a concession stand build in the shape of a pirate ship.

This oddly enough is the "Mountain Men Encampment".
They kept firing the cannon on the hour. Oh my head!

A Mountain Woman. There were about fifty of these folk.

These are the Vet's bikes. They're in the pub across the street.

Makes me think of Cartman singing "I"m Sailing Away..." by Styx as fast as he can on South Park.

Looks like break time.

Bear has a new little friend, Mr. Underfoot.

It was a fairly slow and lazy weekend. I am so glad that the Sternwheeler Days madness is over for another year. The majority of Herd Beasts have gone home.

We never did our hike.
But I walked everyday... which is how we come to the title of this post. Now normally I walk early in the morning, but I managed to oversleep and missed my usual morning time to walk.

No problem. I decided to walk in the afternoon instead. This went great on Saturday. I got down to business and worked up a good sweat careening around the hallways. It felt good.

My MP3 player is always in my ear. If I manage to forget it, I'll drive all the way home for it. Not only does it give me a good beat to keep me moving a steady fast pace, it entertains my brain. Let's face it, walking in empty hallways is not very mentally stimulating. Nor is it unusual for me to break into song and sing along. Hey... there's nobody there but me!

Sunday morning and I find that Zito Von Frito has slipped his chain and gone for a fun run. I have a very ugly dog. He has psoriasis on his back, which is bald, has flaky skin and warts. He's also 13 years old and looks it. See what I mean? Ugly. His face is very cute, but that skin condition makes him something you really don't want to touch. My neighbors do not like him in their yards. My walking time was eaten up by the hunt for monster dog.

I found myself back in the building to walk around 3:30 p.m. I knew from the day before that I would get pretty warm with all the windows closed in the day's heat. But the walk is worth it and a cool shower would await.

I have been working my way back to my hour a day, but am not quite there. I'm at 45 minutes now. Next week I'll move up again. The first half hour was a breeze. I had a good pace going and was feeling better than I thought I would. It was not as hot as I was sure it would be.

I switched from Guttermouth to The Misfits... you know them from a recent post... and began to sing. When the song "Saturday Night" came on, I was into it. It's a ballad of the type you would have heard in the fifties or sixties.

You can really throw yourself into it and belt out a heartfelt rendition. That's what I was doing. Singing loud with heavy dramatic emphasis as I come down the main hall toward the foyer that leads to the gym and the stairs to the lower floor.

I'm almost there... I sing... the crescendo increasing...at the top of my lungs...

"As the moon becomes the night time... You go viciously, quietly away...I'm sitting in the bedroom where we used to sit and smoke cigarettes... Now I'm watching... Watching you die!"

There are some "oooh, ooohs" after that, which is where I was as I busted into the doorway to the gym, with my arms flung wide and my head tossing to one side... working it.

The basketball coach stopped mid-shot to stare at me. Oh yeah... and it does get worse! There on the bleachers behind him are 6 or 7 guys ranging from 18 to 30. All faces are looking at me, their horror is announced by the shocked faces.

You know there is nothing that can erase something like that. No do-over. You are stuck with the shit of the moment. My body was moving at a good clip... there wasn't much point in stopping it.

So I pulled my ear buds out and said: "Oh... I didn't know anyone was in here. Hi!" and waved at them. Yes, I pretended that I had not been singing at all. It's all your imagination guys...

There was nothing else to do, so I took a tight turn around the basketball coach and back out of the gym as fast as my feet would carry me back into the foyer and down the hall. I should note that they were still staring as I left and no one waved back.
There is no doubt at all that they heard me coming as I belted out the last part of the song. Badly... very, very badly.

I think I'll ask my boss what days the open gym basketball times are to avoid this in the future.

But I should get points for enthusiasm, and I think I certainly earned some humility points for sure!

Here is the song I was singing... in case you wonder.


There's 52 ways to murder anyone.
One and two are the same, and they both work as well.
I'm coming clean for Amy.
Julie doesn't scream as well,
and the cops won't listen all night.
So maybe, I'll be over.
Just as soon as I fill them all in
and I can remember when I saw her last.
We were running all around and having a blast.
But the back seat of the drive-in is so lonely without you.
I know when your home,
I was thinking about you.
There was something I forgot to say,
I was crying on saturday night.
I was out cruising without you,
they were playing our song.
Crying on saturday night.
As the moon becomes the night time
You go viciously, quietly, away.
I'm sitting in the bedroom,
where we usedto sit and smoke cigarettes
Now I'm watching, watching you die…

And I can remember when I saw her last
We were running around and having a blast
But the backseat of the drive-in is so lonely without you
I know when you're home

I was thinking about you
There was something I forgot to say
I was crying on a Saturday Night

I was out cruising without you
They were playing our song
Crying on a Saturday Night


This song is here today for four reasons. 1) I love it. 2) I love Greg Lake's voice. 3) I love the instrumental portion. 4) And last, but certainly not least, I love the poetry of the words.

It is best listened to with surround sound, but if you are like me, you are not that lucky. It is old but like many old things (me) worth some of your time. (giggle) If you have head phones... does anyone still use those? Or ear buds... plug them in!

(I do have a set of headphones.)

King Crimson was not exactly the most popular band ever. It had a good sized, loyal following but was one of those bands that you either really loved or you hated them. They were not very commercial either. You did not see much in the way of marketing other than maybe an ad in Rolling Stone Magazine.

King Crimson - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

If you have not ever heard of this band... which would not surprise me in the least... but you think that the name is awfully familiar. Are you a Stephen King fan perchance? In King's Dark Tower Series, also sometimes called the Gunslinger series, the hero, Roland Deschain is searching for the Crimson King.

The Dark Tower (series) - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

There are 7 regular novels. These above are the graphic novels.
Yep, you can enjoy them in either flavor or both.

As for the story line... I will tell you this much. I would rather eat dirt than read a western generally speaking, though there have been some exceptions to that.

Buffalo Girls - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

comes easily to my mind as enjoyable. He is the author of

"Lonesome Dove" (1989)...if you recall that mini series.

Even though the Dark Tower series is a western flavored work, it is as much about time travel, science fiction, fantasy and just plain bizarre stuff that you would never find in any other western. I thought that Wizard and Glass drug a bit, but it was well worth reading.

(Vonnegut of course)

We in here in Dumb Potters Hell, Oregon are in the middle of our frightening annual event called "Sternwheeler Days". It's for the tourists. That's the part that is frightening. The tourists are everywhere. They walk out into the street without looking at all If you don't stop for them, you get a ticket. I tend to think of them as herd beasts. Something wild to keep a wary eye on at all times. It is generally best to avoid their questions.

We used to have a great cheesy little carnival that went with it, but then town folk decided they were afeared of the carnies. So it goes. No more rides for the kiddies. In my opinion that was the only reason to go. Now they have games instead. The same games that are at every other event in town all year round... when there are no tourists to make the lines long.

Today I got trapped in the parade. We have the best parades ever! I will give us points for that. Here is what you get in one of our parades. Now this is from memory from this morning...

Three fire trucks with flashing lights of graduating ages.

Several motorcycles of Vets with flags on them. (I really like these guys.)

A small mob of Mountain Men and Women. These are folk who dress up as if they were Davey Crocket. They shoot muskets and things in the air. Whahoo!

Behind these are the vintage vehicles; one very old, chain link drive logging truck with 3... count 'em... 3 large logs, and the vintage Morris Bull Nose beauty that had little flags on each side. :)

Four Corvettes. One motorcycle pulling a home made float that was more like a wagon. Teenagers throw candy out of this to the children and people on the sidelines. It's a big hit.

Two horses. Three old smog maker Detroit selds decorated with flowers across the front under their windshields.

The C.A.T. bus... this is a transport for mostly elderly people into the town to the left for shopping, dr. appointments, etc. It is a "short bus" not a real bus. You call and make an appointment to use it.

This one is a lark... a concession stand made in the form of a pirate's ship! Did you guess it's my favorite? It gets points for absurdity and for pirates. It has two pirates in it. A man and a woman pirate. Equal opportunity privateering!

Last in line is our used ambulance.

I hope you enjoyed the parade. It really is a hoot. The only one that is better is our homecoming parade. Oh, crap. That won't happen anymore now that they shut down the high school. It had four real floats and a tiny band. So it goes.

Have a great day today. I'm going down to mill amid the herd beasts and see what I can photograph. The Bear chickened out on me for the hike... says next week maybe. What are all of you doing?

If you liked Epitaph by King Crimson, here is another one for you to enjoy!

Progressive Rock-

Said the straight man to the late man
Where have you been
Ive been here and Ive been there
And Ive been in between.

I talk to the wind
My words are all carried away
I talk to the wind
The wind does not hear
The wind cannot hear.

Im on the outside looking inside
What do I see
Much confusion, disillusion
All around me.

You dont possess me
Dont impress me
Just upset my mind
Cant instruct me or conduct me
Just use up my time

I talk to the wind
My words are all carried away
I talk to the wind
The wind does not hear
The wind cannot hear.

Saturday, June 27, 2009


It is the function of a writer to share ideas, feelings and opinions. Another part of a writer's function is to entertain and to impart knowledge. Mr. Vonnegut is a master at all of these.

The function of this sign is to make you want the ice cream the evil penguin is selling.

This item used to remove bodily functions.
Sometimes it is possible to change our functions. :)

Sadly, sometimes we outlive our function and must bow to progress and more advanced invention.

In Vonnegut's writings, this phrase's function is to convey the meaning that something has died or passed away.

Now for your amusement... in the video below, if you can stand to listen to the tirade that long, this boy clearly illustrates that he has no idea of the function of a TV remote!
This young man is using the function of pitching a royal fit to show his mother how angry he is that she has cancelled his
WOW subscription. YIKES!

80s Misfits- Astro Zombies

Astro Zombies This song is based on the 1968 horror movie "The Astro-Zombies."

"And your face drops in a pile of flesh... And then your heart, heart pounds
Till it pumps in death... Prime directive, exterminate
Whatever stands left.... All I wanted to say... And all I gotta do
Who'd I do this for.... Hey, me or you"

Welcome to the world of Ghoul Punk! The Misfits, best known for their early 80s work, are covered by so many bands... their music was highly influential in both the punk and metal realms. Metallica, Aiden, Pennywise, NoFX, The Kung Fu Killers, Dropkick Murphys (You knew they had to be in here didn't you?), the Lemonheads and The Dead Miklmen have all done covers of Misfit songs and so have many others.

a compilation of misfits pics

Isn't this a lovely doo? The Misfits are also credited with creating and popularizing the "devilock" look. Jerry Only says he based this look on Eddie Munster's hair.

The Misfits do specialize in the horror and sci fi genres.

We Are 138 is based on THX-1138... George Lucas's 1971 sci-fi thriller.

"Do you think we're robot clean... Does this face look almost mean
Is it time to be an android not a man... The pleasantries are gone
We're stripped of all we were... In the eyes of tiger
We are 138..."

The Misfits were formed in 1979 and were active until 1983 when the band split.

That incarnation included; Glenn Danzig, Jerry Only, Doyle Wolfgang von Frankenstein,

and a cast of revolving musicians. After the break-up members split into various other bands. Jerry and Doyle Only began Kryst the Conqueror, a Christian heavy metalband that did not last long. Danzig began the band Samhain.


"Some say that's where man began... On this wasted piece of land
Where evolution's yet to show... Forbidden zone

Blasting into outer space... The planet of the apes... Evolution's one hero"

Unfortunately, I cannot find any older or clearer versions of this song.

Oingo Boingo's Forbidden Zone

Here is another 80s band you may know... Oingo Boingo and their own Forbidden Zone song. You may recall seeing Danny Elfman's name on all sorts of movies, the Simpsons,etc. for his musical scores.

(MISFITS Lyrics )

As for life... Max came down to stay the night last night. :) Squeaky came home from camping with friends after a night at the Bear's. Max will be off again to his new home, but it was mighty nice to have him here so soon.

Squeaky on the other hand is a pain in the neck... as many folk his age can be. He came in the door crabbing and demanding that I drop everything and feed him. I cannot wait to load him into the car with all his games and computer crap and drive him in to P'land to leave him with his best friend's family for a month! Yay!

I find that I truly do enjoy the quiet and calm when my house is empty. Not that I do not miss them. I do! But quiet and calm is very nice too.

I only caught two small trout yesterday. But there are lots of days to fish and lots of fishing spots yet to visit this year.

The Bear and I are going to do the Eagle Creek hike this weekend.

Oh I keep forgetting to tell you... my feet and knee have been kicked out of physical therapy. YAY! I only have to go back one more time... because the therapy god has something he wants to give me. Hummmm... I wonder what that is? Maybe a bill? Ha. No, he says its something he wants me to have that he forgot at home. So we shall see what that mystery turns out to be. I am glad to be released, but I have to tell you... I am going to miss those foot massages that the therapy goddess gives. She has magic hands. And don't worry... I will take it easy with the hike. If it gets too much, I'll stop and rest then go back. I'm not going to have unhappy feet again.

With my boy-os back home for a day, I'm on top of the world! I hope that you have nice surprises awaiting you too... but only good ones.

Friday, June 26, 2009

80s Kinks - Acute Schizophrenia Paranoia Blues

Here are some great clips of the Kinks from the 80s to listen to as you read or simply to watch... as you wish! The one above you probably do not know, but the two below you could not have missed.

Kinks - Destroyer


A Fish Tale

I love to fish. I used to have a friend who lived here named Lo. We were fishing buddies. One day we took her two sons to fish off of the tugger dock . As soon as we got there, everyone picked their spot and marked their claim to space. Then we set about getting the poles ready.

I glanced over at An, as he played with a large lure. He held it up to show me. I smiled and nodded but thought in my head that was a pretty big lure to catch anything here. It was a green and yellow thing with two three hook dangles on each end.

There are a lot of river weeds where we were at and I wondered how long he would have his lure before it was tangled and had to be cut free or his line broke. But I didn’t say anything. Some lessons are better learned the hard way. I paid attention to my own pole.

The sun was shining and a cool breeze was coming up off the water. My hair kept blowing into my face, so I grabbed an old beat limp Red Sox hat out of my gear box and popped it on my head. Satisfied, I baited my hook and cast out. The line sailed in a beautiful arc right to the exact spot I’d chosen. There is something sublime about a perfect cast. I reeled in slightly and then sat on my box to wait.

One of my favorite parts about fishing is watching the water. I like the ripples from the breeze and the way the sunshine zig zags across it. I was watching this light and water show when something tugged at my cap. Instinctively I put my hand on top of my head.

I didn’t want to lose another cap if the wind blew it into the water. I sure wasn’t going to go in after it.

Something stung me through the cap! Then my head jerked to one side. Again. As I turned, it dawned on me that An was having a hard time with his line. Clearly it was snagged. A sharp pull at my scalp told me his line was snagged on my head!

HEY! I said, still holding my cap to my head. “An…you’ve hooked my head!”

He was wearing ear buds. He could not hear me.

I yelled at his mom, who took the situation in faster than I could explain it. She ran over with her needle nosed pliers and nipped the line, setting me free.

“Hold on… I’ll get it out.” She said. When ordered, I sat back down on my box and endured the tugging and twisting.

“I can’t see what I’m doing for the cap.” She grumbled. Ten minutes later she gave up.

“We’ll have to go to the hospital.”

I should tell you that An was horrified. He apologized all the way to the hospital which is two towns over and across the river. He apologized the entire time we waited for the doctor. Once the doctor arrived and began to prod my head, An wrung his hands in dismay. He truly felt awful.

The doctor went through every tool he had with no success. Two of the hooks were embedded in my skull, all the way through the scalp to bone. I will tell you that it did not hurt. It felt like something pulling at my skin, not comfortable but not painful. Eventually the doctor did manage to clip the hooks off so that the cap could be lifted carefully off of my head.

I now had two metal prongs sticking out the top of my head. The doctor cut the hair around it away. Now there was a nice look… I had a bald patch on the side of the top of my head for several weeks. Ha. He deadened the scalp with shots, cut slits where the hooks were settled and tried to pull them out again. No luck.

The doctor tossed the last of his shiny sterile tools into the metal pan and swore. He then marched to the phone and called for the janitor.

The janitor arrived with his tool box, peered at my head and said. “I’ve got just the thing!”

He pulled out a set of snub nosed pliers and with a quick twist pulled out the first hook. He grasped the second hook and moment later and I was hook free. The janitor smiled as I thanked him, tossed his pliers in his tool box, flipped the lid shut and hurried away.

“I hope you plan on splitting your fee with him.” I told the doc. I got two stitches. One stitch for each hook. An was still apologizing when they dropped me off at home. Poor kid. It was much harder on him that it was on me.

I'm going fishing today. Unfortunately, An and his mother will not be with me. An passed away suddenly a few years after the tale above... his lure sits right here next to me on my desk. When I developed mental constipation in regards to this post, I saw the lure and thought I'd tell you about the day that An caught my head. :)