met someone last night I haven't seen

since 6 June, 1969.

Having missed my 40th HS reunion, I met up with one of the women that made it possible. I knew her in school, we were in several classes together but there was no connection, we were both too different. It was interesting swapping notes, and our lives were very different.

This entire meeting was made possible through plain old dumb luck. I changed crews off the boat I work on a couple of towns away from where I grew up, and my sister was in town and offered to put me up for a few days. I'm a sailor.

I thought I was going to change crews there, and when I figured it out, I told her I'd put a shirt under my matteress pad for her. She asked what that meant, and I explained that it meant I'd do exactly that. I carefully folded a shirt and put it under my matteress pad for a few days. I'm sure she rolled her eyes.

The funny part is when I pulled the shirt out of my seabag and put it on it looked like a pretty good ironing job, complete with GI creases. It's a trick I learned in Boy Scouts, and perfected while living aboard a sailboat years ago. She was impressed.

This woman had gone into social work and has tried to make the world a better place to live. When I found out she had gone that route, I was expecting to find some blithering left wing radical, but was pleasantly surprise to meet a fairly well grounded attractive woman about my age.

As is bent the twig, so grows the tree.

My life was very different that most. I am alive today, which is nothing short of a miracle with my history. By the time I reached 30 or so, I was already a fugitive from the law of averages.

By 35, I had already attended over 50 funerals and memorial services. Mostly memorial services. When you consider that had only attended a half-dozen weddings, my life for the average 35 year old guy was totally backwards. It was then I decided to do something a little safer for a living, and I briefly considered the French Foriegn Legion. Seriously, I considered joining the Legion. Private Piccolo, 2e REP.

One thing I have to say, though. My life has not been boring.

I think that today, I'm going to look up one of the guys that helped with the reunion.

We'll see what happens, I'm presently at my sisters and transportation is going to be a hassle.



My neice has the kid watching duty today. I don't know what the deal is, I don't care. All I know is that a bunch of mothers have dropped off their children and this place is a zoo. Squalling kids all over the place. The official Johnny Weismuller Tarzan yell, followed by the trumpeting of the elephants would fit right in to this chaos.

One thing I noticed, virtually all of the women that dropped their kids off have big asses.

It makes their boobs look small. If they'd lose their ass, they'd all be fairly easy on the eye. As the young women gossip, I hear one of them mention something about a boob job. I will keep my mouth shut, but she ought to save her money and rub toilet paper in her cleavage several times a day instead. After all, look what it's done to her ass.

This looks like the makings of a long day.


Later: My sister has promised me I could use her car just so long as it involves no alcohol, which is a deal and a half. My day WAS going to include alcohol in massive doses if I had to hang here with a houseload of squalling kids. I was going to walk to the nearest liquor store and buy a half-gallon of Jameson's and enesthesize myself if I had to spend the day in a houseful of squalling kids.

Better to wake up with a king-hell hangover than wake up in the booby hatch. The hangover will be gone by noon, but it takes at least ten days of being observed to get out of the booby hatch.

Now the tides of war have changed and it looks like I am going to have to walk to the damned liquor store, as something or another has popped up and there is no vehicle I can use. As usual, it's 5 miles through 4 feet of snow, uphill both ways, and I will return carrying a heavy half gallon of hootch.

Of course, there IS a way to lighten my load. The more I drink, the less I have to carry. If I can kill the whole half-gallon, I can just ditch the bottle in a storm sewer somewhere and just stumble home. Walk? Ha! I'll be OK, the belly knows the way home.

Wait....


Yet ANOTHER change in plans! I have to go to dinner tonight because one of my relatives was born on this very day, and as the oldest of the generation, I am expected to show up and set a good example.

This, of course, means I will spend the rest of the day listening to 8 children under the age of 5 for the rest of the afternoon with no help whatsoever, chemical or otherwise.

I'll get even with them for this. I'll be back in 20 minutes. The 7-11 is a ten minute walk away. I'll just get a dozen sugar coated doughnuts and a 12 pack of Red Bull, feed it to the kids and leave for the rest of the afternoon.

A couple of these little crumb snatchers are in the terrible twos. God knows what a can of Red Bull will do to them. I don't intend to stick around and find out. Just issue each kid a Red Bull and a doughnut and bail the hell out.

Get back with you later on this.

I'm back now. Some dear soul took pity on me and gave me a snort of Jim Beam.

On the way to the 7-11 I met a guy walking his dog. We started yakking and when he heard that I was stuck in a house with 8 children under 5, he told me I needed a good belt and invited me into his house for a drink.

I asked him why he would invite an old sailor he met on the street for a drink, and he told me that a story like that can't be made up. Besides, I had mentioned that I was a sailor, and he told me he had spent 4 years in the Navy and us sailors had better stick together. He also told me that if the kids got to me to come on back over and that there was a lot more hootch where that came from. Filed under 'G', for 'good to know'.

I never made it to the 7-11.

The dinner party I have to go to tonight is being thrown by my neice's 5 year old for her daddy's birthday, The kid is a character, she's already got a flair for the dramatic. My sis has been cooking all day, so I know the food's going to be pretty good.

This'll be funny. I'm in khakis, the shirt having been pressed under my bunk at sea and worn out for a few hours last night. I threw on a black tie, and a matching pair of khaki pants, add one cheap yachting cap and I am now a distinguished guest. I am now Captain Piccolo of the Merchant Marine, which is who I am in real life.

A wonderful case of life imitating art.

It's a good thing that 52 years seperates me from the hostess of tonight's party. If she was even 20 years older, the pair of us could cause some serious trouble, as we are somewhat kindred spirits. I can easily picture the pair of us bouncing off of each other. She is a riot. Give her, say 20 years and even if I am an old 77 year old goat, I'd bet the pair of us could turn a Good Friday service into something Mel Brooks would be proud to put on the Silver Screen.

Gotta go. Dinner is served.



So sayeth the Gospel According to Piccolo