I start my day with a ridiculously-true and funny story that I tell myself and share it in essence format that is the size of a playing card.

 

Old man we never saw smile Schruman was retired, except for his immaculate and emerald perfect lawn, that he watched over like a tyrant king …

Old man we never saw smile Schruman was retired, except for his immaculate and emerald perfect lawn, that he watched over like a tyrant king …

My brothers and I cooked everything we could imagine in our first gee wiz cool electric microwave.
I thought it might even hard-boil an egg in its shell.
But it didn’t. At about two minutes, there was a gun shot loud BOOM as the microwave door exploded open and tiny half-cooked egg pieces instantly covered me and that side of the kitchen. After cleaning for two hours, I called a dozen friends with microwaves and told them how good it works, even with a full carton of eggs and the power on high.

My brothers and I cooked everything we could imagine in our first gee wiz cool electric microwave.

I thought it might even hard-boil an egg in its shell.

But it didn’t. At about two minutes, there was a gun shot loud BOOM as the microwave door exploded open and tiny half-cooked egg pieces instantly covered me and that side of the kitchen. After cleaning for two hours, I called a dozen friends with microwaves and told them how good it works, even with a full carton of eggs and the power on high.

The backpacking trip was to be a chilly Montana 30 below zero week, so brother Bob bought a used tent from brother Doug, who assured us that “it’s perfect for Winter.” Sweet. We won’t freeze then.
But we did freeze,  every damned night.
After skiing and snowshoeing miles into that frigid white Wilderness, Bob and I assembled the paper thin dome and also realized the door didn’t zip fully shut. Then I saw the label … it was a “Sunshine Summer” tent from “JCPenney Outdoors.” Birds fluttered off as foul words echoed in the valley.

The backpacking trip was to be a chilly Montana 30 below zero week, so brother Bob bought a used tent from brother Doug, who assured us that “it’s perfect for Winter.” Sweet. We won’t freeze then.

But we did freeze,
every damned night.

After skiing and snowshoeing miles into that frigid white Wilderness, Bob and I assembled the paper thin dome and also realized the door didn’t zip fully shut. Then I saw the label … it was a “Sunshine Summer” tent from “JCPenney Outdoors.” Birds fluttered off as foul words echoed
in the valley.

Brother Jon had Muscular Dystrophy, not mental dystrophy.
He was sharp as a tack, but in his wheelchair, strangers didn’t know. They gave long stares of pity and wonder, looking for drool.
Every once in a while, Jon played on this if the audience was large enough, like Walmart’s parking lot.
Stare reflex: he would turn his wheelchair in erratic circles, lean his head over, stick his tongue out, cross his eyes and babble “da da ba ga Ninja do do Turtles la la dunga I love beans.”

Brother Jon had Muscular Dystrophy, not mental dystrophy.

He was sharp as a tack,
but in his wheelchair, strangers didn’t know. They gave long stares of pity and wonder, looking for drool.

Every once in a while, Jon played on this if the audience was large enough, like Walmart’s parking lot.

Stare reflex: he would turn his wheelchair in erratic circles, lean his head over, stick his tongue out, cross his eyes and babble “da da ba ga Ninja do do Turtles la la dunga I love beans.”

Our Father loved to fish and hunt. He looked forward to those weekends just as much as his 6 sons did.
It was not uncommon to hear the plop of his lure or wisp of his fly, land right in front of your feet in the river. Smiling from his distant fishing position with another Trout dancing he’d say “gize, looks like a nice one, boys.”
On those hunting days with fading Winter light, as we looked for that last big buck in our scopes, he already had his cross hairs on it and if you took too long … BOOM.
"Good shot son, good shot" as he patted your back.

Our Father loved to fish and hunt. He looked forward to those weekends just as much as his 6 sons did.

It was not uncommon to hear the plop of his lure or wisp of his fly, land right in front of your feet in the river. Smiling from his distant fishing position with another Trout dancing he’d say “gize, looks like a nice one, boys.”

On those hunting days with fading Winter light, as we looked for that last big buck in our scopes, he already had his cross hairs on it and if you took too long … BOOM.

"Good shot son, good shot" as he patted your back.

Little Ryan was one of those silver spoon kids who had a Jag when he was 11, Snow White hands, strained orange juice, and preferred Honey Nut Cheerios (not the regular kind) to any meal he thought icky or undesirable.
That first dinner with the Prince over, our Mother made her 6-son’s favorite, delicious BLTs. But little Ricky Schroder didn’t like lettuce, tomatoes or over-cooked bacon, so Mom ran out for Cheerios. “Nancy, only Honey Nut please … thank you”
After dinner, Ryan and his new box of Cheerios  got a screaming 10-minute ride in our clothes dryer, on high.

Little Ryan was one of those silver spoon kids who had a Jag when he was 11, Snow White hands, strained orange juice, and preferred Honey Nut Cheerios (not the regular kind) to any meal he thought icky or undesirable.

That first dinner with the Prince over, our Mother made her 6-son’s favorite, delicious BLTs. But little Ricky Schroder didn’t like lettuce, tomatoes or over-cooked bacon, so Mom ran out for Cheerios. “Nancy, only Honey Nut please … thank you”

After dinner, Ryan and his new box of Cheerios  got a screaming
10-minute ride in our clothes dryer, on high.