A couple of you regularly post pictures of log cabins and small houses set in serene settings.
Sometimes the post will say, “can you live here for a year without booze for a million dollars.”
I think about not having my manhattan or martini for a year and then I think about a year in the wilderness and when the twelve months are over I have a million bucks.
I would do it!
The year without booze would be fine, but the goofy daydream doesn’t take into consideration my job, my kids, my home and Betty the Green Blazer.
So I won’t be able to do it.
These cabins set off in the woods with the stream running along the side are beautiful.
The fireplace, the wood burning stove and the sturdy fire pit.
Who is chopping all the wood?
It would be nice to be alone with a couple dozen books, but where is the hotdog stand located? How far?
Is there a decent pizza joint that can deliver a pizza to my serene cabin?
The answer is probably no.
So I’m going to stay where I’m at. A sturdy three flat near the river where on occasion I can hear the lions roar.
A place where I feed my squirrels.
A place where I can have a bourbon drink and a gin martini overlooking Lincoln Avenue.
A place where someone needs pancakes.
A place six blocks away from a decent hotdog stand and pizza joint.
Keep posting the pictures of log cabins located nowhere. They make me daydream, but they also make me realize I’m in a good place.
Fifty years ago today Sister Mary Elephant taught me my first cursive word on a blackboard. The word was “little” and she whacked me with her pointer after I was finished.
I used one line to cross the “t’s” instead of two lines for each of them.
“Jesus Christ Sister, what is the big fucking deal?”
“Mr. Shepley… pay attention to the little details in life you fat little prick or Satan will find a use for you!”
