Spring 2002
Poetry
Kokopelli by Matthew Cox
Inspirado by Matthew Cox
The Show by Matthew Cox
My Summer Geraniums by Lydia Haug
Ode to a Poem by Lydia Haug
Elementary, My Dear Mr. Watson by David Klingforth
Self Illusion by David Klingforth
Why Wetbacks are Important to the Country by Julio Navas
Short Stories
The Day I Lost My Freedom by Matt Delanoit
Essays
How to Survive at Chucky Cheese by Glenn Erikson
A Week of Summer by Sheyl J. Harshfield
A Day in the Park With Dad by Steve Henson
Lo Sole Mio Restaurante Italiano by Chelsie Millet
From Bachelor to Boyfriend by Judd Shea
A Love Shared by Michelle Starkjohn
Kokopelli
by Matthew Cox
A mystery blows feathers in your hair
and continues through a flute that melts the snow. . .
I see the burden carried on your shoulders.
A hunting magician who gathers seeds fools
left behind. . .
A rain priest calls the clouds and warms the Earth.
Inspirado
by Matthew Cox
Castles are built with hopes and dreams
and this talent is never wasted.
Inspiration finds me and I hook it with a line.. .or two…
the scribbled words find meanings in my heart and soul.
Rhythms invade the bottoms of my feet
and they speak so sweet to my hands and fingers
who carry the pulse up and down necks of instruments,
Unlocking secret vaults of mind and thought…
The Show
by Matthew Cox
Souls mingle in a stranger’s song
In the latest hour where dreams belong
At the end of the night and your toes are tapped
and you wish you had more hands to clap
Give thanks and write a strange depiction
and try to refill your musical prescription.
My Summer Geraniums
by Lydia Haug
Moved indoors, from the garden outside,
My geraniums bloom on the south window sill.
Huge puffs of salmon-pink,
Pale petals fall like teardrops to the floor.
The fragrant blush of blossoms fills the house
Like cherry blossoms in spring.
Outside, winter reigns.
Wind gusts swirl,
Frothy clouds of snowflakes whiteout the gloomy sky.
A thick crust of blinding snow blankets the park.
Squirrels scamper, gusts of wind ruffle the furry coats,
Icy pellets glaze my window pane.
Cozy inside, I speak to my blooming geraniums.
“Thank you,” I say.
Ode to a Poem
by Lydia Haug
Tell me, what is a poem?
Just an inanimate object, lifeless?
A strand of parts–words joined together like links in a chain
One person’s ideas, thoughts, passions: love, hate, sorrow, birth, death
Or a fusion, flowing symbiotically like leaves on a vine
A mystery unfolding.
Tell me, what is a poem?
Is it still life, dormant, asleep
Or words
Waiting to be awakened
When read, then spoken
Given voice.
Tell me, what is a poem?
Elementary, My Dear Watson
by David Klingforth
You, with your air of superiority,
Looking down your narrow hooked nose at mankind,
Studying people as a biologist studies organisms under the microscope,
Dissecting human behavior was your forte’.
It seemed so easy for you.
Elementary
But I know your secret.
I know you were addicted to the drug of mental stimulation.
Without it, a seven- percent solution would add resolution.
The quirks of a body; muscular or weak, weathered skin or delicate as a tissue,
Hands that scream from the pain of a hard life
or hands of a wealthy man’s wife.
Surely the creases and crevices in a man’s face,
the way he stands, markings on arms, must all tell a story.
Your life’s work.
Observe…
Deduce…
You were the master of your craft.
How lucky I felt to follow you on adventures.
Elaborate disguises worn in the worst parts of town,
Chasing down leads.
Chasing down the hound.
The science of deduction could solve any crime, from A Study In Scarlet to The Devil’s Foot.
From the sweet melodic music, stroked on the violin
To the scent of tobacco puffed through that magnificent pipe,
After all these years, it still
rekindles the flame of your brilliance and wit.
You made your last bow,
predicting an east wind sweeping across Europe.
You continue to sweep the memories of my cluttered brain,
of an innocent and joyous time long gone.
For you… and for me.
But never forgotten.
Self Illusion
by David Klingforth
Oh, what a drudgery,
looking at this face each day,
combing the gray and white strands
of days long gone…
all but forgotten.
All but for the fine creases of bliss
that wrinkle around the eyes
when pleasant memories
dance lightly through
moving pictures of the mind.
Oh, what a pain to shave.
A slave to a personal belief
that the finely prickled cactus
should be smooth to the touch
of that imaginary temptress,
aching to cradle a firm jaw between her palms,
to press noses, brush lips.
The fine creases of bliss form around the eyes…
It has passed.
Just as quickly as it came.
Oh, what a drudgery
to see this face each day.
To straighten the nose by pushing
this and that way.
The lips are thin and slightly off center,
but the temptress steals her way into
your most private thoughts.
You let her enter.
She tells you you’re perfect,
there is no one better.
You know you should stop her,
but you just let her.. convince you
As the fine creases of bliss form around the eyes.
Why Wetbacks are Important to the Country
by Julio Navas
Emigrante
A bite of bread
Cup of coffee and some milk.
This is my breakfast for today.
Some beans, corn tortillas, and some rice
Come with me on my shoulders on the road to work.
In my mind, the memories
Of all those who I love and have far away.
And I don’t know if I’ll see them again.
The smile of my father
My mother’s hugs, how much I wish to have them again.
On my way to work I have to hear
People without feelings, animal people,
Saying to me loud, “Wetback go back.”
I forgive them because I don’t know how to hate.
“Ya llegaron, a trabajar, a trabajar,”
Probably the only words in Spanish my boss knows how to say,
“Get to work, get to work.”
Today tomatoes, tomorrow cucumbers
My life is in the fields.
Today the sun wakes up after me.
It will be my company during the day.
It will disappear in the distances
Before I disappear from the fields.
During the hot day, I will sweat
Without water I will dehydrate.
Rivers of salt water run down all over me
Landing in the green ocean,
The ocean that every day I have to navigate.
Basket after basket
The load trailers
Start filling up.
One by one they start on their way.
Where will these trailers go?
Somebody said they will go all over the country
And the product will be distributed to many homes.
I ask myself if the ones who told me to go back,
The ones who hate me,
Will they receive some vegetables and fruits today?
Will they have the fortune to enjoy some of them?
What an irony of life,
They may have some of the ones that I husked today.
The Day I Lost My Freedom
by Matt Delanoit
When I sat down to watch the Vikings play the Packers on Monday Night Football, I looked to the corner where Sam’s duffle bag lay. I thought how kind my mother was to let my boss’s brother stay with us for a few days until my boss got over the fight that they had. That thought left my mind, and before long, I was wrapped up in a warm blanket completely lost in the football game.
The ringing of the telephone startled me and drew me away from my warm blanket and football game.
“Hello,” I said rudely into the telephone
“Matt?” replied the scared voice that I recognized as Sam’s.
“Yeah, what’s going on?” the rudeness left my voice.
“Hey man, can you come get me, please Matt, can you come pick me up?” He began to cry.
“What happened, where are you?”
“I can’t tell you now; just come get me. I’m at some gas station by 24th and Q. I’ll explain when you get here,” he continued to cry.
I hesitated.
“Alright man, I’ll be right there,” I finally told him.
As I pulled out of my driveway, I regretted not warming up my car as I shivered in the cold that surrounded me. Then the wind picked up and the sleet started to fall. As I made my way down Cumming Street towards the interstate, I noticed that the streets were empty. When I pulled my car onto the interstate, thoughts of the conversation I just had and curiosity raced through my brain. I felt a sudden sense of urgency, and the gas pedal crept closer to the floor. I made it to Q Street in record time. It didn’t take me long to find the gas station he’d called from, but when I pulled up, the place looked deserted, dark, and cold. I missed the warmth and safety of my home. As soon as I parked my car, Sam came running from the back of the building and jumped into my car.
“Go, go, go, get me the f— out of here!” he screamed.
“Chill out man, I’m going. What the hell happened anyway?” I asked trying to understand.
“Just get me out of here! I’ll tell you when we get out of here. Just go, please just go!” he begged.
“If I didn’t feel sorry for you, your ass would be walking, so start talking. You need to tell me what’s going on.”
“Look, I don’t want to talk right now,” he started to cry, “I’m scared Matt, I’m really scared right now,” he said between sobs.
At this point, I gave up and continued to drive toward my house. We were about six blocks away from my house and my pager started to beep. I looked down at the number and continued to my house. When I pulled up into my driveway, Sam asked me to make sure the street was empty before he went inside. Common sense told me that something wasn’t right, but I didn’t take the time to think twice about it. I headed to the front door and Sam fallowed me like a lost puppy. As I stepped inside, I was warm again and felt good being out of the wind and sleet. It wasn’t long before I remembered the page I’d received. I called my friend Shawn back, and he asked if I had been watching the football game. “Damn it!” I thought as I headed for the television. I was outraged when I turned on my T.V. and there was no picture. Shawn understood my anger and invited us to finish watching the game at his house. Wanting to see the end of the game, I accepted the offer and we were back out the door and on the road again.
With the road dark and deserted, the normally scenic drive out to Shawn’s house suddenly seemed creepy. The wind howled and the sleet pounded my windshield like a jackhammer. The usual ten-minute drive was pushing thirty minutes and I began to wonder what I was doing out in this weather. I looked at Sam who hadn’t said anything since we got to my house. I started to feel angry that he wouldn’t tell me what was going on. But that feeling left me as I pulled into Shawn’s driveway.
As soon as I sat down in front of his television, I was lost in the game, trying to forget the beginning of my night. The game went on and was in a tie at the fourth quarter. I sat there biting my nails through the overtime until Green Bay made a miracle play and won the game. I was pretty upset about Minnesota’s loss and hung out for a while to shoot the breeze with Shawn. Sam remained silent through the game and through our conversation afterwards.
Around 2:00 am I left Shawn’s, and it was then that I tried to find out what Sam had done.
“Look Sam, if you don’t tell me what’s up, you can’t stay at my house anymore,” I started.
“I’m fucked man, I don’t know what to do,” he started to cry again.
“You can start by telling me what happened so you don’t have to sleep on the streets tonight!” I yelled at him. “I’m getting sick of this shit man, you need to talk to me.” “I don’t know what to do. I really fucked up,” he repeated.
“Dude, for the last time in language that you can understand, if you don’t tell me what the fuck is going on, you’re walking at the bottom of this hill!” I yelled at him.
“I’m in trouble. I got into big trouble,” he said.
“What kind of trouble? Cops? Drug dealers? What? What the hell?
That’s when I noticed a sheriff’s car at the bottom of the hill in a driveway. Thoughts raced through my mind. I knew cops didn’t clock speeders while sitting in civilian driveways at 2:00 in the morning. My heart stopped, about the same time I stopped at the stop sign. As I figured he would, the sheriff turned his lights on and pulled up behind me. The next thing I knew, seven of his buddies showed up and they had my car surrounded. The bright lights blinded me.
As the officers jumped out of their cars and pointed their guns at me, I looked over at Sam. He had a blank stare on his face. An officer got on a loud speaker and started to bark orders at me.
“Turn the car off,” he ordered. “Throw the keys out the window.”
I remember thinking he was a dumbass because I had power windows. I slightly opened my door and dropped the keys over the top of it.
“Stick your hands out the door slowly,” the officer yelled. “Slowly get out of the car with your back towards me and put your hands on your head,” he continued. “Get on your knees, and cross your legs.” By this time, I was being handcuffed. An officer leaned me over the back of the car and searched me. They took my pager, my cigarettes, my money, my wallet and my lighter. When I was turned around to face the officer who had cuffed and searched me, I noticed he was wearing a Green Bay Packers hat. I think that hurt as much as my wrists where the handcuffs had started to cut off my circulation. I was forced to stand in the sleet and cold wind while the police asked me many questions. They kept telling me that they knew I was involved. ” Involved with what?” I thought. They searched my car, then me again. The whole time they kept telling me they were going to search my house and garage. At this point, I was getting angry and knew that they couldn’t pin anything on me. I didn’t do anything. Then they found a bag of weed and a digital scale. I thought that was kind of weird since I didn’t own a digital scale. I kept thinking, “What the hell?” And then my rights came.
“You’re under arrest. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in the court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you can’t afford an attorney one will be appointed to you by the state. Do you understand your rights?”
“Yes,” I replied. ” Do you have any questions about your rights,” asked the officer.
“No.” I was stunned. I had known something was wrong the whole night and I hadn’t done anything. To think, just when I was getting ready to kick Sam out of the car, I got pulled over. I remember thinking how lucky I was that Sam didn’t cause more trouble by trying to run or pulling a weapon. All of these thoughts raced through my head as I warmed up in the back of the police car. At the time, I didn’t know where I was headed, but later I found out it was the Douglas County Sheriffs Department, located on 156th and Maple. We got to the sheriffs’ department and they took my cuffs off and started to book me. I got my picture taken and also a picture of my tattoo. Then came the fingerprinting. As they scanned my fingers one at a time, I looked down to notice that the man scanning my fingers was wearing a Green Bay Packers watch. “Bad night to be a Minnesota fan,” I thought. Finally, they were done booking me and got ready to take me to jail. I fell asleep on the way to the youth center but was quickly awakened when we got there. I remember looking at the clock when I walked through the door. It was 4:30 in the morning and I was very tired. It took another half an hour to sign in, take inventory of the property that survived the police search, shower, and put on my blue jumpsuit. Finally, I could call my mom. I told her what happened, and let her know that I needed a lawyer and that my car got impounded. She didn’t take it too well, but I knew she couldn’t kill me over the phone. When I was done, I was led to my level, then to my cell. Finally, I could go to sleep.
I woke up to my cellmate kicking the foot of my bed. I had to look around for a second, and then I remembered what had happened. I guess that I was the only new face because all eyes were on me when I walked out of my cell. Breakfast left a lot to be desired. It was stale cereal and Viva milk. This place was a joke, and I needed a cigarette. After breakfast I called my mom. I remember how hard it was to talk to her while sitting in this jail. She began by telling me how much trouble she was having getting a lawyer. When she told that I’d have to stay another day before my court date, I began to feel nauseous. It didn’t take long for me to hate this place. It smelled like stale crap until shower time, and then the scent of pina colada shampoo filled the air.
That night, against everyone’s advice I chose to go to my cell and go to bed rather than sit and socialize. I was almost asleep when the guard disturbed me. For some reason, he thought that I was depressed and that I wanted to kill myself. I told him that I wouldn’t give him the pleasure and went back to bed. I was awakened again two hours later by my roommate being released. I remember being really jealous, but he was cool and left his pillow and blanket so that night wouldn’t be as cold as the last. Finally, I thought I could go back to sleep but was awakened again two hours later by a new arrival. He kept me awake for another 20 minutes or so with his action-packed story of running from the cops and then getting arrested. With thoughts of court the next morning, I finally fell asleep.
The next day after breakfast, I played some spades until they called my name to go to court. My heart raced as I went to line up; I was so close to getting out. When they called everyone’s name, they took us to another series of rooms that we were required to wait in. Eventually, we made it to the police van. It felt good to be outside. Something that three days ago was ordinary now felt like a privilege. I was in a van full of rowdy teenagers; some in for selling crack, some in for stealing cars, one even for murder. All I had tried to do was watch football. Right then it didn’t matter though. Right then, I felt freer than I had for the last few days. I was going to enjoy every minute in case court didn’t go well. They went through the parking garage in the basement to an elevator for “criminals” that led to a holding cell. The holding cell was nasty. The smell of urine lingered everywhere. I was entertained by a few Crips and Bloods arguing, and making threats for when they got out.
Slowly, everyone had their turn in court. Everyone kept coming back with bad news. Finally, they called my name. They led me from the holding cell to a large wooden door and when I went through it, my lawyer met me. The first thing I asked was if I’d be able to go home today and she smiled and guaranteed it. I wanted to dance around and sing like a jackass, but I kept it to myself. Even handcuffed and in a navy blue jumpsuit, I felt so damn good. Finally, I could go home. The time I spent in the courtroom was nothing compared to the whole experience. My lawyer already had everything taken care of, all I had to do was show my face and hear the judge blab on for a few minutes. I was the only one to come back with good news. That good news almost got me beat up though. I had everyone mad– most of them had been to court 10 times and were still residing at the youth center. I didn’t care; I had to rub it in. I had to because they kept telling me that I would be there for months.
I still had to go back to the youth center and have my mom check me out before I was officially free. Once there, I waited ten minutes for my mom to get there, then I signed my stuff out. I was out, walking free. Everything looked different from three days before. Everything looked better. In the days that followed, I learned that Sam was the target of a police “sting” in an effort to help rid our streets of drugs. I was an innocent bystander. I thanked God that he didn’t have a gun and that he didn’t do something stupid to get me shot. It hurts to know that someone claiming to be a friend can get you arrested, at gunpoint on top of it. I guess the moral or lesson of this crazy story is if you are planning to watch the Vikings play the Packers on Monday Night Football, watch the game. Oh yeah, don’t answer the phone.
How to Survive at Chucky Cheese
by Glenn Erikson
Before you begin your adventure at Chucky Cheese, be aware that this is not your ordinary pizzeria. Chucky Cheese is a child’s dream to eat at. However, for adults, it is a living hell if you’re not totally prepared both financially and emotionally. To prepare yourself financially, you must first look through your coupon box, and hope you have a coupon for Chucky Cheese to lessen your expenses. Next, stop off at your local ATM machine and withdraw enough money to cover your high-priced adventure.
Now that you are equipped financially, prepare yourself mentally. When you enter this carnival extravaganza called Chucky Cheese, try to remember how exciting a place like this would have been to you when you were a child. For instance, when I was a kid, I was excited when I had the opportunity to go to Shakey’s Pizza, because they had a couple of pinball machines there. However, Shakey’s can’t compare to Chucky Cheese. Think of this experience as a chance to rekindle some childhood excitement. Who knows, you just might enjoy yourself!
As you enter Chucky Cheese, don’t be alarmed at the kids screaming and crying as they are being dragged out of the restaurant by their stressed-out parents. As you walk in, take a couple deep breaths to calm the hairs that are standing up on the back of your neck. You notice a doorman as you enter, and you may think, “Great, a cover charge.” Don’t worry. There’s no cover charge; the pizza prices are high enough to cover the restaurant’s expenses. The doorman is there for security. While waiting in line, you’ll see him stamp the hand of each member of your party. Upon leaving, the doorman checks everybody’s stamp, making sure that no child leaves with someone else. That insures that your kids are safe and won’t be subject to any violence at this fun place.
After you get inside, go over to the pizza counter. Look over the coupon you brought with you, decide what pizza you want, and give the coupon to the pizza cashier with your order. Prepare to pay an outrageous price, even with the coupon. As you leave the counter, remember to take your order number so that your pizza can be delivered to your table. After going through the self-service beverage stand, find a table for your family . This might seem like an impossible task on a Friday or Saturday night since these two nights are the busiest of the week to go out for dinner, especially at Chucky Cheese.
As you seat yourselves, you may notice a large stage covered by a big curtain up in the front of the room. Then all of a sudden, you hear a band playing. Looking toward the stage, you see some oversized mechanical zoo animals playing musical instruments and singing. All the children in the audience become quiet and watch in amazement this modern day technology band . After a short time, your hot, steaming pizza arrives at your table, and you watch the expression on your children’s faces. Their eyes gleam with excitement as they are each handed a slice of pizza.
Once the pizza is gone, you’re ready to leave and you start walking toward to exit. Before you can escape, though, your children yell, “Mom/Dad, we have games to play!” With that, you know you’re not going to get out of Chucky Cheese easily.
When you walk into the gameroom, the only thing you can hear is children screaming and the ding, bing, dong of the video games. As you start to feel overwhelmed by the noise and craziness, take control of your emotions: Don’t freak out. How do you think your children would react if they walked into an adult’s workplace? They would probably have a lot of nervousness, just like you do right now walking into a kid’s playland. Instead of feeling tense, try to revert back to your childhood and just enjoy yourself. You’ll not only have a good time, you will probably improve your relationship with your child.
So reach into your right front pocket, pull out your wallet, buy a handful of tokens, and hand them to your children. Join right in playing video games, skeeball, and any of the other games that are there. Depending on how well you score in these games, you will receive a certain number of tickets. Take the tickets to the counter, where you can redeem them for imported Chinese trinkets. You discover that you are having a blast, and in no time at all, the tokens are gone and so is your budget for Chucky Cheese.
The time has come to leave. When you inform the children that it is time to go, they whine and cry to stay and play one more game. Be firm and don’t budge in your decision, even if you almost have to drag your children out to the car. On your way out, you will see other families entering Chucky Cheese. You can see the excitement and glee in the children’s eyes, while on the other hand you see doubt on some of the parents’ faces. If one of the parents asks, “Is it bad in there tonight?” reply, “It’s all that you make it.”
Driving home in the car, reflect on your adventure. The children may be surprised at how much fun their old fuddy-duddy parent could be. I remember having that exact feeling towards my dad also after a trip to Shakey’s Pizza. It’s funny how some things don’t change.
A Week of Summer
by Sheyl J. Harshfield
Summer had arrived. I could finally take my shoes off for the better part of the summer and feel the cool green grass beneath my feet. What was nice about summer when I was growing up was that shoes were not required unless we went shopping, which was once a week.
Summers were very different when I was growing up. We had no TV, no computers or computer games, but we had fun! We definitely used our imaginations. Sometimes my sister and I would pack a simple lunch of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and an apple and carry it in a brown bag. We would take our lunch and walk through a sunny, daisy-filled sloping hill on our way to the cool woods. The whole day we’d spend in the woods, pretending to be explorers like Lewis and Clark or whoever or whatever else our imaginations came up with. We would climb the trees and swing on the vines that were wrapped around the trees. We played Tarzan a lot.
Our swimming pool was a big gray washtub filled with water. It would be similar to the backyard wading pools used now, except ours was metal. Of course, getting the grass wet all the time made the grass grow. We had to mow it, but not with the same kind of mower we all use now. Ours were definitely energy saving mowers. They used no gas and were not electric. Ours were human powered, quiet, push lawnmowers. You might have seen some around lately, as they are making a comeback.
We had a large lawn, as we lived on the edge of town. We would start on one corner of the lawn and mow for at least an hour or two every day and finish a week later. I must have had easygoing parents; they never seemed to be bothered by how long it took. Maybe it was because we were in the country, and it didn’t make any difference how long it took. We did not view this as work at all. We were getting our tans the easy way. Now, of course, we know that it is dangerous to get tans.
We could walk a mile to the library and go to story hour. What fun that was, as the storyteller was very good. The other kids and I would sit in a semi-circle on the shiny light brown wood floor and listen attentively as she made the stories come alive and made us feel like we were in the books. We were able to check out six books at a time; mine were mostly about dogs or horses. One of my favorites was My Friend Flicka.
My mother believed in everyone lying down in the heat of the day and resting, if not actually taking a nap. The only time we didn’t have to do this was on the days we went to the woods. When we lay down to take our naps between one and two in the afternoons, that’s when we would read some. Typically, we didn’t read too much as we would really fall asleep for a short while. We also read before bedtime and that wound us down from our day’s activities.
My mother had a very large garden. I remember watching her out the kitchen window, weeding the garden every day after supper while my sister and I did dishes. She seemed to grow everything. We ate a lot of vegetables. We had yellow corn, beets, cabbage, lettuce, spinach, radishes, cucumbers, peas, green beans, popcorn, watermelon, and strawberries, just to mention a few. It was my sister’s job and mine to shell peas, but I think we ate more sometimes than we shelled. We also husked popcorn; the sharp kernels hurt our fingers. We would sit under a shade tree and do these chores, again not even thinking of this as work. Have you ever been able to eat a dark red, ripe tomato or a raw potato right out of the garden? They have a wonderful flavor that can’t be matched. We would pull up a potato and wash off the dirt, put salt on it and eat.
Though we didn’t have TV, we had radio. I enjoyed listening to “The Shadow,” “Amos and Andy,” “The Jack Benny Show,” and “Fibber Magee and Molly.” They each had an ongoing storyline much like the TV shows now. A lot of sound effects were used to help our imaginations along. We would look forward to the next week’s show.
The most fun I had every week happened when we would meet our dad downtown on Saturday and go shopping. Why was it so fun? Well, back then people would dress up to go downtown. My mother, sister, and I had matching sundresses and matching white sandals and we got to wear them on Saturdays. We would walk seven blocks to the bus line and catch a bus downtown. While my mom and dad grocery shopped, my sister and I would buy a big, big bag of popcorn. We would walk a couple of blocks over to the feed store where they kept tiny, yellow, fluffy baby chicks in the spring. They were so adorable! In residence year-round at the feed store was a monkey. It chattered a lot and loved to eat the popcorn we bought.
Sometimes we got to go to a show. The show cost fifteen cents. We would buy a sucker called a Slopoke that cost only a nickel. The Slopoke suckers were a lot larger then than they are now, so they lasted the whole time we were at the movies. The fifteen cents for the movies bought a lot. It bought a five-minute newsreel to show what was going on in the world, a couple of Daffy Duck or Mickey Mouse cartoons, and two movies—usually a Tarzan movie and a movie like Ali-Babba and His Forty Thieves. That was how I spent a typical week in the summertime when I was young.
A Day in the Park With Dad
by Steve Henson
Even though my father only had an eighth-grade education, he wanted to make sure that his children graduated from high school. He worked long hours and left my mother to help us with the everyday schoolwork, but when it came to a special project, he was always there for us. Usually our projects involved building something out of plaster or popsicle sticks, but there was one that was different.
Our class was assigned to go out and get some bark, leaves, and a seed, nut, or a fruit from a few assorted trees. It didn’t matter what kinds of trees they were, but they had to be grouped together (bark, leaf, and seed, etc.) and then identified by the type of tree. I had always liked nature, but I knew almost nothing about the different kinds of trees. However, my father seemed to know everything about them.
When I mentioned this particular project at the dinner table, my father said he knew just the place to go, and I could tell he was enthusiastic about helping me with it. He told me he had a couple of things he had to do the following morning, but after he finished those, we would get started on my project. My father was always an early riser, and I knew that with the hours he kept, he would be finished with the things he had mentioned plus a couple more before I was even awake. Sure enough, by the time I awoke the next morning, he had breakfast ready and was waiting for me, wondering if I were going to sleep all day, even though it was still fairly early.
As we headed towards the destination my father had in mind, I could feel his enthusiasm. I could tell that this wasn’t just something he wanted to help me with for school, this was something he truly wanted to teach me. As we arrived at the park he had chosen, I could feel his excitement continue to grow, and I grew excited with him. This project was something my father was really knowledgeable about, and we were both feeling good about him sharing that knowledge with me.
It was a beautiful day, with blue skies and just enough of a cool crispness in the air to let you know that summer was over and fall had arrived. We spent a couple of hours in the park and then at least that many at home putting everything together into a book. When we were done, I looked at the completed project and I just knew that it was great, an A for sure! I remember going to sleep that night and waking up Monday morning as excited as I had ever been about going to school.
That day when I walked into class, I felt special, and that book had everything to do with how I felt. There I was, a fourth-grader in a new school with few friends, but I felt that all of that was about to change. When the teacher started talking about the project, mine was the first one she held up. She said that nobody else had ever done such a thorough job and covered so many different trees. Sitting there, I felt like the king of the class, and I didn’t get an A but an A+. The teacher hadn’t ever asked anyone else if she could keep their book on this particular project, but she asked if she could have mine, and she still has it to this day.
Although I was always a good student as far as the basics go, special projects or craft projects weren’t among the things I liked to do. This project changed my opinion of most of those types of projects, and my father’s enthusiasm contributed greatly to how I feel about these kinds of things. Before that special day spent with my father, I looked upon such projects as an obstacle, something that would be difficult if not impossible to complete. Since then, I view them as a goal, something to be accomplished before moving on to the next one.
Lo Sole Mio Restaurante Italiano
by Chelsie Millet
One of my favorite restaurants in Omaha is the small Italian restaurant called Lo Sole Mio. For starters, I love the way it looks. For example, it has several real, living plants accenting the corners of the restaurant. The walls are hung with beautiful art that reminds me of works by Picasso and Michelangelo. To top it off, they have miniature lamps with glass shades in the center of all of the tables. Dinner is the best time to go there because they lower the lights and lights the lamps to give a more romantic atmosphere. It is a great place for a first date.
Another reason this is one of my favorite restaurants is the service. The moment you walk through the door, you are greeted by friendly hellos and warm smiles. Once you are seated, a server comes and introduces herself while also telling you about some of the Italian traditions, like using oil instead of butter and the bottled water that they usually drink instead of tap water. Throughout the meal, the server seems to come at just the right moment to refill a drink or bring the check when you are done. They are always patient when you have no idea what you are ordering. I always leave a nice-sized tip when I go.
Of course, the best part about dining at Lo Sole Mio is the food. First, you start with the appetizer. You receive small slices of Italian bread with slivers of roasted garlic, oil, and Parmesan cheese. It is the best appetizer I have ever tasted. You take a slice of bread and spread the garlic on the bread. Then, you dip it in oil and sprinkle some Parmesan cheese on it. It is so delicious that it is as if you had just tasted a piece of heaven.
Your meal usually comes with a salad. Here is one of the best salads I have ever tasted. The chefs use three different kinds of fresh lettuce. To top the salad, they use crisp slices of carrots and cucumbers and juicy tomatoes. The dressing is incredibly refreshing. It has such a wonderful mixture of oil, vinegar, and spices that gives the dressing just enough zip.
Next is the main entrée. My favorite thing to order is pasta with meat sauce. The bow tie noodles are always cooked to perfection—never mushy. The sauce is also superb. It is wonderfully thick so that it covers every corner of every noodle. The pieces of meat are small enough that they add just enough flavor. This entrée is absolutely mouthwatering. The bowl they serve the pasta in is massive. You know you are getting your money’s worth and you never leave wanting. You always leave with a full-to-bursting stomach and a box of leftovers in your hand.
My favorite dessert at Lo Sole Mio is spumoni. It is the best ice cream I have ever tasted. Spumoni has three layers to it: the first layer is chocolate, the second layer is pink and filled with chopped cherries, and the last layer is green and is filled with chopped pistachios. The spumoni is then topped with real whipped cream—not that wimpy stuff by Cool Whip, but whipped cream that is real, rich, think, and creamy. On the very top is a bright ripe, juicy cherry. When I eat spumoni, that is the only time anyone will ever see me eat cherries. That’s how good this stuff really is.
The best part about the meal is the fact that the check is not so expensive that it leaves a black, gaping hole in your wallet. And as you walk out the door, there is always someone there to say, “Thank you for coming.” Lo Sole Mio is a wonderful restaurant with nice people and extraordinary food. It is a lovely Italian experience in Omaha.
From Bachelor to Boyfriend
by Judd Shea
The life of a bachelor is not a bad one. It solely entails hanging out with “the guys,” drinking excessively on the weekends and surviving on a diet of Ramen noodles and macaroni and cheese. No, the life of a bachelor is not bad, until you’re not a bachelor anymore. When a significant other enters the picture, priorities change. The single life and its ways are thrown out the window. At that moment, you realize the life of a bachelor wasn’t as great as you’d thought it was. Your girlfriend can nourish you with more than Ramen noodles ever could, and you realize that having a girlfriend is the way to go.
There are many advantages to having a girlfriend. One prime example is that your diet improves exponentially. The days of Ramen noodles and macaroni and cheese are gone. Now enters filet mignon and caviar. Sure, the cost of living inevitably increases, but it’s a small price to pay for such fine dining. The terms “calories” and “daily nutritional value” are introduced to your vocabulary, and before you know it, you’ve lost that unsightly beer gut.
Another added bonus in having a girlfriend is the Friday movie nights where vegging out is okay. This night is a free night where Ben and Jerry’s, Pepsi, and Pizza Hut are the main dish. This night doesn’t happen very often, but when it does, it more than makes up for the endless nights of waiting for the water to boil for the macaroni and cheese. Not only does the nutritional aspect of a male’s diet improve, but also does his appearance in many ways.
To a bachelor in his early twenties, dressing casually is the norm. Getting ready for the day is a formality, not an opportunity. The presence of a woman in a man’s like can do wonders for a male’s wardrobe. Not only does he begin to dress like the rest of society, he begins to learn the concept of dressing one’s self. Important guidelines are acquired along the way, such as 1) wrinkles are not a fashion statement, 2) orange and green don’t go together, and the all-important rule, 3) sagging pants will be pulled up and be attached to the waist by a belt. Other fashion faux pas to avoid are aqua socks, denim jackets, stone-washed jeans, and t-shirts with holes in them. These lessons will be very well received in the eyes of all males alike. Not only will other people start to notice his style, but also his heightened self-esteem and overall well being.
Of course, a girlfriend can provide benefits for your life that are far more significant than just dietary and dressing habits. When you have a girlfriend, you get to spend the majority of your time with her, and a great friendship blossoms, replacing what once seemed to be minutes of awkward silence between sentences. One you reach the point in a relationship where you know what she is thinking, what she is going to do next, what makes her tick, and finally, how to make her happy, iyou’ll be astounded at what it can do for one’s self-esteem. You soon realize that a girlfriend is much better than having multiple friends. A girlfriend provides you happiness when you are feeling dismal, monetary donations when they are needed, and countless other things that are also important, but too numerous to mention. Friendship is the all-important asset when having a girlfriend.
A girlfriend is also someone who you can simply be yourself around. There is no one to impress. It is actually quite comforting, knowing that someone doesn’t care if you don’t look good one day or if you just feel like taking a nap. Friendship is the glue that holds a lasting relationship together, and it cannot be substituted for anything else.
The last positive aspect of having a girlfriend is that she can keep a guy out of trouble like nobody’s business. I know of several instances where I have had friends who started dating a girl, and their trouble ratings plunged. They seemed well behaved for the most part and acted mature on a regular basis. I am beginning to think the reason guys begin to behave themselves is the eventual thought that they will have to “meet the parents.” I also get comments now and then about how I have settled down, and how I am finally beginning to act my age. These comments are mostly from my mom, but nonetheless, it proves a point. Back in my bachelor days, I would regularly get into trouble, and mischief was my middle name. Not only is an “attached” male more mature, but he also seems to be a happier person on the whole.
To conclude, the life of a bachelor is far less lively than that of “hooked” males. There are countless other reasons I could ramble on about, but I think that I pretty much covered the important facts. A girl could make a guy go mad with remorse or feel engulfed in bliss. The decision is up to you whether you want to make that sort of commitment—bachelor or boyfriend. I choose the latter.
A Love Shared
by Michelle Starkjohn
When I was about ten years old, my best friend, Erica and I had an intense passion for horses, but instead of always riding the horses we had, we would often pretend to be horses ourselves. We knew horses very well and felt like we could imitate the real feelings and characteristics of a horse. Stamping, snorting, shying, and whinnying were very common in our “behaviors.” In our minds, we could race and win speed events for rodeos, work on a mission for Scotland Yard, and live as a London cabby’s horse during the time Black Beauty was written in the 1800s. Our imaginations could do more than the ponies and horses we rode for fun in the pasture and on the trails.
During our “rodeos,” we set up buckets and various objects to represent the barrels and poles we would race around. One of us would race while the other would do the timing. The “horse” would prance and dance in anticipation of the race just as the real horses do. If Erica was timing, she would shout, “On your mark, get set, go!” I would bolt across the starting line into the dusty arena. To make myself run fast (and Erica did the same thing), I used a plastic tie-down strap with a knob on the end as a whip to “encourage” greater speed. Our legs were red as beets by the end of the day. When the races were over, we could never agree on who’d won the event because we timed differently, and both of us wanted to win.
Our missions for Scotland Yard were generally played at night. Most of the time, we stuck together because we were scared of the dark and were afraid the “bad people” would catch us. In our minds, we were both master and horse; our mind was the master, and our body was the horse. The investigations included spying on imaginary people, hiding from crooks, and making midnight runs for our lives. Erica’s yard was filled with large trees that looked like witches’ hands reaching out for us. Erica might whisper, “Look at those creeps! They are as ugly as rats!” Within a minute my imagination would kick in, and I might reply in a loud whisper, “Run! They are coming after us!” After making it to safety, we would laugh at ourselves for being so afraid, but still felt anxious after the midnight run.
Other times, we would pretend one of us was a London cabby’s horse on duty and the other was a cab driver. Our cab was a homemade cart made for me by my brother and it consisted of bicycle wheels, plywood, and metal scraps. We both preferred I be the horse and she be the driver because Erica did not like to pull the heavy cart, and I could not keep my balance when I rode in it. Up and down the streets of “London” we would go, taking people to balls and parties. The wealthier the customer, the faster we would go, especially downhill. After the cabby’s shift was over, she would take me into the barn and clean the mud out of my shoes with screwdrivers. Sometimes she pretended to put new shoes on me using a hammer and nails. I was then turned loose into the pasture; the day’s work was over.
When we got tired of playing outside, we would go indoors and play horse, only this time on all fours. Again, one of us would be the master while the other the horse. The master generally left the horse in the pasture (the carpet downstairs) but came to feed it often. Popcorn in a bowl was the favorite grain. Whoever was the horse always made it difficult to be caught by running away and kicking out the back feet toward the master. Once caught, the horse was affectionate, loved to nuzzle the master, and playfully tugged with her mouth at the master’s clothing or what she had in her hand. The saddle was made out of any blankets or pillows available. As for the bridle, we each had our own made out of a lightweight synthetic rope. It did not take long for the bridles to look chewed up and gross. During “shows” we added more blankets and pillows for saddles to make it look fancy and show like. The blankets, pillows, and rider made a heavy load for the horse! After the ride, the owner cleaned out the horse’s feet using her fingers. The horse sometimes kicked the rider because having no shoes on made an awful ticklish feeling!
When I think about our rodeos where we slapped our legs till they were cherry red, about our Scotland Yard adventures where we were terrified by our own imaginations, and about our London cabby business where I pulled that heavy cart with Erica in it, I want to burst out laughing. Even when we came indoors exhausted, we still did not quit. We got out the blankets and pillows and played horse on all fours. I hold close our childhood memories of “let’s pretend.” It was truly a love shared.