So when the new renter's (supplied by the crafty next door neighbor lady Tiffany who likes to choose who lives next door. Lady Tiffany that's probably about right.) agreed to do the remaining work for a week of free rent, Let me think YES.YES YES (too many yes'sss?) We are outta here day after tomorrow. Heading to the mountains North of Fairfield. But it make's me wonder how many more times I'll be here as life continues it's unstoppable course. That's just an elegant way of saying, well the family one way or another is moving on and away from the old digs.
Camping out in the front yard. Literally.
But really, that's not a bad thing. We've hopefully encouraged them to go elsewhere. Living in one spot one's entire life is just too limiting.
Not even going to stick around to paint this new railing I built. That crooked part, just goes to show y'all I recycle. Note the old woodpile next to it encompassing the old rail, or what was left of it.. We don't even have to clean up. Looks like it'll be burned up in one of the local watering holes after the guy comes and gets it next weekend..
So now maybe it's the ambience of arriving here just as the leaves are turning but my mind has been awash with the clearest of memories of this place that I have been connected to now for more than a half a century. Really awash. To the 5000 yard empty stare point awash.
That was probably only bad when passing the high school and observing the footbal team out practicing. The very same place we practiced some forty five years ago. Jesus, even the Coaches looked little older than the students now. Little more than children.
Still, the concept of thinking the monumental Denny Alquist, Al Busby or Coaches Stands, Burratto or Thomas of my day akin to these young guys in my just turned 62 year old mind is still stunningly incomprehensible. Monsters of my day. Course it's not like those guys at that time did anything to dispell this notion as to a man they all scared the hell out of us. And for good reason, All College level standouts and pro prospects. God if I could have just a half a cup of the special brew Testosterone that made these guys tick. But maybe that's all for another day. Still, I can visualize the yellow color of my practice jersey. Recall the stench of sweat from it after just one day of practice with five to ten to go before it might get washed again. And the clicking of our cleats walking down that long hallway to the field just outside the Stadium. Where exhausting drills, bonecrushing blocking and endless Windsprints awaited. Nothing like the exhaustion that comes with the tenth fifty yards knowing some five or so hundreds are also coming due course in the ninety plus heat. Feats of strength and stamina only seventeen year olds realize their body can withstand. Course the exhaustion and the pain after each practice made one, well hardly be bothered whatsoever by the smell. Being the least of our at hand issues. As if yesterday I can feel the envy of looking at the late Denny Blackwood's multi colred helmet adorned like scalps, with the paint marks evidence of the famous Blackwood Crash's (umm Tackles) I'd witnessed from the sidelines gathered from the Helmets of hapless ball carriers from Schools called Borah, Boise, Minico, IF Poky and on and on. And despite my best, my own Helmet adorned with less than half the paint of Denny's. A Fourth quarter Huddle of some game on some weekend night under lights, either their stadium or ours. QB Jerry Barbour calling some color or other right or left on two or three and the finality of the simutaneous clap with ten voices yelling "Break" as we moved to our positions. The faces of guys now equally as old as myself behind ancient facemasks. And all these memories accompanied by sight sound and particularly smell, all coursed through my mind in less than a second. Whew!
Time to move on......
Here's my daughter now 26
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