Totally Paul

I went up to see my brother-in-law, Marvin, again. One lazy afternoon he had some errands to run and no matter how hard I tried, he somehow convinced me to come along. So I reluctantly climbed into his old pickup just as Marvin let out the clutch and off we drove in a cloud of dust. My head hurt a little from banging it on the doorpost but otherwise I seemed okay.

Marvin mentioned that first of all, he needed to stop at Harold’s and check on him.

“Is he under the weather?” I asked tentatively as Marvin drove across the centerline. My hands clutched the dash.

“Naw.” Marvin said as he jerked his pickup back into the proper lane. “But he’s still recuperating from the last time he helped me out.” I noticed a logging chain was somehow twisting its way around my ankles.

“Oh,” I said cringing. The pickup narrowly missed a dead raccoon as it dropped off the edge of the road. I snugged my seatbelt as hard as I could as Marvin signaled a right turn. At the last minute he turned left off the highway, causing the truck behind us to apply its air brakes.

“I guess this way is a little quicker.” Marvin said as I gasped for air.

As we skidded to a stop in front of Harold’s house I waited for the throbbing in my head to subside before I opened the door. I gingerly jumped to the ground, but the logging chain held fast and I ended up sprawled in the dirt.

“You coming in?” Marvin yelled back as he went up to the porch.

“Yeah. Eventually.” I muttered as I slipped the chain off my ankle and stood up. Then I banged my head on an old corncob that was suspended from a tree branch.

Marvin knocked on the door with one hand, twisted the rusty knob with another and hollered, “Harold!” all at the same time.

I stumbled across parts of a riding mower, an old wringer washer, a hot water heater, a rusty snow mobile and a basket of what I wanted to believe was rotting apples as I carefully made my way to the porch.

“Watch where you step,” Marvin cautioned. “There’s some loose boards.”

I carefully followed Marvin into the old house and was immediately greeted with a strong, musty odor that reminded me of a chicken coop.

“Marvin!” A feeble sounding voice called. “I was jest about to grab my shotgun. Who’s that skinny feller followin’ you?”

Harold gave me an icy stare as I nodded hello. He was sitting in an old rocking chair, stuffing was falling out of the cushion onto the floor where a few cats were sitting, watching me, twitching their tails.

“Oh, Harold!” Marvin slapped his forehead. “I forgot I brought him along. You know my brother-in-law, Paul, don’t you?”

“Oh, yeah.” Harold said. He looked me up and down. “Feelin’ okay, skinny feller?” He asked me.

“Sure.” I nodded again.

Harold shrugged. He picked up a dirty milk bottle with a bandaged hand and spit tobacco juice into it. “Sit down, fellers.”

I looked around as Marvin grabbed the one other chair in the room. I dug through a few newspapers, magazines and empty pizza boxes until I found part of a couch. I started to sit when Harold cautioned me. “Dog might be under there. She’s a might snippy lately.”

I heard a low growl as my weight sank down into the dusty cushion. Then a sharp toothed dachshund appeared from beneath some newsprint barking as loud as it could.

“Ginger honey!” Harold yelled. “Leave him be! Just sit there now. She’ll get over it.” Harold motioned.

sat motionless while Ginger gradually stopped barking and growling. She walked over to my foot, sniffed my shoe and then sat at my feet, staring at me.

“So you healing up?” Marvin asked Harold.

“I guess.” Harold said, looking agitated. “I ain’t never helping you again, Marvin.”

“Well, you’re looking good.” Marvin said. “Say, you get some new clothes?”

“Yep.” Harold perked up. “Came mail order. Got it from that catalog place.”

“Really!” Marvin gushed. “Well, them are nice looking bib overalls!”

Harold beamed as he sat in his stiff blue denim bib overalls with shiny brass buttons. “I got that shirt, too.” He pointed to a sleeve hanging out from under some papers on the card table next to him. “Haven’t had ‘em near a month yet. Course mom wanted to throw them in the warsh, but I said it was too soon. You know its washing clothes what makes ‘em wear out.”

“Really!” Marvin looked astonished.

“Yup.”

“Well, I bet that shirt will look good on you.” Marvin said.

“Oh, sure.” Harold nodded. Then he snorted long and loud. “I’m waiting ’til it cools off a might for I start wearing shirts.” For the first time I noticed he had nothing on under his overalls. And several buttons weren’t buttoned either. I carefully turned my gaze towards the spider webs in the window.

“You want to borry the catalog?” Harold said. “You could order up yourselves some new duds if you want.”

“Yeah. Maybe so.” Marvin said nodding his head. “We just thought we’d stop in and see how you’re doing. But you’re looking good Harold. We should get going. I need to get some parts for my pickup. One of these days those brakes won’t work at all.”

“Okay, Marvin. Thanks for checking on me. I oughta be healed up ’nuff in a few days to get out again.”

“You don’t need anything?”

“Naw.” Harold grabbed his milk bottle and spit again. “Ginger keeps me company and mom drops me off a pizza now and again. I might be jest a smidg’n low on my chaw but mom’ll bring me some.”

“Well, you got it made!” Marvin said smiling. “See you around Harold.”

“Take the catalog.” Harold hollered. He handed Marvin a small post card.

“Sure. Thanks again.”

We got back in the pickup and Marvin handed me the card. As he started driving I tried to look at the card in order not to see what Marvin was barely missing as he drove.

On the back it had a list of clothes.

Britches, Overalls, Shirts, Woolen Socks, Drawers.

Assorted colors and styles, our preference.

Sizes: Regular, Hefty and Extra-Hefty.

On the front it had Harold’s address. The name of the place seemed oddly familiar.

“Victor Has No Secrets” Real life clothes for real life men.”

LINK - http://totallypaul.github.com/

I am a-pauled! Consider, if you will the state of the world, we live in today, compared to when I was growing up. In the early 1960′s it was illegal to gamble, illegal to trade in pornography, illegal to commit adultery, and illegal to lie under oath.

Nowadays, in the sophisticated world we live in, it is not only legal to buy lottery tickets in many states, local legislatures look for ways to skirt the old-fashioned laws of yesteryear, by floating gambling casinos in man-made moats. Then gambling is OK. If it is wrong on dry land, why is not on a man made moat?

The swimsuit models are parading around in next to nothing again, posing in what has been described as suggestive poses. Years ago, this was considered pornography, now it is artistic fashion protected by the first amendment. Yeah, right.

We look to our leaders to lead us. Morality is absent from the highest office in our country as the president is speculated to have had an adulterous affair, lied about it under oath, and it is ok with the majority of the American public, because after all, his sex life is really none of our business. Wasn’t a woman Air Force pilot recently kicked out of the Air Force for committing adultery? What is the difference?

Things have changed. The US Women’s Hockey Team wins the gold medal. The men’s team doesn’t even place. A snowboarder wins a medal (in an event that doesn’t even seem worthy to be an event) loses his medal because he uses an illegal drug, gets his medal back, because it’s OK to use an illegal drug, as long as it doesn’t improve his performance.

The worst thing is my daughter can no longer sign her name. Now she has to make a little face with it’s tongue sticking out behind her name. Is this because of Prince or what?

Boy do I miss the good old days, when wrong was wrong, and right was right.

I mowed my lawn again today. Sometimes when I mow I get into an almost trancelike state where I meditate and solve problems. I don’t know why. I guess it’s the feeling of power I have when I’m pushing that three and half horse power engine around the yard sending huge amounts of grass, weeds, flowers, clothespins, toys, and bugs flying in all directions. Usually back into my face.

Nonetheless, mowing has been a time for me to be by myself and meditate since I was a young boy. I would go out and mow my third of the lawn (I have two brothers) and think great thoughts.

For example, it was when mowing that I figured out how to make my third look bigger and yet be smaller than the other thirds, or how to give deceptive perception to yard space.

I also learned that if a choke sticks on a lawn mower engine you can put a twig in it to hold it open. That worked very well until the fire.

That was before video cameras. Otherwise you’d have seen me jumping around a burning lawnmower, pulling off my shirt and beating a poor defenseless mower into submission with it. I really liked that shirt.

Oh, over the years I’ve written letters, composed speeches, made phone calls and discovered the cure for many human ills while mowing. Unfortunately, as soon as the grass is mowed, the mower stuck back in it’s spot, and the grass shaken out of my shoes I tend to forget all I my lofty thoughts.

Now that I’m older, and the yard is bigger, I have a rider. It has twelve horses under its shiny red hood. But it’s still the same old mowing that I do. I carefully watch where I’m going and am often surprised by the occasional rock or stick, neighborhood cat droppings, discarded cans, plastic grocery sacks or brand new garden hoses that fly out the discharge side.

The reason they do is that when I’m mowing I’m deep in thought. Thinking on incredibly important issues. Such things one might see on CNN or The Learning Channel.

Not long ago, I was wondering where that little grass snake went when he came flying out the side of the mower. It was his bounce that got my attention. He seemed to be aiming for my face. We have video cameras now, but somehow my dismount from that moving rider was missed.

After I calmed down, had a cool drink, and rescued the rider from the neighbor’s yard, I went back to work. I decided that if we could get world leaders to take turns push-mowing a big yard we might have world peace. They could mow and think on how to solve their differences.

Then again, it might just lead to more conflicts. I suppose one would figure out deceptive perception and make it look like he mowed more but didn’t, then the others would figure it out while they were mowing and then… I guess I need to mow more on that one.