Rick Minerd - Life Is A Jukebox

Sometimes I find myself awake entirely too early for my own good, and for a few moments I'm glad I'm up.

But then reality sets in and I begin to realize that before the sun sets again I will be exhausted.

Hearing the morning birds as they stir around reminds me of the summer morning's when the old body and weathered spirit needed less maintenance and repair than is now required.

Getting old kind of sucks,  but I haven't yet figured a way to slow it down.

Having lived a long life as a nocturnal I prefer to be aware of what's happening around me when it's late at night while some around me are not, except of course the bad guy's who sleep late  in the day in order to be wide awake to take advantage of others inattentiveness.

I like playing security guard for my own life and for my property when the thugs are out there prowling around in the dark  with possible hopes of catching me off guard .

Catching one as he tries to disrupt my life in the middle of the night is a fantasy that exceeds any other I may have envisioned and I wouldn't have such an opportunity if I were in a deep sleep.

Getting up early seems like something more apropos for old geezers, school kids and for people forced out into the work world.

I am supposed to be retired and loosely needed by others.

But it's been a long summer already and I haven't really even seen much of it.

Anyone who has checked this journal on a semi regular basis may have noticed that I have taken something of a breather from it,  not by design as much as  for a lack of time available.

For the past several weeks I have been busy with something of a bucket list, that is, things that needed to be done, mostly by choice but some from necessity.

I am finally finding a little time to slow down from the rigors of semi-retirement and hopefully positioning myself once again for full blown retirement.

The details of my trials and tribs are less than interesting to anyone besides myself, but it's been an amazing spring/summer for me in terms of doing things I would have never imagined just a few years ago.

So now that summer is finally here, and being another one that get's me closer to the last one I am in search of the  means to make it memorable, and the time to enjoy it.

Recently I have embarked on an interest in the life of James Thurber, a writer and humorists who I've always admired but never took the time to really study or understand.

Much of Thurber's life it turns out was spent living within walking distance of my own and although I was just nine years old when he died I'm feeling as I study him  that I sort of knew him, or should have.

I do know that if he were living today I would make it a point to walk over to his house on Jefferson Avenue and ring his door bell.

Recently I went into the Jefferson House, now an arts center and museum and I instantly felt what so many others have  claimed,  a sense of ghostly spirits.

It isn't difficult to imagine him setting at an easel or at a typewriter creating his works, or evento hear his screams as the arrow that took out his eye went through his face.

Especially this time of year.

The shaded streets and yards of his old neighborhood remind me of the environment I grew up in which again was just a few blocks from his.

On a recent summer day while walking his block it dawned on me that I need to return to my old roots before it gets much later in my own life.

So here I am, back in the city.

Back in the area that allows my memory to revisit what were truly endless summers of my youth. When summer vacations from school were endless until they ended.

Like life.

The morning birds on Columbus' Southside sound different than those in the country where I spent the entire spring.

They are familiar, their chirps are similar to me in the delight of the sounds of not so distant trains that I listened to for years as I did attempt  reaching the sleep zone late at night. 

And the water that comes through the same pipes that Thurber drank from is sweeter on the palates than the fowl  taste and smell of well water that I drank while "staying" out in the sticks.

I am truly a city guy.

Two moving day's in three months and I think Thurber is to blame.

Studying  James Thurber won't become another passion for me, but I do think  his life will become something of a text book on my shelf of self learning.

Self learning is my college degree that somehow was never printed on a paper document.

Through life I have managed to learn more about it than could ever have been explained in class room settings.

Not that I'm proud of the fact that my oldest son has more degrees than I, but studying people like Thurber has kept me competitive, and immolating others has kept not only my summers endless, but my education and my abilities ongoing.

I've learned much this year about myself and about what is on my own horizon and the more I learn the more confident I become.

The rest of it should be interesting.

Imjustrick@aol.com

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