Monday, July 17, 2017

"AS SHORE AS GOD MADE LITTLE APPLES..."


"AS SHORE AS GOD MADE LITTLE APPLES..."
((Me and Zane Grey were contemporaries for 
    a time...and were both borned 
          on January 31. How 'bout that?))






On Monday mornings I sometimes
     get up early, anticipating
a fine new day

About 6:30 a.m. today, I found 
               myself
      on those steep stairs 
climbing up to my beloved,
      cozy attic, juggling  my
Ozark Trail vacuum mug, 
      filled with yesterday's
left-over coffee...heated...
     and

a plastic grocery sack with
    three cans of my favorite 
Campbell's fine soup...
    Cream of Potato,  Chicken
Noodle, and French Onion...
     thinking maybe I could
somehow hurry up an early fall
     norther, just by stocking
the larder upstairs...nice place
     to go when it storms

Hadn't been up there in awhile
     (with all this summer heat)
and I turned on the AC to 
      cool things a bit, and 
opened the window
      for fresh air

I sat on my rugged steel GI
     surplus bed, that probly
some general...Ike or Patton,
     or maybe Bradley had
slept on, during some campaign,
     maybe the ETO

Sitting there, on that bunk,
    piled with quilts at one end,
my eyes naturally went to 
              the wall to
     the big six by six raw pine
bookshelf I had hammered
     together myself (wth skill.
rustic-like) and the worn K-BAR
     rakishly stabbed at an 
angle into one end, right into
     the wood....cool...

At the other end of the bookshelf 
           was my aging
         collection of
a dozen-and-a-half Zane Grey
     books, acquired back 
in the sixties, for likely $4.95 per
      volume...

Young Mil first read ZG back when
      he was thirteen and in the 
eighth grade...my CHS friend Mardis
     lived two blocks away, on
Edwards Street, and I borrowed
     his family's Zane's over time,
maybe ten volumes...read 'em all

I lived that summer of '47
    on a horse out some'ers
in the west, riding around to
     ranches, and meeting 
beautiful maidens, and falling
in love with 'em--- every one!

Tales, tales...of the old West...
     rugged cowboys, high.
mountain canyons and passes,
            campfires...
      beans out of a skillet,
sleeping under the stars,
      to the smell of purple sage, 
             and experiencing all
old Wetzel's vicissitudes...

"And what might yore name be,
     pardner?"
"Wal, it MIGHT be Jones, but 
     it ain't."

"As shore as God made little apples,"
     it was a great time, and great 
reading, and WWII was over...

If you can find a cuss word...
    or an f-word, in any ZG novel,
I will buy you a Big Mac, with
     double-meat!

What thrilled am eighth grader,
     with no woman yet,
was when that cowboy and his girl
      were being chased by the
mean old wicked villains, and 
      they headed  lickety-split
thru that only tight mountain pass,
          (on their faithful steeds)
    and toppled rocks and blocked
that pass forever...remember that?!

Well, they lived forevermore 
     in bliss, and no one
could bother them, ever again.

Wonderful !!!

So went my thinking, upstairs
    in my attic, this morning 
             sitting there on
Patton's surplus campaign bed...

....tempted to open that can of
      Potato Soup for breakfast---
but ah, sometime during the summer
      someone ate all my Ritz Crackers.

Coffee's still warm, in my Ozark Trail...
*******************
MIL
17 July 17

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