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Showing posts from December, 2010

Doctor Zhivago Revisited

Don't let it happen to you again. Hire someone to get up there, remove that damn snow, and install one of these "Roof Deicer" puppies. When the icicles started to form on the ceiling of my front porch, I cried "uncle" and bit the bullet. I'm paying five strong men to remove the ton of snow on my roof.  Honest to Pete - they sound like Santa's reindeer up there. . . but at least my roof will not go the way of the Metrodome. Stay warm.  Stay dry. Stay in Texas.

The Twelfth Day of Christmas

I was sixteen the year my father left.  That Christmas there was no tree for decorating, no turkey ready for roasting. My mother took a job as a cleaning lady at a near-by college.  I was only a sophomore in high school, but I could work too. There was never enough money for our mortgage, our gas and electric bills. And so it came to pass that I sold hats at the Emporium in downtown St. Paul. I signed every pay check to my mother. I knew my father had taken up residence in a hotel somewhere in the center of the city.  Both my mother and I knew he kept company with a woman he met in a bar on 7th Street. In those days, men didn't leave their families.  Children who came from divorced families like mine were considered the product of a "broken home."  I lost friends when my father ran off with another woman. I was a child but, even so, I knew that what my father had done was impossible for my mother to accept.  Raised by Swedes, she refused to forgive a man who b