The Reindeer Keeper

 I can't remember when it started but I do know he kept doing it into adulthood. It's one of those really, really funny, simple things you just don't forget. And of course, you never let the one doing it forget, even when they've stopped doing it. The one doing it was my older brother. It was what one would call a slip of the tongue and whenever he slipped, anyone around him would laugh. Rather, roar. The slip would happen when the discussion of what to have for breakfast came up. It didn't happen every time. It never happened on school mornings. We had enough problems getting ready for the school bus. A quick bowl of cereal or some toast was the usual breakfast. But when it came to weekends or holidays, that was a different story. It could have happened at our house or next door at my grandmother's house. If it was at my grandmother's house, the audience would have been larger. That could have included cousins, aunts and of course, siblings and our grandmot...

That's me with my hands on my cheeks sitting next to my cousin in a pretty dress. I don't know what we are doing, sitting there in the grass in the side yard off my grandparents' farmhouse. Right behind us would have been the door opening into the kitchen. To the left of us would have been the pump house. If I had to guess we might have been taking a break from playing although I don't look very happy. I was probably bored just sitting there. Maybe I wanted to get back to playing in our clubhouse. Looking at the picture I can imagine my mother saying one of her most often used phrases, "quit your lollygagging!" She'd say that all the time when, in her eyes, someone was going too slow or wasting time or spinning their wheels in indecision.It took me a few years to figure out what she meant. When I understood, her words made sense. The earliest recollection I have of her speaking those words to me was when we lived in the house by the lane. That was th...

I recently took the attached photo showing geese coming back to a creek where I played when growing up in the country alongside cousins and siblings. We were always outside playing and going on adventures and that rambling creek was most always included no matter the season and no matter the weather. This time of the year, as shown in the photo, the creek would overflow its banks in a spring thaw and we'd be right there; standing as close as possible to the edge of the creek trying not to get soaked. But most times we'd get drenched as we'd take turns throwing chunks of ice or, if the conditions were right, throwing snowballs along with the chunks of ice at larger chunks of ice moving along the open water. Sometimes when eating supper we'd watch muskrats sitting on those big chunks, hitching a ride down the creek to wherever the big chunks took them. Summer found us making forts along the creek bed using fallen limbs and branches to hide us from the enemy. Inside ...

Despite believing with my whole heart that Summer would never end when growing up in the country, September brought reality with the return of the yellow school bus. After what felt like a century-long time lapse devoted to playing down at the creek-pretending and swinging on the rope with its big knot-going out and around and over the creek and sometimes in it and riding on telephone pole rafts off on great adventures from one bank of that sucker-filled creek to the other; climbing into the hay lofts of our grandfather's old barn and walking across the rickety, wooden planks going from one hayloft to the other; spending hours day after day in our chicken coop clubhouse pretending, creating, reading, writing,and producing great circuses and art shows which the adults, I am sure, loved attending-it happened-that yellow school bus was once again coming around the bend of the road to pick us up and take us back to that other world we'd left behind so very long ago. Riding daily...