Candy

By Roger Wilson 7/14/14

Thinking about colors has helped me slide down memory lane to a time when I was just a youngster, not yet six years old. Our local grocery store had a special area for candies of all types.

 Black licorice or Red licorice—one cent a stick. It was such fun as the sticks were so pliable. You could hold it up straight, then coil it into a neat bundle that just fit in your pant pocket. The Jaw Breakers were of three types: small about the size of a marble—two for a penny, a size a little larger—one cent, and then the large ones that sold for two cents! These Jaw Breakers were such fun. We marveled as we ate the first layer to see what color came next. What fun! And they melted so slowly.

The fudge was laid out beautifully. Each piece sat there—dark chocolate or cream tan chocolate. They made my mouth water, but they cost a nickel for one piece. Maybe a piece for your birthday.

The candy bars were so pretty. The Babe Ruth, bright red cover, so tasty! Caramel and nuts pushed into the sweet chocolate. We felt so rich when we had a nickel we could spend for one. The Mars Bars, soft brown chocolate. The Mounds Bars—two to a package, filled with coconut. We always smelled the wrapper before we ate them.

I always had to take a box of Chocolate Covered Cherries in my hand. My mouth watered as I looked at a picture on the box—that chocolate broken open with the white cream just flowing off the bright red cherry. I never had the quarter to buy them. However, when Christmas arrived, there was a box with my name on it.

Gum was another treat—the two-inch square carefully wrapped with bright colored wax paper. A solid piece of pink gum sitting on a card that had a picture of an Indian Chief—two cents happily spent.

Any day we could round up a nickel was a feast day. Decisions had to be made. We made them happily. Life was good!  What fun! Wish I could be a kid again.

 

[Done in response to a writing exercise about colors.]

I Have a Tree

By Roger Wilson 7/19/14

Outside my front window,

I have a tree.

Roger's Tree

Inside my mind, I have a lover,

a friend.

I have a tree.
 

Every morning when I greet

the day—one quick look and

my tree is there to say—

DON’T waste the day.

I have a tree.


Every season, my tree sings a different song.

Winter with all her bones dry and ugly and bare,

she beats my roof and window.

She tells me she’s still here.

I have a tree.

After winter has come and gone—

a new song is sung all day long.

Look how smooth my bark has become—

look how strong my trunk has grown.

I have a tree.

Spring brings green on all my bare bones.

I feel so handsome—soaking up the sun.

Look out world, my show has just begun.

Millions of bright pink and white blossoms appear.

It’s my way of saying I love you, dear.

I have a tree.

 After the hummingbird has done her bit,

I just shed all this glory and rest a bit.

I have a tree.

It is now summer and I dance and shine—in morning sun.

I get to wave to you all day long.

Gentle winds and golden light make our lives a simple delight.

I have a tree.

How wonderful life can be!

I have a secret lover—and Her love sustains me.

I have a tree.

 

From Ariele: Wow, Roger, this is terrific! If readers want to see other things Roger has done, check out Sharing Stories at http://northwestprimetime.com LOCAL page. Use the search function for Roger Wilson or Sharing Stories. In September’s print version of Northwest Prime Time, I’ve turned my Poetry Corner and Writing Corner into Roger Wilson land. Be sure to pick one of those up at the library or senior centers. 

Ariele Huff

Visiting Friends

Written for friends May 2007

Roger Wilson

When they arrive, they come in like a Fighter Squadron—wings flashing, darting, dodging and in for a pinpoint landing. They have a strut and a hop; their glistening feathers shine as they have their free breakfast. A table spread on the front lawn. They leave many unanswered questions after they fly off.

For example: Who taught them that onions and green peppers are bad for their digestive systems? They can separate out what is good for them. How do they know? While they are eating breakfast, the Great White Knights (sea gulls) arrive. There is sizeable pushing, squaring, and duding over a choice piece. When the table is cleared, they regroup and are gone for the day.

My bushy tailed friend will let me know he has arrived by running up and down the tree outside my window until I see him. When I open the front door, he is watching—brown eyes sparkle to see which way I’ll throw his treat. What a lovely friend, so sleek, bushy tail that never stops, able to climb up or head down quick as a wink.

What a pecking order: I have a wild black cat who lives under the shed in the backyard. He rules the entire group. When he shows up, they are gone. He can take his pick of whatever is being served. I love this cat. He is as wild as the wind. If I step out, he is gone. A flat out burst of fur in action, headed for his hole under the shed. We haven’t seen a mouse since he arrived. Three years now. I’m sure happy he is a Tom, as one like this one is enough.

When we had geese in the back yard, the wild ducks would fly in for a free meal. One duck tried landing on the back fence. His feet were not designed to sit on a fence, but he tried real hard. I laughed so hard I cried.

I once bought a goat. Brought her home, put her in the backyard, and two a.m., my dog Shane wanted to check her out. The goat jumped seven feet straight up and landed on the wood pile. She took off through the neighbors’ yards—me in hot pursuit, in and out of neighbors’ yards too. It was a wonder I didn’t get shot. Finally, I roped her and brought her home. Put Shane in the house and went to bed.

 

The next morning, I couldn’t find her. While mowing the backyard, I heard her bleat. We had a tree climbing goat! She spent more time in the trees in the backyard than on the ground. Her time was short lived here. She caught me bending over, working on the lawn mower and butted my rear end with enough force to send me over the lawn mower. A lady from Snohomish picked her up that day.

Goodbye, Goat!

Attention all beloved readers!

I love your comments. To leave one, find the word “comments” in red below each blog post--under the dotted line. It may say “no comments” or “1 comment” or “2 comments.” You get the idea. Click on that, and then scroll back down to the comment box. Let me know you’ve stopped by to hear stories. Share your own wisdoms if you want!  I’d also be delighted if you added me to your circles, or became a follower or a member of my blog.  Roger Wilson

A more recent photo of Linda Gail.

Linda Gail grows up!

                      From teen to lovely young woman, her dad is proud of her at every age!

                                                                                  

                        ♥

Roger's daughter, Linda Gail, as a toddler, at ten, and pre-teen.

Happy Birthday
Love, Linda Gail

From Roger's daughter, Linda Gail
Remember When--or The Time that--
      We went fishing in that boat and almost had to go fishing for the car.
      When nobody could figure out how you caught three fish at once every time you reeled in.
      The time we were lake fishing and all I had was a bamboo pole. I caught that huge rainbow "trout" full of eggs.
       Ice fishing--and I caught the "big" one that got away.
       When you went fishing (all day) at Yellowstone and Mom fell in a hole full of bear...ahem!
       The time we caught all those gunny sacks full of sun perch--must have been two hundred.
       When you, John, and Guess Who went fishing for some Colorado trout and John fell in.
       Or, maybe the night a little pointed headed, black eyed girl named Linda Gail came into your life--loving you with all her heart and loves you still with all her ♥!