Category Archives: Growing up me

Traveling

On family trips when I was eight, nine plastic, primary-color cowboys, Indians, soldiers, animals fought and romped in a synthetic, nappy, dark-blue rear-window battlefield meadow Other times, it was a fuzzy ledge on which to lean, and watch the road … Continue reading

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Frogs

  – Mark L. Lucker © 2017 http://lrd.to/sxh9jntSbd

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Father’s Day Requiem

We never had one of those TV sitcom father-imparts-his-sage wisdom, serious sit-downs that I can recall I have no fatherly counsel fortune-cookie-inclusion viral-meme-worthy wisdom to share rarely proclaiming, “As my daddy used to say…” Sans great punchline parts of my … Continue reading

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Old growth

At age seven I nearly killed the pubescent birch tree anchoring our Minneapolis backyard stripping it of all its bark, roots to four feet up – the physical limits of my fanciful reach As Mrs. Kime’s most intrepid first-grader I … Continue reading

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No French Cuffs

Plaid flannel shirts of my Northwoods youth smelled of beer and pine cones boat motor gasoline and fresh caught sunfish wood smoke and filtered Winstons when I was a kid the intertwined, pungent aromas of cervelat salami plumbers’ grease, house … Continue reading

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The sign

Sawed-off fence picket turned sideways points eastward, sort of you are – we are – ‘that way’ if signs are to be believed The sign unaware you have been gone thirty years, plus your house,over twenty anyone driving north on … Continue reading

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Breezes

summer comes to a close autumnal breezes waft rustling memories of those days when the close of summer had more definitive endings sun-drenched days of youthful frolic, innocent play, done swimming, playing with frogs in holes dug on sandy beaches … Continue reading

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Delivered

walking old neighborhood streets first time in forty years strolling the paper route I once sped through on bike chucking news, sports, imaginary touchdown passes blithe in my accuracy – papers always landing where intended most of the time remembering … Continue reading

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Homage

I went all Santiago once on a sunfish that weighed nearly a pound it was long before I knew Hemingway, the power of words, the pull of the water I battled the monster as only a nine-year-old could; with every … Continue reading

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Stratas

As a kid I collected rocks – as many colorful pebbles as my six-year-old jacket pockets could smuggle via subterfuge mom and dad later humored my geologic interests with a small, paperback, field guide to rocks – which I always … Continue reading

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