gall stones. oh, crap. That is all I am going to say about the matter.
Many grey days, I feel my soul is as dry and crisp as a brown autumn oak leaf. My creative level has hovered around 1 or 2 on a scale of 100. It is just a good time to curl up and read.
Growing up, my best friend was Chris Greer. There were no girls in the neighborhood. Chris and I played kick ball, hide and seek, and with dinky cars and tanks in the dirt under MY tree in the back yard. I was always the red jaguar automobile. We dug garages, houses, and built bridges and roads.
Chris' father was a Cadillac sales man. He came home for lunch. Chris and I must have been 4 or 5 years old. Mr. Greer drove this big long sleek black caddie home for lunch on that summer day. Chris had discovered the lighter worked in the car, even if the keys were not in it. Now I wish Mr. Greer had a shorter lunch, because we successfully burned these neat little circles in the car seat. I doubt it was leather in those days, but what ever it was Mr. Greer got real excited when he discovered our creative design. Odd I don't remember anything past seeing how excited he was and I don't think I will try recessive memory exploration to discover the missing parts of the story.
Chris had an older brother, Timmy. Chris was shorter than everyone on the block. So when we gave up digging to China, we found out the pit was just deep enough for Chris to stand up in . The hole was right by the back driveway for the Greer's car. Mrs. Greer was excitable just like her husband I guess. Because when we heard her drive up we all scattered like wheat in the wind. Except Chris because we filled up the hole and only his head was sticking out. It looked like his head was cut off and sitting on the ground. It was really neat looking. But just like the car seats, she did not think it was so cool. Summer time before TV and little parental supervision, ideal.