Hello everyone, everywhere,

This past week I’ve been back in the studio. We’re getting ready for an outdoor concert on September 20 at 11 a.m. at Bower Ponds in Red Deer. We were asked to be the headline act at the AIDS March. Last year they only had 75 people out, so I hope they have more this time. And there’s a barbeque as well.  Dean and Michelle are coming for the free lunch. (Good one). We’re hoping it’s going to be a great time with great tunes. I invite everyone to come out and see us.

Other than that…my eyes are getting better so I started writing again. This piece that I’m presenting tonight is called The Loss. I hope you enjoy the story.

And now it’s time to close our thoughts, if only for a moment…and rest. Until we meet again at Biff and Faye Onladonski’s Home of the High School Football Boys’ Annual Eat As Much Chili As You Can in Two Minutes and Elderlies’ Poetry Reading Bazzaar. We have only one microphone so we’ll be expecting you elderlies to be belting out those words of yours. Thanks go out to Brenda and Vern Kalopps for the barn. Yeah, sorry about your brother, Brenda. Come home soon. Remember our motto: If you get tired of watching the slurping, farting, and burping (as if you could)–the elderlies will be spewing off some nonsense, so enjoy. You’ll find us easy on Shuckmycorn Crossing and Idontshuck Road. If you’re going down Baxter and you see Cecil Brown crossing the street, let him cross. That’s it.



Leaves are changing. Are you?

George Simmerdown wanted only to play with his cardboard glider plane–the glider plane his grandpa made for him.

George was nine; kind of round, you know, kind of chubby. He had one tooth missing but that never stopped him from smiling. Red hair and freckles. He was either Irish or Scottish; could have been just mad–who knows?

His grandfather had died a couple of years back. He had lived just out of town by the woods. George liked to go there to remember his grandpa, but mostly to fly his cardboard glider.

Usually George was alone, but one day some boys came, passing right by him. Odd. Their intent was to hide in the woods and scare animals by yelling and running. George did not care for these boys very much. He knew that when a bunch of young boys got together there were good’uns and bad’uns. George felt not so good about these three.

What once seemed endless was finally put to rest. (The noise). George could feel the quiet. He thought of those idiots bothering those poor animals. That thought lasted the length you could see your breath in the winter cold.

Then out of the woods they came again, running at George. George stood there as if frozen to that spot, with the wind and his cardboard glider. The boys pushed George down into a hole and laughed. One of them took George’s glider and threw it at a tree. It crumpled up real bad.

George picked himself up out of the hole, and as he walked over and picked up his crumpled glider, he looked at the kid who threw it, and the kid seemed more than pleased with what he had done. For one moment George thought to himself, what would Grandpa have done.

Finally George turned and smiled, and popped that kid right in the schnozz.  The kid cried–his nose was bleeding–and his two henchmen ran away.


That day at least: Reality-1, Selfish ignorance-0.

As George started his way home, he looked back at the woods and his grandfather’s old house, and he knew that they were all good memories. But today…today he felt the loss. Welcome to life, George.

That’s all.


By jamesghutcheson

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