Stream of Consciousness (#3)

I was a cigarette smoker for twenty years. That was a long time ago. About five years ago someone gave me a cigar. I enjoyed it. I discovered a cigar store nearby and began dropping in occasionally to have a smoke. It isn't the cigars that keep me coming back; it is the cigar shop. Six big leather chairs are arranged in a circle and usually are occupied by a motley collection of people I find to be some of the most interesting I ever met. They range from gas station attendants to physicians. We meet regularly but only here. Together we have solved some of life's most pressing problems. A big-screen TV fills a corner of the room and the Fox News Network provides an endless stream of topics for discussion. Testosterone hangs in the air thicker than cigar smoke. Opinions fly like punches, sometimes intended to have the same result. Occasionally, someone brings in a bottle of whisky and the exchanges become noticeably less good-natured. When I was younger I avoided assemblies like these. I never thought I could hold my own in a gathering of men where so many vied for the alpha position. I don't feel threatened in the cigar shop. Life and experience have brought me a confidence I never knew as a young man. The smoky circle of chairs at the cigar shop is the place where I learned that I can be comfortable anywhere, if I want to be.

The temperature was twenty-four degrees when I started the Jeep this morning. I found myself checking the road ahead for ice as I drove to work. Winter will be here soon. Time to go to Home Depot and buy salt and sand for the driveway. I am the only one in the family looking forward to winter. I enjoy the snow and the vapor from my breath and the sound of ice crunching under my boots. I love clearing the driveway with my snow blower. I like the silence of the world when everything is blanketed in six-inches of powdery snow. I like seeing deer and rabbit tracks crossing the lawn. The family will huddle in the house with books and TVs for the season while I claim the yard as my own private domain until spring arrives and they emerge from their hybernation to begin making their lists of outdoor chores for me to accomplish.

When the computer is mine to play with for an hour I like to lose myself with Google. I'm like a kid in a candy shop. I usually begin looking for some specific piece of information but within minutes I am flying all over the internet, chasing whatever topic pops into my head. What did I ever do before the internet?

I love trucks. My dad was a truck driver. If you like trucks I have a website for you. Go to hankstruckpictures.com. Hank's site is a labor of love. He has pictures of trucks from the first ever built to the modern giants that fill the interstate today. I have spent hours enjoying photos of the trucks I used to see on the highway in the fifties and sixties; Peterbuilts, Brockways, Whites, Autocars. They are all there. Sign his guestbook. Tell him Roy sent you.



It's good to be writing again. I hate those funks that come over me sometimes.