THERE ARE THINGS…
There are still a few things I want to do before I sign off. Now, don’t go getting all weird about me signing off. First of all, I’m fine. I’m actually the healthiest I’ve been in a long time. Sore, like I still take three steps to stand up kinda sore, but good otherwise. I’m use to the cicada buzzing in my ears and my urine is the right color. Nope, I was just thinking while driving and texting in the car with my knees holding the wheel. I want to get better at that—I need to add that to the list.
I want to….
I want to fly the three plane platforms I signed up to fly in 1984. Never got to do that. The first one is the Navy’s CH-53 helicopter, the Sea Stallion. I think they still make them. A big hulky thing that can land anywhere, lift heavy things, carry people. I would fly it with my sleeves rolled up and on flights that might be a little bit questionable about where I was going—I would smoke a cigar—maybe just hold it in my mouth and get it sloppy wet and call back to the back sometime during the operation “hold on, it might get a little sporty.”
I want to have a ranch with green rolling hills, which immediately eliminates ALL of Arizona, and have rescue animals of all kinds. I would want a horse—of course. Maybe a draft horse I could ride through my neighbors’ victory gardens or come back down here to the ‘hood’ and ride it through their winter lawns. I would name her Buxom Betty and we would be friends.
For just a couple of months….
For just a couple of months, I would want to own and operate one of those ‘bike taxis’ you see downtown ferrying people to the shows or to dinner so the woman don’t have to walk in their stiletto heels. I would have lights on it and Michael Bublé would be singing love songs and I would charge $10 if the destination was within four blocks. I would give them business cards and some would contact me and tell me they made a baby that night because it was so romantic. They would tell me they named it after me—Bikeman or Bikemanla, depending on the sex—not gender.
His team would be losing….
I want to meet George Blanda. That will be some feat because he’s been dead for decades, but I would still like to meet him. You don’t know who he is? Google. He saved more football games then any other human and I would like to tell him he was a model for me as I got older. He played 26 seasons—26. His team would be losing, the Oakland Raiders, and the coach knew he had to change quarterbacks or lose the game. He looked back at the bench and there was George. ‘George,’ was all he said. He got off the bench, probably also taking three steps to stand up, walked over and got only a nod. Then, proceeded to surgically eviscerate the opposing team. Then, after he scored, he hung out and kicked the field goal. Then, went back and sat down on the bench again.
…we would be singing sea chanties.
I would like to go to a pub, somewhere in Scotland. One of those pubs where the regulars hang out and tourists don’t know about because they didn’t make friends with the bell captain and he/she suggested it. I would start the conversation with ordering. Someone would hear my American accent and ask if I was a Yank. Then, we would talk and I would buy a round, then they would buy a round, and before you knew it, we would be singing sea chanties.
I want to own a diner in Ouray, Colorado which only serves breakfast and lunch. I would call it Feed the Bear and every food item on the breakfast or lunch menu would be named after the appropriate bear for size and flavor. I am sure there are not enough bears in the world to name stuff after so, I would make up some names.
But for the most part, it won’t happen, and that is okay. God has me perfectly placed. Why would I want to be anywhere else?
These are things I want to do.
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