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Flashback Friday



Shoeless Joe had nothing on Sockless Mike.  Well, except talent, athleticism and legend.  Here is your blogger having a seat on the living room couch.  The Mona Lisa-esque smile isn't hiding much except maybe a hangover.  Keeping vigil is Magic, boxer #2.  Most likely college years.

Marj and her buddies redecorated periodically when they weren't feeding the family, shopping or on the phone discussing the happenings around town.  

The above picture reflects the Oriental period of her decor at this time.  All three items shown (table, couch and wall picture) have a decidedly Chinese look to them.   Since this is an old Polaroid some degradation is to be expected, but the carpet was certainly not brick brown, but a light tan.  

This could easily have been Christmas break but it still reminds me of a story I'm sure I have shared before.  But minds being what they are, it bears repeating.  One of the standard procedures of Spring was to lug all of one's belongings home from school.  Mark and I would bring the boxes and grocery bags of paper, books and belongings and put them in the living room then chat with Marj about school, summer and stuff.  One year, which escapes me, we had done the lugging and were sitting talking when Magic went over to one of the boxes and grabbed a sandwich bag which contained an ample amount of weed.  She then went over to the middle of the room and began smelling and gnawing it.   Mark and I glance at each other while a cold sweat begins to spread.  Not wanting to overreact and raise suspicion, I get up to retrieve the errant baggie when Marj asks what Magic has found.  One of us replied it was a science project, the baggie grabbed and re-hidden and summer vacation commenced.  Magic was mellow the rest of the day.

I would graduate and go on to another school but eventually find myself at someone's employ.  The sockless days would end, but not without a struggle.  Marj would redecorate in a few years with the most fashionable style possible, and she and her friends would keep the connections they had established for years.  Magic would continue to provide laughter and companionship for her and for us boys when we showed up on weekends or summer vacations.  And  our house would provide a home for us all until we began to make our own.



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Class, Or Lack Thereof The Dwight Vice gravestone in Oquawka, Illinois. I bring this old chestnut out every so often just to remind me that class is classless.  Dwight Vice was killed in his home near Oquawka in 2001.  It was one of those things that can generate crime:  two guys thought Dwight had a lot of money stashed at home because of his pot-selling sideline to supplement his fishing job.   Not really one of those big drug deals gone-bad things.  Marijuana was, according to the trial, about the only stuff Dwight sold.   But these two guys barge into the house and killed Dwight and attempted to kill his 11 year old kid, Darryl, before they took off with what money they could find.   His son, now 23, was stabbed in the back and left for dead.  He survived and is wheelchair bound and has undergone several surgeries to repair his wounds.  He will be paralyzed for life.   None of this is pleasant.  Reading the facts of the murder and attempted murder are most unpleasant