the Trumpocalypse

I am sooo tired of all this bloody adulting…

It was immeasurably better to be thinking about going to Goose Lake with Grandpa Howe and ice fish for crappies and sunfish in his nice, warm icehouse, then heading back home when it started to get dark and the temp started reaching down so low alcohol thermometers weren’t much good.

After we cleaned the fish and put ’em in the woodshed to freeze, we brought in a night’s worth of firewood for the kitchen range and the living room stove and hauled the ashes out to spread on the driveway for traction.

Grandma’s kitchen smelled terrific, what with huge frying pans of butter-fried chicken with mashed potatoes ‘n gravy, and boiled carrots for supper; then there was still hot blueberry pie on the sideboard to contemplate.

Afterward we’d all sit by the radio in the living room and listen to Fritz Reiner and the Chicago Symphony until the food and the hot stove pushed us all to bed after taking the dog out a last time…

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