Just Another Day
by Lee S. Wilbur
“That goddamn
overhead tool rack
you built,” she screams.
I was down at the dock the other day, just sitting in the warm sun on a lobster crate looking out over the harbor seeing which boats were out and who was already in from fishing when my old friend Dalton Eaton came sauntering down the ramp, hauled another crate over and sat down. I hadn’t seen him since last summer—we both head for warmer places in the winter—so we exchanged a few pleasantries, kind of got caught up on our winter doin’s and other stuff that two old guys find to occupy time such as state of their health as related to how many doctor visits and what kind of treatments they’re getting. We moved along to the wretched state of politics in the country, how kids didn’t know how to change a light bulb even if they could be persuaded to get off the couch and quit twitchin’ on their iPhone. Finally, as the afternoon sun was working on a course to get behind the westard mountain, “Dal” looked over at me and says, “I’ve got to tell you about my day yesterday. I’ve got to tell someone before too long cause knowin’ my memory these days I’ll forget it before next week rolls around if not by tomorrow.”
“Go for it,” I replied, “I was lucky enough today to remember your name and didn’t call you by your brother’s.”
“Well,” He says,”Well, you know we rent that small cabin on the shore by our house, one the wife and I lived in for a few years, one that father converted over from a trap shed so we’d have a roof over our head when I got back from Korea and I could go sternman for him till I could afford a boat. Course now we’ve put a bathroom in with all the trimmins’. Wife has said the old backhouse wouldn’t be quite acceptable in these modern times. Well, she rented it out to these two young fellers, nice enough guys, but I thought they was kinda strange. Kept playing this weird music. Left the place fairly decent, but wife allowed we should probably give it an extra good swabbing down ahead of the next folks. Seeing as how the grill is one of my responsibilities, I opened her up ready to go at it with the brush. You know, they must have done all their cookin’ on that grill. I’ve never seen anathin’ like it and hope to never again. Cripes I must have worked for an hour, bleachin, 409, Brillo pads, scrapin’. And just as I could begin to see some metal showin’, I hear this godawful screech comin’ from the tool shed. I figured the wife had probably seen a mouse or a snake so I didn’t get too excited. Then come another and right behind it another with my name attached and a few cuss words trailin’ that. So, I set down what I was doin with the grill and headed for the shed. She was kind of bent over holdin’ her head lettin the hollers out. I took her arm, thinkin’ to help and she pushes me away with a helluva belt. Could see she was bleedin’ top of her head.”
“That goddamn overhead tool rack you built,” she screams, “The rake landed on my head when I went for the shovel.”
By this time the blood’s beginnin’ to seep out around her fingers and I got her to go inta’ the house so’s I could try and do somethin’ with it. First thing come to mind was I’d better clean it with somethin’ anti-septic and not havin’ a very good first aid cabinet I went for the whiskey. Now I had to make a choice. Bourbon or Crown Royal. I scratched my head and figured the bourbon was cheaper, had a stronger alcohol in it, so I grabbed that bottle, got her to move her fingers and poured a couple of fingers over this kind of round hole she had in the top of her head. My god, old friend, did she let some more screeches fly an called me some things I had no idea she’d ever heard. Finally, I burrowed inta’ the medicine cabinet and found the can of bag balm thinkin’ that would settle her down a bit. Well, it didn’t.’
“You wanna’ go over to the clinic?” I asked her.
“Do I have to?” She shot back, eyes a-blazin’.
“Well,” I replied carefully, “I think the bag balm’s kinda stopped the bleeding. Sides you don’t look too presentable about now.”
“So, I helped her get cleaned up. She layed down on the couch and I headed back for the grill and stayed off the radar for the rest of the day. Along about four I had the bright idea of getting a couple of steaks to do on our grill. You’ve seen it, one that guy on the yacht that I towed in gave me. One that has all those adjustments so’s you can adjust it to the cant of the boat. Just the right size for two steaks. So I drove over town and picked up a good bottle of Gallo red wine along with two steaks. We were sitting on the deck, one that overlooks the harbor, enjoying as best she could the last of the sun and I was thinkin’ perhaps, just perhaps now, I was makin’ some inroads on her good graces again. Meat tho’ wasn’t fryin’ along well, damn regulator was giving me trouble so she suggested I might ought to put the cover down a bit. Now the cover kept wantin’ to slide closed so I put a rock ‘tween cover and the grill so’s the cover stayed up just a tad. I’d no more sat back down an’ picked up my wine glass full of that lovely wine when she looked over at the grill, yelled “Dalton look”, and I looked over just as that jeezless grill, slow as death, starts tiltin’ forward. Down and down come the steaks, racks, gas and all. I just simply lifted myself out of the chair, took my wine glass into the kitchen, poured it down the sink, grabbed two glasses with ice and the bottle of Crown and went out to watch the sun hide itself behind that goddamned jeezless mountain. I says to the wife, it’s just another day!!
* R E C I P E *
For these warm summer days try this extra simple, refreshing drink at the beach or by the pool.
2 ozs. Mt. Gay or equal rum
4 ozs. Apple juice
1 oz. Red grapefruit juice
2 heaping T diced apple
Chew the diced apple as you drink the drink for a fun experience.