Thursday, November 9, 2017

Memoir Korner

Whenever I hear clankin' glass, I'm transported back to my childhood. See, we lived across from Bills Glass. Everyday after schoolin', Old Bill would furnish me a penny for every glass vessel I'd fetch 'im.
"Hand me that pickle jar," he'd say.
"Hand me that mayonnaise jar."
"Hand me that wine bottle."
"Hand me that beer bottle," he'd say.
"Hand me that egg jar."
"Hand me that ballerina figurine."
Everyday I'd honor each of Bill's glass requests, except for that last one. I'd cradle that off-blue tiny dancer in my paw, collect my Buffalo nickel, and get along home.
--Steed Stetson

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