Coffee Messiah

I think it must be slow.
I've been drinking it for eighty-five years
and I'm not dead yet.

Fontenelle (1667 - 1757)
afte being told coffee was a "slow poison"
(also attributed to Voltaire, although he died at 84)

It's always amazing to look back at your life
and remember what you were like
and what you did growing up.

The photo above was taken at a small
lake in Golden Gate Park where people
still today, sail their small boats.

Dig those pant cuffs?

Where's the flood?

Remember that wonderful saying?

The picture below had me really clearing
the cobwebs, trying to remember who
my street mates were.

The older boy was Jim Brown. I remember him
most, 'cause I always hung out with older kids
and when he got drafted, we wrote to each other.

When the meningitis scare came around his barracks,
I did not hear from him for a long time, and always
dreaded the next letter, wondering.

We lost contact after I got out of HS.

Those were some care-free days to be sure.
Our neighborhood was full of kids, and we knew people
blocks and blocks away and never ever had to
worry about anything other than the local bullies and
we did have our share of those.

During the late 60s I remember an older girl
who was always quite nice who had a sister
my age. One day we found out she died of an overdose.
That was enough to quell any curiosity for drugs.
I certainly don't feel like I've missed anything.

Funny too about age, although the worse
things we have had to deal with back then,
worrying about getting drafted for the Viet-Nam
War, gas lines, which included odd and even days.

I delivered stock market quotations.
Picked them up at the airport and delivered
to the Financial District. They were printed on paper
then, and flown in from NY. Then they went to micro-fish
and then computer. I stopped before the micro-fish.

Being up early and ringing bells before the buildings were
open, I met a lot of very strange people. One guy would be
so drunk every night, I'd ring the bell to wake him up
for at least 5 minutes so I could get in the building.

Most of the people who had the smoke shops
were extra nice and most were from other
countries. One in particular would always
talk about books, and always told me
about something I should read.

And way back in the cobwebs, there was
one young guard who came from Afghanistan
who told me way back then about all that
his people had endured and what it cost, not
only in money, but human life to escape from there
and how he was saving to bring his family to the USA.

Memories...........

me, 4th from the L
ahhh, the cuffs got shorter as I grew older

Friends - Mark Almond
no longer available