The Tuskaloosa Independent Monitor

"It's those flash drives," Buck exclaimed. "Damn, that's it! Those flash drives had a lot to do with turning on my waterworks over at Jake's house tonight!"

During the previous week, Buck had received a small carton in the mail containing a dozen flash drives, thumb-size personal electronic storage devices, that some guy found in a box of computer parts he bought at a Pensacola garage sale. One of the flash drives was labeled with Buck's address and when the guy in Pensacola saw that the drives contained family photos, he'd mailed them to Buck out of common courtesy. Buck figured that the drives ended up at the garage sale because they had been in his estranged late wife's possessions which had been disposed of after her death by her live-in boyfriend.

Many years before her death, during the conflict that preceded their permanent separation, Buck thought the flash drives had been destroyed when his late wife piled all of Buck's photos, color slides and personal documents into the backyard barbecue pit and burned it all. Since their unexpected arrival in the mail during the week before, Buck had had little time to process the challenging task of now preserving all the documentation of his own 76 years of life since the distinct possibility certainly existed that Buck himself would soon be exiting the life he had lived these many years.

"Maybe all these recent coincidences are part of some cosmic electronic dress rehearsal preparing me for my life review which will be triggered at the time of my death by the massive release of neurotransmitters from my dying brain cells and maybe, just maybe, something out there has taken pity on my ignorance and decided to share some secrets to help me on my unending quest for the salvation of the eternal everlasting afterlife of Perhaps."

Suddenly Buck found himself singing out loud for all the world to hear as he did his best to mimic David Clayton Thomas.

"Someone is waiting just for you,

Spinnin' wheel, spinnin' true

Drop all your troubles on the riverside

Catch a painted pony on the spinning wheel ride."

Then, the phantom juke box within Jake's head suddenly switch tunes and Buck changed his melody.

"Take it easy, take it easy

Don't let the sounds of your own wheels drive you crazy.

Lighten up while you still can

Just find a place to make your stand and take it easy."

Jake's evening saunter down East Margin Street had taken him to its intersection with Main Street at the crest of Tustenuggee's river hill. Jake stood on the curb gazing at the blue-gray moonlit panorama of the vast landscape of the Scipio River Valley stretching out across the western portion of Tustenuggee's northern horizon. Standing silently, Jake contemplated this ancient intersection of indigenous trails which dated back to the end of the Ice Age. The importance of this small patch of earth where Jake now stood was cemented in 1824 when the surveyors who laid out every one of Tustenuggee's streets made sure each thoroughfare ran parallel to this ten thousand year old crossroads of indigenous commerce.

The sound of a distant train whistle captured Buck's imagination. Buck was fascinated with the way each train engineer gave his whistle a unique sound when he pulled its cord and it always reminded him of his Grandfather Lewis who was a train engineer.

As Buck crossed Main Street, he mumbled, "At least on this little hike I'm labeling some of the things that may have contributed to this confusion and even though this was triggered by Grandma Lewis now I'm getting the feeling that this same confusion could have have been triggered by my other grandma, Grandma Lewis, my Mama's mother."

OCTOBER 11 PATHS INTO THE UNCONSCIOUS

October 11: A PAIR OF CAT BIRDS & A SWAMP RABBIT!

During the previous week, Buck had received a small carton in the mail containing a dozen flash drives, thumb-size personal electronic storage devices, that some guy found in a box of computer parts he bought at a Pensacola garage sale. One of the flash drives was labeled with Buck's address and when the guy in Pensacola saw that the drives contained family photos, he'd mailed them to Buck out of common courtesy. Buck figured that the drives ended up at the garage sale because they had been in his estranged late wife's possessions which had been disposed of after her death by her live-in boyfriend.

Many years before her death, during the conflict that preceded their permanent separation, Buck thought the flash drives had been destroyed when his late wife piled all of Buck's photos, color slides and personal documents into the backyard barbecue pit and burned it all. Since their unexpected arrival in the mail during the week before, Buck had had little time to process the challenging task of now preserving all the documentation of his own 76 years of life since the distinct possibility certainly existed that Buck himself would soon be exiting the life he had lived these many years.

"Maybe all these recent coincidences are part of some cosmic electronic dress rehearsal preparing me for my life review which will be triggered at the time of my death by the massive release of neurotransmitters from my dying brain cells and maybe, just maybe, something out there has taken pity on my ignorance and decided to share some secrets to help me on my unending quest for the salvation of the eternal everlasting afterlife of Perhaps."

Singing out loud for all the world to hear, Buck did his best to mimic David Clayton Thomas.

"Someone is waiting just for you,

Spinnin' wheel, spinnin' true

Drop all your troubles on the riverside

Catch a painted pony on the spinning wheel ride."

Then, the phantom juke box within Jake's head suddenly switch tunes and Buck changed his melody.

"Take it easy, take it easy

Don't let the sounds of your own wheels drive you crazy.

Lighten up while you still can

Just find a place to make your stand and take it easy."

Jake's evening saunter down East Margin Street had taken him to its intersection with Main Street at the crest of Tustenuggee's river hill. Jake stood on the curb gazing at the blue-gray moonlit panorama of the vast landscape of the Scipio River Valley stretching out across the western portion of Tustenuggee's northern horizon. Standing silently, Jake contemplated this ancient intersection of indigenous trails which dated back to the end of the Ice Age. The importance of this small patch of earth where Jake now stood was cemented in 1824 when the surveyors who laid out every one of Tustenuggee's streets made sure each thoroughfare ran parallel to this ten thousand year old crossroads of indigenous commerce.