01 11 12 Now Where Was I?

I originally started this blog to talk about one of the things I hate the most, Cancer.

I have strayed away from that topic, and to tell you the truth, I think I only had maybe a couple of posts that talked about it.

Well, here it is several months later, and I am here to tell you that I still hate cancer. I still hate every thing about it. The way it sounds when it rolls off your tongue. The way it looks on the screen as I type it. “I am kind of glad I can’t see it.” I hate the way it sends chills down the spines of anyone that has to deal with it, and believe me, there is a ton of people that have to deal with this menacing monster.

Cancer took so much from me. It took one look at my life path, and said, “Hey, wait just a second there.”

Left turn.

I am who I am not because of cancer, but in spite of it. There have been many times in my life, like everyone else, when I could have just phoned it in, and mouthed the words the rest of the way. Fortunately, I was not brought up that way. I was not brought up to accept what is the obvious, but to strive for the unexpected.

I never really thought of myself as being handicapped when I was growing up. I could do what any other kid did, and most times better. I could run as fast, swim as far out, jump as high, hit as far, throw as far, or farther. There wasn’t too much that I couldn’t do. I just didn’t look like the other kids is all. No big deal, until I got old enough and girls came into the scene. Stupid girls. You all ruined it. Just kidding. I adore you all. Smile.

There is so much emphasis being put in those six letters now a days. C A N C E R has permanently made it’s mark on our society, and we will never be the same because of it. I hate to say it, but ever since all the work and time has been spent on finding a cure for this wicked beast, it seems as though the disease has become more prominent now than it has ever been. Every one I know has lost someone to this dastardly demon. Everyone I know has seen what havoc this wretched warlord can rein down on it’s unsuspecting prey. All the drugs, and all the pills, with all the money and all the cancer centers, and research centers, and drug developers, and scientists, and still this menace is free to roam around.

How can one disease be caused by so many different things? How can anyone escape the tentacles of this sea monster?

The same form of cancer that I was inflicted with as an infant, was also present in my son when he was born.

By the grace of God, his first born, Jack, was cancer free, and had no trace of the nasty corrupted chromosomes that cause the disease. Our grandson is free from this unwelcome bum, and he will not have to worry about passing it down to his children, as I did.

For the time being, this bubbling banshee has been beaten back. I am forever doing an internal Snoopy dance inside.

I will continue to pray for all those who have gone through the paces with this monster, and I will continue to pray for all those who are, or will have to go face to face with this heavyweight contender. May you all find peace and strength to keep up the fight. May you all always remember and never forget that you will never have to go through this difficult struggle alone. Please also always remember that asking for help is not a sign of weakness, but an awareness of the need for help. It is not a thing to be ashamed of, as I have struggled with in the past. A cry for help gives someone else the opportunity to do the helping, and there is no better feeling than to be able to offer help, or assistance to someone in need.

In the past year and a half, I have been in situations where it was absolutely necessary to ask someone for help, and every time I have been met with people ready and willing to lend a helping hand. It truly is a beautiful feeling to know that help is out there wherever you look. I always had a hard time with this. I always had the gnawing feeling that there would come the time when the person I asked help from would say, “No”, and I would be left out in the cold, alone and scared. That time has not come to pass as of yet, and I really don’t believe it ever will. People truly are kind by nature, and will lend a helping hand at the drop of a hat.

Boy has this entry jumped all over the place. Sorry for that.

I am still chugging along, and will continue to post entries as long as I can manage to find the keys. I really don’t care how many people read this blog. It gives me a good feeling to know that when I hit the “Post” button, my thoughts are etched in stone. It might get all mossy and covered in dust bunnies, but it is still a good feeling.

Thank you all, and have a wonderful day.

01 04 12 Leg Room

Well here we are, staring another brand new year right in the face. My oh my how 2011 flew by. Lest we ever forget her.

I just read another blog post from a friend of mine. She wrote about her family trips as a child. Reading her post and poem brought back a ton of memories from my own childhood as our family used to take trips up through the White Mountains every fall. Those were special times with special memories that I will have with me until my time on this big blue marble is up, and I am sure, even into the beyond.

Our family trips usually included our family Chevy station wagon, which a lot of the times had a usual passenger in the fold down seat way out back in the cargo area. This familiar passenger was most times, yours truly. I don’t know what it was about riding in the back seat, but I liked it, and would usually get the whole seat to myself. I really couldn’t understand why no one else craved the seat as I did, I mean it was spacious, comfortable, and had a great view. Who could have it any better?

I could choose from a variety of sitting positions, had three large windows to look out through, and had an acre and a half of the most beautiful leg room that a traveling young lad had hardly ever witnessed.

Those trips up through Kangamangus Highway, and down through the mountains were wonderful. We always stopped a couple of spots to run and jump around on the huge rocks of a river bed. I can honestly say that I think every year we went up through the mountains, the weather was perfect, except on the top of Mount Washington, where it was usually a hundred degrees cooler and the wind was usually blowing at like a thousand miles an hour. I don’t think my mom enjoyed the ride up the face of the mountains, nor the sheer cliffs that awaited any car not paying attention, for there were no guard rails. I remember her underneath the dash, screaming to get her off that stupid mountain. I think she screamed a few other things, but my kid mind went into automatic censor mode. Smile.

A few times we stopped at Wildcat Mountain and rode the gondola to the top of the mountain. Those rides up the face of the mountain were such a blast. We filmed one years trip, and as I watched the film thirty five years later, I found myself wondering who that skinny little geek was that walked out of the building on top of the mountain. It surely couldn’t have been me, although I could remember it as if it was yesterday.

We would usually stop at Clark’s Trading Post, and feed the bears that were perched atop of twenty five foot poles with a platform so that they could stand up there. There was a rope that went from the ground up to the top of the poles where the bears were. On the rope was a can that you could put some nuts and other treats in. The bears would then pull the cans up to them by means of pulleys on each end, like a clothes line. I would marvel at how smart these bears really were. Later on when I was a dad and was driving my son and wife through the same roads, we stopped at the Trading Post, but the bears weren’t on top of the poles any more. They were kept in an enclosed caged area. They must have picketed or joined the thousand bear protest march back a few years in Jellystone.

Our childhood trips usually ended up at Fryeburg Fair in the middle of the afternoon. I loved the Fryeburg Fair. It was just so busy.

WE would usually stop at the tractor and horse pulls first, and then make our way to the place where they rode motorcycles around the inside of a big barrel. I can’t remember what the attraction was called, but it was loud, frightful and wonderfully entertaining. These guys were seriously crazy. Daredevils extraordinaire.

Everything about the fair put a cherry on top of an already perfect day. The rocking cages that you tried to rock back and forth until you went over the top, absolutely defying gravity, or so it seemed.

The hot dogs, and the cold drinks, and the dough froggies, and the chili dogs, and the vinegar on the hot fries, and the cotton candy. I loved it all. We were usually given a few dollars to play some of the games. I usually rifled through my allowance in thirty seconds or so.

There was harness racing, and I could not understand what the big deal was. I mean it seemed that the number twenty five horse won all of the races that he was in. Every time. I told my father and I think he went and bet on the horse again. I can’t remember if he did win though. Some things stick in my mind, and some do not.

One thing that stuck in my mind though was my father riding a Ferris wheel ride with rotating cages on it that you could control and roll over from a control on the inside of each cage. He loved to torment us during the ride and would hold us upside down until we screamed, cried and pleaded for him to bring us back upright again. It was totally wonderful torture. Thanks Dad, I will never forget that.

Wit bellies full of wonderfully greasy food, and minds full of tilt a whirl excitement, we would pile into the station wagon right around dark and head for home. The ride home was usually quiet, but you could feel the electricity passing through us, as we reminisced over a glorious day.

One thing about riding in the back of the station wagon, it had its ups and downs. Although I hardly ever knew where we were going, I always knew where we had been. Watching the mountains wind away from behind us was my job, or so it seemed. I was the watcher of the “rear window’, the keeper of all that had been gone by, and the holder of the ‘back a spell’s’.

There were so many other amazing trips we took as a family. Down east, and through New Brunswick and Nova Scotia. The red sands of Prince Edward Island and the huge ferry that took us there, the reversing falls of St. Johns, or was it Fredericton? The bays of Campobello Island, and the rides to Old Orchard Beach, and Pine Point. So many wonderful memories, so much to look back on.

That was the life, as seen through the rear window of a Chevy station wagon. I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. I mean, how could I. I had it all, 3D panoramic viewing, and all the leg room in the world.

12 28 11 Happy New Year!12 28 11 Happy New Year!

So, here we are again, smack dab in the middle, stuck between Christmas, and New Years. How fast the time flies by. How quick the years seem to roll through. How old do we feel now? How much would you like to hit me right now? Smile.

As the years go by, along with them goes our youth. My youth. Youth, in particular. I have an old saying when  someone asks me how I am doing. I say, “I am getting older by the hour, and uglier by the minute. Sad, but true. The inevitable is due.

My mom told me a month or so ago, while we were chatting on Skype, that I looked like Sean Connery. I then proceeded to ask her if she had just had her medications altered by her physician. She told me that she hadn’t, and that I indeed did look like Sean Connery. I couldn’t imagine why, seeing as I was using an HD web cam and all.

I used to kid with my wife back in the nineties that I thought I looked like Tom Selleck, complete with the perm job. By the way, those perm jobs that my wife used to give me, they hurt like hell, but I didn’t mind. A reflection of Tom was waiting for me around the corner, in the next mirror. I was just that damn fine. Lol

Give me a break. I might have thought I looked like Tom Selleck one minute, and Fred Flintstone the next.

I still can’t believe it is almost 2012. I remember back in 1980 when I was running the shuttle truck from Waterville, to the retread shop in Biddeford twice a week. I would have to sign all the invoices of the product I was picking up. There were like a hundred invoices each trip, or so it seemed. I can remember signing my name and the date on every invoice. The first time I wrote 1980, it just seemed so weird, no seventy something and all. Hard to believe that was thirty one years ago, or I should say, thirty two. Time sure does fly by.

Remember the millennium? Remember how weird it felt to be turning the odometer over? I still say that the millennium didn’t start until 2001, but 2000 sounded so much better for the hype that went along with it, and what the hell did I know anyways.

Now, its twelve years later, and it doesn’t seem possible. It just doesn’t seem real some times.

When I was a kid, I never thought I would grow up. It just seemed light years away. Unapproachable in my life time. I can remember riding the grade school bus in Little Falls, especially one winter. The winter of ‘66-‘67. There was a snow drift on the roof of Penny Burrows house that I noticed every morning. I kept telling myself that I would always remember this snow drift, in this year, on this bus, for the rest of my life, and so far, I have. At that point and time in my life, 2012 didn’t even enter the picture. It just didn’t exist, and if it didn’t exist, then how would I ever get there?

Every morning, through the winter, I noticed the drift on their roof. It got bigger, then smaller, then big again, then small once more, until into mid April, it finally disappeared. I never noticed the snow drift on their roof again, and I lived and rode that bus for the next several years. For some reason, that particular winter stuck in my mind. It represented my childhood, and it still seems as if it was yesterday or maybe the day before.

As Bob Segar sang once upon a time, I am a Rambling Man. I ramble sometimes, especially when it comes to snow drifts on the Burrows house in 1967.

Forty five years have gone by. Forty five winters. Forty five summers. Forty five Christmases, a couple of birthdays, and New Years. I can hardly believe it. I can’t imagine if I make it for another forty five years. That would be the year, umm, the year 2057. Say it with me, Twenty Fifty Seven. Man that sounds weird, and old. I wonder what it would be like then? I wonder if I would still look like Sean Selleck, or tom Connery? If I do, I hope I can still type.

Happy New Year Everyone!

I hope 2012 treats you all well.

12 09 11 A Christmas Eve

A Christmas Eve

I remember that special tingling feeling that I always seemed to get around Christmas time as a child. It was pure magic, and I never wanted it to end.

The anticipation leading up to that marvelous day seemed to last forever, and the long winding down of the days until Santa would come was sometimes too much to bear.

We always got the Sears Wishbook in the mail, and I think I rifled through it a thousand times, dreaming of the countless gifts that were at my fingertips. Hoping that somehow, some of them would find their way into Santa’s sleigh, and into my home.

I always knew exactly what I wanted, and closed my eyes tightly as I whispered a secret prayer to the great white bearded man in the red suit. I was sure that he could hear me, and pictured him sitting in his comfy chair at the North Pole, looking through the same Wishbook that was on my lap. He knew what I wanted. He knew that I had been a good boy, except maybe for a couple small incidents, which I was sure he would overlook, because I was sincere and genuine when I told him how sorry I was for those unfortunate mishaps.

I remember sitting at the kitchen table and looking through the book with my little brother Scotty. We sat, mesmorized with the thousands of toys. Thousands and thousands of the most wonderful things ever imagined. Thousands of the most amazing feats of elfish workmanship that had ever made their way into such a glorious book.

Trains and planes and guitars and bat man pajamas and Hot Wheels and bikes and sleds and drums and GI Joes and cowboys and Indians and baseball bats and baseball gloves and toboggans and ice skates and hockey pucks and super balls and silly putty and bed tents and sleeping bags and superman capes and oh so much more. Even the Easy Bake Ovens looked delectably delightful to me.

All of the wonder and magic of Christmas hit me head on like a Buddy L freight train, screaming round the bend and heading straight for my bunk beds. It was all there, and it was all inside my head as I imagined this, and dreamed about that.

And then there was Christmas Eve. Ahhh the feeling, unlike anything I had ever felt. Christmas Eve, and Santa was already on his way. Looking out at the night sky, I would search for his blinking lights on the sleigh. I can remember the newsman on TV, telling all of us expecting children that his sleigh had infact been spotted over the Great Lakes, or up around Hudson Bay. Surely these news guys new what they were talking about. Surely they were keeping an  eye on the progress of such an important event. The most important event of the year by far. No questions. This was it. He was on his way. All the waiting, all the dreams, all the wonder and magic andinnocent imagination had finally come to this one moment. Christmas Eve.

I could see the excitement in my brothers and sisters faces. I could smell Christmas in the air, as plain as the chocolate chip cookies that mom had made to set out for Santa.

Christmas Eve had come, and I was smack dab in the middle of it. I had a front row seat to the best event of the year.

The excitement that surrounded our home was incredible. The icicles, gleaming and twinkling on our wonderful Christmas Tree meant even more. The electric candle lights in the picture window in the living room would surely send a sign to Santa that we were all waiting for him.

How could he know all of these things though? How could he work such magic on such a cold and wintery night? How could he do all of the wondrous things? How could such an amazing thing become so true?

I had all kinds of questions, but only He had all the answers. Only he knew what to bring. Only He knew when I fell asleep. Only He knew how much I loved him and Christmas.

“Time for bed everyone!” Those words from mom rang through me like a thousand church bells. Finally, it was the last leg of the Christmas miracle. Finally, all of my waiting and hoping and dreaming and imaginations had finally paid off. I was rounding third, and Santa was heading for home.

Try as I might, I was never able to stay awake for very long, although I gave it a gallant effort. Sleep would always eventually take over as I lay in bed with the most amazing visions of Christmas dancing about in my head.

Try as I may, my eyes would eventually close, though for just a second. Snapping back out of thought, I was sure that I heard something, or saw something as I looked out my window at the starry night. He would come, and if I just close my eyes for a second, maybe I could have tricked Him into thinking that I was asleep, then I could have surprised him and finally gotten to see him. that’s it, I would have just close my eyes for a second or two. Just a quick minute. I should have been able to see him in that wonderful magical sleigh with those reindeer and all of those presents. I was a year older, and I should have been able to finally get to see him. That’s it, I would just close my eyes for a ….

11 22 11 Old Movies11 22 11 Old Movies

11 22 11  Old Movies

My wife told me yesterday afternoon that there was something about me that was different. She couldn’t quite place it, but it was different just the same.

I asked her what it was, and she said that she couldn’t quite put a finger on it. I asked her if it was this, or if it was that, and she couldn’t say.

I sat and thought about it for a long time, pondering on the changes in me that perhaps I wasn’t aware of. I thought, and thought, and thought. There are so many possibilities why she might perceive me as different. There are so many reasons why I may act differently, or seem different, or talk different, or walk different.

I could probably sit here and wonder what she sees, or notices that is different about me. God knows I have felt different my whole life. Maybe it’s just starting to catch up to me?

I have always been a reactionary person. I react to my surroundings, like a chameleon, ever changing to the surroundings. I have always done that, and if I may say so, I have gotten pretty good at it over the years. Practice makes perfect, as the old saying goes.

I try to think and remember how I was a couple years ago. I try to remember how I reacted to certain things, and how I communicated with people, with my family, and my wife. It doesn’t seem like very long ago most of the times, although there are the times when it seems worlds away.

I remarked to someone last night that I can not believe how fast the days are chugging by. One on top of the other, they are piling up very quickly, and I can’t stop them.

She remarked that this is very true with getting older. I couldn’t disagree in the least, and had heard this a thousand times. The only thing that seemed different was that it had become very apparent to me, that it was happening to me. I am one of those people that are getting older and I am noticing that the time is flying by.

I woke up this morning, wondering how different I had become these past couple years. I remembered the past, and flipped through the present. As I often do, I laid in bed and remembered and smiled and laughed and came close to tears as the movies of my past jumped from reel to reel. One by one, they all play out, and I am left with a head full of my life.

I notice that the memories that come flooding at me are more vivid now than ever before. They tell the stories that have been neatly stored away, behind all the other stuff, way up on the top shelf, in that dusty old Tom McCann shoe box.

I had always been very good at imagining what the future might hold for me. I used to play out made up scenarios in my head, over and over again. I enjoyed making up these fictitious events in my mind. I was good at it, and spent a lot of time doing it. I don’t know why, and I really don’t have the time to make up scenarios that try explaining these made up scenarios.

I can remember sometimes as I would roll through the memories of my past, I would try and recall certain things that I had forgot about. I would usually never be able to pull out some relic that I had forgotten about. It seemed that my memories, and my past, was fixed. I had these memories, and I had those memories, and nothing more, That was it. I just couldn’t recall anything new, or old.

That has changed these past couple years. I have noticed that when I sit and ponder, I am usually pulled back into my past. I am able to fetch and bring to life many events and feelings and emotions from my past that, quite honestly, I had completely forgotten about. The emotions that come with these old movies are amazing, and I am overwhelmed with them at times. They are, for the most part, very powerful and good, leaving me with a sense of my life that I never ever want to forget again.

I wonder, as of late, if the fact that I have no new visual input, so to speak, is the reason that these old forgotten tid bits of my past are finally starting to come to the surface. I don’t know if that’s true, and I am not complaining in the least. I have seen so much in my life, and I have forgotten a huge chunk of it. Being able to recall some of the stored and forgotten relics are so incredibly amazing and wonderful, that all I can say is, wow, I remember that!

I have always thought of myself as an old softie, but now it appears that I am evolving into an old dusty, tattered, memory foam softie. Six foot four, and two hundred and s;lkaoi pounds of Maine teddy bear pliable gooey emotion.

I still am not sure what is different about me. I am not really sure if I will figure out what my wife was talking about. I know that she really doesn’t know what it is that’s changed in me.

I do know that whatever it is, I hope it doesn’t drive her crazy, because I need her in my life more now than ever. She has played such a big role in the movies of my past, and I can’t see myself stepping into any future role without her as the leading lady.

I did ask her if the thing that seems to be different, or missing about me was the fact that I can’t see her when she is talking to me. I can look at her, but I am not seeing her in the present. When she is talking to me, I picture her from my memories. She is just as beautiful, and those eyes. I still see and feel those eyes staring into my soul.

I will have these movies to play, and images to flip through, of her, until the day that I die. I am blessed to have such a wonderful library of my life’s moments at my fingertips. I can watch the past whenever I want, and the pause button works perfectly. How can I lose, considering that I can mix new releases with yesterday’s classics.

Topping it all off, there is no monthly fee. See me smiling?

11 11 11 Veterans Day

11 11 11  Veterans Day

Well here it is again, Veterans Day. I never really paid much attention to this holiday when I was younger. I guess I had my head stuck up there where the sun hardly ever gets to. I should be ashamed of myself, but I just never paid it no mind.

I have talked about taking things for granted, and  selfishly living my life as though I deserved all of the freedoms that I had. I lived each day with no intensions of thanking anyone for being able to walk freely about, thinking exactly what I wanted, and saying whatever came across my mind at any given drop of a hat.

Selfishly, I have gone through my younger years, enjoying all of the luxuries that this country represents, and furnishes. These trinkets of tranquility that this country represents have been furnished by the countless souls of old who unselfishly sacrificed everything thay had, in order to hand down the same streets of freedom they themselves had been able to walk down.

I listened to the TV this morning, as the color guard ran through the rituals of honor at the designated areas for the ceremonies for the fallen. I couldn’t help but get all choked up, as I listened to the precision of the footsteps, and the calling out of the orders, as the ceremony came to pass. I have been flooded with these same feelings over these past few years, whenever I am able to witness selfless sacrifice for the love of freedom and liberty. Two things that before the last several years, I had no real concept of what they really, truly meant.

As I imagine the faces of the men and women who were taking part in the ceremonies this morning, I was flooded with faces and expressions and love and faith and family. I could see the little daughters hugging their fathers as they left for duty. I could see those same young daughters hugging their moms, as they returned home from twelve months of duty. I could see the faces of the young children , and the parents, and grandparents, and husbands and wives as their fathers and mothers and sisters and brothers and nephews and nieces finally made it home from duty. I could hear the cries of happiness, and see their tears of joy as once again, the family became whole.

No one in my immediate family ever served in the military. I have many relatives that have, and are still. Although I have never known what it is really like to have someone in my immediate family go to, or come home from service, or action, I still get emotional when I see or hear others who go through this.

My pride swells, and I feel a sense of country that I get nowhere else.

I do have some very strong political views and feelings about all of this. I will spare this post from any of that. This post I will save for thanks, and gratefulness, and hopeful wishes for the families, that they will become whole again one day. I pray that the loved ones who serve will be protected by the hand of God, and provided with a safe road back into the arms of their loving families.

Such a selfless sacrifice can never be wasted, no matter how hard the struggle, no matter how high the obstacle. The sacrifice must forever be remembered, as we live and breathe every single day under the sun. We must always give thanks, and remember what we are up against if our ability to live free is lost or taken from us.

The founding fathers saw something special in this land of ours. They saw something in the eyes of every person who walked the road towards freedom. They knew the fragile nature of the liberties, and the freedoms. They craved it for themselves, as they strived to make it happen for all.

This country, and it’s beliefs, are the best thing to happen to this world of ours since, well, since, forever!

In Loving Honor of the Fallen:

Flanders Field

In Flander’s Field, the poppies blow

Between the crosses, row on row

That mark our place, and in the sky

The lark, still bravely singing, flies

Scarce heard, amidst the battle of the guns below

We are the dead. Few days ago

We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow

Loved, and were loved

And now we lie in Flanders Field

To all the men and women who have served, are serving, and will serve, Thank you all, from the bottom of my heart.

May God Bless You All And Keep You Safe

10 30 11 Excuse Me?

Excuse me? Did I hear someone say “Chocolate?” I just know I did. Where are they? Let me at ‘em!

Why is it that I crave it so? Why is it that I lust for the creamy rich sweet taste that runs down the back of my throat? Why is it that when I bite down and feel the sweet smoothness filling my cavities I smile? Pushing and smooshing the chocolate against the roof of my mouth with my tongue, it feels almost illegal talking about it, like I should be censored or something.  Hershey’s Adult Novelty Bar. Smile.

Can someone please tell me what’s wrong with me? Can someone please tell me where to go to get a prescription or something to rid me of this affliction? Surely there must be a remedy for my constant cravings for the stupid stuff? There just has to be.

Help.

M&M’s, Reeces Peanut Butter Cups, Snickers, 5^th Avenue, Zero, Sixlets, Rolo’s, Whoppers, Clark Bar, Hershey’s Milk Chocolate Bars Nestle’s Crunch, Frozen Charleston Chews. Someone, Please Make Them Stop!

No matter how big a bag of chocolate we buy, as soon as it gets home, and opened, it’s half gone! How does that happen? Did someone let the little nasty chocolate goblins into the house? Is our house haunted, or is it just me, in a chocolate black out? I mean, we just opened it up, and it is almost gone all ready!

I never even thought, as I started this rant, that tomorrow is Halloween for crying out loud!  How fitting and proper. Here, here’s a couple thousand extra fat cells around your ponch sir, and thank you.

Hershey’s miniatures. Give me a break if you please! More like Hershey’s bag full of miniature torment! The guy that invented this bag full of relentless delight should be in jail, or given the Nobel Peace Prize.

More like the Nobel Piece of Chocolate hypnosis prize.

Ok, I get it. I look like a fish, right? I see the bait. Looks yummy to me. I think I will take just a little nibble and, WHAMMO! Oh no, I think I am hooked, and they are reeling me in. Oh goodie, I am being pulled into a 24/7 choco sushi bar with a never ending supply of hot fudge on top of a chocolate ice cream blizzard with Reeces Peanut Butter Cups! What fun! Oh joyous occasion being had by yours truly! How convenient! Go ahead boys, keep reeling me in! There ya go.

Why is it that all of life’s twists and turns seem so much simpler with a piece of chocolate headed towards my mouth? Why is it that all of life’s troubles seem smaller with a hand full of milk chocolate chips headed down my gullet? Why is hot fudge so good? Why did you get your chocolate in my peanut butter? Why is it that M&M’s never do melt in my hands? Is it because I just pour them right from the bag into my mouth, skipping the stupid hand part of the process? Could that be why? I mean, it is just so painfully silly to waste valuable time looking at them while they are in your hand. I’m just saying. Another one of life’s mysteries put to rest. &Why do dentists smile every time they see a Three Musketeers commercial on TV? How fast can an average man unwrap a Hershey’s Kiss, and how many can he eat in a minute? Seems like a lot of wasted tin foil if you ask me. I’m just saying.

 How come the milky smooth content has a way of fooling you into another piece?

I never used to be this pathetic. I never used to be magnetically pulled towards the candy aisle. I never used to holler out with glee when I saw a bag of candy that had the label, “33 Percent More Absolutely Free”. I never used to give a rat’s behind about chocolate. Well, that’s not all together true.

OK, OK, I admit it! It is a life long addiction! There, I feel better, or I feel worse, or I feel like another piece of chocolate! I am so confused!

I feel like Kevin Costner in Field of Dreams. If you make it, I will come, so get the hell out of my way! I am very glad that I don’t live near Hershey Pennsylvania. They would have to cut a hole through a wall in my house to get me out, because I would probably be as big as a house.

Hmmmm.

Pondering on home deliveries of chocolate.

Hmmmm.

Still pondering.

I won’t even begin to talk about chocolate pastries. Nope. Not going there. Little Debbie? I hate her! I know that she may love me, but she would be the first one that I would arrest. Taking advantage of a poor lost soul just looking for his next fix. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, smiling on the side of that delivery truck like an innocent little girl. Bad, bad Little Debbie! I do love your Swiss Rolls though, and your brownies, especially the Cosmo ones with the little bits of chocolates on the tops, all gooey and, huh? What? You little! See what I mean? They draw you near, and then, “Oh hello there little miss twenty two thousand calorie girl, smiling on the side of that stupid truck!

Criminal I Tell Ya!

I might not be able to see the delectable little gobs of fat any more, cleverly displayed on the shelves of the conveniently manipulative convenient stores, but they still scream out my name and taunt me on a regular basis. Once a fool.

Baseball, Hot Dogs, Apple Pie, and Milk Chocolate. It’s an American dream.

Yesterday I had the fortune to have lunch with my dear cousin from down state, and she gave me a gift. She gave me a Ziploc bag of chocolate.

I hate to tell you Cuz, but the contents of the bag never made it home. Not even close. I mean I love you and all, but what in the world were you thinking? Thanks though.

I guess one good thing is that I can’t recall ever dreaming about chocolate. Maybe there is still hope for me yet? Maybe I can be pulled back from the Chocolate Abyss of Pleasurable Death?

Watch, tonight I will dream of one of my wife’s chocolate mayonnaise cakes.

Speaking of that, she was supposed to make me one this weekend.

Oh Honey!?