Mantel

     A few years back my daughter and son-in-law bought a new house. In the basement they installed a gas fireplace. Not as charming as a wood burner but a whole lot cleaner and much easier to supply with fuel. If you've read any of my old entries you know how much I enjoy making needless work for myself. And believe me, gathering your own firewood is a time-consuming and sometimes painful joy.
     Anyhow, even though their fireplace is a modern, hi-tech pleasure, they wanted a rustic touch, a hand-hewn, log-style mantle. Sounded good and would give me reason to tromp the woods, chainsaw in hand. That our local, cabin beavers had widow-maker hung an aspen was icing on the cake. Not fifty yards from the cabin door there was a mantel-to-be entwined in a trio of red oak trees. Yeah, even beavers screw up now and then just like fear-crazed grouses occasionally bounce off tree branches. I can vouch for both. Grew up thinking those kind of things never happened, that Mother Nature and all her creations were perfect. I was wrong.
     Though I've gathered something close to a hundred cords of firewood over the years, I'm nowhere near to being a woodsman. When a tree drops where I've intended there's more than skill involved. That's why several tons of mature aspen pitched at thirty degrees shy of vertical got me thinking of escape routes and the location of the nearest clinic. Had there been no need for a mantel the tree could've leaned there forever as far as I was concerned. But there was a need and I'd dropped widow-makers before, so what the hell, why not? At least I was smart enough to do it when I had company; call it 'share the blame.'
     Since it was to be Ryan's mantel, he was the perfect, poor fool to join in the fun. As it turned out all went well, though there's no way I could have moved the beast of a saw log without his help. Even then it was all we could do to flip-flop it to a spot where I could rip out the oversized plank. Long story short, I'm sitting in their basement a few years later and looking at the mantel as I write. She's developed a twist but not so much as to cause a problem. The blackened, worm-crawled log edge is a thing of beauty, as is the little stretch of chainsaw chatter. Call them natural charm, you may not but I sure do.
   

Draftee (A Buffoon in Vietnam)

     Pulled the trigger this morning on my second book, this one based off my Vietnam blog. Now it's in my son's court to add the cover he designed. The story's not bad but will pale compared to the cover. Couldn't make up my mind as to what kind of tale it was till I went and got honest with myself. Not an easy thing to do. Right off the bat Archie, the narrator, says what follows is as close to the truth as he can make it though he had to change all the names so as not to get his ass in a legal bind, so I guess it's a memoir. Anyhow, it's not as good a tale as the first book, a novel, but'll turn few stomaches. That's more or less what I was hoping for from the get-go back in '84 when the idea first passed through my thoughts.