Henry Baker hated his name. He wasnât crazy about the Baker, but it was his last name and he considered it a given. Besides, it was the only thing he had left of his father.
No, Baker was fine. Even Mom thought so. It was Henry he had a real beef with.
He loved his mother very much but he hated his name, and that was a problem because while she loved him very much, too, she may have loved the idea of having a son named Henry just as much.
âAt least 15 people are dead after a crash between a tractor-trailer and a bus carrying a Canadian junior hockey league team, a tragedy that struck at the heart of a tightknit city in rural Saskatchewan and immediately echoed through the hockey world and beyond.â
â Washington Post, April 8, 2018
The bus was always my safe place. Well, all cars were and still are. I wasnât born in a car even though it sometimes feels like it. From the day I was born, Iâve spent so much time in cars, reading, sleeping, talking, eavesdropping, eating, counting other cars, and being bored that cars have become my second home.Â
Early on, my hockey bus trips were mostly short and infrequent. Maybe we took a bus to a camp four hours away, once a season, maybe not even that.
Last week, I found a secret portal that took me to other worlds. No, it wasnât books, silly, although that was a good guess (and I do encourage everybody to read).
No, this portal was a garage in downtown Stockholm, a block from Stureplan, which is the center of Stockholmâs nightlife â or so I have been told, itâs been a while Iâve been in the city centre after sunset.
The funny thing about my finding the portal is that I wasnât on my way anywhere in particular. I was just walking around, waiting for a movie theatre to open so that I could go watch Chaplinâs Gold Rush when I was suddenly, unexpectedly taken to another world.
Sitting in a home office writing stuff can get lonely. No, let me rephrase that. Many people think that sitting in a home office writing stuff can get lonely and by many people I mean the rest of my family. Theyâve been dropping a lot of hints about friendship lately, how nice it is to make friends, and how I should get out more.
Well, see, I donât make friends. I buy them. And I only go for the best.
And whoâs manâs best friend? Who? Whooooooâs manâs best frieeeeend, come here, boy!
Thatâs right. A dog.
Mother was right, I think itâs fair to say now. After all, Iâm 60 years old, still unmarried, and the way things are going, Iâll stay unmarried not matter how long I live. She was right about that, but she wasnât right about everything. Oh, no, Mother dear, you werenât right about everything.
âDays after being awarded the literature prize, Bob Dylan has yet to get in touch with the Swedish Academy, or indicate whether he will attend the celebrations.â
â The Guardian, Oct 17, 2016
Swedes! Who do they think they are, thinking that a guy will roll out of bed in the middle of the night just to pick up the phone. Or that heâll return the call right after he wakes up. Or the next day. Itâs not like the world revolves around the Nobel Prize, you know. Here are 25 things that could have kept Bob Dylan from getting back to the Swedish Academy.
King of Sweden
People often ask me how come Iâm always so happy. Now, nobodyâs always happy and I wouldnât even dream of saying that Iâm always happy, but it is true that I often seem to be smiling, even when Iâm not. I can say, though, that there hasnât been a day when I havenât been smiling going to work, and then I just keep smiling all day long.
I think that helps. Itâs hard to be unhappy when youâre smiling.
And itâs hard not to smile when youâre riding a rollercoaster all day long. Literally.
The world was different in 1964 when Gun opened her little store from what it looked like in 2004 when she decided to retire and sell the tiny store. You may think the cityâs always looked the same, especially around her store, because the store is on the ground floor of a big old stone building, and was there even before Gun â but it hasnât.
There once was a man who couldnât make decisions. Heâd get up in the morning and then dive straight back under the covers.
âIt was nice to get up, but itâs even nicer here,â he said to himself. âOn the other hand, I canât stay here all day ⊠or can I?â
Ten minutes later, he got up and stumbled downstairs to kitchen. The rest of his family was already sitting at the table.
âGood morning, everybody,â said the man who couldnât make decisions. âOh, that looks good,â he said, pointing to his sonâs bowl of cereal.
âAnd that!â he shouted, and pointed at his wifeâs bowl of fruit. âAnd that!â he said, now looking at his daughterâs toast.
The man who couldnât make decisions had a bowl of fruit, a bowl of cereal, and a sandwich for breakfast. He pulled up the newspaper his wife had left for him on the table and started to read about a football game two teams had played the day before.
The other day, I sort of decided to write a blog entry every day for the entire ⊠well, for a while, and I just realized it’s time for me to go to bed, and the page is still blank.
