I’ve been going through the collection of scribbles that I’ve
clung to despite my many moves over the past several decades. I didn’t realize how many unfinished stories I
had in various and sundry states. A paragraph or two here, a couple pages
there, some sentences that seem like they fit something else I found over
there. The other thing that surprised me in my treasure hunting was the number
of poems and songs I had on the most random bits of paper. Some of them had
dates and/or locations where and when I wrote them. One such notation read,”First
written on a half pint bag on the hood of a Pinto.” Guess I was lucky I had a pencil that
night. Looking over the songs and poems
their most common characteristic would be my trouble in deciphering my own
scrawl. It’s kind of bad when you can’t
even read your own handwriting. My wife
makes fun of me when I have to sign anything because I close my eyes and just move
the pen. I just don't like to watch when I sign my life away. I guess the time has come to clean my
glasses and get all those little ditties into digital format so if anyone wants
to read them they won’t have to ask me what this word is right here.
