Item 21 And Other Stories From My Blog

Item 21

And Other Short True Stories

(Taken From My Blog)

Bruce A. Borders

BORDERS

PUBLISHING

The following stories are true accounts from the life of

Bruce A. Borders.

Taken from the blog at

http://bruceabordersbooks.weebly.com/blog.html

Copyright 2011 - 2012

Bruce A. Borders

Cover Design Copyright 2012

Bruce A. Borders

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

All Rights Reserved.

Except for use in any review, the reproduction of this book in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, including xerography, photocopying, and recording, or in any informational storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the express written permission of the author and publisher.

Table Of Contents

1. Fire Season

2. The Toybox

3. Item 21

4. Sobriety Test

5. Leftovers

6. The Lazy Workaholic

7. A Lesson Burned

8. The Way I Figured It

9. My Thanksgiving

10. Selling A Tree House

11. Driving To Canada

12. No Help Wanted

13. And I Lived To Tell About It

14. It's A Family Thing

15. Waiting

16. Sink Or Swim

17. Do I Know You?

18. Is It July Yet?

19. Technically Speaking

20. The Weekend

21. A Vicarious Vindication

22. Bicycle Wreck

23. The Windy Wind

24. Buried Treasure

25. Nothing New

26. Fire Drill

27. Backing Up

28. Making History

29. Tall Tales

30. Digging To China

31. Torture Chamber

32. Mowing The Lawn

33. Power Nap

34. What Goes Up

35. The Zoo

36. Out Of Gas

37. Doing My Research

38. Island Getaway

39. Home

40. But We Need The Rain

41. Pet Peeves

42. Kids Do Dumb Stuff

43. Losing Things On The Road

44. My First Job

45. Moving Out

46. Playing With Fire

47. A Picture's Worth A Thousand Words

48. Down In The Dumps

49. The Amusement Park

50. Electrical Education

51. Strangely Normal

52. Pick Up The Tools

53. High Crime Area

54. The Collector

55. Making My Own Road

56. Read, Read, Read

57. Electronic Age

58. My Wife Doesn't Know Me

59. How Much Am I Making?

60. To Do List

61. Dogs Versus Cats

About The Author

Books by Bruce A. Borders

Fire Season

09-26-2011

Smoke to the west. No black ominous billows, just a brownish tinged haze mixed with dingy white puffy clouds rising into the clear blue summer sky. A brushfire most likely, or maybe grass. Winds are particularly light at 5 mph. No cause for alarm, fire fighters will have the blaze extinguished in short order.

This is the fourth fire this week within sight of my house. The others were put out in less than a day causing no major damage, rather remarkable considering the high wind area and extremely dry conditions. This is all typical for the arid climate of the central Oregon high desert, but this year has been fairly mild with relatively few fires. The surrounding landscape is only slightly marred with the grayish black sooty remains of sparse vegetation.

And now, the September air is turning cooler reminding us that the fall rains will be returning soon, marking an end of the fire season, a.k.a. summer. The good news is that we've all survived with our personal property mostly intact. The bad news is winter is on its way, which means snow – and lots of it. The frozen white crystals will cover the ground, blanket the sagebrush and juniper trees and decorate the distant mountain ranges, creating a picturesque scene of majestic grandeur.

Admittedly, the snow is pretty but snow brings its own set of problems - the cold, the slick roads and resulting wrecks, the roof cave-ins, and avalanches, which can potentially destroy entire areas in an instant. Yet, despite its foreboding and destructive nature, snow is a necessary evil. It provides the high desert with a vital water supply for the coming summer months in a region prone to draught. Aside from the usual benefits of drinking, cooking and cleaning, we're gonna need the water – to put out the fires!

The Toybox

10-02-2011

Every kid needs a toy box. My grandson is in an immediate and dire need of one. With an abundance of nearby family members, including; aunts, uncles, parents and grandparents, who routinely convert a certain portion of their paychecks into an endless array of various fascinating gadgets and playthings, the lack of a toy box is becoming increasingly problematic - at least for his parents.

The trouble is toy boxes are expensive. The unsuspecting shopper could easily shell out a $150, or more, for a piece of plastic that will typically break in six months or so. Ah, but I'm not an unsuspecting shopper. I used to be a carpenter. I can build one. One that will last for years, preferably until my grandson and any future siblings are grown. How can I be confident it will last that long? Because such a toy box exists in my son's room. I built it nearly 18 years ago and it's still in as good of shape as it was the day I brushed on the last coat of varnish. (Despite my three children's, best attempts to destroy it).

So, for the past week I've been busy, measuring, cutting, drilling, screwing, and gluing. I've managed to make quite a mess in the kitchen, which incidentally, also doubles as a workshop from time to time. The center island makes a perfect workbench. My wife is no doubt very impressed by my ingenuity! Or not.

Slowly, due to leaving everyday to go to my actual job, which always seems to interfere with the important things I want to do, a toy box emerged. Today I fashioned the hinges onto the lid and added some red-oak stain. Tomorrow I'll start the final step of making it shine. Not bad for week's work.

A quick tally of the receipts shows the project coming in at just under $100. That's great news! It means there's money left over. Money that will, of course, be put to good use - to purchase more toys!

Item 21

10-10-2011

I'll admit it - I'm forgetful. I can't remember to do everything I'm supposed to. Or anything sometimes. I forget basic things like eating and combing my hair. Consider me the absent-minded professor – minus the professor aspect. When going to work, I leave my cell phone at home at least three days a week. If I'm lucky, I'll miss it before driving too far and circle back to the house. I like to tell myself that I'm just being responsible – keeping an eye on the neighborhood. My neighbors probably think I'm only a few days away from being committed.

Some have suggested my absent-mindedness is just another sign of growing old, like graying hair or aching joints and muscles after those rare times when I can't avoid manual labor. But, as my Mother would tell you, it's nothing new. When I was younger, she could send me to do only one thing at a time or I'd forget the rest. My wife now says the same thing. So, if nothing else, at least I'm consistent.

Yet, strange as it may seem, I have an excellent memory. It works great for facts, numbers, names, dates, or to remember the proper sequence of steps for various complex procedures. These sorts of things seem to latch on to some cell of my brain and stay – without me really even trying. This was cool when I was in school. Now? Not so much. No longer does the need exist to memorize anything. I rarely take tests and never recite anything other than songs, which I don't think count because nobody knows the songs I know. So, the tidbits of trivial information plastered to the walls of my brain are mostly useless. Even my kids don't ask me much anymore – they prefer Google.

Recently, my wife wrote down a list of what she needed from the grocery store. It seemed like a splendid idea, except I forgot the list - a fact I realized after I'd reached the store. Sure, in this digital age, I had several options; I could call, text, or email – all of which would mean fessing up to my forgetful nature, once again. But wait! I had seen the list. (My mind instantly kicks into gear.) Now I can use that part of my memory that works! But has it been too long? What if I forget something? My wife (and kids) would never let me hear the end of it. Not after telling them for years how good my memory is for that sort of thing.

I know there were 21 items, I mused aloud. Asking for a pen and paper from the bewildered cashier, who apparently thought everybody made their shopping list before coming to the store, I quickly began scribbling. Soon the list was complete – almost. Twenty items were scrawled on my paper. I frowned and shook my head. That's strange, I thought. This had never happened before. I decided to start my shopping, hoping the last item would come to me along the way. It didn't.

I made it almost all the way home. Turning onto my street, I felt the car's engine cough, then it spluttered and died. And that's when I remembered. Item 21 was not a grocery item at all. I was supposed to fill the car up with gas.

My wife was kind, sort of. She just rolled her eyes and smiled. An hour later, the car was back in the driveway and full of gas.

I'm sure after reading this story; you will all have a good laugh at my expense. That is, if I remember to post it.

Sobriety Test

10-17-2011

Flashing red and blue lights in the mirror. Just what every teenage boy wants to see – especially when he's on a date!

The officer, hard-faced and stern, marched up to the driver's window, reciting the usual License and registration spiel. Then, Do you know why I pulled you over?

Now, for a young and cocky adolescent male, there are a lot of possible answers to that question. Although, most of them are likely to increase the odds of getting a ticket. The fact the boy's girlfriend was along probably helped stifle what would otherwise have been a mouthy response. Instead, he offered a simple, No.

I observed you weaving and making contact with the yellow line, the deputy explained. Have you been drinking anything tonight?

The eighteen-year-old was rather surprised at the question, since he hadn't been drinking that night or any other. Uh, yeah, Dr. Pepper.

Not amused, the deputy asked the driver to step out of the car, and though it was phrased as a question, the teenager knew it was not a request. Opening the door, he noticed the officer leaning close to smell his breath. Then began a prolonged regiment of sobriety tests; a flashlight in the eyes, following the officer's pen back and forth, standing first