“Pork Chop Conversation”

c. 2017 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(12-17)

Resolved: Miller High Life tastes better at a late hour than in the light of day.

It was around 2:00 a.m. when I walked my Black Lab. I had fallen asleep too early, watching a Thursday Night Football game on NBC. My belly full of a meal made with fried pork chops and a can of pork & beans. With a beer chaser. ‘Chops ‘n Hops’ in the lexicon of Rustic Pines. Then, my sleep pattern became predictable. Up at 10:30, frustrated and disoriented. Cursing the night. Back up at 1:00 in the morning, somewhat more rested and resigned to fate. Coffee made as the pooch slumbered on our couch. Watching ESPN and pondering writing projects. Then, more brew.

I almost wished for snow. Something about the winter white always seemed to offer inspiration. As if it helped to focus my creative energy by burying the outside world in a silent sheath of slumbering crystals. But I hesitated to wish for colder weather. It would arrive soon enough without being summoned.

At the computer, High Life in hand, I began to write a newspaper column. But my plan was soon shattered as the phone began to ring. It was the landline, rotary device on top of the home office desk. I jumped from my chair, startled and unprepared. Then, I lifted the receiver.

“Hello?” I whispered.

“Rodney!” a raspy voice intoned. “I knew you were awake. I knew it because of your posts on Facebook. Can’t sleep, old friend?”

The caller was Ezekiel Byler-Gregg, editor of the Burton Daily Bugle. A mentor and fellow wordsmith. Since the Geauga Writers’ Roundtable had disbanded, years ago, I hadn’t seen him in person. My caffeine rush and beer buzz suddenly had a purpose.

“Zeke! How have you been?”

My friend laughed like an old farmer pondering his fields. “Not bad at all. But I miss our meetings at McDonald’s in Chardon. You know, old people hang out there in the morning, for breakfast. Something appropriate about old writers doing the same.”

“Right,” I agreed.

Have you heard from Carrie Hamglaze lately?” he wondered out loud.

“No,” I confessed. “Not since the end of summer.”

“Is she still in the local newspaper?” he asked.

My brain sputtered like a worn pump engine. “I don’t think so. Neither of us have any connection to that weekly, now. I started a new venture called ‘The Geauga Independent’ this year. It is a name taken from our history. The original ‘Independent’ was published in your community, over a century ago.”

“Really?” he thundered. “I’ll have to take a look-see about that for the Daily Bugle.”

“Since retiring last year, my routine has been fractured,” I explained. “No regular sleep schedule anymore. I am up when I want and in bed when I want.”

“Not a bad thing?” he pondered, laughing.

“Not bad,” I observed. “An adjustment for myself. This is the sort of life I expected in another twenty years or so, not right now.”

Ezekiel snorted with amusement. “I retired from the farm and made a whole second start in this newspaper thing, doggone it! You might surprise yourself, Rodney. Life can get rowdy at times.”

“Right now, rowdy is going up to Dollar General on the Thompson square,” I said. “You see old guys in their jackets and baseball caps, many using canes like mine. But they are a generation older. I don’t quite fit in the crowd. Not yet.”

“Still using the cane?” he asked.

“For over two years now,” I replied. “No doubt that contributed to the end of my regular career, though I can’t prove it as a fact. My knees are shot, left hip is bad. Arthritis everywhere. Yet somehow, my zest for living continues.”

“Hoo boy!” he cheered. “I’ve been mule kicked a few times and never let it slow me down. I don’t reckon that a man who lets life take away his joy is worth too much. I’m glad for every sunrise. Always glad to hear the rooster crow for morning.”

“Right,” I said.

“So what about writing projects?” he ruminated. “You doing another book yet?”

I sighed loudly. “Not right now. It’d be better to promote what I have already written. I was thinking about some loose motorcycle stories to post on the page for ‘Biker Lifestyle – And Beyond.’ Sort of a bonus for readers to enjoy. My Janis keeps watching ‘Sons of Anarchy.’ That show makes me think of my old biker stories from the 1980’s.”

“Well, that’s a thought,” he agreed.

“When I’m up at night like this, drinking beer, the wheels begin to turn. I tend to hammer out columns and stories before the rooster does his business. Then I sleep until noon. You can do that when you’re retired!”

Ezekiel let out a hearty guffaw. “Some things never change, boy! Are you drinking now?”

“Of course,” I admitted.

“High Life?” he asked.

“Yes,” I declared. “It is $7.99 in the bottles. More flavor that way. And at a price much lower than the premium brews. That’s another thing about being off the merry-go-round. I have to think harder about price and not just about flavor.”

“You used to drink that swill anyway,” he laughed.

“Well, sometimes yes,” I said. “My ex-wife never quite got that but there were moments when I would get in a ‘shit-bum’ mood, as my late friend Paul Race from New York would call it. Working class. Honest and pure, no pretentiousness. That’s when the Pabst Blue Ribbon would come out, or Genesee, Stroh’s, Busch or Miller High Life.”

My friend chortled to himself. “Memories! 12 ounces at a time!”

“Somehow, beer and creative writing go together,” I reflected. “It’s a truism.”

“Rodney, you are often nuts,” he wheezed. “But very insightful.”

“Thanks, compadre!” I said with gratitude.

“Well, it’s after three o’clock,” he coughed. “Reckon I better get some sleep. Don’t stay up all night at the computer, you hear?”

“That is what my ex-wife would say,” I remembered.

“See you soon, pardner!” he promised.

In the silence that followed, I looked around my desk. Empty bottles glistened with bubbling traces of foam. A lamp on top of the file cabinet flickered. My Black Lab was back in his spot on the couch, snoring. I stared at the landline telephone. Hadn’t that device been disconnected, years ago?

It didn’t matter. I was glad to hear from my friend in Burton. Also glad for a fresh bottle of Miller High Life beer, with leftover pork chops and beans.

Plus another ration of creative inspiration.

Comments or questions about ‘Words on the Loose’ may be sent to: icewritesforyou@gmail.com

Write us at: P.O. Box 365 Chardon, OH 44024

Published regularly in the Geauga Independent