It’s 1997 and somebody is wearing my shirt.

Hint: It’s not the dog.

It’s 1999 and Tucker would like you to state your business before he will let you talk to his mom.

It’s 1990 and I’m trying to impress this girl with my golf skills.

It’s 1991 and everything’s a matter of perspective.

So my wife likes horses. I am not a fan of them myself. They are big and skittish and untrustworthy and once when we went for a trail ride in the Adirondacks, mine tried to scrape me off on trees, boulders, shrubberies, etc., before finally dropping and rolling around on her back. (I jumped off and thus avoided injury.) Now in that case, the issue was the horse had a saddlesore that the stable hadn’t noticed1, so it wasn’t entirely2 the horse’s fault. But still.

Anyway, the reason I mention this is that when my wife and I were in college together and were getting to know each other and chatting about various things, I mentioned how when I was little I would walk to elementary school by cutting through the horse pasture behind our house, and how we were all afraid of this one big scary horse named Thunder who would always come purposefully striding over whenever he saw a human in his field. The assumption of course that he was charing us angry-bull style to pick us up with his giant head and toss us over the fence3.

Fast forward a year or so. We have graduated from college, have gotten married, and are living for a while in the village where I grew up. Naturally, my horse-loving wife would like to meet Thunder, who is still hanging out in the pasture behind our house. Well, why not? What’s the worst that could happen? We get trampled into the ground?

Anyway, we went back to the pasture (bearing gifts this time), and here came Thunder trotting over. Are you ready for a glimpse of the big scary horse? Here he is!

Continue reading “It’s 1991 and everything’s a matter of perspective.”

It’s 1995 and I just caught this girl who fell out of the sky.

It’s 2001 and I find pretty things to take pictures of on Balboa Island. Even if they don’t really want me to.

“Hurry up and take the picture already.”

It’s 1991 and my career as a milliner is over before it begins.

It’s the entire 1980s and am I a boy who likes to sit with dogs while reading, or a boy who likes to read while sitting with dogs?

… Yes.

Things haven’t changed all that much since then, either, other than what form the books take. Oh, and now there are cats involved, too.

It’s 1996 and I Can Probably Escape While the Zombie Ducks and Geese Are Finishing Off That Girl Over There

Braaaaaiiiiiins.

For context, I’ve been scanning old prints and negatives (a project I’ve been meaning to do for years, and was finally motivated to start for due to family reasons), and sometimes I find ones that lend themselves to captions. Usually these involve my wife, who you may remember from such “Not a Review” posts as “Not a Review of Game of Thrones” and “Not a Review of Battlestar Galactica”. I have been posting these on Facebook from time to time but it finally occurred to me that I could also post them here. After all, this is supposed to be a blog about words, right? And a picture is worth a thousand words? So all I need is forty or fifty pictures and bam! I’ve got a novella.

BTW, don’t worry about her. It turned out the zombie ducks and geese were vegetarians.

The elusive wife, some 30-odd years ago, in the blockbuster horror sequel 28 Ducks Later. See? She does exist!