STRETCH

 Bored and barefoot on the hot sandy beach she said “Did you ever play STRETCH as a kid?’

“Sure, all the time. We played it barefoot on the grass at the local park. Different styles for each player. Some liked to make you stretch as far as possible within a knife length maximum, others liked to throw the knife close to your foot to scare you. Surprised no one got stabbed. You?”

“Yes, in Mississippi we played it on the soft grass behind my grandmothers house. In Connecticut we played it on the beach.. I was the best knife thrower”

“Me too. Wanna play?”

They played stretch for almost two hours with his old Ka Bar rigging knife She won every time as he would fall over, ending the game.

“See? I told you I was great!”

They laughed and collapsed on the hot sand. It was September 1971. They would be married in November and sail away to the US Virgin Islands in December. They wouldn’t play stretch again for 50 years.

July, 2024, Lincolnville Beach, Maine. He was 76 and felt older than he looked. She was 74 and still looked fantastic.

“Wanna Play Stretch?” she asked.

“What? With our knees? Can we do it sitting in chairs?”

“No! That’s cheating. We do it like we used to on the beach. Come on!”.

They held hands and walked down to the water’s edge on the south beach where the sand was deep even if it was mostly seaweed covered. They used a steak knife and she won easily as his left knee gave out after a few lame moves and he fell over.

That night they reflected back on their lives together. “Stretch” seemed like the perfect metaphor for all they had been through; sailing in Maine, Florida, the US and British Virgin Islands, The Bahamas, and Guadaloupe on large old wooden and steel schooners and bareboat chartering on new fiberglass slops and catamarans. Restoring old houses in Connecticut (three), Massachusetts (one on National Register) Maine (two), South Carolina (one) and newer used houses in Florida (three houses) and Mississippi. Struggling without money through college and the early years. Endurng hurricanes, floods, and a bridge loan to buy an old house with no plumbing or electricity that took 16 years to restore. Yes, STRETCH was a good word for them. The stretching was over but the memories remain clear and comforting as they now had six grandchildren to watch over and wonder; Maybe they all will need a little more STRETCH in their lives?

Why Do We Wait?

 

Why Do We Wait?

Why do we wait? To say:

• Thank you,

• I’m sorry,

• I was thinking about you,

• I miss you,

• I love you,

To write a poem or finish a book.

We may be sitting at a table or desk in the morning

drinking our coffee or tea

and think about someone who we remember

or liked or loved or who helped us through a bad time

or who we worry about.

But we do nothing

Thinking it doesn’t matter or its too late.

I wrote this poem about my wife, 23 YEARS AGO.:

The Red Dress

Maybe it takes years to get it right.

Maybe you never do, but you try

And in trying, you succeed a little

And then she dies.

And it’s too late for anything but

The Red Dress.

This was the dress that she wore one night.

She picked it out for you, but she had some doubts;

Would you like it? Was she too old?

Too fat?

When she came down the stairs,

You got excited like you always did

When you saw her body, which

She kept well hidden.

Modesty borne of Southern aunts

And a classic Southern Grandmother

From Northern Mississippi,

Who did not think a lady

should be seen in a red dress, ever.

You loved that red dress,

And she looked great in it,

After 25 years of marriage,

You still got excited when you saw here.

But you didn’t say anything that night,

And then the night was over.

Dinner was great,

you had red wine.

You talked about the kids, the house,

But you never mentioned the red dress.

That night, she took it off and you made love.

She put the dress away in the back of the closet.

That’s where you found it when she died.

The kids are coming home for the funeral

And your daughter will agree

With your unspoken regrets.

So tomorrow you will bury her in it.

and for the rest of your life you will remember

That sometimes it’s too late for anything

But The Red Dress.

F. Thomas Crowley, Jr.

Written on the AMTRAK train from

Old Saybrook, CT to Boston. - April 25, 2001

reviewed – ok - September 27, 2024

Thankfully, I read it to her and she laughed and

agreed with me - It’s never too late

unless someone you meant to call – dies.

The Maine House - for Red & Martha - 2013

 It is not fair

That you are not here

I talk to the walls

As if you will appear.

The stove is off,

Nothings burning.

I miss the smoke

Pyromaniac’s yearning.

The yard is quiet

Red’s not whacking

Far too quiet,

Something is lacking.

No greeting as I arrive

Martha is gone

But the old Maine house

Is still alive.

Alive and waiting

For you all to appear

To lift a glass

And shed a tear.

They loved  "you all"

And held you dear

They missed you both

When you weren’t here.

The Maine House waits

For the family now

Red and Martha’s family

As fate will allow.

We will all come back

To the house we love

As Red and Martha smile

Happy at peace up above.

We will tell the stories

From our different views

Each of us victims

of The Maine House, Our muse.

Tom – written first on July 28,2013

re-written – September 12, 2024

still true.

ALMOST...ALONE

 

I was determined to find a place where I could fly fish for salmon alone.  Two plane rides later I was in Anchorage.  One float plane took me to the perfect spot.  I set up camp near the river that night and the next day went fishing early in the morning. It was cold, quiet, serene, beautiful.  I made a few long casts with a favorite streamer pattern and a large salmon took it.  Fighting hard, it surfaced and tail-walked across the top of the water. The noise it made was surprising in that quiet setting.  The bigger surprise was a noise behind me.  Someone was thrashing through the tall grass.  Shit! Probably another fucking fisherman coming to spoil the moment.  I turned around to give him a ddirty look and my best scowl. That was the last thing I remember...

The Lamb of Tom

 8-12 1 - 1 1/2 inch thick loin lamb chops

MARINADE:

Fresh Rosemary -  4-6 sprigs no stems, no flowers

Fresh Garlic - 4-6 cloves crushed

Extra Virgin Olive Oil

Lemon Juice - 1/2 fresh lemon

Sea Salt & Fresh Ground Pepper

Garlic salt

smoked Paprika

gather & crush dry things

mix in oil, lemon juice, 

Blend in a Blender - 3-4 pulses

put chops and marinade in large ziplok bag

mix it up and let stand for 2 hours

GRILL on very hot grill:'

    - side 1 - 6-8 minutes

    -side 2 - 4-5 minutes

let stand for 5-8 minutes

And When I Die...

 

And when I die

my clothes will be folded neatly,

the dishes will be done

and put away.

My coffee pot will be clean

The trash will be out

all recyclables will be sorted.

The garage will be organized

My cars will be clean.

My pencils will be sharpened

all Ticonderoga Number Two

My laptop will be charged up.

And then...I can write again

and finish that book

But first? Another poem or

this thing I wrote this morning.

FTC

Alcohol Kills

 Stopped drinking on January 11, 2023

miss it from 5 to 7 pm

feel better every day

2 small slip ups in 30 days  (sip - ups)

will keep it going

life with wife is much better

Thanks be to ....God?  or  me?