A very rough draft of Jim Harstad’s memoir, ON HE RODE — Chapter 39

ON HE RODE — Chapter Thirty-Nine The country school I attended in grades five through eight was a steep-roofed chalet built of river rock, heavy Douglas fir timbers, and cedar shake roofing taken from the ground on which it was built by the WPA in 1938. A gorgeous edifice immaculately maintained by angular post-retirement old-timers…

Post-Pandemic

    They are five young shower trees Aligned on Auahi Street, fearlessly Blossoming outside Salt in late June’s Heat, full in their belief that they always Will be so lustrous and as proud As the youth of Honolulu parading Under their shade, fearlessly believing   This will never happen again.

A very rough draft of Jim Harstad’s memoir, ON HE RODE — Chapter Thirty-Seven

Looking at my naked self in a full-length mirror reveals a diverse palette of possibilities, some anticipated, some not. It seems that by choosing sudden baldness over the more gradual male pattern alternative, I have opened up other coiffure possibilities. In fact, invited them. Nay, demanded them. Judging by the preliminary stubble, I will have…

A very rough draft of ON HE RODE — Chapter Thirty-Four

“Need help?” I inquire through my open shotgun window. The family assumes a defensive posture that has Daddy holding a jack handle at the back of the car, Junior crouching unarmed behind him, Mama looking stern behind Junior, and Sis leaning on the right front fender behind Mama. “Flat tahr,” Daddy answers. “Bad luck,” I…

Enduring 2020

She lifts her left foot slowly, moving forward Steadily, if only by six inches. This Is how she gets to Foodland every Thursday, Senior discount day.   She is as tiny as the gray weeds growing Along the curb. I fear even a light wind Will nudge her off balance, yet her steps are sure,…

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