PDF Grandmas Pie Surprise: By David L. Decker

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Jimmy and his grandfather would take 60 degrees with a light breeze coming out of the south any day for fishing. The fog was still floating above the salt water but the rising sun would burn it off within the hour. Jimmy was now 14 years old but his grandfather had taken him out on the "Wanderlust", a 35ft Bertram with twin Caterpillars since he was 6 years old.

The boat was quick and not too large so it could get out to the fishing spots and "back in time for cocktail hour" his grandfather would always say just before he pushed both throttles forward to head out to where they may fool a Mako or Tuna that day.

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Jimmy loved the transcendental sound of the engines while the Bertram floated in rhythm over the waves as they headed eastward toward a secret place that his grandfather learned of from his father 50 years earlier. The boat had GPS and a depth finder, but Jimmy's grandfather was old school and lived by his knowledge of the currents, time of year, wind and temperature. It was part of young Jimmy's life experiences that would be logged in and imprinted to make up what Jimmy would become as an adult man. After the Wanderlust had skipped along the water for about 30 minutes Jimmy's grandfather pulled back on both throttles and the boat slowed to a floating crawl.

The noise went from loud combustion to much more subtle natural sounds of waves splashing against the hull and seabirds squawking at each other as they glided overhead in search of bait. Grandfather climbed up into the tuna tower and was giving the ocean his scouting observation like he always did as if he could see or hear in which direction the Tuna may be heading.

Then as he climbed down to bait the rods, he would always turn to Jimmy and say: "These polarized glasses are ten times better than the old ones. You can see right through the water. For no apparent reason, the breeze went still and the current began to slow. Even the seabirds went quiet. Jimmy and his grandfather both looked up to see what had changed. The wind stopped for a minute and then picked up as it switched out of the west. As the two looked around to try and make some sense out of the change, there came through the fog, the bow of a sailboat about 50 meters off their starboard side.

The boat broke through the mist and was moving at a nice clip with the wind behind it. By Jimmy's best guess it was about 40 feet long. Not particularly large by today's standards but large enough. As it sailed by the bow of the Wanderlust, Jimmy noticed how beautiful the ship was. It was classic, perfectly maintained, with a deep navy hull and a white sail with red stripes flowing across it. It appeared as if it had been made for the sea and the sea for it.

As the boat sailed perfectly by, at the stern was a nice looking older man dressed in what appeared to be a gray oiled wool sweater that had seen the sun and salt more than a few times before. The man smiled and with a wave asked: "Any luck? Jimmy's grandfather replied: "Thank you sir. What are you doing today.? He looked up to his grandfather and said, "41 is a strange name for a sailboat. There is a scene in the , Charlie Brown Thanksgiving Special where all the gang is having dinner. Sullivan, the only black character is sitting alone on one side of the long table in a beach chair while all the other characters are sitting on the other side of the table in better built wooden chairs.

This year, for some reason, the scene lit up the social media platforms with endless accusations like it had just been discovered after 44 years. Gary had heard from the neighbors that this year everyone was to donate food for the holiday block party. Gary was 35 years old and lived alone in a very nice colonial, three bedroom house at the end of the street. Every year the neighbors would alternate homes as to where to have their party. It had grown larger and more extravagant every year since the first one 11 years ago.

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This year it was at Gary's home and everyone young and old were coming. He was friends with some of the best local musicians and they agreed to entertain the families for half of their usual charge as long as they were allowed a free drink or two while on break. There was no fast rule on what the donated food had to be or how much each household was required to bring. It was their first try at a gesture of being part of a caring coalition that understood we are all God's children.

Helping someone else was always a good thing. So came the night of the party and so also came the neighborhood in full force. There was food and drink and laughter and music. It was everything anyone could hope for when it came to b lock parties at Christmas. To the left of the front door stood a tall barrel where neighbors dropped their food donations as they entered Gary's beautifully decorated home.

As time passed Gary couldn't help but notice, Mary, a smart and talented year-old girl who lived two doors down, staring at the barrel with a somewhat disappointed expression. Gary wandered over, bent down and asked Mary if there was something wrong. Gary gave the observation a moment to sink in.

He stood up straight, looked around the room and then back down at Mary ;" So what do you think about that. Mary glanced up at Gary and said; "It's a nice try but we can do better.

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The next time those in the social media world, doubt the genius of who and what Charles M Schulz was as a writer and by extension, a person: I would ask that they pause and rethink their interpretation. We can do better. That has to give anyone that has any curiosity about life reason to pause.

Elton John sits in front of virtually the same 12 notes as any average adult and yet when the two press down on the keys, two very different outcomes emerge. Jonathan had the fall morning to be with Fraley, his year-old son. Fraley was a very good soccer player. The scouts were already taking notes by his 8th-grade year. He was not only good at soccer but also tennis and debate. I might as well mention that humor and good looks also made the list when Fraley was born.

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Yes, much of it came easier to Fraley than other boys but no one could say that Fraley didn't work hard at being better. He did. He even liked the grueling practices somewhat like a marathon runner gets a high around the 6th or 7th mile. One of Jonathan's kicks sailed over Fraley's head which sent him on a journey past the volleyball nets and beyond the birch line in order to retrieve the ball. It was back in that smaller open space that Fraley noticed a young boy about 6 or 7 years old a short distance away sitting on the ground crying while people seemed to just walk past as if he was invisible.

Fraley walked over and asked what was wrong.


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The boy wiping his eyes said: " I can't hit the ball. Here, rest the bat on your shoulder with one hand. Straighten out your left arm and toss the ball straight in the air. The trick is to try and hit the bottom of the ball. That way, by the time your bat actually swings through the air it will hit the middle of the ball.

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So aim at the bottom of the ball. The boy took the direction, tossed the ball, swung and missed. He said, starting to tear up: "See, I keep trying but it doesn't work. The ball sailed 10 yards or so in the air, hit the ground and rolled a bit more. Two smiles broke the faces on both boys. Fraley paused for another group of people to move past both of them. He then walked 12 steps back to his soccer ball and with one motion kicked it soaring over the birch trees and yards of park lawn where it rolled to a stop almost at his father's feet.


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    • It's freezing out there. Winter arrived early this year and Barb was just trying to take a few more moments to put the finishing touches on her holiday flower pot displayed on the corner of their balcony. Steam was rising off of the acre lake. Out of the east came a rare flock of 20 or more swans cutting through the hovering fog like it was time for their stage left entrance.

    Soon the snow would fall like it had every year for the past 60 since their wedding in the impressive Episcopal Church downtown. This would also be their last white and frozen winter. The combined difficulties that come with navigating a life in cold, snow and ice had finally won and the couple was set to move to a comfortable living community just outside of Tuscon come April.

    For the most part, people that grow up in the south will never understand why anyone would choose to live in Saginaw, or for that matter anyplace else where hell freezes over coupled with the fact that jobs and economic growth had been deteriorating for 30 years. But for southerners , it was really about the cold. If only they knew the half of it. Aside from the temperatures that were unnatural and downright dangerous for humans to exist, there was the extra stuff.

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    Snow tires, coats, snow pants, shovels, mittens, hats, boots. There was the bag of salt that had to be kept in the trunk along with jumper cables and flares. It could even be unwise to be outside on certain nights in January. William and Barb had heard it all from the warm weather dwellers, and for the most part , they weren't wrong.

    It really didn't make sense to choose to live in a place like Saginaw. Barb closed the sliding door only after the old pot looked beautiful with the spruce green and gold and silver add ons. She sat back with a hot cider and watched the silent magic of the swans disappear into the rising fog from the acre lake. It was silent in a calm and stunningly eerie way. Barb and William knew that beauty came in subtle forms and eventually sank so deep into their fabric that it became part of them.