A Bisquick, a basque-ette, of tiger is my task.... ette
Sterno's p's lived in an upscale, down home, oldie kinda neighborhood. They had this GREAT house, it was HUGE (well it seemed big to a kid who grew up in a 3 bedroom appartment with 4 other people). They were quite the nice folks as well. Wait, you do realize, that I use a tense that is past, simply because I speak of many years gone by, NOT because I speak of people gone by, be not afraid my little chitterlings.
Poop, not two lines in and I already am off track, where was I.... maybe I should just read what I just wrote... Sterno's P's... right, GREAT house, yup sure was... past tense... Oh yeah, thats where I went wrong...
So anyway, they had this here house in this here place and it was all very nice and cozy and all. It was one of them 3 story houses that was kinda dark on the outside, and had a prarie decorating kinda feel inside (at least thats how my addled brain recalls it all...). Lots of earth tones and deep wood stuff. Say, were you aware that addled is derived from an old word for filthy water? or for you cruciverbalists out there, it can describe a rotten egg.Anyway, back to my memory, lets pretent you see things getting all wavy and stuff like a scooby doo flashback. Right across from where Sterno was living, just down the road a half a piece (maybe almost 3/4 a piece...) was the house of Tiger.
We started out from sterno's house that fine autumn day (tiddley pom)
We walked and we strayed down the road (toddley pom)
until a curious creature came bounding up, nay, bouncing really, upon his backside (tiddley pom)
as if it were a coilled spring......
Oh wait, thats a tigger... forget that last bit
We used to stop by the house of Tiger to visit. At first it was to visit the p's of Tiger, as they were seriously groovy people in their own rights, and they were always groovy to talk to. Tiger's dad was a writer and historian. He was a damned fine writier at that. I have some books he wrote, some of them are about dead people, I guess that makes it historical enough. We sometimes would sit around and talk to these folks, why they would let us into their house I am sure was a mystery to them as well as you. But we always had a great time. Tiger was our junior at the time, but he quickly grew out of that. It was something of a time distortion. Tiger started out our Junior, yet not 6 years later, he was simply our equal. Strange how time can get dilated with age, or is that age gets dilated with time... hmm, I know not, but Tiger was always cool, even if he started out so much younger. In the early years, we did not hang with Tiger too much, you know. He was busy trying to do whatever he did, and Sterno and I were doing what we did. In the heyday of the Chez Sterno, Tiger would play an integral roll in the daily life.
Tiger's house was a monument to that out of the way bookstore you remember. Stacked high with books, none really dusty, although so many, you could not believe they wer not. Tigers Dad would always have some curious books to show us, I guess I have him to thank for my unreasonable love of Wisconsin regional history. The basement was all the same. filled to the top with books. I still have a piece of that basement, that really belongs to Tiger. So let me just add an aside...
Tiger, I have a piece of your old basement, that I discovered in a very old box that I had not opened in years. I would very much like to let you have it as its proper souveneer value belongs to you and yours. If you would like me to send it to you, just email me with an address and I will get them on a cargo plane to wherever you now call home.
... Now back to Today's pointless non-yarn...
Why do I bring all this up? I don't know, its really not a story, its more of a mood that Sterno and I once had. some stories are not really stories after all, sometimes they are just a place or a habit. In this case, it was both, but it was also people. While they did not make us, nor did the place spawn us, the time and the people made us much better than we would have been. In the end, Tiger got what I had always wanted. He got to sell books.
Do I have a funny story to tell about Tiger? Sure do, I gots me plenty! Did I tell you about the time down in champaigne when we drove down to visit Buzz and Mikey? or did I mention the time when the party light was blinking at the Chez and the coffe table was full? or What about that hot girl we both ended up dating? (She really was a grand friend as well, and of her I will write one day, we will call here foose, because we called her foose) or... wait... those are all for later, they first need to be given the lysol treatment to have the names change to protect the innocent.
Well, with that mess of a non-tale, I will leave you to ponder. Howdy Tiger, welcome to my contribution to the downfall of mankind.
Poop, not two lines in and I already am off track, where was I.... maybe I should just read what I just wrote... Sterno's P's... right, GREAT house, yup sure was... past tense... Oh yeah, thats where I went wrong...
So anyway, they had this here house in this here place and it was all very nice and cozy and all. It was one of them 3 story houses that was kinda dark on the outside, and had a prarie decorating kinda feel inside (at least thats how my addled brain recalls it all...). Lots of earth tones and deep wood stuff. Say, were you aware that addled is derived from an old word for filthy water? or for you cruciverbalists out there, it can describe a rotten egg.Anyway, back to my memory, lets pretent you see things getting all wavy and stuff like a scooby doo flashback. Right across from where Sterno was living, just down the road a half a piece (maybe almost 3/4 a piece...) was the house of Tiger.
We started out from sterno's house that fine autumn day (tiddley pom)
We walked and we strayed down the road (toddley pom)
until a curious creature came bounding up, nay, bouncing really, upon his backside (tiddley pom)
as if it were a coilled spring......
Oh wait, thats a tigger... forget that last bit
We used to stop by the house of Tiger to visit. At first it was to visit the p's of Tiger, as they were seriously groovy people in their own rights, and they were always groovy to talk to. Tiger's dad was a writer and historian. He was a damned fine writier at that. I have some books he wrote, some of them are about dead people, I guess that makes it historical enough. We sometimes would sit around and talk to these folks, why they would let us into their house I am sure was a mystery to them as well as you. But we always had a great time. Tiger was our junior at the time, but he quickly grew out of that. It was something of a time distortion. Tiger started out our Junior, yet not 6 years later, he was simply our equal. Strange how time can get dilated with age, or is that age gets dilated with time... hmm, I know not, but Tiger was always cool, even if he started out so much younger. In the early years, we did not hang with Tiger too much, you know. He was busy trying to do whatever he did, and Sterno and I were doing what we did. In the heyday of the Chez Sterno, Tiger would play an integral roll in the daily life.
Tiger's house was a monument to that out of the way bookstore you remember. Stacked high with books, none really dusty, although so many, you could not believe they wer not. Tigers Dad would always have some curious books to show us, I guess I have him to thank for my unreasonable love of Wisconsin regional history. The basement was all the same. filled to the top with books. I still have a piece of that basement, that really belongs to Tiger. So let me just add an aside...
Tiger, I have a piece of your old basement, that I discovered in a very old box that I had not opened in years. I would very much like to let you have it as its proper souveneer value belongs to you and yours. If you would like me to send it to you, just email me with an address and I will get them on a cargo plane to wherever you now call home.
... Now back to Today's pointless non-yarn...
Why do I bring all this up? I don't know, its really not a story, its more of a mood that Sterno and I once had. some stories are not really stories after all, sometimes they are just a place or a habit. In this case, it was both, but it was also people. While they did not make us, nor did the place spawn us, the time and the people made us much better than we would have been. In the end, Tiger got what I had always wanted. He got to sell books.
Do I have a funny story to tell about Tiger? Sure do, I gots me plenty! Did I tell you about the time down in champaigne when we drove down to visit Buzz and Mikey? or did I mention the time when the party light was blinking at the Chez and the coffe table was full? or What about that hot girl we both ended up dating? (She really was a grand friend as well, and of her I will write one day, we will call here foose, because we called her foose) or... wait... those are all for later, they first need to be given the lysol treatment to have the names change to protect the innocent.
Well, with that mess of a non-tale, I will leave you to ponder. Howdy Tiger, welcome to my contribution to the downfall of mankind.