Days of our lives

Guess what? I’m on vacation. At least I will be. Or something.

It’s a little weird, one of those temporal fugue states, in which I’m writing present-future-past tense, but it’s the kind of intellectually chaotic conundrum our favorite readers have come to expect from our little publication.

So, let’s see. I’m writing this on Friday, six days before the issue hits the stands. I’m not technically on vacation until Monday, three days before deadline. I expect to be in Nebraska Tuesday and Wednesday, and back in town in time to see this issue hit the streets on Thursday, although I won’t be back in the office until June 30.

My son, Hunter, and I are going to visit my dad. I hope to do some fishing, some kicking back, maybe visit a friend or two from high school. Most of my schoolmates are still around there—even the ones who couldn’t wait to get out of town after graduation.

Falls City is another one of those temporal fugue states in which I live in a present-future-past tense. When I think about visiting, I’m still the gawky, pimply, skinny, tall, irritated kid who could never quite feel comfortable within my own skin. I don’t know if anyone else saw me that way. These days, I’m the self-possessed, pocked, tall, generally content man. I don’t know if anyone back there sees me as anything but bald and fat.

I certainly don’t see the town I left. Those wide streets, where there was always enough room for bicycles and two cars to pass in opposite directions, seem more like game trails to me. The lake, down the hill from my house, seems more like a damp mud pit.

I’m taking my son home, though, and that’s the kind of thing that people in my home town appreciate. I’ll let you know how it turns out.