A smattering of works by Paul deVere
IMPOSSIBLE
Because, if my calculations are correct (and the loan officers and scholarship committees see it my way), that means it will be only eight more years until they graduate from college. And only four until they START college. Impossible!
Ride of a Lifetime
On a slow news weekend in April, 1986, the entire world had a chance to watch a 7,000 square foot Southern “beach cottage” float up the Intracoastal Waterway between St. Simon’s Island, Georgia and Daufuskie Island, South Carolina.
Sea Change
This is what happens when you do your job too well. For almost a decade I have offered my humble advice to better a player’s performance on the golf course. Then, out of the blue, it happens …
The Fix Is In
Rule #1. In a house with only two bathrooms (i.e., two toilets) fix only one at a time.
Wow, Indeed.
“Dad, that was exceptional!” My alignment was all wrong, I explained. My son and I were just finishing up a round of golf. With few exceptions, he wandered the fairways, while his father followed a more circuitous route.
Good Morning Starshine
It was an early Saturday morning in the fall. I noted my household was rigorously performing its traditional “Saturday Morning Sleep-In”. . .
Deer Scat
In the nightly contest on Lowcountry highways, it seems always the same, Car 1, Deer 0 . . .
What I Did on My Summer Vacation
Hey, everybody! We’re back. Marjorie’s got a little sun poisoning, but it’s clearing up real well. And Bud Junior’s pretty proud of the welts on his leg where … he was “attacked by a man-eating jelly fish and lived to tell about it.”
QUITTING GOLF
As you get in your car (you notice your unemployed filmmaker son did not get it gassed up as promised) and wonder what your V-8 juice-laced Cheerios is doing to our stomach, you remember your three putt . . .
GOLF LEGENDS ARE MADE, NOT BORN
I have decided to become a golf legend. Since my game has little improved from the time I first struck a golf ball with a golf club (7-iron) over three decades ago, I feel this is the appropriate next step in my golfing ascendancy.
HOW TO ESCAPE THE H(Horribly) B(Boring) G(Golfer)
. . . Only one thing mars this most pleasant evening. You have been captured by the least pleasant of guests, the HBG: Horribly Boring Golfer.
Lost and Found
I have been looking for my keys for 10 minutes. I have ripped apart my office. Gone through every drawer in the house. Searched all flat surfaces. Nothing!
A View From the Ridge
Author’s note: In the late fall of 2012, after residing on Hilton Head Island for 30 plus years, mostly at the beach, I heard the siren call of “greener pastures” (i.e. budget considerations) and moved my kit and caboodle to a Really Rural Ridgeland home on the tidal waters of Boyd Creek.
The Day the Zippered Fly Hit Red Springs
According to “The Red Springs Citizen” (“The Citizen”) it took place on Wednesday morning, April 14, 1936, and changed life in the town forever. Whether it was for better or worse still brings on heated debate . . .
Thanksgiving 1621
“Our people had met their kind before. Having lived on this land for over 10,000 years, you’re bound to run into all types.
Rescued
“Please, Dad, a palmetto isn’t the safest place to sit,” my safety-oriented progeny suggests. She is referring to my current location, which is about twenty-five feet above her in our front yard.
TO: sclaus@northpole.org
DATE: 12/01/2001
You may not remember me. It’s been, well, several years since I wrote you. I think it was the year I got my older brother’s hand-me-down Schwinn instead of the new English racer I asked you for. I just figured my list got misplaced…I figured it was about time to revise the last list I sent you (1954)…
V-Day: Bold Move!
It was V-Day minus 4. This year I was going to be traditional…last year, what I considered was my piece de resistance — a remote-controlled vacuum cleaner that actually climbed stairs — did not sit well…
Aliens! Whales (not the quasi-British)! Wake Up America!
We’ve had an immigrant problem for over 400 years. Wake up, Congress! First, they drink dark beer. As a matter of fact, they drink my FAVORITE dark beer (Guinness)! What I want to know is this: Will there be any dark beer left for me?
Halloween
I stare at the photo. I am on a horse. From my expression I look like the horse might buck me off at any moment. I tell myself, the horse is not real. Our costumes are most likely from our aunt and uncle who live in Tombstone, Arizona. My hat is rolled funny. My kerchief is a more modest version of my older brother’s true Western scarf. His hat has that casual “I-know-what-I’m-doing buster” feel to it.