Popper, by Harry Holdorf
If it weren’t for Popper, I sure as hell wouldn’t been out in the woods today, cutting up twelve inch rounds of hardwood firewood, with a 36 inch bow saw, in the middle of a 350 acre Western North Carolina cattle ranch. If my older brother didn’t use one, I probably...
Grocery Carts and Vinyl Blinds, by Harry Holdorf
1. GROCERY CARTS Amuse your idling friends by asking them: What do they call grocery carts in Western North Carolina? The answer: ‘Buggies’ 2. ONE-INCH VINYL BLINDS are ubiquitous, because they’re everywhere, because you can buy them for $3.97 (at Walmart) to fit any...
Carson, Maslow, Next, by Harry Holdorf
Carson Johnny Carson’s secret to success was to be flatter than the Great Nebraskan Plains. It’s much easier to succeed being a foil than being an entity. The silence between sounds is always more meaningful than the sounds themselves, the space between words...
When the Duck ran into the Tree again, by Harry Holdorf
So, we moved to this old farmhouse outside Brasstown, NC several weeks ago: a sunny southern-sloped acre garden-farm, something we‘ve been seeking for decades. We brought with us the same phone/internet company, Frontier (more about them later), and Becky decided to...
last fourteen presidents, by Harry Holdorf
At first, I thought if would be easy fun to blog about America’s last fourteen Presidents. These guys have driven America back and forth across the Conservative-Liberal spectrum, committing numerous injustices and immoralisms along the way. Oh well. I’ve done much...
Goobie Dog, by Harry
I made an agreement with ole Goobie Dog; I don’t make fun of the way his hind end sways, and he doesn’t laugh at how slow I start to walk in the morning. Course, dogs don’t laugh at anything anyway: since the dawn of dogs, they’ve made a pact to never, ever, smile....
Hyperloop
First, we need the desire. Creativity inspires desire. Desire creates ideas. Today, our modern world is requiring a handy means of getting from San Francisco to Los Angeles, on the ground, in an hour. I submit, looking down on the West Coast from 30,000 feet, it looks...
“Uh … Uh … Uh,”
by Harry Holdorf (first published in the Marin County Coastal Post Online, February 2007) I'm finally acknowledging (at 60), there's parts of my brain which don't work right. I'm left handed. While in grade school, I decided to write numbers to one million. When I got...
Max, by Harry Holdorf
Max vigorously rubbed the sleep off his sixty-seven-year-old face, after muscling the night out of his legs and arms, arching and twisting his back, bringing his body to life with the morning. Feeling his face, after twenty-four thousand, four hundred and...