Packing Peanuts

    My Uncle Walter golfed at Saucon Valley Country Club when I was ten. That was in 1960. In February of 1961 my Uncle used red golf balls so that they would not so easily be lost in the patches of melting snow. Sand traps and snow drifts mistook each other.

    My Uncle used red golf balls in 1961 and in 2010 my Father died.

    Red golf balls.

    That is all. Really. Red golf balls. Dead.

(Vatchi): Christ, Sotto, quit complaining about "another endless Jim Story." I see your ears pricked up like a German Shepherd's. You can't deny that you're listening. Complaining is contagious and whatever you're selling, I ain't buying.

    Jim's not buying or selling redemption. He's moved to sobriety and he's still unpacking. Cardboard boxes filled with consolidated memories. And his blackouts, you might ask?

    They're his packing peanuts.

    Packing peanuts.

 

from All Drinking Aside (Rough Draft, Chapter 9)