‘Tis a warm and windy Christmas day here in Charlotte. The kind of day that reminds me of “The Creek.” I use quotes because it wasn’t really a creek, but a simple drainage ditch whose “banks” had become forested over the years. Or what passes as “forested” by central Nebraska standards.

There was a fence running along the east edge of the narrow wooded strip we called “The Creek.” On the other side of this fence was a massive corn field. Like I said: Nebraska. I would walk with my dog, Skipper, along this fence until we reached “The Tree.” Actually, nobody called it “The Tree” but I feel like it needs a name for the purposes of this reminiscence. So I’ll call it Edna.

When we reached Edna, I would always unleash Skipper, and he would immediately vanish into the corn. I would climb Edna with a book in my hand, and spend my afternoon reading in a tree. Every ten or fifteen minutes, Skipper would emerge from the corn, checking to see whether it was time to go home or if his yard ape was still monkeying around in Edna.

I never understood why Skipper so thoroughly enjoyed running around the corn field. In retrospect, I wonder if he was just using the corn as cover, making me think he was playing in the field when he was actually just passing through the corn to get back into town. Maybe he was visiting some female dog(s), or robbing banks, or stealing cable so he could watch MTV.

In any case (except Roe Vs. Wade), I wish you a Merry Christmas, Happy Chanukah, Joyous Cedstice, or just a good week. Oh, yeah…and death to COVID-19.