A perfect day

It has been the kind of day that only one with a charmed life can lead.

High noon, and I'm down at the Foundry, speaking to the Northside Kiwanis Club. I couldn't imagine why on earth they'd want to hear from me, but Tom Mattingly asked nicely and I can't say no to the Vol Historian.

So, I sing a few songs and tell a few bad jokes and swap stories about some of the characters I've written about. Guys like Catfish Dave, who illegally stocks Fountain City Lake. (Most of us call that the Duck Pond.) Dave says it ain't illegal unless he gets caught.

I told them about my first trip to New York, Sept. 1, 2001, 10 days before the towers fell. They laughed when I told them we ate at McDonald's in Times Square. They laughed when I told them I couldn't think of one word to say to actor Tom Selleck, who I met on the street.

And so it went. They were gracious hosts. They laughed in all the right places. They gave me a six-pack of Crush Orange Soda and a box of Moon Pies to take home. I enjoyed both a few minutes ago while I watched a black-and-white movie.

Life is good.

After the speech, I met the boss out at our west office. We plotted how we are going to take over the world.

Pulling in, I noticed that my right headlight was out. Off I went to the Turkey Creek Walmart to buy a new one. Passing through the store, I spotted a guy sporting a t-shirt that says, "Beer: It's Not Just For Breakfast Anymore." I laughed.

Found my headlight then headed over to Calhoun's to enjoy an early supper. Sitting at the bar, watching the TVs and admiring the pretty young bartender named Valerie, I thought about this perfect day and realized just how lucky I am to live mi vida loca.

Later, at home, I sipped my Big Orange drink and read the Saturday Evening Post (great story from Hemingway's grandson John) and figured life can't get much better than this.