Lemonade Chronicles

Life; Gently Squeezed

April 2013 archive

The Bowling Ball

 Bowling balls, for those who live outside New England, are large spheres, about the size of a soccer ball. They are made of compressed plastic or resin and have three holes (two finger and one thumb) to make gripping a ball this size easier. These spheres are used in ten-pin bowling and are measured in pounds. Their weight ranges, typically, between six and sixteen pounds. (more…)

New Suits

New Suits by Rick Forristall

The seemingly innocuous task of buying a suit takes on a whole new meaning

The seemingly innocuous task of buying a suit takes on a whole new meaning

“Okay guys, it’s time to go,” Dad said to us, somberly. His challenges were plenty during those days – most would consider them insurmountable. This day’s required activity surely didn’t make his life any easier – spending money he didn’t have for an event he probably wished away, four hundred or ten thousand times every day.

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Chance Encounters

Chance Encounters  by Rick Forristall

“Attention airport guests! US Airways flight 129 is now in its final boarding process. Please proceed to Gate 45 for immediate boarding,” he heard, frustrated that he overslept. Looking down at his boarding pass, nearly running now, he sensed the intrusion and impending collision. (more…)

The Canteen Truck: The beginning and ending of my life of crime

(This is a memoir writing assignment for my Nonfiction Fundamentals course with Southern NH University.)

The Canteen Truck

(The beginning and ending of my life of crime)

Disclaimer: some names have been changed to protect the guilty – or maybe because I forgot them?

“C’mon Rick, you’re the perfect size.” Wow, that is so cool; no one ever said that about me. “Perfect size, yay! Perfect size for what?” I ask while running fast to John. John’s a big kid, three years older than me. “C’mere,” he says, wrapping his arm over my shoulder and behind my neck. His hand lands on my other shoulder. “D’ya see that truck? It’s called a canteen truck.” “You’re silly,” I say, chuckling. “I know it’s a canteen truck.” “Do you know what’s inside it?” I tell him sure I do. There’s candy, cookies, gum and Cokes inside – where we lived, near Boston, we called any soft drink a Coke back then. “Why?” “We want some,” said John.

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