I realized a long, long time ago that I was born to be a writer. Whenever I read a story in grade school, I often had questions about what the story meant and why the story was written that way. I especially loved the English composition assignments that required us to write about personal experiences. I loved those assignments even if we had to present them in front of the whole class. I was a shy boy who stuttered and spoke broken English with a Mexican accent, but once I wrote a masterpiece of an English composition assignment (in my humble oppinion), I wanted the whole world to hear it!

I also went through what I like to call my Russian phase when I read a lot of Russian novels. For months, I read nothing but Tolstoy, Dostoevsky, Pasternak, and Chekhov. On those overcast, cold, rainy days, I would say to myself, “What moody and introspective day. Perfect for curling up with a samovar of tea and reading a Russian novel” while listening to Prokofiev.

However, I avoided Russian poetry because as a poet I was still in the “Roses are red, Violets are blue …” phase back then. I realized that the only way I would ever write the Great American Novel would be by imitating the Great Russian writers. So I transformed myself into David Diegovich Rodrigoevsky! (My mother actually playfully would tell her Polish friends that she was Carmen Rodrigowski and I followed suit when I became a Russian novelist. Now that I think of it, I have never met a Polish Carmen!) I began calling my girlfriend Catherine, Katya. When she offered me food, I would tell her, “Nyet! I have a novel to write!” and continue typing away on my electric typewriter. I tried writing with a quill, but the feather kept tickling my nose. Needless to say, I have yet to complete the Great American Novel. But I have lofty ambitions. J

I feel as if I have died and gone to heaven! I have finally retired from my job as a police officer after twenty years and twenty-two days. Let’s just say, I came, I saw, I retired. And I’m still young enough to enjoy my retirement. I’ve been very busy relaxing since my last day of work last month and it’s been taking up all my time. Retirement is a fulltime job!

Now that I no longer have to work for anyone else, I am free to fulfill my wildest dreams. I have already made my to-do list and let’s just say that I’m very ambitious. Make no small plans! Since I will have so much leisure time at my disposal, I have decided that I will write the Great American Novel, end world hunger, and cure cancer!

However, while I was driving, something occurred to me. How can I achieve all these lofty and noble goals without first upgrading my car speakers? As I drove, I remembered how I have postponed replacing a fried speaker in my car door for months. Once I have my tunes blasting again, I’ll be ready to work on my new projects. For the rest of my life.

The other day I was with my sons and their friends. And we were just whooping it up and having a good old time. We went to McDonald’s to eat, but we were all telling jokes and laughing a lot. We attracted the attention of everyone there. When people took a good look to see who those unruly kids were, they seemed incredibly surprised to see me with them. I felt like I was in the fourth grade again! That is, until we were driving home, and we passed another restaurant to which they all pointed and chanted, “Hooters, Hooters!” “We should’ve gone to Hooters!” one boy said. I had to immediately grow up and play Dad again. But deep down inside, emotionally I mean, I know I’m still a ten-year-old!

Well, in the tradition of my father who insisted on doing things himself, even if they often resulted in disaster, I have managed to get my Blog back online. I’m not sure how I managed, but I read the instructions and everything went as planned. Believe me, I was shocked! My father would be proud of me if he understood the Internet. From now on, I’m not tinkering with my blog. I’m leaving it alone. I mean except for writing new Blog entries.

I love to have my coffee in the morning. Nothing starts my day better than a good, strong cup of coffee! For this, I use a coffeemaker that I setup the night before I go to bed. I have to clean it out, put water in the reservoir, pour beans in the grinder, and set the timer so the this whole coffee-brewing operation occurs just shortly before I wake up. The coffee brews as I am waking up and I literally wake up and smell the coffee. I have to have a daily routine, which once again reminds me of my father. He had certain routines that he had to follow even when they were no longer practical. For example, he still carries a flashlight, screwdriver, and pliers everywhere he goes–just in case!–even though he no longer is a mechanic and he uses a walker to answer the door.

Anyway, one day, my coffeemaker needed cleaning. The compartment that holds the strainer/filter no longer opened freely when I pushed the release button and I had to jiggle the tray to open it. I cleaned it with hot water and a sponge, but there was no improvement in its operation. So I took out a flashlight that I had handy in one of the kitchen cabinet drawers and examined the coffeemaker thoroughly with that flashlight, just like my father.

I was poking around with a screwdriver to see if I could discover the cause of the malfunction. At that precise moment, I noticed a little screw that I believed held the tray in place. It was screaming, “Don’t even think of unscrewing me!” But I unscrewed it anyway! A little spring came flying at my face, but I knew that if I dodged it I would never find it again. Luckily, the spring hit my glasses and landed on my lap. I removed the remaining pieces from the coffemaker, but the filter tray did not come out! I found some coffee buildup and cleaned it out. However tempted I was to remove the remaining screws, I managed to control myself. So I attempted to put the coffeemaker back together again after cleaning it thoroughly.

It wasn’t as easy as I had hoped. The spring that had attacked me, resisted returning to designated location. I suppose it flew at me in a rage because it didn’t want to be there in the first place. Yet, if I wanted my coffeemaker to brew coffee again, I had to force it back in there in that tight little space from whence it flew out. My sons asked what I was doing and I answered them honestly, “I don’t know.” I knew there was a way to get that spring back in there. I just had to keep trying. Just then it occurred to me that I had become my father!

I remembered a time when I was about ten years old and my father had bought a “new” used station wagon that needed some work. He had never bought a new car in his life. The rear door window was in the backseat and my father wanted to install it before we went to bed that night. I remember helping him because, “Sometimes you need three hands to do certain car repairs,” as my father would always tell me when he needed my help.

Of course, I always hated helping him because he would never stop until he had finished what he had started, even if it took hours or days. Well, we started well before sunset. My father took off the door panel and inserted the window. “Mira qué fácil fue,” my father said, as if he actually believed that it was that easy. When he tried cranking the window down, it just slid all the way to the bottom of the door. He was extremely disappointed by his failure, but that only made him more determined to succeed and me more wary of what was in store for me.

My father tried for hours, until well after sunset, to get that window to function properly. He tried every possible remedy: screws, nuts, coat hangers, duct tape. But nothing worked! I wanted to go in the house, but my father needed me to hold the window in place while he adjusted the coat hanger and duct tape. He was bound and determined to make that window work! Well, he finally did it, sometime after midnight. And he was quite proud of his accomplishment.

So there I was trying to put this spring back in my coffeemaker when I remembered my father trying to fix the window of his “new” used station wagon. I thought of getting a third hand–which would have come in handy–from one of my sons, but that spring belonged in a tight little space where I could barely put in three fingers. I thought I had put the spring in place on my very first attempt. But when I pushed the release button, nothing released. I realized the spring wasn’t in the proper place, applying the proper tension. I tried several more times and I failed over and over.

I really wanted my coffee the next morning, so I thought of buying a new coffeemaker. But, no! I thought of my father not giving up with his “new” used station wagon window. I became as determined as my father and intended to fix that coffeemaker by putting that spring in place. Each attempt brought me closer. It was as if I was practicing to put in place, until I actually put it in place and the coffemaker worked like new. I promised myself to never take out that spring again!

The next morning, I had the best cup of good, strong coffee that I have ever had in my life!