harryhero

Harry Hero is a collaborative family writing project. He began as typing practice for author #6 in the mid-seventies. Authors M, 1, 4, 5, 7, spontaneously and sarcastically contributed until Harry took on a life and momentum of his own. He was reborn as a Christmas project in the early nineties and again as a web project in the new millennium. Once more Harry has risen from near tragic and certain literary deaths to live again as blog practice. Bulwer-Lytton judges take note.

About Me

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It seems I have suffered and survived a few insults and injuries to my cranium, thus my memory does not lend itself to one seamless life I could call my own. Instead, my life seems to be one dim episode after another documented by a random and rather odd conglomeration of assorted biographers who, for some bizarre reason, seem compelled to document my trials as if I were a remarkable hero. Heroism can take many forms. Perhaps it is finding fresh strawberries in November for the Manhattan socialite's crepes as she breaks her fast. Perhaps it is found in a multitude of skills, lucky breaks and death defying feats. It may be true that piloting my faithful rig, Betsy, through the Canadian Rockies is not for the weak of spirit, mind or body; I claim no special talents other than devoted love and endless hope. Love of a good truck, a good cup coffee and a good adventure. Hope of self-actualization and...Sophie? If you desire a chronological –not necessarily logical- plotline begin reading at the January 26 2006 post - The Not So Constant Gardener - and follow subsequent postings to present day.

Blog Archive

Thursday, March 23, 2006

Betsy runs away

It was the swooning nudge against her steering wheel that carefully guided Betsy into the runaway lane, subsequently allowing Harry to eradicate the centrifugal gyrations of his body, plop himself firmly into the driver’s seat, wipe the blood from his eyes and ease her to a gentle rolling stop. Harry patted her dashboard and leaned back into her soft leather. Her idling motor sang harmonies with the Christmas carol cascading softly from her Volkswagen Phaeton 9VE Sound System.






“Hmmm, hum, humm. De dumm dee dum”, murmured Harry as he searched for the wet wipes.

Oh yes, clearly, Harry was no 67 pound weakling. Along with his other sterling attributes he owned Betsy due to a strict monetary code. In fact, his first heavy readings, (the book always clutched firmly in his little pabulum encrusted fist) were the adages at the bottom of his first savings account passbook. “A fool and his money are soon parted.” and “Opportunity comes to those with ready cash.” were permanently imprinted on his little gosling brain. (Pro Scrooge?)



These bon wits formed his financial credo. The dough he earned, as a teenager, selling 'quake' insurance in S.F. for the firm of Rigor, Mortis and Stone was stashed with the lettuce he made busking on Haight-Asbury during his lunch breaks. And when he saw Betsy, the time was right and the cash was ready. He peeled off the sawbucks while the salesman’s eyes yo-yoed! Yes-dear hearts, (or Virginia), there is a little Harry Hero in all of us, the good, the bad and the klutzish. However, enough of this maudlin psychoanalysis!



To be continued.
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