The Discombobulated Development of a CPA: A Memoir

No child plops out of the womb wearing a green eye shade, demanding to have a pocket protector attached to his first diaper, or astounding his parents by expressing a first word that sounds like dangerously close to depreciation. Nevertheless a certain percentage of newborns ultimately make it into adulthood with the initials CPA following their given names, having mastered the manipulation of debits and credits so critical to the accounting profession. This memoir examines the adventures and misadventures of one such lad who did become a CPA, although his discombobulated development defies the logic of such an outcome. His whimsical, self-deprecating recollection runs the gamut of growing up in western Montana, including a detailed description of a dubious, defiant dog deserting a downed duck (Duh!); to working five summers in Yellowstone National Park in which the governing guru of a gang of grouchy grizzlies grumbles about grievances against government guys (Good Grief!); and on to serving a stint in the Navy, wherein the writer is (for those of you with an F-word fetish ) forced to function as the forcible filter to forestall the furor from failing to fend off face-flushing fiascoes following flamboyant and fascinating, but forbidden, frivolous flashing of fetching frontal feminine flesh (Far Out!) To quote the writers younger daughter-in-law, Kimberly, as she looked lovingly (with a sly grin) at her husband, after having scanned some early excerpts from the book, Well, that explains a lot. He lived it; he loved it; he wrote it. Now you can kick back, curl up and enjoy it.