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Writing is easy. Making sense when you write is hard.
~My adaption of the time worn saw.
Thursday, May 30, 2019. The real Memorial Day before we bastardized the memorial into a three-day holiday of excess.
I don’t know how many of these coffee posts I have made in the last few years. A coffee post is an indulgence rather than a work. I have grown weary with them, but they do serve to keep my fingers on the keyboard as I attempt to capture you for the 30 to 90 seconds it takes to read one. But I need to do more than capture you when I write. I need to hold your attention and not abuse the investment in time you make with me.
For that, I feel guilty. I do squander my readers times with predictable old man musings. I dash them off with nary a thought given to the value of my readers time. But the truth is my life is uneventful. I rise. I eat. I retire. And sometimes life intrudes with its tragedies.
I try to make sense of life as ponder endlessly on life and death, while old Thanatos breathes heavily upon the left side of my neck. A great man is admired by his accomplishments, even if those accomplishments bring on more misery than they do good. I am sure that a lot of people wheren’t so thrilled with Alexander the Great’s military genius, nor of his legacy. Yet he is rarely portrayed as a tyrant and a villain.
Hevel havalim hakol hevel. Vanity of vanity, it is all vanity.
Enough for the day is sufficient evil.
Yeah. I pretty much conclude the same thing as Solomon and Messiah. Enjoy the work of my hands, and enjoy the wife of my youth. Everything else is vanity, even trying to make sense of life or trying impress my readers.
Morning dawns, and I roll over and go back to sleep and reawaken at a more decent time of morning.
Rough night last night with geezer ailments. But that slice of cold pizza and a glass of milk at 2 am didn’t help them much either. I knew that was going to hurt later, and I wasn’t disappointed. I don’t know why I do that to me.
Old Bucephalus, my antique Dodge Grand Caravan is in the shop for a new battery, oil change and tire rotation. It has so many little things needing fixing, like loose weather stripping and such. It is a shame that I neglected it so, so I resolve to do better. Sans solemn oath, of course.
Can’t avoid hearing about the recent Kabuki dance between Trump, Pelosi and Schumer. The press reports the theater as if it was a real happening instead of a staged event by unskilled actors. I am tired of the symbolic crap. It is time to act like statesmen instead of cheap-assed politicians. But who really believes that will happen? So, it goes on. These are the people who really think they “lead”. The only reason they have followers is out of idle curiosity.
So this missive goes.
A late good morning!
Old Tew’s day rolls in with gray storm laden clouds and 80% chance of rain before lunch, but then will clear off in the afternoon. There must be thunder in the distance that I can’t hear because the two dogs I have that are afraid of rain and lightning are very clingy. I can’t hear thunder in the distance without my hearing aids in, but it is so nice to sit in silence that I put off wearing them until breakfast.
We are growing a bit impatient with the rains. But this is Texas … rain or drought. Take your pick as to which you hate worse. My little acre is so lush and green this spring that it almost makes me think we are living in a temperate paradise, and I like that. But July/August is around the corner, and we quickly become hellishly hot.
News is thankfully thin today, though the deep state finger pointing continues as the spotlight reluctantly but inexorably turns to the source of the great misdirect of 2016-2019. Hopefully, the newsies will have enough integrity to eat their humble pie in public when the sordid mess is finally illuminated. I’m not taking any bets on it, though.
Today, Snookums volunteers at the local food bank, so it is dinner prep for me. Thinking that it would be a good day for a Pizza run. I have been promising one for several weeks now, but it requires getting dressed and wearing real shoes instead of foam flip-flops. Oh! The Agony!
Last night I had a Bat Kol, one of those moments when a voice wakens you, and a spiritual question gets answered. I’ve talked about the experience before. They tend to be very personal, and when I try to explain the revelation to others, they eye me suspiciously and change the subject and again, I slowly learn discretion. That passage that goes “her old men shall dream dreams” comes to mind, and my God once again proves himself trustworthy.
It still has me in a whimsical mood as this new morning with coffee begins unfolding.
Monday dawns with light gray skies. More thunderboomers possible today around lunchtime, but no tornado warnings. Springtime in Texas. The warming nights will get the bermudagrass growing and hopefully put an end to the yellow flue. Itchy eyes, but no running nose, so there is hope.
Billionaire has sex with willing 15 yr old in his jet. Game of Thrones fans are really irked with the season finale, and it looks like James Brennon is going to take the fall for the Obama administrations spying on the never-ending saga of the Trump campaign. AP doubles down on its Trump attacks, Trump mispronounces Buttigieg, and so it goes. It’s like birth pangs … and I am a bit apprehensive of what is going to be birthed.
So goes my mind this gloomy morning in the bucolic pampas of Texas. So, what will be, will be goes the old saw and song.
It is Snooks grocery day, and I am hoping to get old Bucephalus down to the mechanic for a new battery. Or not. And the weekly mowing time is here and my battle with goatheads flattening my tires continues.
But it is coffee sipping time, followed by breakfast, and then some ‘round tuits …
Here I am enjoying the first porch sitting morning with my brand spankin’ new computer cart and laptop. Well, the laptop wasn’t new when I bought it, and I bought it a year ago in an effort to get me out of my underwear in the morning. It probably isn’t a good idea to sit out on the porch in your BVD’s … not that any of the millennials in the audience would know what BVD’s are. But they would know that I wasn’t dressed for the out-of-doors if they saw me in ‘em.
I was hoping my old tree trimmer would answer my call, he was a lot more reasonable than the big tree trimmers are, but I need the tree out of here. Another local boy, dairy farmer and goat raiser living down by the confluence stopped by and bid on it. I cried a little, bartered a little, shook hands and the deal was made before my second cup of coffee.
The mocking birds that have taken up in the black pecan tree next to the fallen tree are really piercing my eardrums this morning with their mating songs, while the neighbors high pitched mower whines in the distance. Saplings spring up, old trees die, country lanes are paved, and pickup trucks are exchanged for hybrids. Time marches relentlessly on, and geezers write long rambling posts with the mornings coffee.
In Memoriam: Where my mother rests today she needs no frothy memorials, flowers, or sentiment. She is beyond those, and sleeps in peace. Should this age miraculously go on for a few more centuries, she’ll be a mere box in a genealogy tree, with her children chronicled in boxes below her name. Her life has returned to the clay she was formed of, and I’ll not see her until I too awaken from my slumber. The time to honor her has passed. The time to cease mourning her passing has yet to come, and there is no poetic verse or bouquet for that. Time marches relentlessly on to its own doom, and I’ll not miss it when it ceases.
Sunnandæg, or Sunday as we say now, arrived appropriately with a sunrise. Odd how so many cultures consider this day of the week the sun’s day. But some European nations go with “rest day”, and some religious cultures go with “the first day”, יום ראשון yom rishon in Hebrew. But I don’t think the sun cares. You can call it fried okra day and the sun will continue to rise. It just does that, and only foolish man is compelled to give it a name.
I am a bit peevish today, the tree people were supposed to have come by yesterday to tell me how much of my disposable income they want to remove a tree that blew over next the house, and didn’t show. It was a miracle that the roof didn’t cave in over Snooks and my head when it went … we were idly watching it just sort of rotate like God’s hand was on protecting us as it slowly went down alongside the house. It was a surreal slow-motion moment in time. But maybe he’ll come by today … I really need that tree taken out.
I’ll miss it for sure, because it housed birds and provide a lot of important morning porch sitting shade. The cardinals and mockingbirds sassed me from the branches as I woke to the day. It seems us old men need a lot of scolding, and the world happily provides it.
I am almost totally ignorant of the Democrats antics in staging their little coup. As long as they don’t try to enforce it at the point of a gun, they’ll be allowed to do their peevish little dance in Congress. I am still among the most ill-informed now that I have kicked all news off my TV, and permit very little to come via the internet. It’s a fight and I am far to decrepit to take up a cudgel and bash heads. Reformers are all pushing the Presidents boorishness at me, and getting irked when I answer “So? I didn’t vote for him because he is a saint. I voted for him because he wasn’t Hillary.”
Oh well. It will play out how it plays out. La-de-dah and fiddle-de-de.
Today is waffle day. I have the artform almost down pat now. Batter in one bowl, sausage in the skillet, and I make Snook drink a glass of grape juice because I heard on the internet that it is good for her even if she isn’t so fond of it. And we all know how reliable nutrition experts on the internet are.
So goes the weekly tedium. Hmm. Tedium. Probably from the Latin ti deim. Short prayers to God that are strung together. Odd how we can take praise and make it boring. Oh well. Shant go down that bunny trail