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Morning comes slowly …
Woke luxuriously late this morning. Don’t know why neither the mutts nor Mr Bladder decided to leave me alone, but it was a nice break in the morning routine. We have an actual sunrise this morning, albeit a chilly 54°, so I’ll observe it through the double pane windows. Bluegrass boogie woogie on the puck this morning. The bird loves it, of course, but it disrupts my slow waking routine of coffee sipping and low-grade musing.
I had hoped to hear of an arrest of the incompetent Florida mail bomber, but so far nothing. Not surprising though. I still smell political stunt. The media pack has apparently left the immigrant parade in Mexico to cover the bombing and huffing left wing outrage over the right causing the bombings, completely ignoring their role in the rancor. Of course.
Today is voting day for us. Snooks already has a shopping itinerary laid out since we’ll be in town anyway. But I suppose one trip to town a month isn’t going to kill me, will it? I dunno. I am pretty frail these days. But it won’t be until after lunch. I have found late afternoons the best way to avoid crowds in this land of early-risers. They have their chores done before 10:00 am … but I am a yankee, so they don’t have real high expectations for me.
So a groggy good morning to y’all!
Thor’s Day*
Well, so much for swearing off politics. I created such a storm on my two blog pages, two facebook pages and twitter. Not that I mind the brouhaha. Truth is, I sort of relish it.
But there must be more to life than politics. Most people rise above even the most repressive of regimes, though they do quickly learn to avoid being critical of Dear Leader and his bureaucrats. That can cause major unhappiness. And more, my religious credo insists that I be at peace with the government, when possible. I have one and only one recourse, and that is the ballot box. And use it I shall.
Leftover blueberry waffles for breakfast this morning. Oh the horror! But I ate ‘em anyway. And the sun broke out late this morning in a hazy glow. But it is still a breezy and cool morning. The rains will soon end and we’ll warm up to porch sittin’ weather this weekend. We are ready for a little dryness but cross our fingers behind our back when we ask for it. When it dries up here, everything goes dormant.
And that is the exciting news on this Thor’s* Day.
A late good morning!!
*The only dirty joke my mother ever told me;
Thor mopes on Mt. Olympus. Zeus asks him why he looks so depressed. Thor says that he misses the companionship and love of a woman. Zeus tells Thor that he will fix the problem by sending Thor down to Earth.
Thor lands in the backyard of a single woman. The two immediately start making love and continue all weekend.
After the weekend Thor is back at Mt. Olympus with a big grin on his face. Zeus asks Thor the great woman’s name, but Thor admits that he never asked.
Horrified at his rudeness, Zeus sends Thor back down to find out the woman’s name. Arriving in the same backyard, Thor calls out to the woman, “I wanted to tell you I’m Thor.”
She yells, “You’re thor? I’m tho thor I can hardly pith or thpit!”
Stuffing the genii back in the bottle
Isn’t it funny how the very ones who ginned up the hate rhetoric are the ones piously calling for toning it down now?
Woden got the t-shirt
Well, well. It’s Woden’s Day again, and I ponder how he got relegated to the 4th day of the week. That makes poor old Woden an also-ran after the Sun, the Moon and Mars. He just got a t-shirt. I had made careful plans to sleep in this morning but neglected to factor in joyful mutts who don’t care what fable the day is named after. Daybreak is good enough for them.
Snook must have rose before me. The blinds are open, fiddle music is on the puck for the budgie, and most glorious of all, the coffee is brewed, so I grabbed a handful of sandwich crème cookies and a coffee mug to head down the hall to my snug studio, aka ‘the pig sty’ by Snookums. The woman has no sense of comfort. Two canine mooches follow me, then sit in a half circle to watch me woof down the dunked cookies with starving eyes.
I made the mistake of getting a bag of mint filled Oreo’s, just for something a little different. I am an off-again on-again mint lover. A little goes a long way. The vanilla cremes that I also put in the jar have taken on a mint flavor. So it’s gonna be a week of mint.
A 100% chance of rain today … I can read it on the local feed, or look out the window. Cool, but a warming trend back up to the 80’s by Shabbat. I am ready for a warm spell now. The reservoirs are all over-filled, the verges will need to be cut down with a machete before mowing, and I didn’t overseed with field rye this year, so I’ll have a good crop of weeds this spring.
All my newsfeeds today are clogged with ads from Beto the ersatz Mexican from El Paso. Apparently, he has that Obama smile that drives liberals wild with desire. They are spending millions on political ads, yet he keeps dropping in the local polls. Think the more tolerant than thee coalition is thinking of running him against Trump in 2020. After he beats the most cheated on woman in the world in the primaries, of course. And the migrant invasion has been halved … funny it is that when people start nosing around to find out who is paying for this parade that the funds dry up, and the mob starts shrinking.
So the day unfolds here in the geographic center of Texas.
Good morning!
Another day of idling …
Some days I seem to wake more groggily than others, and this morning was one of them. I staggered into the kitchen for coffee, saw a cup sort of shaped like the one I prefer to drink out of, and poured the mocha colored stuff toward the center of it. My timing was ok, however, and I didn’t overfill my cup. A couple of Oreo’s and I was on my way to my studio.
I like the word studio. It is an exalted name for the place where I journal, write irritating barbs aimed at editors and journo’s, comment on friends posts, and harass the parakeet. Oh yeah. Share my cookies with the four legged mooches who follow me in.
[Delete political sarcasm paragraph]
[Delete factual report on Beto da plastic Mexican]
** Refill cup
So now armed with a refill, I continue.
Snooks is still on the treadmill, the rains are returning later in the week, and it is still too cool outside for anything other than a bundled-up walk, so this week looks like another indoor week. But I like that too. My studio is almost perfectly laid out to my liking now. The bird has a spot by the window where she can watch the activity outdoors. I have a daybed for napping, I just repaired my $49 executive chair, so it should be good for awhile.
God grants me another day of idling …
Good morning!
Gotta travel on …
The day dawn with real sunshine streaking across the fields and under the trees. We haven’t seen that for a number of days, and it lifts my spirits a bit to see it as I retrieve my coffee cup and pad down to the studio. At 58° outside, it is a bit too nippy for porch sittin’ in pj’s.
News of a friend of 20 years that I never met in person loses her father this morning. Baruch dyan ha’emet. Blessed be the one who judges truly.
Not much else on the newsfeeds catches my eye, other than the lottery being one billion bucks. My surroundings might change a little if I won that, but essentially my life would be about the same. I suppose an old dog sanctuary and a couple of retirement packages for pastor friends would consume some of the funds. But I am done traveling. I have my woman and dogs, and breakfast. I need little else.
And so the morning passes. Soon I must begin the Sunday waffles.
Good morning!
Curing worms
I am such an anachronism.
Today, a niece posted a rap song called “Worm Her” on facebook
I searched, and searched, and couldn’t find the lyrics because my old ears don’t comprehend rap lyrics.
It took about twenty minutes before I discovered the group was WORM … and the song was Her Song.
It had nothing to do with curing a woman of worms ….
Dam. And I thought I was about to learn something about this generation …
A purveyor of tripe …
It has warmed all the way up to 57°F in my little paradise. I may have to don shorts and turn on the air-conditioners again. But it doesn’t matter. I am not going anywhere this morning anyway. I masterfully brought down a Union Pacific train down off of Tehachapi Pass this morning, dropped off a cut of cars and six repaired engines in Bakersfield, and sent the train on its way to Fresno, all from the comfort of my studio.
So now that I have completed a major task for the day, I am free to chronicle. But chronicling is a cheesy substitute for writing fiction. Writing fiction is too much like real work, and I have concluded that I shan’t be completing my novel in this lifetime. I am a producer of tripe, a keen observer of humdrum. And truthfully, I like it that way at this stage of life.
But once upon a time I was exciting. No. Really! I was! I was a carnival flat joint barker and ride operator. A lumberjack. An oilfield roustabout. A truck driver. A bartender. A bartender in a brothel. A programmer. A harvester. A cook. A janitor. A night host. A drug counselor. A deacon. A painter. A carpenter. A sot.
But these days I just molder. If you look closely, you can see the mushrooms sprouting from me. And I write tripe. Once a day, every day, I write tripe. Around two-hundred or so words of tripe.
So, stopping here at 259 words of tripe, I wish you good morning!
Warning: Political Rant
Hard to believe that I have sat in this chair for seven hours and not played one game, spent any time on the simulator, or written anything. I just spent the day snooping through the political feeds and social sites, trying to suss out the trends of midterm elections. It is no secret which side I sit on, and the stats are ominously tilting leftward for the House.
But polls have normally trended +Democrat over the years until the races tighten up in the last weeks leading up to the election. Conservative tea-leaf readers think that it is because the push polling ends as the pollsters need to prove they are non-partisan to keep their credibility. I think there may be some truth to that. Most pollsters tend to be pointy headed academics and draw their employees from academia, so it is not surprising that polls begin flipping at the runup … who wants to be holding the bag of a losing poll?
I don’t know why I do this to myself. It isn’t like all this looking at trends is going to change the election results. I quit voting for left wing candidates for anything higher than the local water board a long time ago.
It is still rainy and cold here in the heartland of Texas where our native son Willeh Nelson went off the reservation and supported a classic dope smoking liberal who luvs jes’ about everbody but old white males, and really wants to be muh leader. <puff!>. Such a good old boy … but he joined a long list of Democratic candidates with stolen culture. Goes by “Beto”, a Mexican endearment for Roberto. The only problem with Beto is that he is a plastic Mexican. Not that he would matter. Just being a damned Democrat and sounding like a yankee is enough for me to dis him. The liberal Texas newspapers sure do fawn over him, though. Like a white Obama. Bleah.
Truthfully, though, I only have one litmus test that tells me all about a candidate. Any candidate who is all for restricting firearms by legislative means tells me that I am dealing with someone who is totally clueless about the Constitution and how to amend it. And that is not someone I want at the national level. I lost the 10th Amendment argument before I was born, so that is no longer a factor. The Federalist won, and the states are like mere counties to FedGovCo now. I don’t know why we don’t eliminate the states and just make the governor a Servile Service employee … maybe with a newly minted GS-17 rating so that they feel like a real executive or something. Then nationalize the police, sort of along the lines of the Mexican Federales or Canadian Mounties, with absolute power.
Oh well … I doubt that even my sarcasm is going to sway many people.
So I sit back and think. Hell. I got mine. Why should I care?
The dawn arrives, but barely peeks through the heavy clouds and rain. Had to turn on the lights in the house, reset the thermostat for winter time, and check the weather ‘cast. 40° but feels like 33°, rain showers for the entire day. No one can fire me now if I am not responsible, so I put the doctor, optometrist and insurance on rain delay, and write while sipping coffee.
The larder is starting to thin some, and so I begin the shopping list, and when it reaches $35, I hit the send button. Well, truthfully, since I tip the driver, I like it to be closer to $50 so they get a better tip. It sounds like quite a bit of money, but when you factor the mileage costs driving to town, the delivery service starts looking pretty good. Plus that long schlepp from the driveway to the house is really starting to tax my strength.
Seem that Senator “Pocahontas” Warren proved she was part Indian by hiring her own genetic testing and releasing the results. We can trust those results, I am sure. She is, after all, a woman, and we got to believe the girl. Not much else going on in the newsfeeds or social sites. Maybe it is because it is Monday.
Think this will be a two-pot day … just noticed Snooks started the next pot brewing, so that makes the decision for me. Someone must stay around to drink it, and I am just the man for the job.
Good morning!
Rusty's Armory 