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A day to remember Mom. Seems a bit odd that we would need a day to remember. If God tarries and another hundred years go by, will she still be remembered? Probably not, for such is the bitterness of fallen mankind.
But there is a hope of a future where no one is forgotten, and life is not pointless. As Paul wrote, If we have misplaced our hope, then we are the most to be pitied.
So goes my thoughts on this day we set aside to remember mother. Yeah. I remember mother. And she remembered her mother. And her mother remembered her mother.
And so the sun rises, and the sun sets. Another day tics by as old Chronos marches by backwards. And time is forgotten in time.
But in eternity, nothing is forgotten.
Back in the dark ages of history we had a virus scare called the SAR’s virus. People were saying that a normal dust mask was not good enough, and I needed an N-95 mask. And HomeDepot had ‘em, so I needed a high-quality mask anyway for cedar flu season.
So today this comes out. Not only do you need an N-95 mask, you need a MEDICAL N-95 mask that works in both directions.
My masks have a little valve that opens when you exhale, making the mask less insufferable than the unvented types. When you are working with poisonous chemicals, you don’t worry about your effect on them, but rather their effect on you.
But I went out amongst them today with my less that perfect mask. It seems that I would have been better off with some paisley horror made from an old Nehru shirt.
Sorry for spraying my cooties around.
Well it is Wednesday morning at last. I have felt it was Wednesday all week. Now I can be in sync with the universe. I just hate it when I lose a day, but gaining days is a new thing. It must be a sign of oncoming senility.
Not much on the news today. Michael the Moron (Moore) is telling us about mother earth sending us a warning, and his followers dutifully nod their atheist heads in agreement. You gotta follow the science, and what can be more scientific that anthropomorphizing the planet as a “mother” who occasionally gets in a snit over the way we handle a pandemic.
I know some of my readers think Moore is a real crusader for … well … lefty things and mother earth. I think of him as an overfed hypocrite living in a private mansion on an exclusive lake shore property. Funny how well political leftists live. There! I said it. Let the critics rage!
And percolating in the background is FBI investigative misdeeds by a cabal of political hacks inside the agency. I will leave it to you, gentle reader, to determine just which political party this all favored.
My facebook friends are still in lockdown, mostly. I am not officially on lockdown and I had to drive over to the tax-preparers office to sign my tax forms and pay her vigorish yesterday. I have some masks left over from the SARs scare and I wore them to her office … but she didn’t wear a mask at all! Wonder if I should have called the Mayor and reported her.
Well enough of the snark and innuendo. in the end it doesn’t really matter. The sun rises, the sun sets, and life goes on whether we want to go on or not. I guess Mother Nature doen’t give a damn what I want. No wonder I hate the [bleep]!
But this morning is a particularly beautiful sunrise of yellows and golds. Chores await the sipping of morning coffee. And one must attend to the whims of mother coffee.
 Vigorish (also known as juice, under-juice, the cut, the take, the margin, the house edge or simply the vig) is the fee charged by a bookmaker (or bookie) for accepting a gambler’s wager. In American English it can also refer to the interest owed a loanshark in consideration for credit.
Tuesday dawned warm and breezy. I rose at the same time as Snookums this morning, so I padded down to the studio sans coffee and warmed up the PC. I normally hear her rise and turn over to sleep a little longer while she brews the coffee. But today I felt really good at daybreak and got up.
I just started a new diet. Well, it isn’t really a new diet so much as changing my eating habits. No more morning cookies with my coffee *sob!* or complete meals just before going to bed. Now it is 6 oz or less of beverage and half a sandwich (no chips or other sides) about an hour before bed, and the second half of a sandwich is consumed at breakfast along with the second cup of coffee.
I settled on sandwiches as opposed to other ‘healthy’ foods simply because they are quick, don’t make much of a mess, and can be eaten with my fingers. With me, quantity is more destructive to my stomach than contents. I have a whole passel of gastric problems, probably more to do with my careless eating habits than anything. I am not a gourmet, and when hungry, I shoveled food in until I didn’t feel hungry. Fullness, not taste was my mantra. I admit that not having me dizzy spells in the morning nor uncomfortable nights in bed it will be worth the effort, but I can’t judge the results based upon one days data.
Not much on the news this morning. Biden vs. Tara. Trump’s peccadillos worse than Biden’s. China did it. People demand to go back to work despite the Democrats efforts to keep them home and safe. It is for their own good, you know.
My online friends are going stir crazy and want to get on with their lives. Everyone seems to be inventing masks to wear that don’t protect you from the virus. No one wants to come out and work on my mowers. Apparently, you can get the virus from not social distancing a riding mower. Who knew?
Every morning Snookums finds a dead kitten on the porch, but when I go out to remove it, it is gone. I think it is sick and mama is just bringing it out during the day and taking it back in later.
So the days go. Life is the UPS truck bringing necessities every day. I have turned into a one-man cargo cult. I do the underwear dance when the truck doesn’t show in the morning, and *viola!* … the next day, it shows up with more stuff.
Yesterday it was a years supply of Ibuprofen, Melatonin and soft licorice. Today’s delivery is a mystery. I will open it later, just to drag out the excitement.
Hope things are better in your world.
Well it is Shabbat morning. I can locate Snookums whereabouts by the soft clink of pans and dishes, groans from opening and closing cabinet hinges and other household noises. It is feeding time on the pet ranch and I resist ignoring the morning noises and rolling over for another round of snoozing, so I push myself into sitting on the edge of the bed and let the wisps of sleep float away before reaching down to turn off the air filter. Then with a final push I rise and pad off for the morning obligations.
So here it is. Back to the old morning coffee posts, getting the swollen fingers to type out something coherent and sipping coffee between thoughts.
Not much on the news today. Biden’s wooden denial of anything to do with Tara Reade. Kim the dictator shows up in photo from N. Korea squelching another media ambiguation. And news of politicians politicking. Reports of people rioting against the lock-downs. Video clips of Mayors trying to tell the people that it is for their own good, and clips supporters backing the mayors. Liberty takes a hard hit and may not survive it.
I cannot recall in my life a time where the press has failed us so miserably as it has concerning the pandemic. It has turned into an unreliable source of information as it pits one expert and their opinions against another expert and their opinions while calling the confusion ‘science’ that must be believed. We have politicized a pandemic and are reaping the consequences.
In the silver lining section of my post today. The sun rose over green fields. In my corner of the universe I live apart from pandemics and political hypocrisy. There is a happy parakeet next to my widow commenting on her perspective of the world. Mutts hear the soft crunch of graham crackers emanating from my studio and magically appear at my feet.
And myself in my ærie watch the world speed by ….
An update on all things:
Well, here it is this morning, the coffee post. We will have no Great American novel composing here, and if that is to be the zenith of my writing career, I should lower my expectations and apply myself to perfecting the coffee post. I find that if I do not write every day, my writing ability really suffers.
The world continues in my little corner of paradise, the sun rises the sun sets, and I still await that little tap on the left shoulder from Thanatos when it is my time. I am in no big hurry for that event, but I think I do feel his chill breath over my left shoulder at times.
I have three riding mowers and two push mowers that are not working, but my strength has deteriorated to the point that I can no longer repair them. Finding a mechanic who is willing to come out here has really been a hassle. With the virus scare, people oddly are not answering their phones. I am awaiting two call backs.
I waited too long to trap the feral cats and have them neutered, so I think our family has grown a bit larger than intended. It is hard to tell since there is a large space under the house where the cats have nested. I must get that population explosion taken care of.
My brother and niece have returned to Pueblo. It is a two-day drive from here and they left Tuesday. But since no one has told me whether they have arrived or not I don’t know for sure. Strong hint. They arrived the day before the big national lock-down and stayed with us a few weeks while everybody in the world went into full panic.
Everyone took turns preparing meals and mowing the grasslands, and we enjoyed their stay. Surprising, since I am not the most scintillating host you have ever had. I tend to need my naps and when dinner is finished, so am I.
Today is preparation day. Friday. So Snooks is about the house getting things ready for the Shabbat meal. The week went by unbelievably quickly and time seems to be getting away from me. I catch myself wishing things would slow down a little bit.
And so goes the rota of days. Good coffee in the morning. Sound, restful sleep in the evenings.
Mercy but murders, pardoning those that kill.
~Shakespere – Romeo & Juliette
I cannot think of a time in the nearly eight decades of my life when I so thoroughly mistrusted the press and the legislators. With every pronouncement their words advanced their political ideology rather than aid the citizens in a time of crisis.
In seeking to frame their political beliefs rather than inform, they completely failed the test of leadership. But we elected them, and in that, we have miserably failed the test as well. They are no more than we deserve.
May God be merciful and not grant us our just desserts when he judges …
Thursday dawns cool and humid, but we have central heating and cooling, so who cares as long as there is coffee? So I pad on down to the studio with a handful of lemon cream cookies while balancing my cup to keep it from sloshing. I have grown very adept at that over the years.
The news is still a predictable spaghetti bowl of conflicting information on the virus. Never has the press been so irresponsible as it has in this instance. But my life changed very little out here on the Texas pampas in spite of the screaming of the Chicken Littles.
And the food fight between the press and Trump goes on. I think Trump is actually winning this one. In their effrontery they reveal more of their elitist disdain for conservatives than they would like the people to know, and it serves among most of us to let us know that the press hates conservatives. The liberals seem to think that the world is just fine if it wasn’t for that damned Fox News stirring up the peasants.
My brother and niece are still trapped here with Snooks and I. We are enjoying them though we have a tendency to treat them as hired help. I suspect they are getting antsy about going home, but they have kept that counsel to themselves.
And I still set and molder in my brand new $59 dollar executive chair. My $49 one bit the dust and was unceremoniously rolled out to the street for the trash man to haul off. Faux suede for my pampered bottom, padded armrests to sit back and ponder this miracle of miracles. A window into the world.
Behind me is a real window, and Kippur da bird lives in a cage to one side of it. Outside, three yellow feral cats reside. The pecan tree is in full leaf … the acacia tree has been hauled off, and a weedy front yard cries for some TLC. But all it will get is weed poison and a sharp mower blade. Some day.
So goes the rota of days. Coffee in the morning. Brunch. Dinner. Bedtime.
There it is again.
The notice of the annual all 1960’s class reunion.
A reminder of about the most unhappy year of my entire existence.
I don’t know how they tracked me down for the invite, but Connie whose name I do remember, but whose face I don’t, sent the notice, and all of the pain of that year flooded in on me as I remembered events that I had no control over overwhelmed and shamed me.
It isn’t like I had committed some unpardonable act or anything, but I just gave up on school and my hometown. All I had left was a bad attitude and an even worse reputation, and all I wanted was to be gone. Anywhere. And so a few short months before graduation, I quit. Just like that. Walked away.
Some time later I returned to Alamosa to go to college, but frankly, academia and I have no love for each other, so once again in my sophomore year I cut and ran, never to return.
I found peace much later in life in religion and a second marriage. But at odd moments like this the old days rise up to disturb my little utopia out in the Texas pampas …
It is bluebonnet season in Texas. But they are best viewed from the road …