I took this picture from our car window (Cindy was driving). And when I saw the birds I immediately thought of Leonard Cohen’s Bird On The Wire. Yes, I know there is more than one bird up there, but I thought of the song rather than Hitchcock’s bloody film.
If you have been reading this blog with any regularity, you know that I haven’t posted anything truly original in long time, which makes it difficult to read with regularity. But if you had read it in the past you probably noticed that I have attempted to keep my posts somewhat lighthearted. Sometimes I fail, and that bothers me.
It is difficult for me to find the humor in events around me when there is so little humor or good cheer in current events. Yes, the late night comics can me me smile, but the underlying events are too somber. I can’t sustain an upbeat mood. When I’m not upbeat I cannot write worth damn.
I have at least half a dozen posts that I’ve started but haven’t been able to finish. I started one of them two years ago and haven’t been able to frame it properly. I know that I’ve scrapped it and restarted it at least four times. Others I’ve started, gotten about half way through, but have been unable to finish.
Today or tomorrow the U.S. House of Representatives will be voting on articles of impeachment for President Trump. No matter how you feel about his possible impeachment, it is not a day to be happy. I find that this is just one drop in an overflowing bucket of sadness. School shootings have become common; environmental change proceeds with little or nothing being done to halt the damage; hate crimes are on the rise; and these are just a few of the problems we are facing.
These topics make me angry. So until I can find a way to address these issues with balance, I won’t be writing much. Oh, I’ll occasionally post about non-controversial things like my reading non-challenge, or N-N-1 (anybody want to volunteer to host it?), but nothing heavy. I just can’t do it.
And that’s the reason I haven’t been writing, and I shan’t be writing much in the foreseeable future.
I took this picture at my granddaughter Maely’s baseball game Friday. My older granddaughter, Macey, found it hard to be as somber as her mother and grandmother because she was holding the adorable Della.
A few days ago I tore one of my thumbnails to the quick. Yes I know, “Boohoo, Boohoo.” After staunching the meager blood flow, I put a band-aid (copyright erosion?) on my thumb to protect it. Due to diabetes I have lost some sensitivity in my fingertips. With this problem and the band-aid, it took me more than double the normal amount of time to button my shirt yesterday. I believe my thumb has been protected enough. The band-aid is coming off soon, because eventually I’ll be getting dressed for another baseball game.
Our President’s talk about his beautiful wall at his political rallies, reminds me of Gallagher’s sales pitch for the Sledge-O-Matic. I do miss our dear President’s tag line that Mexico will pay for the wall. What happened? Unlike Gallagher’s show, the crowd doesn’t need to bring plastic sheets for protection. You may have to look that up on YouTube if you are under a certain age.
For those of you on WordPress, you know that you can compose either in the classic format or in block format. I prefer the classic format. I was surprised to see that the spell and grammar check function had disappeared from my tools. Has anyone else experienced that as well? I want it back.
I was looking through my list of notes for possible blog posts before starting this draft. One of my notes reads “Eyes as big as half dollars.” I wish I could remember what I was planning to write because, because it sounds like it would have been fun.
I took this picture a couple of years ago. I believe that I took it one day while I was out driving north of Lafayette. But since my memory isn’t what it used to be, it might have been south of Lafayette.
I’ve mentioned a number of times before how I abandoned Facebook a long time ago. I got tired of the endless political debates, and the thinly veiled bigotry that was appearing for my “reading pleasure” by people who should know better, and whom I thought I knew. It got to be too much. In the past six or seven months I’ve started to feel the same way about Twitter. The Tweets have become too mean-spirited on both sides of stories. I haven’t given up on Twitter entirely, but I only check in on it once or twice a week at most. I feel like there should be more happiness in the world. I noticed how much this disheartening aspect of modern life was getting to me this morning when I realized how much I was yearning for a road trip to get away from the daily negativity. Vacation can’t come soon enough this year.
Speaking of this morning, I woke up this morning with a wisp of the dream I had evidently been having. It was a bit of a song titled My Toodleoops and I. Toodleoops seemed to be a nickname for a non-existent former girlfriend. Though, upon reflection, perhaps it was Toodle Loops, a fictional brand of boxed cereal. I’ll never know because I can’t remember anything about the dream.
And while I’m writing about waking up in the morning, what is normally your first thought upon awakening? My first thought is almost always the question “What time is it?” The second thing is usually the question “Do I need to put my pants on before I go downstairs to start the coffee.” The answer to that one depends on whether or not we have house guests. Two days ago, however, my day started in my mind with Linda Ronstadt singing I Can’t Let Go. Catchy but distracting.
That morning start was not nearly as strange as one I experienced two and a half weeks ago when I woke up thinking about the opening of the U.S. Declaration of Independence, “When in the Course of human events it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another …” and I wondered what might have I been dreaming. But before I could truly form that thought, I started remembering the novel A Hall of Mirrors which was the basis of the movie W.U.S.A.which starred Paul Newman and Joanne Woodward. I must have had one heck of a dream!
One of my prescribed medications was recalled a few weeks ago. I called my doctor’s office when I got a notification from the pharmacy I use. The call I made to the doctor seemed to come as a surprise to those medical folks. They decided to research the situation and called me back a couple of days later. My prescription was changed to a different med. Today I had to go in for blood work to see how the new med was affecting me.
I learned that I should never go to the lab on a Monday. The waiting area was packed. So I checked in and then settled into a seat and waited my turn. I looked around the room and saw the normal things, such as most of the people staring at their smart phones as they played games or checked their Facebook or their Twitter feed. There were a few people who were actually talking on their phones loud enough so that the rest of us could hear their end of the (boring) conversation. As always I marveled at the number of people who go out in public dressed in a manner that seems to shout “bad judgement.” And I also once more understood why they say obesity is an epidemic here in the U.S. Judgmental you say? Yes, I agree that I am. I also agree that I am one of the obese.
I sat there for a long time. One of the Phlebotomists seemed to be having problems with the volume of people who were waiting. At one point she came to the door and called “Mary.” Two women stood up and the Phlebotomist asked the nearer what her name was. The woman said “Mary B_____.” “You’re the one I want,” said the Phlebotomist and escorted her into the inner sanctum.
Mary B_____ was drained of her blood and left. The Phlebotomist called and dealt with Fred and John. She then called Mary and the other lady went in for her blood to be drawn. The Phlebotomist came out and called “Michelle” and once again two women stood up. She asked the nearer of the two what her name was and was told “Michelle J_____.” The Phlebotomist turned to the other woman and asked what her name was. “Michelle F_____,” she was told. The Phlebotomist looked at her and said “I’ve called your name twice in the past twenty minutes. I’ll take this lady and then come back for you.”
Let me interject and say that I don’t believe she was telling the truth. I had been setting there for half an hour at that point and had never heard the name Michelle called.
Having disposed of the two Michelles, the Phlebotomist came again to the door and called, “Mary B_____.” Remember Mary B_____? She had come and gone a while back. But when the name was called a young man who appeared to be in his 20’s stood up and strode to the Phlebotomist. She said to him, “You’re Mary B_____?” He admitted that he wasn’t Mary B_____, but he thought that since no Mary had approached her, he might be able to take her place. “No” was her response. I wondered if Mary B_____’s blood was going to be tested for the right things.
Three or four people later a different Phlebotomist came to the door and called my name. Luckily I was the only Norman in the waiting area. I was in, had my blood drawn, and was out of there in under 5 minutes. On second thought perhaps I’ll continue going to the lab on Mondays just for the show.
I don’t know how long this mural has been on this wall. I noticed it for the first time a few weeks back when Cindy and I were driving home from an art sale in West Lafayette. I finally got around to driving back to get this picture last week.
Back in 2014 I wrote about a day trip to visit a number of graveyards that I took with my friend Mary. Well, This weekend she invited me accompany her to an estate sale. She thought I would be interested because they advertised that there were jazz paintings included. I had never been to an estate sale, and since I had nothing else planned, I accepted the invitation. That and I enjoy her company.
We met Saturday morning at a Starbucks near the site of the sale. I’m not much of a fan of Starbucks, but also I’m not so snobbish that I would refuse to meet there. I arrived early, entered the establishment, and stood in a short line to order and get my coffee. I hadn’t brought my laptop, so I pulled out my smart phone and stared at it to better blend in with the other customers. I sipped my over-priced bad coffee while waiting for Mary to arrive.
I had ordered a plain black coffee and then understood why so many people get the more exotic drinks. They needed to overpower the flavor of the black coffee. Oh well; too each his own.
Mary arrived right on time. We sat and chatted for a bit. We talked about family, mutual friends, and Christmas plans. Then it was time to set out for the sale.
The sale was in a neighborhood filled with expensive homes. I thought there might be some interesting things on sale for prices I couldn’t afford. The house was a a two story house with a finished basement. It sat on the shore of a pond. It was a nice setting. We started in the garage where there was absolutely nothing that interested me. We moved on to the kitchen where I had my first surprise. The cabinets were open, displaying jars of all types of spices that had been opened and partially used. There was no way to tell how fresh, or how stale the spices were.
Mary explained to me that anything we bought would be for the marked price, but at 1:00 p.m. the prices would be cut by 50%, and the next day any remaining items would by cut by 75%. I doubted that there would be much left. We moved into a small room that appeared to have been a den. There was a wet bar in the room. There were also built in bookshelves that held some books ($2 each). One full shelf of the books contained cook books, except for a Weight Watcher’s Guide stuck amidst the cookbooks. It seemed out of place to me.
There were a lot of bookcases in the house. With the exception of the built-ins, which were high quality, most of them looked pretty cheap. In fact, most of the furniture looked low quality considering the house and its location.
I decided that I wanted to check out the basement next, because I saw a fellow carrying a jazz painting from there. We went down, and sure enough there were jazz paintings and prints, as well as other items that were of no interest to me. Most of the jazz themed items didn’t appeal to me, but there was one print that I liked. I had two reasons for not buying it. First, I thought it was too expensive, and second I had no place to hang it. I considered coming back in the afternoon when the price would be lower, but then the fellow I had seen earlier came back down and took another painting. I decided the print I liked would be gone before I could come back.
When it was time to leave we walked into a room where Mary could pay for the items she wanted. There was also a man with a carton full of knick-knacks that he wanted to purchase for 50% off. A woman explained to him that he would have to wait until 1:00 p.m. but he was having none of that. The woman went off to find someone else who would talk to him. I looked around the room and saw a row of liquor bottles to be sold. About half of them were open and partially consumed. Who in the world would buy an opened bottle of booze? Maybe an alcoholic would; but even when I was drinking at my heaviest I wouldn’t have done that. While I was driving home I started to wonder if selling booze without a liquor license was legal in those circumstances.
It was an interesting experience. That said, I don’t think I’ll do it again anytime soon.
I opened a pack of ankle length socks a few days ago. I don’t wear them often. Normally I wear them when I’m doing yard work, or if I’m on vacation and wearing shorts. So I was somewhat surprised when I found this pair upon opening the pack. At first I wondered if Cindy had bought them for me, and had purposely looked for unequal lengths because of the toe that had been amputated some years ago. I looked at the package, and, no, they were supposed to be the same length. If I wear them, it will be in the back yard, behind the fence.
As I’ve written previously, I just can’t get enthused about writing. I had hoped that it would pass, but it hasn’t. The only thing that gets me fired up to put things on paper, or in Classical Gasbag, is the situation in this country. I don’t want to do that.
When I consider what is happening in the U.S. I get depressed and I get angry. Those are not emotions that I want to exhibit. I talk to Cindy and one or two close friends about current events, but I want to limit it to that. And so, I remain silent.
Perhaps I should change the direction of this blog since my standby options no longer bring forth words. I’ve changed before, though on a gradual basis. But I don’t know where to turn focus. I would appreciate any ideas. I’ll give them strong consideration.
This was my car yesterday, the day after Easter. By 3 p.m. all of this snow had melted. Today it is raining with the temperature to go into the 60’s F. We may get snow again before the end of the week. Life in Indiana.
It has been about a month since the last time I posted anything. It isn’t from lack of ideas. I’ve had a few ideas, jotted down some notes, started a few drafts, and let them never progress beyond that point. In some cases it is good that I stopped. For instance the idea for a blog post on belts died a worthy death. It is hard to believe that it even reached the draft stage. The truth is that I just don’t feel like writing.
Not only have I not written anything here, but also I never finished a couple letters that I started. Nor I haven’t written an email in months. I haven’t worked on my never-to-be-published novel. Most of the text messages I have sent were copies of Tweets that I liked.
Sometimes a felicitous phrase will come to my mind, but generally it stays there until I forget it. If I jot it down, it is not used. What’s wrong with me?
Perhaps you thought this post signals the breaking of the dry writing dam. Nope. I started this post in hopes of renew my love of writing, but it hasn’t happened. So consider this short post an explanation for my absence, and a promise that I’ll try to get back into the writing swing. But not right now. I don’t feel like writing. What’s wrong with me.