Cold

I officially went over 10,000 words on Lover and most of it has had a first edit. Pardon me for crowing so much about this story, but I think it is a decent one so far. Cock-a-doodle-doo!
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We had a few snow flurries last night; supposed to get down to 22°F (-5.6°C) tonight.
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I was about to blog some more when Sammy came in, soooooo …
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Have a welter-free Wednesday!

Happy Birthday, Jerry!!!

Happy 45th, JoJo!

As for your wondering why I didn’t have turkey on my plate for Thanksgiving dinner; I only eat turkey when a Republican president is in office. Eight straight years of Bush foundered me. I had a piece of Democrat ham for supper.

The Thanksgiving leftovers are all gone; gosh, I miss them. I gained only one pound over the long weekend.
Congressman Barney Frank is the first big-name rat to abandon the sinking ship of American government. I hope more will walk the plank behind him. We need to eclect newer and fatter rats. Now, if we can convice three or four Supreme Court justices to die and get out of the way …

Sammy is sick; Carolyn has gone to China-Mart to get a vaporizer for him; last one we bought was for Tabby more than 20 years ago. I will forever remember that time because Carolyn was having a stiff neck and she kept confusing the word “vibrator” with “massager”. When she got out of the truck, I told her to be sure to ask for a “massager” and you can guess what she asked for. She came back out and her face was redder than the K-Mart sign. She didn’t get a massager of vibrator, but the difference between them seems to have stuck with her. She did get the vaporizer for JoJo’s baby girl.

I can see! Xanax is a wonder drug!

Have a Tuesday, my friends!

Monday is the thud of the door opening on a new week

It’s Monday once more; I suppose the Thanksgiving weekend is officially over and it is back to the grind for most Americans. I didn’t sleep very much last night and today my eyes are furious with me and have pulled a wildcat strike. Xanax tonight and the world will be all right tomorrow … except for the fact it is supposed to snow.

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OWS seems to have quieted somewhat but I have a feeling it is a lull before the storm; at least I hope so. At present, American shoppers are fulfilling the happiest wishes of Wall Street by spending money they don’t have and if they do have it, they should be saving some of it. Bah! Humbug!

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Carolyn is talking about taking Sammy to Bristol recetrack to see Speedway In Lights, an annual charity event. Ten dollars or there-abouts per car allows you to drive around the famous half-mile raceway which will be filled with millions of lights for Christmas. Sammy won’t remember it, but Carolyn isn’t getting any younger so I told her she should go for it.

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I case I don’t answer your comments today, it is because I cannot see well enough to do so; however, I have read and appreciate them and will try to do better tomorrow.

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Have good Worshday!

Windy with a chance of winter

High winds all last night and this morning, with thunderstroms expected this afternoon; the air is rather warm. Yep, it is time; we are changing over to winter. Twenty-five more days until winter solstice, the most importand day of the year on Ken's Krazy Kalander.
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Our Escape is still broken and I don't know how long it will be before we can have it repaired. The washing machine is misbehaving, too, but we will use it until it dies. I need to work on my scanner; I've some docs and photos I want to get transferred to the computer. Everything else is nominal for the moment, as far as I know.
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Carolyn has begun putting out Christmas decorations; that cool Coca-Cola jazz playing bear is again on my desk and I have my Santa hat within easy reach.
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Have a good Sunday, everyone.

Saturday! Mine eyes have seen the glory of too many words that I’ve written for Lover. I have taken a few days away from the work and can see somewhat better now. I hope I don’t have a problem getting back into the story; there is so much yet to write and I can perceive it becoming novel length.

The weather is becoming so screwy and I’ve read that it directly affects people’s mood, personality, and interaction with other folks. It surely affects Republicans more than anyone else because they will not even admit that the weather patterns are changing because of global warming and they are hands down the screwiest lot I know of.

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Lyrics for the America video:

Oh my sun and father have gone
Are you leaving me
my love
Is that what you promised me
Oh America, I know
So what do u say when your love is fading away
Do you run or do you stay
Or do you wait for the better day
She broke my heart in America
And I want to know
I lost my home in America
And i need to know
Sweet murderer
Sweet murderer are you
So why’d you go and run away
You’ll always go where the money grows
to see the things inside this life
With answers you already know
MMM mmm…
I guess i got lost in Arizona,
Where a blind man lost his shoes
Pretty world pretty wild winds were blowing now
You never like to lose.
Sweet murderer
Sweet murderer are you
Don’t tell me that you’re happy
Don’t tell me that you feel all right, I know
30 seconds, 25 years of throwing things around
I’m growing up
I’m waking up
You’re walking out that door
And even though in fairyland
You’re burning down our home
My heart in this world will save me
Oooh, save me
I’m all out of love
In this movie show
Staring ahead in the back row
Thinking about all the things you said
Knowing our life
In our movie’s dead… dead..
So, why’d you go and run away
You’ll always go where the money grows
To see the things inside this life
With answers you already know
what do u say
when your love is fading away
fading away
fading away
Oh my son and father have gone
Are you leaving me
my love
Is that what you promised me
Oh America, I know

Thanksgiving dinner 2011

I ate at my desk

Hope my American friends had a great Thanksgiving Day and for friends in other countries who didn’t celebrate the holiday, I hope your day was exceptionally nice.

Carolyn had a so-so day of cooking, but the end justified a bit of angst she endured. First, her macaroni and cheese stuck and scorched in the pot. Then she brought me a sample of my favorite part of the holiday meal, dressing, and said it didn’t taste right. I tried it and was gracious in agreeing; it basically wasn’t finished baking because the onions and celery was still somewhat hard. Back in the oven it went and came out tasting much better. The day was good except that Jeremy, Courtney, Keegan, Jerry, and Tammy could not be with us. The eleven guests who were here had plenty to eat, and no fights broke out. Sammy provided entertainment.

Carolyn tried a new green bean casserole; it had mushroom soup as an ingredient and she feared no one would like it. It was delicious.

I had a vegetarian dinner; no turkey.

Carolyn is at Ashley’s where, along with Chris, they are putting up Sammy’s first Christmas tree.

My apology for the low sound volume on Sammy’s video; I think I must have had the microphone partially blocked with my finger. The flick was made with my Droid X.

Have a great weekend, my friends!
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"Happy Thanksgiving" says Sammy!

The Getting Old Handbook

Rožňava, Slovakia

A thought about getting older.
The day you turn 50 you will become very sick all over and you will stay that way for a year or more but the symptoms will begin to slowly ease until you turn 60 when the real hurts start coming. On or before your 50th, A.A.R.P. invitations will begin flooding your mail box and you will realize you are a geezer, you are a half century old, your life has passed you by (whether it has or not), and you will be lucky just to live until the next day and have no doubt that you will never get out of bed again. Instead of remembering where the bars are located, you will be thinking about where the nearest emergency room is located, along with doctor offices and pharmacies. You won't travel streets where you know a funeral home is situated. You will start reading obituaries each morning, hoping none of your friends or old classmates are listed but if one of them is you think 'better he than me'. But, like I said, most of that slowly fades from your mind until you become 60, you have become a senior citizen entering your golden years and suddenly instead of seeing the Hammer and Sickle lurking as the great Red menace, you begin seeing the sickle in the skeletal hand as the ultimate Dark enemy and constantly looking over your arthritic shoulder to see if he has sneaked within striking distance. You may not actually see him, but you know he is there; he is is a constant dark spot at the corner of your eye which grows larger as the years go by. Your doctor says it is cataracts, but you know he is only trying to take your mind away from the impending end. You Know! Then is when Wisdom drops by for a quick beer and sandwich. Wisdom is something that comes to most people after they no longer need it. Wisdom consists of one word and that is 'oh, shit!'. Whoops, that is two words; I forgot to mention that your memory has become porous and is mostly made up of things that happened 30 years ago and those things which happened yesterday apparently didn't. You will remember the first time you had sex but probably not the last time ... unless it was 30 years ago. Life in the fast lane is trying to get to the toilet in time; your life dashes on in its headlong pursuit of comedy, error, and nap time.
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Supposed to be near 70°F today; I am feeling much better, Sammy was here yesterday, great food and Sammy will be here Thursday, and I need to elucidate some syllables by way of the magic computer keyboard, expanding Lover.
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Thanks to Jola for the photo; the mountains remind me much of my Unakas.
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Have a Tuesday!
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Mundane Monday

Didn’t feel well enough to do any creative writing yesterday, but I was able to do a small bit of editing on Lover.

Sammy had his portrait made again Saturday. I’ve seen one of the proofs and it is pretty good.

Looks like all the Arab Spring bloodshed in Egypt was in vain; it seems to have resumed because the military wants to run things.

I still feel poorly so I will shut up. Have a good Worshday!
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Weekend

Resting my eyes for a day seems to have helped immensely. I wrote 2,000 words of text for Lover yesterday; on Friday I did none. I now have 9,660 total words in computer memory. I still have to fix the mess I made with Thursday’s attempt. I think this story has some potential; it is a bit Forrest and Jenny, a bit Romeo and Juliet and lot of Baron Munchausen.

Last night I finished the book A Tale of Love and Darkness written by Amos Oz and recommended by Jola. It is well worth reading but be forewarned, it sometimes drowns itself in words and some page skipping may be in order for most readers.

I seem to be having a reaction to one of the immunization shots I got Thursday. Swollen neck and saliva glands. Don’t feel too good, either.
Hope to be back here tomorrow.

Have a Happy Sunday!

Flush me up, Scotty!

Hizzin and Hern

Today is World Toilet Day! I love my toilet. I remember many of the ones which through the years made my life better. Most were dear friends who allowed me to take a load off my mind and were always open to share my urgent needs. A few of them became indispensable on Saturday nights during and after hardy partying; I loved hugging their cool enamel as I lay prone on the floor with my head or chin resting on their rims. However, I think they are being slighted a bit by having their special day before Thanksgiving. I believe the day after Thanksgiving would be a better salute to our loos. On that day we could share our turkey and trimming discards with them thus preparing them for the remainder of the long, holiday season where they will be heavily used by squatters, grunters, groaners, gassers, strainers, squirters, and the beloved huggers. We should all join hands and have a petition drive to delay this memorable day of celebration until Black Friday.
In the meantime, Happy Toilet Day dear friends!
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When Jola was vacationing on the Polish Baltic Sea back in early September, wrote me a note telling me she sent Carolyn and me a couple of postcards. After nearly two and one-half months in transit, they came in the mail yesterday. I will soon post copies or photos of them.
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Happy Saturday!

Shoe

For some reason, I have fallen into a bit of a funk; I was ok until I went to doc yesterday but have been lethargic since I got back home. Perk up Shoe; you got work to do! Shoe (short for Tennis-shoe but I won’t get into that story) is one of my many nicknames; most of my closest offline friends refer to me as Shoe … except for Fly who calls me Shoody-doody; Gawd! Alice still calls me Ken and my family and people I know from my school days call me Wayne. My tramping friends called me Slim or Tennessee. I am a coat of many colors; add your own hue if you like.
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Hard frost this morning. Carolyn is working and later today will keep Sammy while his mom works.
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The new Krispy-Kreme donut shop opened earlier this week and still cars are lined up along the streets as people try succumb to their delicacies. I like their donuts, but I intend to keep buying from the local mom-and-pop shop as long as it is open.
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I got a flu shot along with a pneumonia shot at doc’s yesterday and I’ve lost two pounds more weight. Carolyn got her flu shot day before yesterday and is complaing of a sore arm; she is such a wuss. My arms are fine.
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I wrote only a few hundred words for Lover last evening and what I turned out isn’t quality prose. Anyway, I got the idea down and will work to improve it as I go along. Shucks, I am still periodically editing the first paragraph of the story. So far, I have nearly 8,000 words typed out and I should easily get 2,000 more even before I begin expanding my ideas. I don’t want to drown the story in words which seems to be the norm these days. I suppose some of those authors are being paid by word output and others just don’t know when to shut up. I like writing pure fiction, if there is such a thing; I can’t help but put a bit of my personality along with that of others I have known into it. Fiction mimics life.
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Have a great weekend!

Getting pricked

I have a late appointment for doctor checkup and to get a flu shot. Talk to you’uns later.

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Another short hunk of Lover; this is what I was writing last evening before my weary body failed me and my eyes dimmed. This will probably be the last update for awhile because I am still putting ideas together and typing is slow.

The remainder of my day was spent in mostly mental fog; the past two weeks my emotions had run a gamut from mundane daydreaming boyhood to supreme elation to yearning near-manhood to near terminal fear to impending doom and now into a deep purple funk springing from relief of some of my fear and onto even direr fear of upcoming loneliness and hurt. Was I in love with Darla? That was a conundrum that puzzles me to this day many years after the fact. Can a 13 year old boy whose gonads had yet to fully mature possibly be in love? Could a kid who thought that the main differences between a boy and girl were physical attributes, be in love? Could the forlorn feelings of sorrow and the hurt in my breast not be love? Was sitting along a country lane beneath a dusty apple tree longing for dusk to settle in so I could once more be with her while tears streaked my cheeks with little rivulets of mud; was that love? Does love hurt? If so, I was probably in as much love as my limited years allowed.

Ship of Dreams

Another excerpt from Lover:

We met that evening between the same rose bushes as before and when her dad finally called her inside, Darla asked me to once again come to her bath the next Monday because she had something important to tell me. Being a bit dim witted in her presence, the possibilities of what she thought was important eluded me as her lips once more teasingly brushed mine.

As I moseyed toward home with sky rockets shooting between my ears, one profound probability of her meaning hit me like a mule kick, sending the light show inside my head to the farthest depths of unknown space; Darla was pregnant–I was going to be a papa!
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A legal fight is now happening in New York City, testing the merits of the American Constitution and the fabric of our capitalistic society. Will the haves with their unlimited access to money win out or will We The People with our desire for fairness prevail? Under cover of darkness, armed soldiers of the ruling wealthy removed unarmed protestors and their belongings from NYC’s Zucotti Park. With openness and acting within the bounds of our Constitution, lawyers representing the protestors obtained an injunction allowing people free access to the park, along with their temporary housing and belongings.
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Rainy dampness is saturating my bones today, and my joints have been hurting since yesterday. It is ludicrous to be able to predict the weather through pain; what the hell is the TV weatherman good for?
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Have a Tuesday!
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Lonesome Tonight?

A small step forward.
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The story excerpt I posted yesterday has and is changing dramatically. It now looks like it will be a lengthy process because I am changing it from a simple story of young lust into a more complicated story of life itself. I have a notion I can adapt an older story I wrote as to become the ending of this one. I shouldn’t need a lot of changes to get that part done, however, my style of writing has changed over the years and it may cause some problems to keep a flow. As it stands now, the new one has 3,000 words and the old one has 3,000 words. I believe I can can come up with enough pertinent additions to have at least 10,000 words. Hell, I don’t have much else to do besides hobble around on a crutch. Thank you all for reading the excerpt and for your comments.
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The “Man” is cracking down on the horrible gangs of peaceful Occupy protestors. Cops and handlers be warned; a day of reckoning is coming and it will be sooner than later. You will be victims of your own stupidity because the same methods you use to track, identify, and harass innocent citizens will work against the machine the same as it has against We The People. You cannot hide.
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Tomorrow is blood work day for Carolyn and me. She has a doctor’s appointment Friday and mine is Thursday, bot for regular checkups.
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Have a splendid Worsh day, my friends.

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Lover

This is an unedited portion of a story I am writing.

Copyright 2011 by Ken Anderson.

Lover

Part 1

Our little community was spread out below my all-seeing gaze; a few houses, barns, pens, and sheds but mostly family farmlands of pastures, meadows, and crops all interspersed with clumps of trees ranging in area from just two or three dotting the open lands on up to several acres of woodland on the larger homesteads. A winding road, sometimes graveled, sometimes mostly dirt, and many times squishy Tennessee brown mud, wound away between farms and from my vantage point of the high hill just east of the homes, looking much like a westerly snaking, tan stream as it crawled over low hills and through small valleys on this mid-summer day. An occasional vagrant breeze would kick up a small puff of dust from between the apple and black cherry tress grew along fence rows on each side of the road. On fewer occasions, a car, truck, or farm tractor would mutter through the curves, raising a huge cloud of smothering powder which seemed to have a mind of its own and headed unerringly for the nearest house to settle on freshly hung Monday wash. I was a 13 year-old boy who was left to my own affairs much of the time and who had the deep pleasure of a world-encompassing imagination. No, I had a universal imagination; the planets, stars, and galaxies were merely places I knew well but I just had not lived long enough to visit them. I knew that someday I would be a famous space explorer, conquering far away worlds and bringing alien species into the light of the American way of life; at least as I knew the American experience such as consisted of all my years spent living in a small farming valley.
On this day, I was seeking another type of alien life form; one that lived in the community and had been underfoot for most of my years. She was Darla, a girl of 12 years whose clothing was beginning to push out in pleasing directions from the body of a skinny and freckled tomboy pest to that of a maturing young woman. Suddenly she had become pretty as her boyish short, brown hair had turned to blond during the past year. Like me, she was an only child and was my closest neighbor on the south side of the road, but in the country, living close by is a relative thing. Actually, she lived nearly a quarter of a mile from me in a small house with her parents. Her mom and dad worked at different textile mills in Booneville; her mom had gone to work when Darla reached 10 years old, and the girl was left to herself during the weekdays until they came home from their jobs. In the 1950′s, it was safe; nothing ever happened in our backward part of the Appalachian foothills but she was sternly warned not to allow anyone into the house; no one. Of the few boys in the community, she lived closest to me and for that reason I knew I should have first dibs on her.
I was astride my new Western Flyer bicycle (only sissy city boys called them “bikes”) which my dad had surprised me with on my just-past birthday, sitting in the mid-day shade of a huge oak tee which my imagination figured probably had been growing there when the pioneers pushed across the mountains 300 years ago. Darla’s Monday tasks were to wash the family clothes and pin them on the line to dry in the sun. Like most locals, they didn’t have a lot of clothing to wear but her task still took up all of the morning as she built a fire in the cook stove, hand-pumped water from the cistern, and heated some much of it in the steamy kitchen. The hot water went into the ringer washing machine which was located in the converted smokehouse near the back door of the house, and the remainder of the water went into galvanized tubs where “delicates” were hand washed.
Being thoroughly interested in her budding anatomy and from weeks of careful observation, I found that Darla always carried more hot water to the smokehouse after she finished with the laundry, where she would shut the door and not emerge until about an hour later wearing a robe with a towel wrapped around her hair, and going directly to the clothesline to pin the clothes which she had been wearing and had just washed. It took a couple of secretive days of detecting, but I finally figured out that she was taking a bath while shut away behind the smokehouse door.
Smokehouses being what they were in this part of the world—places not to smoke and cure meat, but rather places to hang salt-cured or sugar-cured hog meat in sacks until it was needed for winter food by the family—airy from all the cracks and spaces between the siding and floor planks, soon led me to achieve an idea which turned out to be one of the best conceptions that would ever wind it’s snaily way through my convoluted brain; I would peek at Darla while she bathed.

Part 2

As luck would have it, Darla’s house was built alongside a patch of old woods with a separating hog-wire fence that was thickly covered in vines and tangles. When I figured it was about time for Darla to finish the washing chores, I rode nonchalantly past her house the same as I did a few times nearly everyday on my shiny red bike but this time I hid it is some brush along the road and about 50 yards from the smokehouse which was my target. I eased into the woods in a roundabout way, making toward the shed, easing from tree to tree. Soon, I was at the fence between the smokehouse and the outdoor toilet where I knew the wire had been mashed down by a long-ago heavy limb falling from a storm-wrenched tree. The fence and its burden of vines pushed against the unpainted planks and I had to get on my hands and knees to crawl to a place where I thought I could see without being seen. Easing along on the perpetually dank and moldy-smelling ground, I worked my way through spider webs and across decaying remains of whatever had decided to die there over the ages and was soon at my goal. I found a likely spot which offered a view inside through a small crack between boards where I figured if I was very quiet, she would not likely know of my presence.
I a short while, I heard the back screen door creak open and saw the smokehouse interior go dark as she closed its front door. In a moment, Darla came into view as both her eyes and mine became adjusted to the weak light streaming through the cracks and crevices in the siding. She poured two buckets of steaming hot water into the long, metal bathtub which she had previously partially filled with cold cistern water. She then turned to directly face my peephole, lifted her top off her shoulders, and and pulled off her shorts and panties. In a few seconds when my mind decided to re-register my whereabouts, she was saying as she turned and stepped into the bath, “I know you’re there, Billy Goins and I’m going to tell on you!”
To be continued …

Dry Bones

Another tune remembered from my childhood.

Dream A Little Dream

Happy Saturday, everyone.

Seasons

Dipping flights of leaves, brown, orange, green, and yellow returned to the soil from whence they were born, patiently metamorphosing and awaiting spring’s rebirth. Spindly forest skeletons drowse in shifting autumn sunshine, momentarily awakening to shiver their bones as transient north winds mockingly speed by. At evening time when chill descends from cold stars above, trees huddle in clumps with loners left to idle the night with solitary thoughts; only evergreen pines and cedars are left to while away the dark moments, whispering in secretive tones. Deep seasonal divisions cleave the world as haughty winter gales tease the countryside from lowering gray clouds along peripheral horizons. We must follow the example of the leaves and nestle ourselves back to our wombs of warmth and comfort while preparing for the coming rebirth that is spring.
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Please take a look at Jeremy’s latest blog post and follow the link he has provided. He took my dream sequence and changed it into poetry of the soul. Thank you, my son.
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Happy Veteran’s day, America!
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Happy Independence Day to Jola and all the people of Poland!
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Have an inspiring weekend, my friends.
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Flying High

Thanks to Tammy for the video. Her husband Mike and his father are featured as passengers on this WW-2 era B-17 Flying Fortress bomber nicknamed the Nine-O-Nine. I like all the planes of that war. The B-17 was used mostly in the European theater and had a lot to do with the defeat of Nazi Germany. I love the planes but would never fly in one of them or any other airplane; I have a back problem that prevents such activity. The most famous B-17 is the Memphis Belle which flew 25 raids over occupied Europe and Germany during the war and always brought her crews back to her home base in England, one of the few bombers with such a record. Fortunately, I was able to see some WW-2 planes at a local air show in the early 1950′s and there was a B-17 on display but I was not able to board it or any of the other planes. Congratulations Mike, his dad, and Tammy (I think) who were able to enjoy such a once in a lifetime moment. The video was put together by Mike’s brother and is very well done with great complimentary music.
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Rained last evening and has turned cool; should warm again by Saturday. Screwy weather.
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Joe Pa certainly should have resigned as Penn State’s football coach, but he should have been allowed to finish the season. I hope the rectums who fired him on a knee-jerk reaction are forced to grab their hats and follow him to the unemployment line.
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Presidential hopeful Herman Cain has apparently been caught in a lie and Rick Perry has been caught being himself. The Republican duh machine rolls on. Meanwhile back at the ranch, Barack Obama is continuing his quest to be the most disappointing president in recent history; he could well be the worst chief executive if George W. Bush hadn’t sealed up that title for all time.
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Have a happy Thursday, gentle people.
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An early surprise this morning to find out that women in Mississippi still have some respect from the voters; the state was trying to do away with abortions by making it a law to recognize fetuses as human beings. I have mixed feelings about abortion, but I do believe in a woman’s right to choose.
In Ohio, voters decided not to limit collective bargaining thereby protecting worker”s rights,
In Maine, same day voter registration was restored. It was another form of disenfranchisement for many people.
All these bad laws were enacted or supported by Republicans whom will probably pay the slap-downs little attention and march on with their heads stuck up corporate asses. Voters failed to get rid of the conservative governors who oversaw and approved the tyrannical laws, however.
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My how the world is changing so quickly. When I was born, Hitler’s Germany was on the defensive yet still slaughtering as many Jews, Poles, and Gypsies as he could round up. It is now 67 years on, and even though life’s landscape has enormously changed, people are still people and there are wannabe Hitlers born everyday.
I think I should write about all the major changes that have come to the world since I was born but I won’t be so vain as to say they would not have happened if on that blessed August day in 1944 I had not been presented to the cosmos for the betterment of mankind. I won’t say it but I know it is true.
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Have a wonderful Wednesday!

Lyrics for Cowgirl In The Sand.

Words

In the past few days I’ve realized something I should have known for the past 60 years and why I wasn’t told this in school I do not know: All the words in the English language do but one thing; they describe. Nouns, verbs, adverbs, adjectives, pronouns, and dangling participles all do the same thing in different ways; they describe people, places, and things either directly or by describing simple relationships. Why am I just now realizing this simple fact? I always thought there was a grand, universal theme and scheme with words. I feel as if I am emerging from my personal Dark Ages. Now I must decide if I am too old to care about the implicated mundanity or if I am just a ninnyhammer.
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A local Exide battery plant is dismissing 500 workers and moving elsewhere; no one has said exactly why it is being done but I figure it is probably another case of corporate greed. Employees be damned.
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I am reading A Tale of Love and Darkness by Israeli writer Amos Oz as recommended by our friend Jola. I just finished chapter three and so far it is a very entertaining book about growing up in Jerusalem. It is difficult to set a time line because he speaks of the British Mandate and Neil Armstrong which are many years apart. All I know is that I am seeing through the eyes and mind of a little Jewish boy and I am guessing he was born before Israel became a state.
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What a great bunch of musicians was Lynyrd Skynyrd; Ronnie Van Zant was a super lyricist and front man. Too bad one song lowered their esteem in the eyes of many, including myself.
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Have a Tuesday, y’all! Are Tuesdays recyclable or should they be tossed?

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Indian Summer is here

 

Why is Italy the fourth largest debtor nation in the world yet is only the eighth largest economy in the world? Instead of penalizing debtor nations like Greece, Italy, and Spain, maybe the big European nations who control the purse strings should reassess just how much they allow the subsidized mega-banks to be free-wheeling entities.
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Had another flat weekend; didn’t even bother to sit on the porch and enjoy Indian Summer. Indian Summer is a warm spell during early November that we enjoy in many years. Carolyn was out running here and there both days; she had to buy some diapers for Sammy yesterday. He is ill from the one of the shots he got last week.
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We have birds and squirrels out the ears at this house. We’ve seen all the normal critters one would expect except for deer; I suppose they will show up sooner or later. Hopefully, we are a bit too far from the mountains for roaming and hungry bears.
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Occupy Johnson City has a permanent encampment home near downtown and along the much traveled State of Franklin Rd. The movement here seems to be growing fairly rapidly and other nearby cities are inquiring about how it all works.
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Have a good Worshday, my friends.
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It's me!!!

'ello

Sammy got a couple of shots yesterday and Ashley said he didn’t cry. Instead, he gave the nurse a look of “what the hell did you do to me?” He did manage to pee straight up in the air when the nurse removed his diaper; good boy!
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This morning arrived dressed in a shroud of heavy, gray fog. She also had an icy stare as the temps were below freezing.
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I finally feel like getting back on Megashot for at least a few minutes each day. I am once more doing my ‘meets and greets’ and writing a few comments here and there. The site is undergoing an influx of new members once again since Cyrus and crew placed the new and fast cloud servers online. When version 2.0 of the site goes online, I believe it will draw in many more photographers and artists because it will remain high quality and be much easier to use, especially for new members. It is and will remain a teaching and learning site for shooters at all levels.
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I’m doing a bunch of writing; the new story I began about the harem is expanding into other universes and looks like it can become book length if my mind and fingers hold up long enough. I need to be writing about fifteen-hundred edited words each day, but that figure is a bit unrealistic; I like to loaf a lot … a whole lot.
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Rest in peace, Andy Rooney. You were a true journalist.
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The photo is typical of my being any morning before coffee except I did shave a bit of the scruff from my face. Isn’t Carolyn lucky to wake up with this beside her?
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Have a good Saturday!
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Sammy and Billy

Sammy is now eating solid food and loving it. He is having a doctor checkup this morning.
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Cold and rainy; low ceiling and the visibility is less than one mile. November has set in and it is time for us to have some snow flurries in the lower hills.
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I am using Google Chrome browser this morning; Firefox is crashing on startup. I uninstalled it, reinstalled it, and it still won't run. I am now running a rookit finder to see if I have been invaded by aliens from the planet Orch where computer maladies are compiled by naked geek co-eds.
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Civilized Americans set their time back tomorrow night.
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The Republican nomination circus is getting good. Allegations and allegories are flying between all the talking heads. No matter how guilty the candidates are of being complete jerks, the press will eventually get the blame for their troubles.
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A couple of years ago I gave CNN's Anderson Cooper some grief in my blog. Actually, I have come to realize he is a pretty good reporter and probably doing the best he can under the circumstances of working for a network where profits are more important than real news. Mr. Anderson, I apologize for my disparaging remarks and hope that you will keep on giving us your best.
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Have a good weekend, dear hearts!

Secret

 

The right of the people to be secure in their persons, houses, papers, and effects, against unreasonable searches and seizures, shall not be violated, and no Warrants shall issue, but upon probable cause, supported by Oath or affirmation, and particularly describing the place to be searched, and the persons or things to be seized.
Thus states the Fourth Amendment to the United States Constitution. This week, the Supreme Court will begin deciding how this applies to the digital age of electronic surveillance. I fear that a conservative ruling will lead to further erosion of the Constitution and there is no reason to think that there will be a liberal outcome protecting the rights of individuals. There will be no secrets as Orwell’s Oceania creeps closer.
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The Occupy movement will be seen by the public by the bad things that happen during a protest. Yesterday’s vandalism in Oakland doesn’t bode well for gaining public sympathy. The hell of it is, no one knows whether it is out of control protestors, common street vandals, or stooges sent in by the one-percent (cops, etc.) who are destroying public and private property.
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Nothing worth talking about going on in my life, so I will bid you a good Thursday.
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Mid-week mumblings

I see that the Cheney/Bush inspired torture of suspected terrorists who have been accused of no crimes is ongoing in our subsidiary state of Afghanistan. Under his facade, Obama is just as bad or worse than Bush in many, many ways.
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Women’s college basketball season has once again begun. I won’t see many games on TV this year, but I was able to watch the Lady Vols play an exhibition on the net last evening. It was coach Pat Summit’s first game since she was diagnosed with dementia–an early onset of Alzheimer’s Disease–earlier this year. I look for this season or maybe next season to be her last as coach, but I know she will continue on the job as long as she feels that she can perform up to her own high standards.
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Hooray for Greece, her Prime Minister Papandreou, and her people. Whether his decision to have a national referendum was a political measure or his having the guts to place democracy above finance, is laudable. The European Union wasn’t bailing out Greece from financial trouble; it wants to provide relief for huge financial institutions who made bad financial decisions, much like the Wall Street bailout of 2008. If other nations, including the USA, would follow Greece’s lead, we could have a new breath of freedom around the world. It would be much like the Arab Spring in that we would be rebelling, but this uprising would be against a tyrant which restricts the livelihoods of every person on this planet; out of control capitalism.
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Israel is pushing its luck by spitefully annexing more Palestinian land for its own use. American’s are becoming tired of being protective puppets and money cows for Zionism. Israel has the right to exist as a sovereign nation and so does Palestine if it so wishes.
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Have a great Wednesday (except for Mark who is having a foggy Thursday) my friends!

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2525

Lyrics for In the Year 2525

In the year 2525
If man is still alive
If woman can survive
They may find

In the year 3535
Ain’t gonna need to tell the truth, tell no lies
Everything you think, do, and say
Is in the pill you took today

In the year 4545
Ain’t gonna need your teeth, won’t need your eyes
You won’t find a thing chew
Nobody’s gonna look at you

In the year 5555
Your arms are hanging limp at your sides
Your legs got not nothing to do
Some machine is doing that for you

In the year 6565
Ain’t gonna need no husband, won’t need no wife
You’ll pick your son, pick your daughter too
From the bottom of a long glass tube

In the year 7510
If God’s a-comin’ he ought to make it by then
Maybe he’ll look around himself and say
Guess it’s time for the Judgement day

In the year 8510
God is gonna shake his mighty head
He’ll either say I’m pleased where man has been
Or tear it down and start again

In the year 9595
I’m kinda wondering if man is gonna be alive
He’s taken everything this old earth can give
And he ain’t put back nothing

Now it’s been 10,000 years
Man has cried a billion tears
For what he never knew
Now man’s reign is through
But through the eternal night
The twinkling of starlight
So very far away
Maybe it’s only yesterday

In the year 2525
If man is still alive
If woman can survive
They may find

In the year 3535
Ain’t gonna need to tell the truth, tell no lies
Everything you think, do or say
Is in the pill you took today …