I think I shall ramble a bit on today’s post. I was sitting in my thinking chair for only a few moments this afternoon so it was hard to get a coherent thought stream flowing. We’ve had rain every day for what seems months. It doesn’t last long; sort of like having mini-monsoons coming and going continually throughout the day and night. So the weather has kept me inside without my thinking chair which results in my mind hop-scotching all over the place.
The first place I landed was on an incredible story out of Austin, Texas. It seems the Texas Alcoholic Beverage Commission has decided to withdraw a proposal that would have allowed the sale of alcoholic beverages at gun shows. Seems there were even enough cowboys in dem dar parts who spoke up saying they didn’t think that was such a good idea. “Dern tootin!” is what I say. In fact, I’d be happy to make the posters in case there was going to be a demonstration. Mine would have said “Alcohol and guns don’t kill people; drunk people with guns kill people!”
Being among the children of the last generation to feel the brunt of his father’s boot or the sting of a belt on the butt, I cannot help but wonder if most of the parents of my generation would wind up in jail today for some of the physical remedies they dished out for a child’s bad behavior. Like any normal person I certainly don’t condone physical abuse of a spouse or child, but personal history tells me being physical with a child is not always being abusive. I got to thinking about all this after all the child abuse turmoil in the National Football League this past week. Times has changed. I remember my mom being so angry with my brother and me that she took a full swipe at us with a soup ladle she happened to be armed with at the moment. My brother took the brunt of it and I just picked up the tail end of its whizzing by my cheekbone. I know we must have hit her tipping point with whatever it was we did. But truth be told, I’d pay a million bucks to relive that moment just to have the chance to see her again. But that kind of physical reprimand seemed to work in my childhood days when one of us kids went too far. And guess what? …we got over it and still loved our parents.
I am happy to report that, as discussed in a posting last week, that all my annual humongous bills are arriving on time. I have gone ahead and started paying them and I am pleased that I have had to rob only two banks this week. I did take a break, however, and put the remainder of the bills back in the drawer to marinate for a few days more. Maybe they will reduce down a little and become more checkbook friendly…though I think not. I dutifully informed the household that peanut butter and jelly sandwiches would be the kitchen’s featured item for all meals over the next several months. The cost of cold cereals has become prohibited.
I have been rarely dedicated to the television all this past week. I have been watching the Ken Burns series on the Roosevelts. As yet one more sign of my growing old, no one, especially anyone under 40, in my surroundings has been interested. I have watched alone, appreciating every moment of what was probably the most incredible era in my lifetime, albeit I was born at its end. But in my solitude I have come to realize that not only do individuals fade into history, history itself fades into history.
Our cat, Toni, is just off to my left as I write this posting. She is there just about every hour I am sitting here tapping away on the keyboard. I’ve had pictures of her on my post before, but here is one more. This is where she stays at my side, crammed into the top of my file tray. It is unbelievable that she finds it comfortable. Toni is not a friendly cat. She swipes a paw and offers up a hiss at just about everyone who comes near—except me…most times. I do not know why she has singled me out as the only one she tolerates and “blesses” with her constant companionship, especially since I am the one who was most opposed to her joining the family. For some reason I guess she thinks me the cat’s meow. Me thinks she needs a thinking chair to think it over.