It wasn’t a New Year’s resolution. My yellow, faded, favorite Florida Lottery tee-shirt, replete with numerous tears and holes, bit the big one. Yes, I tossed it in the trash bin.
To pull it on, without my arms going through numerous holes, instead of sleeves, was nearly impossible. There was no sentimental attachment to the tattered shirt, only the comfort of familiarity.
I know my wife cheered silently, if not out loud, over the discarded shirt. Not even worthy to be used for car washing.
Never fear, it’s been replaced by a lime green, safety promotional shirt, with large black letters on the front, touting 365 injury-free work days. At least it’s all one piece. Wear holes have yet to appear.
From the Canadian provinces, Midwestern states, the Upper South, they congregated every fall, and again, in winter.
No one wanted them to fly away forever. Winter visitors were too important to the local economy.
Not to mention, I was formerly one of their flock.
I wondered what the snow birds thought when our weather turned cooler than expected?
Probably that, it was still better than Northern Michigan in January.
When it’s nearly one-hundred degrees in the shade, this summer, I’ll wish I could fly back north with them.
“Where to for lunch?” Asked my bride.
Then came the rundown of places we’d been recently.
“Let’s try the new place, near Big Lots, in the strip mall.” She suggested.
The building was all shiny and new, full of enthusiastic, happy faces (whether it was fake, or not) wearing dark blue aprons, with the brand logo.
Service seemed a little slow. Maybe they’d just opened, and didn’t yet have things together?
“I thought my bacon cheeseburger wasn’t too bad. It was definitely above average. Did you know they toast their hamburger buns?” She wasn’t impressed.
“My fish sandwich was disappointing. I don’t think it was really cod. False advertising? The filet was too flat.”
“Well, anyway it was better than the popular kids place with billions served,” I answered defensively.
“That’s not saying much,” My spouse, had the last word.
The next night, we went to a local favorite restaurant for dinner, to make up for the previous day’s dissatisfaction. The fish was as advertised. Employees were genuinely friendly. There were no unexpected surprises.
However, I’ve not completely ruled out the first restaurant. Warm toasted buns on a chilly, winter day, would be nice.
Not wanting to proofread and edit text, because nothing better was in the offing. I’ve no intention of this becoming a burgeoning negative diatribe.
What to write about, when nothing immediately comes to mind? That in itself is a topic of interest to most of us.
Small business names, some creative, some atrocious: Hair Apparent–a hair-styling salon; A Touch Of Glass–glass repair shop; Chitty, Chitty, Bang, Bang–car repair and tune-up shop; The Big Bang–auto collision repair; So Close and Yet So Far Away–travel agency; Bless My Sole–shoe repair shop.
I recently found out, that one of my great uncles on my grandmother’s side of the family, was a writer. I read some of his poems, and found them to offer interesting insights of rural life during the twenties and thirties.
Are most writers introverted? I’ve nothing to substantiate this. Like in the rest of society, some probably are, and some are not. For what it’s worth, I side with the introverts.
When I was in fourth grade, I wanted to impress Janice in the worst way. She was the prettiest girl in class.
So, in an awkward attempt to woo her, I tossed a leaf into the air. It fell, not to earth, but instead, landed on her sweater. She was not in the least impressed. I wanted to be anyplace, but there, at that moment.
Some are terrified by creepy-crawly critters. If a spider crawls down from the visor while driving, they become paralyzed with fear. I’ve heard of rental cars being abandoned because of unexpected spiders.
I’m more concerned about stinging insects flying in open car windows. Not to the extent that I would risk a motor vehicle accident.
Snakes don’t bother me, if I see them first. Even though, there are five poisonous species native to this area.
If snakes could talk, the conversation would go as follows: “See you later human?”
Human: “Not if I see you first.”