More To Come Later

“Wake up.  You were snoring,” Said the bailiff–while shaking my shoulder.

“Yes, he was–very loudly,”  Said one of my fellow jurors.

“Sleep on your own time–not on the court’s,”  Warned the bailiff.

Doubtful, anything that drastic will happen.  I’ve been summoned for jury duty the first two weeks of April.

Not that I have anything against doing one’s civic duty.  I’m a Vietnam-era vet, for Heaven’s sake.

I know that obligations can turn into more than one hoped for.  My wife served on a jury;  was selected for a murder trial that deliberated for three months.

“Who was Dog the Bounty Hunter?”  My wife asked, upon her return, one night during the trial.  During break that day the reality show star had been outside the courthouse.  She wasn’t impressed with the “Dogster”–only with the plethora of local TV news crews.

Whatever happens, there won’t be much time for blogging, or other internet activities.  I won’t be able to talk about any of the proceedings.

Not to worry–other than the 45 mile commute each direction; my wife warned me; most of the time would be consumed by legal wrangling between prosecution and defense teams.

“It would be like going to work for the county every day,” She said.  “Hurry up and wait.”  Where had I heard that before?

Never Could Say Goodbye

Why did the process of leaving a family friend or relative’s house seem to take forever?  Little kids hated adult small talk, “My how you’ve grown.  What grade were you in school? You’re almost as tall as your older brother.”

Adult chattering never stopped.  Pitiful expressions, tugging at mom’s skirt, never made the process go faster. Going to your father for help didn’t work, either.  His standard response, “Go ask your mother.”  Which really meant, he knew from years of experience, saying goodbye could not be hurried.

Two generations later, blessed with more patience, the process hadn’t changed.  Only the players in these mini-dramas were different.  Grandma, family matriarch, cooked at home–did most of the cooking away from home.

For that reason, the head chef needed proper utensils, small appliances, to feel at home away from home–anything easily transportable.

Leftovers had to be divvied up.  Grandma refereed the process.  “Don’t take all of that–take more of this.  Your sister likes cranberries, you know.”

“Where were the disposable containers?  I can’t find anything in your kitchen.  Why do you keep things on  top shelves where I can’t reach them?  Better take a couple of pieces of this lemon meringue pie.  Your grandpa and I will never eat it–it will just go bad.”

Lost items, previously ignored, became priorities; followed by discussions of where said lost items could be; bouts of anxiety, then, retrieval of lost items–purses, sweaters, jackets, electronic devices.  When, items weren’t found.  “Well, I’ll pick it up next time–or you can mail it to me.”  The postal service would never go out of business on our account.

When visitors left our house, the process was mostly the same.  Grandkids added interesting twists to the goodbye process.  Internet savvy kids left behind connectors, adapters–strange to unhip grandparents, various clothing articles.  They sometimes took things home, not noticed, until weeks, even months, later.

“What happened to the Caladryl lotion?”  I asked, after getting into some poison ivy.  “Oh, one of the grandkids took it home–he had an itchy rash.”  That wasn’t going to help me at that moment.

Goodbyes and hugs took forever, because we never could say goodbye.




Things were done the same

Because nobody complained

It was making a living

Everybody’s so sensitive

Tired of walking on eggshells

I’m not talking anymore

Unless, it’s somebody I know and trust

There are fewer of them everyday

How can you tell friends from enemies anymore?

The welcome mat was rolled up and stored

Somewhere further away from reality


I’m a rambling kind of guy today–about anything and everything.  Sometimes I wonder; where have all the free spirits gone?  Are they busy taking themselves too seriously?  Thumping melons in the market; exaggerating for effect; throwing stones in glass houses–like they know they shouldn’t; then complaining when rains come in.

Trips off the beaten path, I happen to relish.  It’s a risk/reward thing–sometimes there are few rewards.  But, they make me happy.  Sometimes compliments do fall like rain.  And, if they’re genuine, are delightful.

My blog has been heavy with bird posts–as of late.  I’m not an ornithologist–just love nature.  I’m blessed to reside in beautiful surroundings.

Some dear friends will be stopping by to visit next week.  I’m looking forward to it.  There may be a brief lull in blog posts to participate in new adventures.  Who knows–it could lead to new post ideas?

It’s a complete turnaround for me–to improve general fitness with thrice weekly trips to my local YMCA.  This time, it’s not been a post-holiday guilt trip, over by February.  I feel better–whether I look better is open to debate.

A few days ago, I mentioned going to the gym to a friend.  His response–he’d gone in the past with some success.  What he couldn’t deal with, were people taking up time on machines, talking and not exercising.

That was one example of bad behavior.  In my opinion, it was more about control (lack of control).  My friend was a manager before retirement–accustomed to giving orders and having them followed.  It doesn’t always work that way in the real world.  I’m trying to control my own behavior–that’s not easy, either.