Clear Days & Fog-Shrouded Thoughts

Bless me or curse me. It’s been [five], no, six days since my last post.

No particular reason. Getting started was the hardest thing.
Here’s what I had to work with–miscellaneous titles, with nothing following.  Wasn’t “jambs,” as in door jambs, a strange word?  It rhymed with lambs.  “Silence of the Jambs?”  No, that was too weird.

Gravel Gertie
Kick Out the Jambs
Long Shadows

When the mental fog dissipated, how could I have forgotten an event over the holidays?  As some of you may know, I crave omelets for breakfast.  To the extent, that I taught myself how to make them.  The highest praise came from my wife.  “Your omelets were better than mine.”

That was before reality “hit the fan.”  Per Dr. “Killjoy” “Your cholesterol is way too high.  Don’t eat eggs every day.  How about some cereal and fresh fruit?”  I gave in, at the doctor’s and my wife’s insistence.  Egg consumption, only on Sunday mornings.  Vacations are an exception.

Recently my joy was eroded.  How could the server have misinterpreted my omelet order?  A traditional Western omelet consisted of ham, tomatoes, onions, Monterey Jack cheese, and green peppers.

After a difficult nine hour drive the day before, and arriving late, it was going to be great.  Everyone in our party of nine chatted incessantly at the table.  My omelet came out last.

Three pancakes on a separate plate came first–as expected.  Then, the shocker–the omelet was covered with chopped broccoli.  Chopped broccoli?  Where had that idea come from?  Yikes!  There was even more broccoli inside.

It was too late for do-overs.  Everyone else was almost finished, and I didn’t want to delay, what would be a short visit, before heading home on the last leg of our journey.

“That was a first.” I complained to our waiter.  He seemed puzzled.  “I’ve never seen  a broccoli omelet before.”  “I can have them make you another one,” He offered.  “No, it’s too late,” I replied.  I liked broccoli, just not in omelets.

 

Happy Belated Birthday (My How You’ve Grown)

How could I have been so self-absorbed to forget? This blogging gig has gone on for six years.

“My how you’ve grown.  Looking forward to first grade this fall?”  Adult comments, most kids hated.

Starting new posts felt a lot like the first day of first grade.  “Attention everyone, when I read your name, stand up, tell a little bit about yourself–hobbies, what you did on summer vacation.”

Reflections? Changes? There are a few worth mentioning.

There have been fewer lengthy posts. That’s probably a good thing.

Times and tastes change. I don’t desire to touch complicated political or social issues. There are enough people doing that already. Rational discourse replaced by incoherent screaming altogether too often.  The “Boy Who Cried Wolf” fairy tale came to mind.

Screams of delight were an obligatory part of being six years old.  Acceptable blog birthday gifts?  No gifts, but a cake with one chocolate, and one vanilla layer, with chocolate icing would be nice.  Other suggestions:  Pony rides. A birthday party with all my blogging friends. Funny clowns, streamers, noisemakers–those afraid of clowns, look away.

Sunday Cultivation

It’s Sunday night and I’ve done little blog activity today. That was not how relationships were supposed to work. Relationships needed cultivation–just like gardens. Maybe that’s why my gardens ended up as patches of weeds.

What “they” didn’t want you to know. Why was this still a popular headline? Maybe there were more conspiracy theorists than I realized?

Sonic drive-in restaurant franchises are offering dill pickle slushies. For those tired of the usual sweet-syrupy offerings. I happened to like Kosher dills–the crunchier the better. I’ve heard that drinking dill pickle juice, after perspiring from heavy exercise, replaced lost body salts.

Recurring dreams: Last night, I experienced a varied version of a recurring dream. I was back at college–in Marston Hall. I looked for a seat, most were filled. None of the students were familiar to me. I found a seat, left my books. Went up front to talk to the professor. When I returned, my things were gone. Nobody fessed up to anything. Just like that–in a finger snap, the dream ended.

Recurring dream #2:  My car was left parallel parked on a city street.  It was a small town with lots of free parking spots.  I returned later, from some non-specific activity, and couldn’t find my car.  I doubted myself.  Where had I parked?  Had it been two blocks in the other direction?  Cars owned in the past were also featured.  My black 4 door Ford sedan, or the blue, two-door sporty, compact sedan, with mag wheels.

A Cloudy Thursday

Weather is about to turn cooler–typical for fall. My two dogs are barking at every move the contractor makes across the street. That’s their job I suppose–to watch the neighborhood.

An observation: This blog, after five-plus years, has matured. Not that there aren’t any more mountains to climb. I just don’t feel the same urgency to publish something new every day. A bigger concern, is to avoid repeating myself.

Several bloggers, I followed, disappeared, or no longer actively publish, for reasons known only to themselves.  Situations and people change.  Five years are a long time in the blogging world.

It’s Not You–It’s Me

These excuses never worked, anyway.  The dogs didn’t eat my homework.  Check was in the mail.  I never received my bill.  It has been an extremely busy day, and I’ll leave it at that.

########################

Sorry blog

I don’t know how

To break it to you

Words fail me right now

You’re not first on my priority list

Hope you don’t mind

It’s yard work

Washing the car

Cleaning inside of car

And only for today

Where does this

Leave you and me?

Same place as before

Time will tell

Hope you can see it

In your heart to forgive