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.

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Looked Good On Paper

Sandwich generation
Played on rock piles
Squirrels circled tree
Trunks to evade predators
Words wrapped around
Page after glorious page
Returned to the beginning
Got to be rights
Didn’t have much time
To prepare actions, overreactions
Poised on limestone embankments
Dunce caps ready
Tried to act surprised

Words That Stuck Around

Lots of letters–of course
Enough vowels to avoid confusion
Could be blissful, wistful, strong
Not likely to be wasted words
Describing persons, places, things
Peppered with apostrophes
To mark missing letters
Hyphens were popular
As were, compound words
Wait a minute–I said as I pondered
What I’d just written was absurd
Words weren’t supposed to be
Compounded to confound
The best words were those
Used in casual conversations
Not those hard to remember

No Alarm Bells Going Off in My Head

This has been a quiet Saturday. There was a ninety per cent chance of rain predicted. I’m looking out from the ten per cent side of that prediction.

Rain would possibly have made it more comfortable, than the over eighty per cent dew point. So much for meteorological chit- chat.

What does one do when there’s nothing in particular to write about? Write about why there are no subjects about which to write. There are many topics–some of them I won’t touch.

I repaired the vacuum cleaner this morning.  Did that get your attention?  I certainly hope it didn’t.  Two dogs in the household with associated hair clumps, tortured the poor machine almost to oblivion.

Do you dislike posts on Facebook that call for participation? Copy and paste this–otherwise you are an insensitive, boorish, non-believing hypocrite, or some other (fill-in-blank) foolishness. Subjects repeated in a closed loop, eight-track tape fashion, again-and-again.

Do you find “phrases of the moment” annoying? The latest one seems to be “at some point.” At least it has drawn attention away from the other annoying phrase, “at the end of the day.” Because “at the end of the day,” “at some point,” people have to think for themselves.

Buying & Selling (Happy Fifth Birthday)

To sell something, you need to provide something people want. “Don’t give away the store; 1% of something was better than, 1% of nothing.”  The relationship between buyers and sellers was tenuous at best.

Where were the hidden gold mines that enticed on the net? Engineered to appeal to insatiable appetites for excessiveness–“real deals,” “hidden money,” “little-known paths to prosperity.”

New!  Improved!  With less hyperbole, more content!  Congratulations are in order on this blogs fifth anniversary.  I’m more surprised than anyone.  I have plenty more to say, so keep reading and commenting.

Conversation With a Friend

It’s been tough to get going today.  Started a post, didn’t like it.  It’s been shelved, till later. What would Floyd have to say?  If I know him as well as I think I do–something like this.  “If you have something to say–say it!  If you don’t have anything to say–then keep your trap shut!”  Maybe this little talk from 2015 will do me some good.

————————————————————————-

“There seems to be a general decline in the ‘effimacaceousness’ of this blog,” Floyd observed–stroking his chin.

“How you figure?”  I answered his question with a question.

“He who answers a question with a question is a fool,”  Floyd philosophized.

“Will you get to the point and knock off the pseudo-intellectual shtick.”

“You’re first and foremost an imaginary character that exists only in my mind.  If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t be here.”

“Did I hurt your feelings?  Don’t get your shorts in a bunch.  Just listen.

Floyd was attired for summer–bib overalls and slouchy railroad engineer’s cap.  At least, this time he had on a t-shirt.

Customary brown chewing tobacco spittle stained the corners of his mouth.  He expounded homespun philosophy with one foot on the front bumper of his light blue Ford pickup.

“All I was trying to say–is you need to lighten things up a bit,” Floyd answered.  “Most people get #$%@^& tired of hearing the same negative, mopey )*%@%^* day after day.  I failed to mention that Floyd’s vocabulary would make longshoremen blush.

“I’m glad to see you turned out smarter than your buddy Larry.  He’s purt near broke with three ex-wives.  Hasn’t got a pot to *&$% in.  He should have had enough *&^#$@^! sense to quit after wife number two.”

I hadn’t thought about Floyd for a long time.  Something about unshaven, sweaty men in bibs I’d prefer to avoid–as a general rule.  He was a memorable character.  If one looked past the disheveled, gruff exterior–he always gave good advice.