Melancholic Musings

I’ve commented on other posts. Can’t seem to get going with post ideas of my own. What’s significant about that? Probably nothing.  For the record, there were nineteen previous posts about writer’s block on this site.

When writer’s block strikes, getting upset about it is the wrong approach. Read about an automobile salesman that lost his job. Not that I’ve ever had a soft spot in my heart for car dealerships or car sales persons.

What was important, was that this gentleman, reinvented himself and is now doing better than ever. He is a “car concierge.” Works independently with clients to meet their automotive needs–all makes, all brands. He does all the paperwork and negotiations.

I don’t like to see anyone lose their job. I’ve been fired from a job once. It was done the typical way. I had the option, “quit or be fired.” They were shrewd, waited till late afternoon. It turned out best for all concerned. I soon had a better job, with better benefits and pay. Worked there until I retired.

Much More To Come

Distracted living
Click bait for cheapskates
Tijuana brass monkeys
Why was there nothing here?
Took a walk, came back later.


There are lots of things currently going on in my life.  Mostly, de-cluttering sixteen years of excess everything.  Sprucing up the house, in case it is put up for sale.

Made a solemn vow sixteen years before, that I would never move again.  Situations, and people change over the years.  Now, I need to be closer to friends and family.

Every part of the country has good and bad points.  I’m ready to accept colder winters.  Maybe I’ve been in this location for too long?  Nobody in the neighborhood knows we’re going to move–and it shall remain a secret, for now.

A lot of things have to happen in the meantime.  The process has just started.  I don’t intend to give up blogging in the interim.  “Give up the things you love, and there will be nothing left to love.”

 

 

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.

 

He Meant Well

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.

 

Can’t Please Everyone

You can’t please everyone, so you have to please yourself.

Writing is the same as every endeavor in life.  If you’re not pleased with what you write, it’s not likely anyone else will be.  I write to attract readers, knowing, not everyone will be interested in what I have to say.

What attracted readers?  Was it sensationalism?  Click bait?  After the click, nothing of value remained, therein. If that was required for success, count me out.

In my opinion, there’s too much, “my opinion matters, yours doesn’t” these days.  Which leads to another conundrum.  How much non-conformity does it take to become conformity?

I intend to respect all opinions–whether I agree with them or not.  And, in turn, I would like to be respected.