It’s Your Choice – Not Mine.

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Most mornings, I will sit at the table, cup of coffee, blinds open, watching the birds hustle to pick up the food I set out for them the night before.  How hard life must be for them and how easy it seems to be for me.  I think about a hot shower and how the water stings the back of my neck, long before the sun comes up.  Slowly I crank up to meet the new day in my own ritual.

Beside’s the shower, this (sitting at the table) is usually the best place for me, early in the morning, to gather up my thoughts, and think about what it is that I am going to post for the day.  On most days, I do not have a clue, as to what it is that I am going to share with you, I have not the faintest hint as to what I might have to freely give you.  At times I often find myself, totally lost in the moment and find no chart, no clear concise course to follow.

On some mornings, I share a bowl of oatmeal with a friend and work out my day.

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I will think about the first time my granddaughter took her little hand, placed it in mine and together, we walked across the parking lot of the truck-stop to the store.  How good it feels to be needed and wanted.  What was it that they used to call that feeling … oh yeah … a warm fuzzy.  How a four year old will exclaim to anyone within earshot … “This is the bestest day of my life” and mean every word of it.

Other times, I will think about a 12 year old boy I know, who has no friends his age, cannot throw a football, is home schooled, and cannot tell you what 4X8 might be.   “57?  Uh 64? …  41” … all good guesses, but not one is even close.  Deep inside it bothers me, because I know that not knowing how to spell a simple word like “cookie” at this age, will eventually lead to an emotionally crippled, ignorant teenager, in a very cold unfeeling world later on.  I think about his limited options, all the time painfully knowing, I have to be quiet about it, because it is a “family thing.”

Even farther back in the cavities of my mind, I will think of walking to the back of a locomotive, on a chilly winter morning, slowly chugging thru the yard for another cut of cars.  Reaching the back of the engine and finding my 47 year old friend Jack, sitting in the stairs, softly crying, because his kid is strung out on methamphetamine, and he doesn’t know what to do about it and I don’t know how to ease his pain.  I think of all the times in my own life where I feel so inadequate and used up.

This kind of thinking, often will make me happy and sometimes, it will make me sad.  Sometimes I will write about it and most often, I usually pass.  You see, most of my choices are limited, some will work out and some will wither up and die on the vine.

My thoughts such as they are, have one common denominator.

This would be that I really don’t have a choice in the matter, I have to work with what it is that I have discovered (within myself) this day.  My only options might be a set of headphones to drown out the noise or something like that.

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You on the other hand, you have a choice.

You can flip off the page and go somewhere else.  You can hit a delete button or escape and you are done.  You can report it to wordpress.com moderators as untasteful or profane, objectionable to your good adult standards or morale code.  You can ignore it completely.

The clock on the wall clicks off fractions of a day.  Often early in the morning, when we sit down to write it and then put it up, another slice of life, a moment in time laid out on the page.  Another offering is there for you to savor, relish and enjoy or to shut it down and walk away.  Some of it good and some of it not all that great.  It is all here, absolutely free.  No baggage to take with you, no promises to make or break.  And it only cost you a small portion of your time.

At times I think, believe it or not, you have the better part of the deal.

Thanks for stoppin by, as usual the comments section is open, take a shot at it if you wish.  Ameliorate the content of the post or just say hello, either one will work.

OOO

Snakes On A Bus

What do we talk about on this auspicious occasion, I got a full eight hours sleep last night, and I am as sharp as can be.  It has been awhile since I have slept a long, good sleep, I feel refreshed.  I DON’T HAVE THOSE WAKE UP IT’S EARLY, WASH BEHIND YOUR EARS THEY’RE DIRTY, EAT YOUR EGGS AND OATMEAL BLUES …. RISE N SHINE TIME … I REALLY FEEL LIKE I COULD GO FOR IT TODAY.

Turn on the player, and the first tune out of the box is “Brad Paisley … I would like to check you for ticks.” Hard to believe.  Who writes his lyric’s, Jeff Foxworthy?  Like most men, there are a great many things I think of during the day, concerning women, checking one for ticks, honestly, has never been one of them. (Please … do not send me any letters!)

Where do they get this stuff?

I just read where there is a guy who is wanting someone to transport snakes from Odessa Texas and is willing to help out on the fuel.  These are rattlesnakes by the way.  Now I know the price of fuel is high ….. But?  ……. So, today’s question for the day … “What would you do, transport the snakes or pass?” … Hard choices eh?

Which reminds me of a story I read awhile back from down under, Sydney, Australia.  An unknown man grabbed a bag out of a car stopped at a stoplight.  The car belonged to Bradley McDonald, a local snake catcher.  In the bag was the snake he had just caught, a four-foot long, venomous red-bellied black snake.  “It might teach him a lesson” McDonald said.  Who says there is no justice in the world?

When Yosuke the parrot flew out of his cage and got lost, he did exactly what he had been taught recite his name and address to a stranger willing to help.  Police rescued the African grey parrot two weeks ago from a neighbor’s roof in the city of Nagareyama, near Tokyo. After spending a night at the station, he was transferred to a nearby veterinary hospital while police searched for clues, local policeman Shinjiro Uemura said.

He kept mum with the cops, but began chatting after a few days with the vet.  “I’m Mr. Yosuke Nakamura,” the bird told the veterinarian, according to Uemura. The parrot also provided his full home address, down to the street number, and even entertained the hospital staff by singing songs.  “We checked the address, and what do you know, a Nakamura family really lived there. So we told them we’ve found Yosuke,” Uemura said.

The Nakamura family told police they had been teaching the bird its name and address for about two years. But Yosuke apparently wasn’t keen on opening up to police officials. “I tried to be friendly and talked to him, but he completely ignored me,” Uemura said.

Often people miss the entire point.  Yosuke had the right to remain silent.

(Yeah I know, pretty lame)

We have two parrots that own us, Mo & Popeye, the latter being an African Grey.  He is amusing, quick to learn, and a bona-fide pain the part of you that goes over the fence last.  Last year we took him on vacation with us, in a little cage, right behind me in the backseat, he rode around America in the bus.

In two weeks that bird learned to say …….. Stooooopid! … Tell me they are not smart.  Just what everyone in life needs … A parrot with Road Rage.

Parrots are demanding, a life long commitment.  Recently I was discussing with our oldest boy, which parrot he wanted when I died, because the birds in captivity will live upwards of 75 years.  ( In comparison, on a good day in captivity with the little woman, I am surely not going to make that)  So I ask the kid, which bird do you want?  He thinks about it and then says to me, “Which one tastes the best with a little salt?”

Not a good day to be a parrot.

Hard hitting television on PBS last night.  “Depression Out Of The Shadows” a comprehensive survey of the causes and treatments of clinical depression.  It profiled many young people of different ages and backgrounds who have problems contending with the disorder.  Covered the bases pretty good, from a CEO of a major corporation to a gang member on the streets.  Right now I seem to be riding high on the tide, and my depression is in check.  I am okay, but later on I have to purchase some gasoline for my old family truckster, check with me afterwards.

I find that late in life, purchasing dead hydro-carbon-fossilized-organisms at a highly inflated price tends to drive me to the very brink of insanity and depresses the fizz out of me.  Perhaps it is time to increase my daily dosage of Prozac.

Clearly I need help.

OOO