Y’know, I keep writing these things that I call, ‘Gettin’ old ain’t for wusses’.....my kids tell me that they like it when I wax nostalgic ‘n talk about my younger days in my way back when time....I gotta tell ya tho’ that nostalgia ain’t what it use’ta be....I haven’t talked with my friend, Sam Piatt (gsamwriter) for awhile now...Sammy shares my nostalgic bent in many ways, especially about Beattyville...‘n that ‘golden age’ when we were boys.....
Boys never really grow up, y’know, they only learn how to act in public....I blame that on my Momma...she was quick with a switch, I’ll tell ya...but then, most of the Mothers in Beattyville were quick with a switch ‘n they didn’t really take an awful lot of time looking to see whose kid they were switching....during those war years, I guess it really did take a village to raise a bunch of snot-nosed kids... Anyways, two of the things I learned about arguing with a Mother back there in Beattyville is that neither one of ‘em works.....
I’m running thru all this stuff ‘cause a couple friends from my way back when time transitioned this last week ‘n I’m just trying to find a way to deal with it, I guess....I’ve been trying to find something positive to say about aging ‘n I read that if you’re dissatisfied ‘n think you’d like to go back, think of Algebra....
I’m just sayin’......

Us or them.....

It’s a scientific fact that scientists are smarter than the rest of us. Well, it’s a fact that I was told that by a scientist. Or, at least, I was told that by someone with a scientific mind. Or maybe it was.....not a scientist, well, not an actual scientist but someone with a scientific bent....so I’m told....which evidently, I’m not...I just have a regular mind...at least, I think I have a regular mind but it may be irregular which usually means ‘found in a discount bin’....
Scientists have an opinion, postulated by themselves and presented as a theory...
I’ve been told that a scientific opinion is actually an hypothesis which is different than a theory...for regular people, a hypothesis is just an opinion but for a scientist, a studied opinion is a theory and, as such, can and should be considered as fact. Especially when it’s supported by other scientists.
As proof, I offer for your consideration, Darwin’s Theory of Evolution....which is considered to be factual and is taught as fact in many progressive schools. These scientific minds tell me that belief in ‘The Bible’ is juvenile and that faith in something that can’t be scientifically proven is ignorant and should be discouraged and our energies would be better used to expand our thought processes through science because science deals in cold, hard, proven fact.
As in the fact of evolution which, in theory at least, can be proven.
I’m just sayin’......

O FRABJOUS DAY....

Hey! It’s Monday, the first day of the week ‘n I slept in....well, actually I got up several times, I just didn’t stay up until ten-ish...tenish has a good sound, doncha think? Sort’a like an old black ‘n white movie, one of those quirky little comedies from the thirties when Hollywood pictured the world as a happy place even tho’ most of the country was scraping bottom....that was a real depression back then with real hunger ‘n despair, a time when families trudged the highways ‘n byways of the country searching for even the semblance of a job....not like t’day when we have the bottomless pit of government welfare masquerading as unemployment....not like t’day... but there I go again, digressing....in my idle tho’ts (‘n there ain’t no better kind) I like to think of m’self as a world-class digressor...’course, I know it ain’t so...MiGawd! I don’t even hold a candle to the pros...us dyspeptic ‘n disillusioned Americans like to think that our Congress is loaded with world-class digressors ‘n there ain’t a doubt that we got some that qualify but considering the world stage, we don’t really have that many...
Anyways, gettin’ back to Mondays....it was always an interesting day to begin the week, why you’d think that someone somewhere deliberately invented Mondays just as a start to the workweek....when I was a very young boy, Saturday was the ending of the workweek but that changed after WWII (the big one, according to Mr. Gillis) ‘n Friday became the soul-satisfying ending that we all know ‘n love t’day....
I don’t know if we’re on a cusp of changing that or not...what with furlough Fridays being so common here in California....all depends on the courts, I guess, but if we adopt a more European lifestyle, ie, a shorter workweek, why I guess that Thursday would become the last day of the week ‘n our weekends would stretch out to three days ‘n become the new norm....ah well, idle tho’ts.... A three day weekend would lead to a lot of idle hands ‘n ev’rybody knows that idle hands are the devils workshop.....
I’m just sayin’.......

Ain't we got fun....

“In the mornin’....in the evenin’... “

We’ve been taking longer walks the last few days....the weather is really nice here.....we’ve had a cooler than normal summer ‘n it looks like it’s gonna continue this fall....Ol Fair Oaks looks like a genuine village ‘n since most people t’day ain’t got a clue what a ‘real’ village should look like, it’ll do....I guess it’s actually a real village in t’days world.....the TWENTYFIRST CENTURY OH MY GAWD!....how the world has changed......
When I was a boy in that long, long ago time, it was the ‘Steam Age’....steamboats ‘n steam trains.....magnificent creations they were too, billowing great clouds of white cloudy steam, monster engines huge ‘n domineering, towing long, coal-laden trains as they roared by the little village where I lived....’n the haunting whistles as they passed live on in memories of yesterday.....the steamboats were universally white with different colored trim ‘n individually named....and whether they pushed barges up the river ‘n down or whether they were Showboats equipped with calliopes didn’t matter....they all had the whistles capable of stirring the blood of small boys ‘n old men ev’rywhere...
Villages back then consisted almost exclusively of homes.....oh, there might be the occasional small store tucked away, usually run by someone trying to supplement a too-small ‘old age’ pension....folks t’day don’t remember ‘old age’ pensions....we all have social security t’day ‘n that’s an accepted fact.....’n it don’t matter now that we all participated in social security under government duress but that’s another story....
If you wanted to shop for the necessaries, food, clothing, etcetera.....you had to go to ‘town’....that’s where all the stores were located.....’n most people walked or rode a bus...(there were still some that went by horse 'n wagon, well maybe mule ‘n wagon) ‘Course, there were a lucky few who had cars, but it really made no difference, if you wanted to buy whatever you needed, you had to go to town ‘cause that’s where the stores were....And that was true ‘til after World War II when America began to see the growth of suburbia and the downtowns began to die....
Anyway, when Millyrose ‘n I wandered out to sunny California back in the halcyon sixties, Fair Oaks wasn't exactly a village, it was a thriving litte town with a couple blocks of business in their downtown, all wrapped around Plaza Park....'n, of course, adjacent housing.....There was a post office, a school, a grocery store, a bank, a drugstore ‘n a hardware store....a movie house, a couple barbershops, a small clothing store... a library with some stone anteaters out front...a couple doctors, a dentist, a bar (still here ‘n still thriving) ‘n a cafe. There was also an olive factory. It was almost but not quite, a small city. But when we got here, It was a grown-up village on the outskirts of Sacramento...
Now we're a colorful little village, durn near quaint....Oh, we still have some business’ and a number of ‘Antique Stores’....in the old days, we called ‘em second-hand stores but that was another day 'n age....
We still have Plaza Park, populated mostly by a large number of wild chickens....We have almost quaint signs with a picture of a chicken 'n we have a couple chicken-fests 'cuz "They're so cute!" I have to keep the poodle-dogger ‘n Willie on (relatively) short leashes while walking them around the park ‘cuz dogs chasing chickens seems to upset some folk....still, it’s very pleasant this year just to stroll around Ol Fair Oaks....

Lazy daze.....

So the Poodle-Dogger ‘n I went for a stroll down the street with Willie leading point....well, Willie always leads point....he’s a very enthusiastic fellow, our Willie....
he runs, he sniffs ‘n he runs again, he chases chickens ‘n pigeons ‘n squirrels ‘n cats....he especially loves cats....
‘course, he also chases leaves ‘n pieces of paper, practically anything that moves...cars, trucks, shadows...
Willie is non-partisan ‘n very democratic if somewhat eclectic in his tastes....
We’ve had a change in the air with a cold front looping down from Alaska....yest’iday, it was summer ‘n t’day is kind’a fallish....that’s okay ‘cuz tomorrow’ll prob’ly bring summer back.....well, Indian Summer anyway.....that’s what we use’ta call it when I was a boy back in faraway yesterdayland....the nights would bring a cooling, the days would be warm ‘n kind’a earthy-crunchy ‘n before y’knew it almost, you’d wake up one morning ‘n there’d be frost on the punkin....that’s how they used to phrase it back in them ‘good ole days of yore’....don’t really happen like that here in Ol Fair Oaks....oh, we might get some frosty mornings in the dead of winter but mainly the weather changes here are kind’a subtle ‘n laid-back, you might say sneaky even...they come like a thief in the night ‘n you wake up thinking there’s something out of place ‘n it takes a moment to realize that someone stole your tent while you were sleeping...(very old Lone Ranger ‘n Tonto joke...you don’t haf’ta laff, a groan’ll do).....
Why, a lot of times you don’t even hear the first rain when it comes, it just sneaks in while you’re sleeping ‘n you wake up to a quiet, drizzling, sneaky northern California rain.....but I digress, the rain ain’t here yet ‘n not likely t’be until sometime around November.....we might get a drop or three but it’s doubtful that we’ll get the ground wet before then.....the forecast is for cool nights ‘n warm days, lots of cruncy leaves underfoot, a long, lazy Indian summer for me ‘n Willie ‘n the Poodle-dogger to stroll around the village......

Gettin’ old ain’t for wusses......Pt. 4 ( I think)

I think it’s only when you’re getting old that you realize that life is full of metaphorical stories....


Requiem for the Kung Fu Rooster....

The Kung Fu Rooster wouldn’t really run from Willie...Oh, he’d walk away alright, but he wouldn’t run....he didn’t even appear to take any notice of Willie ‘cuz the Kung Fu Rooster was cool....He was big ‘n black ‘n mean...he was a little short of tail feathers tho’ which means that some of the other roosters had at least got in some licks ‘n he wasn’t afraid of dogs at all....I always surmised that he’d been raised as a pet in a household that had a dog or two....the thing about the Kung Fu Rooster that got him his nickname tho’ was the fact that he’d attack humans...
if you turned your back on him, he’d nail you in a heartbeat....he got two of my neighbors, the guy that lives around the corner, the homeless guy that use’ta walk down the street occasionally ‘n the Fireman’s daughter....which caused the Fireman to call Animal Control ‘n report the assault....’course, Animal Control informed the Fireman that contrary to popular belief, the Fair Oaks Chickens are NOT protected ‘n are, in point of fact, wild critters ‘n do not come under the purview of Animal Control, thank you very much ‘n goodbye....
Anyways, the lack of fear on the part of the Kung Fu Rooster was his undoing on this Labor Day weekend when a neighbors daughter had a friend come calling ‘n the friend brought along a rather large black Labrador....’n when the Kung Fu Rooster turned his back ‘n went into his slow condescending strut.....well, suffice it to say that the Kung Fu Rooster struts no more.....

Gettin' old ain't for wusses (pt.3)..update..

I can’t quite figure out how I got over the hill without getting to the top.....when I was a boy, we either roamed the riverbank or the green hills....in the summertime, it’d always be a long, hot climb to get to the top where you c’d stand for a couple minutes looking out at all the other hilltops in the blue distance ‘n then back down the hill which usually didn’t take very long since it mainly consisted of jumping, leaping, rolling, ‘n falling....
grabbing at bushes ‘n shrubs ‘n such to slow down your descent so’s you didn’t break your neck ‘n all too soon you’d find yourself at the bottom with the evening shade growing ‘n another day over....didn’t know at the time that it was an obvious metaphor for life...spend all that time toiling to get to the top for a couple minutes of looking at the view ‘n a quick trip to the bottom ‘n the end of the day.....Heck! I didn’t even know what a metaphor was back then ‘n wouldn’t have cared if you’da told me....still, you generally don’t know how much fun you’ve had during the day ‘til you find yourself in the evening shade...In retrospect, ev’rybodys youth is golden ‘n old age is like wearing a pair of comfortable old shoes ‘n old shoes are fine ‘slong as you don’t do any serious walking.....
I’m just sayin’.......

The stuff of dreams....

“The race is not always to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, but that’s the way to bet.” Damon Runyan

In the race between the tortoise and the hare, the smart money was on the hare, of course. Problem was, the hare lost. Smart money says if you don’t play the lottery, you can’t win. Wise money says if you don’t play the lottery, you can’t lose.
Now I was reminded of this old homily in a telephone conversation with an old friend who told me that he had considered the purchase of a summer home in Solvang...
he went on to tell me that they had found a fixer-upper for the low, low price of a million, two-fifty which convinced them they should stay in Arizona....unless, of course, they should win the Powerball....I told him that if I could but win the California lottery, I’d pay off my debts ‘n consider rebuilding my aging deck if the price of construction-grade redwood didn’t go too high.....
Remember, rather than being jewel-encrusted gold, the Maltese Falcon, underneath the coat of black paint was pure, solid lead....the ‘stuff of dreams’....at least, according to Sam Spade.....
I’m just sayin’.......

Homeward bound.....

There are people who say, “There ain’t no hereafter, when you’re dead, you’re dead.” And, y’know...they might be right. Then again, they might be wrong ‘n there’s a lot of people who believe in life after death ‘n all that it entails....the golden streets of paradise or the firey furnace....the yin ‘n the yang, so t’speak....People talk about the streets of Heaven being paved with gold but that’s only because gold is highly prized among the so-called civilized peoples of this world.....Me, I kind’a like the cindered ‘n graveled streets that I grew up with ‘n the few sidewalks were really just adjoining paths of packed earth, smooth ‘n cool on bare feet....Now, anybody that grew up in Beattyville ‘way back in the mid-twentieth century knows that it was many things but it sure wasn’t a heaven on earth....it was a working-class community with no bus service, very few telephones, ‘n partly because of the war, darn few automobiles gasoline being as scarce as it was at the time...men ‘n women walked to work ‘n walked home at the end of some awf’ly long days....it was a time of scarcity, scarce necessities ‘n even scarcer luxuries....hard times with a war in Europe ‘n in the Pacific....a time of paper ‘n tin can drives, of Victory gardens in ev’ry backyard, a time when people feared the delivery of a telegram ‘cause telegrams never, ever brought good news...hard times, anxious times for adults striving to put food on the table, to lay in a supply of coal to stay warm in the long winter....BUT for a kid to run barefoot all the long summer day, to wander the green hills or the riverbank,
that was Heaven...I think maybe youth is the Heaven that we all seek ‘n I think maybe death ain’t really death but just another transition to one more youth....
‘Course, you can believe whatever you want to believe, it’s your life ‘n your death ‘n you should make of it whatever you will....when my Dad got close to death, he asked me if he was dying...I told him he was ‘n he asked where he was going.....I told him that I expected that he was going to Heaven as he’d never done anything really bad to anyone....he smiled ‘n said he guessed he was going home.....
I have an old friend that’s going home soon...I hope he has a good trip......