Snowy Wednesday

As I was pedaling to the cafe, snow started to fall. Always a welcome sight; something different from the gray wet of late winter. We have had some nice weather lately, blue sky and something real bright in the sky, called "the sun". I have fond memories of that thing, warmth and light and a boon to green, growing things.
I have acquired a head cold and it has knocked me in the dirt. Two days of dragging about feeling like I am dragging three hundred pounds where ever I go. I do feel somewhat better today.

Choosing a career

Now that I am all growed-up, it is time for me to pick a career. I have asked some of my friends to help me decide on what sort of work I would excel in. Oddly enough, after asking the question they tended toward pensive silence, followed by maniacal laughter. I took this to be a good sign, assuming that they hit on something truly stunning. This reaction happened often enough that I became somewhat hurt and jaded. When a suggestion came, it was something obtuse, like:"have you considered therapy?" or "do you enjoy traveling?". I soon saw the futility of asking for advice; nobody was taking me seriously. I became quite befuddled and my self-esteem went underground. Then I remembered the wise words: "when life gives you lemons......".
Yeah, that's it, I'll make lemonade and make a fortune! I'll be rich and famous and loved by all. My lemonade stands would stand the test of time and for thirsty humans, even in the very center of the vast and arid Sahara, lemonade would be freshly made; new friendships made too. What a dream it was and everything was going great until I came across one obstacle. Myself.
The truth is that I don't want to do anything. I am as motivated as, well, ........ . I do like spending time at the cafe; I have a near-perfect attendance record and am able to face the grueling task of an eight hour day, coffee in hand, witty and chipper with a certain air of sacrifice and martyrdom that lends me ( so I have been told ) a saintly visage.
Now that's all good and fine, but love doesn't pay the bills. We need MONEY. How to get it is the rub and most options are simply too mundane.
That's when I stumble upon a brilliant scheme. Let me explain. Most people get paid for being somewhere and doing something. The limitation is that you can only be one place at a time; a rather obvious failure of three dimensional life. Now, you can be absent from many places, doing a ton of nothing, without much effort. That's it! That should be my tack. I had finally found something that I can do well!

to be continued.....

Fried Chicken Blues

Paul had a weakness for fried chicken and it boxed him in. Yep, our resident feral feline, also know as "Chairman Mauw" got carried away. I will explain those puns.
But first, some history. He appeared and took up residence in back of the cafe, where there is a over-night rental. Paul was named "Paul" by JuJu (Judy Jones) when she volunteered to give Paul a home on the plains at her house. Great spot for a semi-social kitty. He would blend in well, looking kinda like a rabbit due to his veryshort, curved tail. He could sneak up on birds better that way. Anyway, the rub was getting him to his unadopted home. Paul had a nasty habit of getting frightened when picked-up. Mike and Jack found that out for us. Gretchen used gloves, but Paul made short schrift of the "grab 'im by the back of the scruff" notion; Paul GETS gloves. For fear of a good clawing, Paul spent quite a bit more time at the cafe than intended. Smart Kitty.
It was the fried chicken that ultimately did him in. I knew the secret to Pauls' soul. I offered my wisdom, my full understanding of the seductive nature of the fried chicken from the local store. I scored samples twice, thanks to my incessant affirmation of the delectable nature of that fried chicken. Thanks, JuJu.
So they got a live trap. I never thought it would work. I had forgotten about the near magical power of the "substance". On a cold, rainy afternoon, Paul was trapped. Paul was also pissed. Cold, wet and stuck in a small trap, no more fishing expeditions underneath Calico Cupboard , no more excursions into the Moore-Clark Rat Reserve. No more fried chicken.
No more No Mike Open Mike.

The Dead Robin

On my path between my trailer and the gate to the outside lies the body of a Robin. I have not picked it up and disposed of it yet. I have thought about it several times, but I have left it there. Why?
When I first saw it, it reminded me of my own death. In death, that Robin gives me something. I have learned that this world, this weird and strange place, full of dark loneliness and bright miracles of friendship and love, acts on me in dreamlike ways. It offers me these tidbits, because I can't eat much, my mind is too constricted; it feeds me carefully, little bites.

I am sorry for all the times I have not stood my ground and for fear of being belittled; have laughed at the discomfort of another Human; the butt of jokes or other viciousnesses. I am sorry for all the times when I held back and not told a person that I just had the thought that I appreciate them. I am sorry for all the times when I have kept quiet for fear of being laughed at by small-minded, provincial bullies and their games of one-upmanship. I am sorry for all the times when I hadn't told the assholes that they are twisted dwarfs and trolls, dripping with slime. Mostly, I am sorry that I have not stood next to myself and offered encouragement to my own true self.

I am crying as I write this. I can't see through the tears. I will leave that Robin there until I have learned all that I can from a dead master.

First Denial, then Ridicule, finally Of Course!

Have you heard about the idiot surgeon that suggested hand washing prior to surgery? He was just Hated in his day. For fifty years after it was proven to the British Royal Navy that scurvy was due to a nutritional deficiency, not a personal choice, the Royal Navy continued its policy of flogging scurvy victims.
Now you are probably wondering why I offered those delectable foibles of mankind for your enjoyment. Just a teaser, an appetizer; there is a veritable banquet of these facts.
Anyway, I am sick. No, no, not THAT kind of sick, the step on a puppy sick, rather ILL, like in headcold or flu. I got it yesterday. That was a day after I so foolishly chose to upset the apple cart and engaged in a highly questionable activity: Spring cleaning. Yeah, now I am wondering if there is any connection between the two.
Of course, I am aware that this is foolish thinking. Colds are a result of virus infections and the virus I got about a week ago. Cut and dried. No argument. Picture me sulking about, pouts and all. Now, I KNOW that there is plenty of unexplained phenomena that points to a reasonable counter argument to many medical explanations.
I really like the ones about the guy that never smoked, ate well, exercised daily and died of lung cancer. Hee Hee. Shadenfreude.

Spring cleaning

It was beautiful yesterday, my doors were wide open and I did some spring cleaning. I even vacuumed the floor and sorted through my closets and cabinets. I threw out most of my collection of cassette tapes. I was amazed. Nearly half a garbage can just in tapes. The thing that I was struck with most is that I hardly listened to any of them. I just had a collection. Perhaps I will go through my books next. There is a full recycling container just in books, easily.
I have a penchant for good sheets. I have come to appreciate the feel of high thread count cotton sheets. I own three sets and always look for more. I don't need more than three sets, though. I just like the thrill of improving the inventory. Actually, I have that packrat disease. It is classified no longer as compulsive, rather it has its own category. I read about that recently. I have been agonizing over this "compulsion" for about a year now.
Yesterday I got on a web site about internal anarchy. Here we go again. More of that woo-woo stuff. The gist is to carefully observe what the contents in the ol' noggin' are and to discard what doesn't serve the self. As I was ditching my tapes, I was repeatedly thinking about how my internal state is reflected in my surroundings; that my mind is cluttered and full of useless crap.

On my path, going to my trailer, there rests the dead body of a Robin. I have yet to pick it up and dispose of it. It is there to remind me of something----

Downloading, uploading and rebooting

Well, I have had my new computer for about five days now. It is somewhat a Greek Tragedy. There is comedy and loss. I have been intensely fooling around with it, frantically stripping programs and effects like a refugee trudging to safety, discarding what he doesn't absolutely need; like peeling an onion, layer after layer. (By the way, I am expecting some problem and will need to re-boot shortly.)
The difficulty is that I am a shallow computer user. I am never going to master this technology, it is moving far out of reach even as I write this. I just want the internet portal to work, so that I can write my blog entries, read about weird and strange stuff, broaden my horizons. I am impressed with the scope of the whole internet phenomenon and the promise it holds. (I am now due for some software incompatibility and a frozen keyboard.)
I have spent a solid week hanging out at the cafe, reading and researching the intricacies of this operating system, now known as the Gates to Hell. I have not even scratched the surface of this convoluted, tied and twisted puzzle. Now doubt, for the inclined this Rubic's cube is a delightfull source of pleasure and money. (I am overdue for a crash and I am becoming concerned that somesthing horrible is in the works.)
Even as I read and pick-up bits here and there, I move further and deeper into Computer Kansas. And I have benefited. I have had the experience of deep frustration, with visions of hammering the machine to pieces, bouncing it off the walls and floor, launching it into the air off the rainbow bridge and hearing the satisfying splash that seals it's fate. Oh,the delicious endings that I have visualized.
What gets me is the smugness of Apple owners. How often have I heard the honking of drivers while I, broken down on the side of computer road, near tears, have had to endure:"My Mac doesn't do that." (What is going on? Why hasn't the operating system crashed yet?)

progressing backward

There is an apparent illusion when being last in a race; feels like being first. That moment comes when you are about to be overtaken (lapped) by the front runner. Yikes, what does this have to do with backward progress? Well------
I just got a new computer. (New to me). It is one-step up from the bottom Toshiba, running XP. I should be blazing through web pages and smoothly downloading documentaries, photos, etc. I am not. The whole reason for a new computer was to improve on the excruciating slowness of the dinosaur that I had before. What I now have is a super complex machine and a questionable operating system. It is no more reliable that the compusaurus that I was riding before, just more frustrating. I have made great progress backward.

Neck-deep in water

"It is hard to stay dry when yer neck-deep in water". These wise words from Bill, who channels the ghost of Tzu, who is the legendary ancestor of Vinni the Tzu. If you are confused, if this makes no cents, don't worry, follow the money.
By following the yellow brick road, we can get an overview on the 'controversy' vis-a-vie climate change. It is no longer about IF, now it is about who is at fault. Which is progress, as until a couple of years ago, before the weather disasters blew in some convincing evidence and the heavy hitters over at Allstate started complaining that they were no longer making money hand over fist, but actually having to pay out----well, poor duffers.
Not that something as abhorrent as endless WAR is a problem; Gee wonder who makes hand over fist on that one? If we restrict carbon dioxide emissions, it is going to cost US money. It will be bad for Bidness, and as we all know, what is good for Bidness is good for US.
Just before we started this fools' errant, now known as the Whack in Iraq, the weapons inspector Hans Blix chuckled over WMDs and trembled over Climate Change. Well, he is no scientist and therefore shouldn't be listened to. Nor should we listen to scientists, if they warn of run-away climate change, obviously they are biased and Chicken Littles. The sky is falling, the sky is falling. I am highly suspicious of the scientists that get their money from Exxon-Mobil, though I am sure they are ethical and their funding comes with no attached strings.
So this is my quandry and here is why I brought up the words of Tzu. Tzu wasn't always so clear, having written that weird book and all, but speaking through the nervous system of simple Bill, he is understandable. My advice is to keep your cigarettes dry.

A Spectator Sport at the Cafe

Here at the Cafe, the undisputed heart of the universe, a favorite spectator sport is watching the dogs play. Now, dogs are mostly adolescents all their lives. They love playing keep-away, fetch, tug and romp. They are definitely smarter than I, in many respects. Yesterday I watched Lucy and the newest dog on the block, Tug (Tugger), play 'get the stick'. There is a lot of growling and running. Mostly, Lucy stays on the sidewalk, which makes us feel better, as we are concerned about them getting carried away and running into a car.
Tug gets driven here by Rick, in Rick's Toyota truck. Tug is about half the size of Lucy, but makes up for it with lots of energy, speed and determination. He gives Buddy a break, as Lucy buggs Buddy into playing when he would prefer to keep the sidewalk warm. She does that by chewing on Buddy's hind legs until he responds and starts a little roughhousing. She has learned to use her hips and slams them into Buddy (or me). She definitely throws her weight around.
Tug gets offended when a big truck drives by. Big trucks growl and Tug chases them to let them know he is not even a bit intimidated. He looks like a Tasmanian Devil, or a racoon. Buddy on the other hand gets offended when a car with a barking dog drives by.
The other spectator sport is 'rate the park job'. More on that later.

The descending bicycle seat

So here is a little lesson from the insignificant. My trusty and rusty bike has been slipping. Precisely, it is the seat that had started to reluctantly obey the law of gravity, unbeknownst to me. It wasn't untill my knees were nearly banging on my chest with every petal, that I figured out that over the months the seat had migrated in the direction of China. Tiny increments daily, over the course of months, and I, none the wiser.
Now I, being a wacky tacky, read into this a whole lot more than necessary. The tale of the frog in heating water comes to mind. I think about our descent into Fascism, ala signing statements. From "We're #1" to "We're # 10", a cheer about our status economically. I think about my own body and how my seat has slid down a bit. Yeah, nothing like a overly connecting brain.
Now that I have readjusted the seat, riding my bike is much more comfortable. Next? The tires need inflating. Speaking of inflation------.