Just has to get out

 

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Over the pass couple days I’ve had several thoughts rattling around in the hollow bone so I thought I would try to put them all down in the sunshine watching the critters at the buffet and the rain soaked redneck Oscars to the tuxedo 500.

1.     A Sense of Purpose : Overheard someone saying “Good Job” to a youngster when a request was accomplished to a positive response from an elder. I thought about how many times that is said to the young, but later fades or morphs into plaques, corner offices with windows, titles, and of course money. The power of the position may not be the satisfaction of soul to find a sense of purpose for our existence on this planet.

2.     Concentration: The day before yesterday, I woke bright eyed and bushy tailed picking up on radios statements and the natural details surrounding me. Yesterday, not so much. The day was a haze. I lost concentration from one day to the next. I could blame it on the lack of sleep but I could not get out of the fog, so I sat and ate junk and watched old black and white television shows I grew up with. Sometimes you just need days when you realize you’ve lost your concentration and just need to accept it. I could have (or maybe should have) taken a nap to catch up, but the old TV westerns reminded me of the moral lessons that bombarded my childhood.

3.     What is in a song? : I forgot the context that I heard this but it made me think of what MY songs (or whatever you may call them) mean. The 200 or so poems/ letters/ thoughts put to 3-chord arrangements are the documentation of a history. Every performer/musician/writer has a reason for writing those words on paper. So I think I will take one of the jumble of words and dissect it in a later blog to show not only the phrasing but also maybe the hidden meaning of why these words had a meaning to the author.

4.     What you don’t know: “Won’t hurt you” is the phrase. It seems our species prefer to wander around unknowing. There are fewer burdens than understanding all the complications. Then again we will never know all the behind the scenes. How would we react to the day-to-day activities if we thought a bomb was about to drop on us? How would we react if we thought we were about to be invaded and our normal boring lives disrupted into chaos? How would we react if we knew where all the millions were coming from in the purchase of a leader?

5.     Doing what I’m suppose to do: Growing up in America in the boomer years, our generation was taught in school, church, scouts, camp, and any other organization including family to follow the rules and do what you are “supposed” to do.  Without following the rules or laws there is anarchy, so our low definition understanding of city council, mayors, committees, governors, senators, representatives, or even presidents even without all the media coverage confused the masses and we just do what we are suppose to do.

As you can tell, I started this some time ago but just got back to it. The pyrotechnics of the drive fast turn left is over (good thing I went to sleep) and all the gowns and smiles are put away after being posted on every web page. So it is now time to await the rain before the early summer and do the taxes. 

Maybe it is time to stop thinking about all this stuff?

Did I say that?

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During that sleepy time just as you are going to sleep, rewinding the events of the day so your brain can sort them out in your dreams, you remember a phrase or word you said in a conversation and think, “Did I say that?”

It may be from a casual comment or a pointed question, but it may disturb you enough to wake you up.

Was that other person phishing for information? Did I give out any secrets? Should I have said that or should I have just shut up? Should I have taken a different route?

I’ve found through the years that I just say whatever comes to mind. Let me rephrase that. I say whatever rolls out of my mouth. Sometimes I don’t think about it or what the reaction could be, I just say it. My mind doesn’t use that filter that, like a spell check, to review the speech. It doesn’t check the proper format or even correct structure; words just spill out into some mishmash or words. Perhaps the other person will understand or be in a similar thought pattern to be able to assemble the mess and put it together into a thought process.

But then you wonder, what happens if their construction of thought and the meaning of the blabber equal one another? If the other person hears the words in a different context due to other influence, the words could have totally different meanings.

In today’s politically correctness, ever sentence spoken is like talking to your boss. Before the mouth is opened, the thoughts are put through the filters trying to see if the assembly of words will match what the other person wants or needs to hear. Of course, this takes out the spontaneity friends should have in casual conversation. It also brings out a dictionary of words you would have ordinarily used at home.

Being a shy person I find I can spout the most obnoxious or outrageous things, especially fueled by alcohol, but when the words really matter I get quiet. The words rattle around in my brain and perhaps I will show some body language as a smile or a worried look, but I say nothing. Later I think, “Why didn’t I say anything?” or worst, “Why didn’t I say…?”

It is probably safer for me to talk to inanimate objects or creatures that do not understand the language. Then when I go to sleep I can worry about where I put my glasses in that hotel hallway or how to get the Fredericksburg paper to print two classified ads. Good thing Mardi Gras is over.

Picking the Wrong Ring

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Saw this article today and it made me smile. What happens when you give a ring to your true love and she doesn’t like it?

Now the idea of giving a ring as a sign of affection has been around forever and us guys get it, but what we choose to offer may not be the ring she is expecting. Hey, we don’t know, we are just trying to do the right thing.

The reason this story made me smile was from my own experience and so the story goes like this.

After several years of sharing space and time swapping gifts of cute and cuddly hints of feelings toward one and another the time had come to make the commitment to the commonwealth recognized by law that we would stay together under the same roof legally.

And as a symbol of this union a ring is required.

At first, I had been wearing my first wedding ring only to show that I had been taken, but that is really not a good sign for a new relationship and I understood that.

So for the ceremony in a foreign living room among strangers, a simple silver ring was placed on fingers. For a guy, this seemed good enough, but there was more.

The talk of a “diamond” kept popping up through the months, so I knew there was a bigger purchase to be made, so one day while walking through a jewelry store that was going out of business I noticed she was looking at diamond rings. “What do you like?” I asked casually. She pointed out one and walked on, fully knowing that it could not be purchased and she would never wear it.

(Sly note to other guys: Pay attention!)

I caught the eye of the employee behind the display, pointed out the ring in question, and had them hold it for me. For some unknown reason, I had the money at the time, so I went back and purchased the ring she had indicated she liked. Man, I was so proud, but how would I present it to her? She already was wearing that silver band.

So Christmas time was coming around and we were purchasing gifts for each other and secretly wrapping them and putting them under a little tree, but I had a special surprise.

On Christmas morning, after coffee and smiles, we started to unwrap the packages. Scarves and gloves to keep us warm from the winter chill, books to entertain each other on the dark nights and a few critter treats. So I watched as the presents were unwrapped and the paper laid aside and the hugs and kisses were exchanged while the kittens rustled in the leftovers. Then she opened the second pair of wool gloves.

She smiled the appropriate smile of appreciation then the surprise filled her face as she felt a small package within the glove. She looked at me with a hushed astonishment then dove into the glove to pull out a tiny box. In astonishment she opened it to find the ring she had pointed out.

Lots of tears and laughter and I thought I had done the deed, but wait; there was more to come.

The ring was resized to fit her finger and in the process she had the ring examined and appraised. At some point, she mentioned it had a flaw in the diamond. What? I had picked up the ring she had chosen and it was wrong!

Besides, it did not come from the jeweler that her grandfather had worked at.

I was shooting blanks. I thought I had done the perfect expression of affection but came up empty handed. Even a failed attempt with a zirconium huge finger bling did not satisfy.

So it was back to the jeweler, the one her grandfather worked for, to find another ring. With the smile on the sales persons face I could tell they were not interested in trying to persuade me into a purchase of their valuable items in this fine establishment. When prompted about a diamond ring, he immediately showed me a ring that I could purchase if I sold my house, so we gauged down the price range to a nice solitaire that still cost a bundle, but I was on a mission. After watching the bankcard go “burp” I placed the blue box in my pocket and rode back home wondering how to present this surprise hoping this was the right one.

I forgot how I gave it to her, but she recognized the name on the box and whatever was inside must be wonderful. She later took it back to have it refitted and found out the worth of the little metal strap around her finger.

I don’t know if it was what she wanted but she wore it and never spoke of another diamond again. That is all a guy needs to feel he has accomplished his goal of satisfying her wants.

Later I was to get a call that her ring was to be retrieved on another trip downtown and then put into a box.

Going to the Grocery Store before the snow

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It is always an adventure going to the grocery store, an adventure I take everyday just to get out of the house and to figure what I want to eat today, so today was no different. 

After having a cup of coffee, removing yesterday’s drying and placing the pile on the bed to sort later, slipping on the same pair of jeans and same pull over fleece shirt, it is time for a last look outside to test the sunshine, then check the house to make sure nothing has moved since the witnesses came by.

The greasy fry pan can wait until later since I will make the other two burgers for dinner tonight and the empty beer boxes can wait until tomorrow to wander to the trash to be with their other friends. 

Standing in the sun I stand still. Not looking at anything in particular I watch the shadows and listen to the rustle of leaves on the other side of the yard as the yard monkeys scurry around. A young one comes up to my feet, probably expecting a peanut but confused on whether to run away or wait for a shell to be thrown. After a while I appear to be just another item of the yard and he wanders of to another search.

Being a warm day full of sunshine, I extend my trip to the grocery store going different directions than usual until the amount of traffic increase and guide me to my destination.

As I lock up my bike to a stop sign I look at the constant stream of traffic. It is only eleven o’clock the day BEFORE the proposed snowfall and already the city is going nuts. The guy in the white SUV next to me looks worried that I am so close to him, so he moves. The mulch still has my tracks of parking there yesterday. 

The grocery store is being refurbished. I guess that is what they call it. New brick exterior over top of another brick exterior, windows in what will be a seating area that the old folk can drink a cup of coffee and sit there all day staring out at the parking lot. All and all it will look better but in a few months I will still just be a grocery store.

As I walk between the barricades set up to keep the traffic from running over the steady flow of people who must buy their milk and eggs I get behind a woman slowly pushing a walker when she stops and ask a woman walking the other way about why the entrance is so far away now and she will not continue to come to this store if they don’t change it back to the way it was.

I jump the barricade in front a slow moving black SUV with the driver talking on the phone. I bypass the discussion that one-day I will be having. The door is full of clutter of children and mothers and ancients all looking very confused as they wander back into the sunshine with their wire carts beaming with the rewards of their journey. 

Oops! Sorry, had to take a break to scare off a hawk.

Now where was I? Oh, yes, the grocery stores on the day before the snowfall. 

It is an interesting place all in all. A grocery store is a little city unto itself. It has it’s own manufacturing, transportation, entertainment, and massive infrastructure. A lord of the land, or manager in this case, must oversee a multitude of poorly educated and minimally trained servitude to move the most highly prized and perishable products any homo sapiens must acquire – FOOD! This crew of remarkably dull people is rewarded for their labors of moving and shifting boxes and cans and bottles back and forth while wearing colored shirts and almost as a requirement having little personal contact with the customers. Maybe this avoidance may be due to this organization probably gets more complaints than any other due to the variety of patrons and the volatile nature of it’s product. 

So I wander into the staging area and notice the minimal number of wire carts available. I may already be late in the game. Luckily the powered scooters are still in place awaiting riders in diapers. Dropping one cloth bag in the selected cart too big for my need but what is available I soldier on.

Once inside the sliding doors to the bodily consumption theme park I see confused faces, lots of confused faces. Sure the store is being re-designed, but there is much better signage and wider aisles, but even people like me who go there everyday seem confused that the pickles are three rows over and at the other end of the aisle from where they used to be. One must remember there are constant studies on how shoppers shop and where to place products for the best exposure. Some products like milk and eggs are at the far end of the store so you have to pass rows of temptation that “studies show” you will pick up and put in your cart.

So what is on today’s list to forage? As usual, I’ve used the excuse of restocking the critter crewe buffet but I know it is an excuse to buy more beer. It’s a left turn and off to the aisle with the greeting cards and animal food (don’t know what study combined this idea) and see one of my deepest peeves. There are two people chatting in the middle of the aisle. That isn’t a problem; I know people have to communicate to each other. That is one of the reasons I go to the grocery store everyday, just to hear my voice speaking to another person. The problem comes when the two wire carts full of bags and boxes fill the space to move.

Sure it is a petty little thing, but it urks me like people talking on the phone or wasted conversation.

So I turn the huge cart around and look for another route. The next aisle is just as bad so I continue wandering around the store trying to find a pathway without obstacles. 

I know what items I want to place in the cart and where they have be relocated, but I must maneuver through the maze of elderly staring down rows of cans trying to decide if there is something down there they need to venture to or the family trailing children picking up and stopping at anything that catches their attention while pushing a carriage and a cart or perhaps the workers themselves trying to restock the shelves with little awareness that there is a logjam of shoppers reading the price and volume weight and perhaps ingredients or sodium amount (though we really don’t do that) with their huge stack of boxes filling whatever space is available for others. 

Certain times require the peace from the yard and I just stand still until the traffic thins allowing me to push on. 

Going back to the former entrance I search the compartments for products I know they don’t have. I knew it yesterday when I purchased the last one fully knowing the grocery store would not provide me with another alternate, but I look anyway. 

Back and forth and around again I taste in my mind for a delight that may fancy the evening. Noodles? Oriental? Pizza? Cereal? Salad? 

Salad was what I was looking for, but no prepared salad await me, so the decision comes. Do I get the ingredients and make my own or wait another day? 

Again, back and forth weaving through the determined shoppers loading up for the two-inch snow drifts trying to make my decision. Around the bread table without any interest I run over in my mind what do I really want? My mind battles between what I know are best for me to consume for survival and what substances to consume are available for me today. 

Finally I decide on a deli package of celery, carrots, cucumbers (don’t stand to close) and broccoli with ranch dressing only because I still have left over ranch dress from the last carrot purchase. It is almost like a salad I rationalize to myself. 

Then I go to the beer aisle. I even contemplated purchasing a bottle of wine for the Sunday snow, but I figured it may still be clear enough to ride tomorrow and I’ll make that decision then.

So enough substance abuse to get me through the day and into the evening I move to the next adventure in the grocery store journey – the checkout.

The easy self-serve check out is open but I have found if the worker with the control to OK the purchase of alcohol is unavailable or distracted it tends to take even longer than the usual checker. Also, how can I hear my voice talking to a scanner? 

With only seed, peanuts, deli plate, beer I steer into the “15 or least” slot only to find the person in front of me needs a calculator. Oh what the hey, I’m in no hurry so I find the peace of the yard again while he unloads a variety of items I would never purchase, like Rolling Rock beer. I mean, “Really?” 

The cashier or checker or whatever you call this person who slides your requested purchase across a scanner and has to know the different between all the produce welcomes me as I hand her my grocery store card to avoid the request for the grocery store card. (Note: I fully know that this acknowledgment that I have been here again is necessary to keep the grocery store database updated and for a reward I get gasoline discounts, but since I don’t have a car and don’t buy gasoline what does it do for me except fill my wallet with another plastic card?) 

With a brief conversation and a black cloth bag filled, I bid adieu to the grocery store for another day. Back in the staging area two people with empty wire carts in hand converse. I catch an accent and smile but do not find interest in the communication. 

Breathing deep as I step back into the sun light retracing my steps suddenly taken aback by viewing an empty tree then soothing my panic by realizing I was looking at the wrong site for my pony. 

The parade of metal mobile machines increase and it is time to return to a quiet place. The ache in my leg is gone and my breathing is easier as is the purpose of the daily ride. 

Back on homeland, the future salad is placed in the small black refrigerator, the seed is spread out in the usual spots, the peanuts are tossed drawing droppings of grey from the leaves and the first beer of the day is opened with a mist while watching the little brown bunny reveal herself to munch on the seed in the sunshine.

What is the incentive?

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Encouraging to action. Motivation.

Been noticing, as the economy struggles, the city and state provide “incentives” to businesses to locate or expand here and wonder.

What are these incentives? Tax breaks? Transportation made available to the companies site? Infrastructure and construction breaks? What can a government give to a business to influence a decision?

So if these incentives are made available to businesses, what about to individuals?

Our incentive to get employment is to provide ourselves with the means to purchase shelter, food, and warmth. The necessities of survival require money and money is only available by a baneful existence of sweat, tears and hard labor for another.

Should there be more? Stock options or a corner office or other perks to entice one to work and give up their formidable years to struggling up the ladder of success. Then again, what value do we offer to warrant incentives?

Should we review what gives us incentives?

Loves certainly gives us the incentive to hang around with another person as much as possible. Hunger gives us the incentive to acquire food.  Fear gives us the incentive to survive. Anger gives us the incentive to strike back.

So should there be create bigger incentives on education which will lead to better opportunities, incentives for managing money responsibility, incentives to contemplate rearing children before it becomes part of your life, incentives to embrace diversity, or incentives to find peaceful solutions to conflict?

And what is the incentive for the homeless to go on? And what is the incentive for the poor to strive? And what is the incentive for ill or injured to struggle? And what is the incentive for the wealthy to care? And what is the incentive for the comfortable to become uncomfortable?

I could state there are studies that show, because there is always a study that shows, that individuals are created with self-worth and will overcome any obstacle to reach for a better condition.

So let’s turn it around as an incentive not to do things that are disruptive to the majority, which is how we govern. Laws and jails have been created as an incentive to behave within cultural acceptance, but the perception has been that these have been softened through the years of lynching and an-eye-for-an-eye mentality. What if, like in Honduras, jails were set on fire randomly? It would certainly give a pause to the most hardened criminal beside the meals and hard labor that he or she could be locked in a room where the building is burning. Maybe the ease of obesity would be reduced or eliminated if the sweet and salty treats everyone loves gave them pimples or hair loss or diarrhea. The incentive of what taste good reacts badly to you may be a deterrent to wanting that biggie size.

Radical!! Inhumane!! Unconscionable!!

So what would the incentive to a person to give up their present occupation offering their time and knowledge and beliefs and effort for public office? Power? Prestige? Influence? Wealth? Celebrity?

The incentive to do your job in today’s economy is the fear of a layoff or firing. If pubic officials had the same worries, would they vote differently? Would they vote by the facts or whatever information is available or conviction or faith or fear?

Our country has used “the bomb” as an incentive for other countries to not go to war and it has somewhat accomplished it’s goal, but now more and more countries have the same or lesser capabilities to evaporate others. Our religion has used the incentive that the next life will be better than this life if we have faith. Our incentive for love is physical pleasure and our incentive for hate is…?

What is your incentive for getting out of bed in the morning?

The Best of Intentions

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During the coarse of life, we may plan on doing things but not getting around to them. We think we have the best intentions yet for many reasons we never accomplish our goals.

Our parents have the best intentions for us by exposing us to the arts, providing us with never ending education, introducing us to influential people, while mentoring us in the ways of producing success in life.

Yet, sometimes, even the best of intentions can come awry.

The other day I took my bike to the local repair shop to get some brake cables adjusted. It wasn’t a difficult or time intensive process and it didn’t cost anything (I’m a good customer), but it made me think of my cycling intentions.

At one time in my life, I bought all the books and the tools to maintain my bikes. Now bikes have not changed that much since they were invented so with a little bit of knowledge, the right set of tools, and repetitive practice, today’s bicycle can be easily kept in tiptop performance condition.

When I bought my backyard shed, I had the best intention of using it as a workshop, wood working in one corner and bike storage and service in another. This time would be “my” time to use hand tools something I had not been exposed to by my parents but felt it would give me a sense of accomplishment to do-it-myself.

Soon I found out I was neither interested nor skilled in this manual labor. Either I had the wrong size tool or tire or the tube had become dry rotted in the heat or I became frustrated by repetitive failures. Even with the support of my wife, my best intentions had failed and I returned to having even minimal repairs to the experts for a price.

Thinking of some of the best intentions my parents had for me I realized I went through the same process. Golf became uninteresting due to other player’s competitive frustrations, tennis quickly changed to fast cars and girls (even more frustrating), sailing required living close to the water, country club affairs became excuses to drink and act badly knowing there would be no recourse, and even playing music required studying.

There is always an excuse to put off your best intentions.

Now some of my friends followed their dreams with their best intentions and some succeeded while others failed. Those who succeeded either continued to find new adventures or pushed aside other responsibilities like children or marriages for self-gratification.

Even personal relationships can have the best intentions when beginning. What can start as a harmless idea of helping or finding an answer or filling a void may have overbearing ramifications to its outcome? The best intentions can be side tracked by jealousy, trust, compatibility or simply the realization that it was the wrong decision.

I lay awake at night going over my to-do list with the best intentions of getting to them the next day and yet the next night I review and the same task stand before me.

Perhaps I need to go out and buy a round to-it?

Being a hermit

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The word “hermit” means someone who chooses to live alone or an early Christian living apart or a soft spicy cookie. It is also the name of a certain crab that carries his home around with him, but we won’t go there.

So according to some more research it seems certain Christians would go into the woods to contemplate. Meditation some would call it. Evaluating belief against reality in the calm darkness of the trees and woodland creatures.

It is not being misanthropic to choose to live a solitary existence. Sometimes it is just the best way.

A reclusive lifestyle, while maintaining some contact for the necessities of existence, requires a certain amount of understanding in ones own strengths and weakness while being comfortable with the lack of interaction with society.

The Day of the Smooch

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The pressing of lips together is a sign of affection and today is the holiday to show affection.

How can forming your lips as if you are going to blow a whistle them press them against another person doing the same thing be so impressive that movies, books, songs, and even a rock band names itself for this action.

Seems MSNBC had the same idea:

http://today.msnbc.msn.com/id/46371801/ns/today-celebrates_valentines_day/#.TzmnrsqBHxU

There is the mother kiss that will fix boo-boos, the memorable first kiss, the welcoming kiss (allowed on the cheek only), the French kiss and of course the kiss off.

Instructions read: Kiss and repeat.

Seems simple enough so following candy and flowers and cards full of fluffy poetry, the deal is sealed with a smooch.

The Power Grid

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What happens when the power goes out?

Don’t be afraid of the commies and their darkening the sky with A-bombs or swarms of killer bees invading from the south or clouds of noxious gases to bring a country to a halt.

Cut off the power grid and watch what happens.

Everything we do and rely on today requires power. Communication, transportation, manufacturing, entertainment, and even the government would come to a screeching halt without power.

Sure there are back-ups and redundancies and fail-safe arrangements, but…. What if?

On a global scale no one could comfort the masses with messages of “Stay calm, everything is under control” or where to evacuate or even instructions to follow to keep everyone busy.

Clocks and watches will run for some time under battery power but like remotes and cell phones they would help with the large appliances. Even battery radios won’t work because the transmissions will not be there.

After a short period of time, people will crawl out of their houses and climb into their cars to explore for relief only to find they will run out of gas and there is no new supplies without working pumps.

Without communication, fuel and finally food there will be pandemonium in the streets changing society, as we know it.

I don’t promote this anarchy but with all the apps and hackers and mischievous propeller-heads, someone will come up with a way to pull the plug and we will all learn what it means to live alone.

Making a mix tape for your parents

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What are you thinking?

The idea of making a “mix tape” of music you think your parents would like is foolish at best.

You don’t know your parents. They are, well, your parents. They grew up in a different time, a different culture, with different taste and values.

Giving them a tape that you feel might reflect your ideal of their musical taste may be a waste of time or worse, an insult.

Think about it this way.

How will you feel when your kids present you with music on a form of media you have never used with the best intentions of pleasing you? First you have to figure out how to play the thing, and then listen to it while smiling like you are enjoying it only to put it away in a dusty spot after they are gone.

Or you could make a “mix tape” of music you like and present it to your parents as a gift trying to find a common bond or give them a sample of your present taste in sound. If your parents don’t listen to the same type of music all the time (and if they do you may want to be concerned) it too will be put into a dusty spot.

Keep the “mix tape” idea for your friends to share a tune or phrase in hopes they will also like it and support the artist.

Crazy Magnet

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Don’t know when or how it happened but they come out of the woodwork now. 

You know the ones? The ones who are talking out loud and have no cell phone. The ones who see and hear things the rest of us don’t. The ones on the outside of society, whether they are pushed there or just avoid it, and wander around like harmless wolves circling and taunting the rest of us. 

Perhaps they are freer than the rest of us or they just don’t want to follow our ways. 

Well these unusual people seem to attract one another as if they are part of a club and recognize one another. 

They don’t want your money or even your attention. They just want to say their mind and then move on. 

So perhaps it is the ratty sweatshirt or dirty blue jeans or long hair or stringy beard but they, you know the ones, are coming up and talking to me as if I was one of their own. 

Then again, perhaps I am. 

So when you see Wild Eyed Willie, Crazy Eddie, Louis the Louie, Big Squirrel or Roscoe the mayor of the grocery carts, tell them “Hi!” 

Don’t wait for a reply, they’ll find me.

Memory

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 With the hundreds of people you meet through your life, why can’t you remember them? 

Perhaps it was those kids you went to class with but when you look in the yearbook you don’t recognize any of the names. When someone tells you a name of someone you worked with for years and there is no recollection of that person, is it that much time has passed since you worked with them or maybe they did not make that much of an impression on you.

And the ones we do remember? 

There are fermentable years when everything seems important and those who share those experiences become what I call “partners in time”. They could be most anyone with similar or total different personalities but since they were present in a life changing experience, they should be remembered. 

Others are drawn to each other by like values or interest or knowledge or even desire. 

The amount of time spent with these people and additional shared experiences and likes confirms and strengths the memory of these people. We may even call them “friends”. 

Over the years, these “friends” part and create new experiences with new people. Some move physically away while others tend to part from previously shared views and emotions. 

The memory of each either fades or is reinforced by perceptions of who that person is or was in your memory. 

So in the end when someone asks you if you know a name or see a picture without any recognition, don’t worry. Without being in the history book or having a statue built of you, you and your name will dissipate into an image that will be introduced to small children, as “This is your great-great grandfather” with little to no description of what you did, how you felt, what your beliefs were, or how you failed. 

Losing memory may not be harmful, as we try to forget the bad and remember the good (or what we revise in our minds to make good). Forgetting all that clutter of names and faces of unnecessary times and people keeps your mind sharp on the people and times that matter. 

So if I don't remember your name or recognize your face, just smile. 

You may remember it differently.

Wasted Time

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Time is what we use to measure our day. We buy watches and clocks to keep track of our time. We set alarms to warn us when time is up. 

We never have enough time even though we try to make time, but you can’t “make” time because the time is already there. 

Take a log and measure where you spend your time. 

A bunch of it goes to sleeping, even though you don’t think you get enough. 

Another big bunch goes to working. You spend time preparing for work with bathing, dressing, and commuting to the workplace without even starting the eight hour workday. 

Side note: Even though you may spend a good amount of your time during the day at an employers location performing your assigned task, studies show even the best-of-the-best workers only dedicate 70% of their time to “work”. Smart employers know that and adjust their expectations accordingly. These figures may have changed with computers on everyone’s desk and phone. 

Eating takes time. Meals take shopping travel time, preparation time, clean up time and of course the stuffing of the mouth. (We try to either avoid the taste of the food or multi-task by watching the television during the meal.)

Now add all that time and see what is left. 

This is the wasted time. 

It could be called “your time” or “private time” or “family time” or “free time” but this is the time you get to choose how to spend. 

Time seems fleeting and some will regret how much time was missed with overindulgence in silly movies, overdone excesses, and non-creative lapses of the mind. 

The next time you have vacation time, which should be 24-hours of “you choose” time, take off your watch, turn off the electronics, walk outside (unless it is raining), find a comfortable spot and sit down. Close your eyes, take a deep breath and listen. Sit quietly and enjoy in all the activity that is going on around you. Don’t rush through it but enjoy your time alone with the world. 

…until next time.