That’s a Good Question

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I’ve noticed this phrase a lot in interviews recently. It is an excellent way for the interviewee to pause and get the thoughts sorted before answering with out a long silence, which would indicate the lack of ideas, or answers.

It also holds the interviewer at bay so the answer can be constructed in a logical and correct manner.

It is part of the constant chatter that must be sped up to keep the attention of the observer.

It is just one of those little items ones notice when one has a chance to concentrate full attention on a matter.

Since television interviews, what used to be called journalism, have turned into entertainment or just random blather, it is easy to turn it off. Headlines tell the subjects with little details in print and larger photos do not interest in cute people in sharp suits standing in front of sheets with corporate logos.

It is funny the things you notice.

Like the gyro not making connection in the morning ride slowing the coast down hills with the arms warbling from the pressure on the brakes or the black booths being taken out of Phil’s Continental Lounge or the red bike that is finally gone after being abandoned for so many months or that June is the month for day lilies or….

Yet the mind wanders and the gyro comes back on the second ride, then the third. Congested gatherings enthralled in feasting bring back the life in the shadows. Speaking out loud, but in softness, to the woodland creatures and having the sense it is madness. Black eyes stare back with some understanding but trained to fear.

Living within ones own mind you bop to “Johnnie Be Goode” by the Grateful Dead on “Butterflies Away From Home” and it picks up the spirit, even to playing the invisible drum.

Luckily for most, there is so much confusion and interruptions and movement, there is little time to contemplate these brief moments of delusion. Perhaps that is the reason for constant panic. Perhaps the human species cannot tolerate the darkness and silence of the cave.

Maybe if we stay distracted, we don’t have to deal with the dreams?

“Now that’s a good question.”

Why Does Spending Money Make Us Feel Good?

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Sure, we need to have stuff and to have stuff in today’s world we buy it with money.

Yet is that the root of happiness?

The old barter system was a conversation between people who needed items or services. They would swap their talents to accomplish each other’s needs without using money. The reward was the agreement and reaching the goal.

Today, we work to earn money. Whatever the skill level or financial reward, we perform duties for others to earn enough cash to provide food, water, clothing, shelter and safety to our families and ourselves.

Beyond our basic needs, our “stuff” is all gravy. With more income than needed for necessaries, we can live the American dream of consumerism.

But why does that purchasing a new car or television or jewelry give us a good feeling?

Advertising tells us the new and improved is much better than last years model, so we must buy the latest version, but once we have that, there is another newer version on the market.

So our closets and garages are filled with books and records and clothing and electronics that are outdated or never used.

Yet, we must go out and buy new stuff. But the question is why? And why does it make our being feels better after the purchase?

Like a drug rush, we stand in line and hand over plastic or paper equal to the price on the tag to stuff in a bag and bring home. Once home we display our purchase with pride but quickly dull the excitement from the trading hours of work for a few penance to bring home a product constructed on the other side of the world by individuals who will never be rewarded for their labor.

Is it the sense that we can consume whatever we see and want? Is it that more money in our pocket goes to waste unless we spend it? Is it that the more we have stacked up in piles makes us a more powerful individual?

And with “credit” we can buy more than what we can pay for. Bigger and more expensive items fill our void while we try to pay the interest.

Bums rush as they say. Got to go and buy some shorts because these have holes in them.

I hate shopping.

Why Do We Lie To Children?

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Interesting concept. Been followed for years and I wonder why?

There is NO Santa Claus or Tooth Fairy or Easter Bunny, but we tell kids that these figures of the imagination are true so we can present them with treats and get them to sleep.

Then as they grow up, they realize we were lying all the time.

So then what?

What else have you told them that might be a lie?

Perhaps we want our children to fantasize into a dream world of wizards and dragons and pink flying ponies to avoid the reality of war and death and stress of living life.

Perhaps we think they cannot handle the reality of homeless people or unemployment or amputee soldiers.

Perhaps we live through their dreams of a better world only to know that it will end.

So why do we lie to children.

Let’s make them strong. Show them the reality of life.

Then again, maybe we ourselves want to fantasize and drift off into the dream world and lose the bills and chores and duties of the day.

But is that what we want for the next generation? Drugs do that very well.

Children are just little people looking up to the grown ups to guide them into the world.

So why do we lie to children?

Banners

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Since this week had Flag Day and I saw little difference in the neighborhood, I just thought this might be a good lesson.

On June 14, 1777, in order to establish an official flag for the new nation, the Continental Congress passed the first Flag Act: "Resolved, That the flag of the United States be made of thirteen stripes, alternate red and white; that the union be thirteen stars, white in a blue field, representing a new Constellation."

The wave of a piece of clothe that we follow gathering like minds together and so we pledge alliance.

I pledge Allegiance (promise to be true) to the flag (a banner that is the symbol of the country) of the United States of America (the gathering of states, cities and communities grouped under this banner) and to the Republic (a country where the “people” choose the laws governing them) for which it stands, one nation (unity) under God (a supreme being believed by many but not all), indivisible (unable to separate except in civil war), with Liberty and Justice (freedom and fairness) for all.

The original Pledge of Allegiance was written by Francis Bellamy. It was first given wide publicity through the official program of the National Public Schools Celebration of Columbus Day, which was printed in The Youth's Companion of September 8, 1892, and at the same time sent out in leaflet form to schools throughout the country. School children first recited the Pledge of Allegiance this way:

“I pledge allegiance to my Flag and to the Republic for which it stands one Nation indivisible, with Liberty and Justice for all.”

“The flag of the United States” replaced the words “my Flag” in 1923 because some foreign-born people might have in mind the flag of the country of their birth instead of the United States flag. A year later, “of America” was added after “United States.”

No form of the Pledge received official recognition by Congress until June 22, 1942, when the Pledge was formally included in the U.S. Flag Code. The official name of The Pledge of Allegiance was adopted in 1945. The last change in language came on Flag Day 1954, when Congress passed a law, which added the words “under God” after “one nation.”

Originally, the pledge was said with the right hand in the so-called “Bellamy Salute,” with the right hand resting first outward from the chest, then the arm extending out from the body.

Once Hitler came to power in Europe, some Americans were concerned that this position of the arm and hand resembled the Nazi or Fascist salute. In 1942 Congress also established the current practice of rendering the pledge with the right hand over the heart.

The Flag Code specifies that any future changes to the pledge would have to be with the consent of the President.

These banners have been around for ages, gathering like groups under colors of family and faith. Great battles formed around these banners declaring each ideal and family. When the victor raised the banner, the day was done.

Much like school colors or coats of arms or tartans, the banner separates us from the rest of the globe yet joins us into a family of likeness.

So we learn in school to stand and face a piece of material hanging on a stick, placing our right hand on our chest and repeat every day a anthem to an unknown.

I saw a magnetic flag on a car today. You know like those that were on every car after 9/11. There are so few left, it stood out. Yet faded and worn, it still sat on the trunk of the car, a testimony to resilience.

When was the last time you saw the stars and strips wave and gave the pledge?

Thugs

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This word has been used a lot recently for people supporting another government or attacking revolutionary protestors.

The dictionary describes a “thug” as a rough or violent ruffian, hoodlum or gangster.

Perhaps this group carries out acts of violence against peaceful protestors and that is what makes them thugs? Perhaps they have weapons and use them against unarmed demonstrators?

But what, isn’t that what the police are? No, I see the difference; the police are paid for by the state.

A thug in my mind is a dumb big guy who works for the “boss” and with his limited intelligence but brute strength, does whatever he is told to do.

Are thugs “bullies”?

It is interesting how we put labels on people who we do not like or trust or have faith in to keep the peace. Those who disturb our serenity or perhaps violate out personal space are thugs.

Perhaps that is what feeds the national commitment of arming men, women and children will high-powered volatile devices that can maim or kill in the sake of freedom of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.

An entire industry is constructed around protecting ourselves from thugs. Silent alarms, motion detectors, watch dogs, flood lights, security guards are all available at a cost to protect our stuff from “thugs”.

But what would happen if you opened your front door and there was standing a “thug”.

What would you do?

Bicycle Head Bobble

Yard Sale Saturday, with crowded streets full of drivers’ double-parking looking for some treasures in other people’s junk. But isn’t a gallery like a yard sale, but with bigger price tags? It is all what you define as a treasure.

Yet I digress. My thought for today is the bicycle bobble head nod.

When bicycle riders pass one another, they acknowledge each other with a head bobble. A simple look in the eye and a nod of the head is all that is needed.

Not a high five or a chest bump (that could be dangerous), but a simple act of bobbing your head. No shot outs or waving arms. Just the silent passing of one another in outdoor space showing each other respect for enjoying the sunshine and fresh air.

Other people get the head bobble, like mothers with their children and dogs, or the friendly jogger. Occasionally there is the “Morning” or “Good afternoon” spoken in a soft voice.

Don’t need to find out what movie you saw last night or what your kids are doing or what illness or pain has enveloped your family. There is no time for that. Simply two people passing each other on the street and physically saying “Hello”, much like the cowboy tipping his hat saying “Howdie Mame, glad to make your acquaintance.”

All I ever ask

in return

is a

smile.

Got to Do Something

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Me: What’cha wanta do?

I: What?

Me: Well we gotta do something.

I: Really?

Me: Of course, otherwise you are just a lazy bum.

I: Like what am I suppose to be doing?

Me: Well, you can’t just sit around; you got to be doing something.

I: Like what?

Me: Well, we could do some of those chores that you have on the list of things to do?

I: Yeah, well….

Me: Look, you got the brushes, paint, ladders, scrapers and sander. All we have to do is….

I: Yeah, well….I don’t know.

Me: What do you need another vacation?

I: No, I’ve had enough travel for a while.

Me: Well then, do you want to do some yard work?

I: No, I just fed all the critters and they like it when they have the yard to themselves.

Me: Yeah, I get that, then what about watching some television?

I: You mean soap operas, doc phil, or silly news?

Me: Well, it will waste some time.

I: So is talking to you!

Me: What about going for a walk?

I: To where? I’ve been everywhere and although it would be good for my back, I don’t feel like wandering.

Me: What about a movie?

I: Nah, there are no movies I want to see and beside sitting in a dark room and eating overpriced popcorn to a story I can figure out in a few minutes? Besides the audience is usually rude and I have no one to discuss the plot with later.

Me: Gotcha, well what about learning the chords to that song on the internet.

I: Which guitar should I use?

Me: Geez, I don’t know. You got plenty. Pick one and figure it out.

I: Hummmm, maybe later. I got the words. And I downloaded all those other songs I need to record, but I’m not inspired.

Me: You wanna take a nap?

I: I have enough trouble sleeping without nodding off for another hour during sunlight time.

Me: You want to go get something to eat?

I: You mean like food in paper?

Me: Well….

I: You know that is overpriced with bad service and totally not worth the attempt for cuisine.

Me: What about a real restaurant?

I: Are you kidding? One, I don’t want to be sitting at a table alone. After ordering from an overpriced menu to a waitperson that wonders why I’m alone, I sit and look around at everyone else. This is not a people person-watching situation.

Me: You could take a book?

I: Now that is pathetic.

Me: OK, you could cook something.

I: Nah, not really hungry.

Me: Well we got to do something!

I: Why?

Me: Well, ah, suppose someone came over?

I: Not likely.

Me: Yeah, but suppose someone did knock on the door?

I: OK?

Me: Well, what would you do to entertain them?

I: Well, I’d….?

Me: Just like when you went up to see your friends.

I: What do you mean?

Me: Well, they had to have plans for you.

I: What?

Me: Sure, they had to have something for you to do when you got there.

I: Why?

Me: Just you being in their living quarters weren’t enough. They had to entertain you!

I: Really?

Me: Sure, you were their guest, so they had to wine and dine and entertain you.

I: Well I did eat well and they did a lot planned….

Me: See, when a guest comes over you must entertain them.

I: Oh! Maybe that is why we don’t have anyone over?

Me: No, you are just living in isolation.

I: So if I invited someone over, what should I do?

Me: Entertain them.

I: Like what?

Me: Well cook something special. You’ve got the skills and the instruments and with a few strokes of the heat you would stimulate their pallet.

I: Yeah, but I have to clean up afterwards.

Me: You are such a whoosh.

I: Well they could listen to the limited vinyl collection or maybe play some guitars while drinking wine?

Me: Always reverting back to the time when time was.

I: OK, what am I suppose to do?

Me: What do you like doing?

I: I’m doing it.

Me: You mean just sitting here in the yard watching the sun caste shadows in flickering sunlight with the soundtrack of water rippling in the pond being entertained by the constant chatter of birds and the scurrying of creatures enjoying the quiet afternoon in a safe environment.

I: (burp)

Me: ….and the beer is chilled.

I: Not bad, huh?

Who went to the prom in Joplin?

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We live our lives in a mundane routine.

Our routines are sometimes sparked by life changing events. The first date. The first kiss. The prom.

We prepare for these events in our heads but when they actually come true, it shakes our being. Just one of these seemingly uneventful actions can change the direction of our lives.

Sure, millions before us have done the same actions, but a wedding or a prom is an occasion that is looked forward to, planned in great detail, and remembered for years. We cherish the trappings and pass on to our families with laughter and pride of attending a high school dance.

But for some, it will never come true.

Listening to the news everyday, with sun flares, floods, e coli, fires, wrecks, wars, earthquakes, nuclear meltdowns and tornados, it is a wonder we even dream.

Perhaps this is the rapture? For many people around the world it probably seems that way.

Dirty Laundry

The word for today is "Dirty Laundry". Why?

We all seem to have some of that, but these people put it out on the street.

Even if you don't think you have any, someone else will create some for you. There are always skeletons in the closet, but no one really knows how to hang out your dirty laundry.

As I travel my usual trail, I see pink plastic bags on the curb awaiting the nice lady to come by and pick it up.

Wouldn't it be nice if all our dirty laundry could be done like that?

Nice, hot morning with too much noise from lawnmowers and tree trimmers. The crows seemed to have moved to another location, but the blue jay still follows me.

A young lad rides by on a unicycle walking his German Shepard who stops to chase a chipmunk then rest on a cold slab of cement after a long run while her rider sips lemonade under a straw hat and cool shade.

Frustrated men in trucks curse as their journey doesn't meet their exceptions and multiple mothers walk their brood with a shy smile of life changing results.

Meet a man with no arms and no legs who notices me from my daily rides pass his house. I've seen him, but I am amazed of a person in this condition surviving. His name is "John".

The yard grows in the heat and I just watch, throwing some treats to the creatures who occupy the territory. I try to respect their home and only offer occasional interruptions to their day.

Jodie left this morning. There was no conversation or explanation or even eye contact. The last good-bye.

End the evening with sculptures on the wall and yet another project. Maybe tomorrow?

The Monkees At Woodstock

So why weren't the Monkees at Woodstock? I mean they were famous and popular and kinda long haired and had a teenage following. So what gives with that?

After the Who the announcement could have been made...." And now the Monkees" in the Chip Monk booming voice over the crowd of sleepy half million dirty youngsters.

I'm sure they would have jumped up to sing "Last Train to Clarksville" or "Won't You Buy Me A Dog" or one of their many other tunes that are ingrained in our heads from years of awful television.

Now in February of 1969 the Monkees had released the "Instant Replay" album and the year before had done the movie "Head" including Frank Zappa.

Sure they were produced by Tommy Boyce and Bobby Hart who produced every POP act that made the chart, but let's face it, Mickey, Davey, Peter, and Mike were THE MONKEES.

Maybe they couldn't get the draw? Maybe they asked for too much money? Maybe they didn't want to play on the same stage as the Grateful Dead and Jefferson Airplane?

Whatever, it would have made a different movie. Hey look, Sha-Na-Na was there. So why not the Monkees?

40 Years Ago today – Graduate

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According to the piece of paper that is in a frame, today was the last day I ever had to go to school.

It was finally over. I had taken all the classes and passed all the test (though I’m not sure of their calculations) and now I was free of about 20 years of having to go to a desk and listen to some one tell me things I was not interested in and then ask me to give the boring information back so I could pass on to the next level.

Yet, here I was. June 6, 1971, the date of a college graduate.

It really wasn’t a college it was a university. It didn’t start out that way. When I applied to the only higher learning facility, I had hopes that it would take me with my bad SAT scores and keep me out of applying to the Coast Guard.

The college of choice was local, cheap, had an art school, and would take anybody in. That was good enough for me, so I applied and was accepted.

The first year was high school part two, which meant I didn’t apply myself. Then I got an apartment and really didn’t apply myself (at least to schoolwork).

Professors were being transferred back and forth so a Fashion instructor was teaching basic design and a Art History instructor was teaching illustration and a Fine Art instructor was teach art history. It was all mixed up.

The institute I had applied to and be accepted in was morphing into a university below my very feet and I didn’t know it.

After some crazy projects with little follow up or instructions, my counselor told me I would never make it to graduation.

What were my options? Staying in school with a 1-S-H student deferment status OR getting drafted and going to Vietnam.

So I decided to change majors to “Communications” and continued to arrange courses I knew I could pass. To help with my incentive, my father decided I should pay my own way.

Suddenly, the classes became important. Silly professors drew my wrath, easy subjects became a breeze, and a few of us artsy fartsy types made presentations for the dull ones to marvel over. The game was on.

The end of Junior year, with the assistance of a lot of psychedelic substances and the “Ah Ha!” moment of learning how to open a text book, my grades jumped to an acceptable level and the classes became easy.

So 40 years ago, today, I was to receive a diploma for all my hard work. I didn’t go to the graduation because it was not cool, so the paper was delivered to my home address.

Not being the first in the family to receive a diploma, my father was still proud enough to frame it. Considering the path, it was rather exceptional.

A few years later, I was even to teach in one of the classes as an Ad Hoc professor. I always wanted to go back to my counselor and tell him I had not only graduated but became an Art Director, but he died.

So after all the theory that was taught 40 years ago, I had to be retrained in my new profession to the techniques and requirements of the working world.

I suppose the four years helped mold the processes, but it keep me out of the draft, allowed me some freedom, and make life changing decisions.

I’m still not out of the woods.

I Don’t Wanna!

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How many times have we said “I don’t wanna!” when we don’t want to stop the fun thing we are doing to go to bed….or take a bath….or go to school….or do our homework….or take out the trash….or cut the grass…?

If we had our way, we would just do what we wanted all the time, but we have to interact with the rest of the world, which means we have to compromise.

And when “I” becomes “WE” there are more compromises. Every day compromises that can have varying forms of degrees to shape our personality and well-being. Sometimes these are gradual and sometimes they are sudden.

The lost of a family member changes the surroundings and interaction very quickly, while a couple can weave their compromises for years in day-by-day exchanges.

Compromise is cooperation, negotiation and conciliation with others. Some expand our outlook like trying new foods or fashion styles recommended by someone else. Some keep the peace. Some are given up reluctantly for the overall good.

Trust me, I listen to the interaction between couples more closely now and it is fascinating. I can only reflect on my own compromises and wonder.

But if you had your way, that is you could do whatever you wanted without anyone else’s permission or agreement, what would you do?

Would you walk around the house naked? Would you stay up late and sleep all morning? Would you eat junk food?

Fundamental knowledge of health, wealth and happiness gives mature boundaries that can be obeyed or avoided with only your own conscience as your guide.

So without another’s input, we have already learned the amount of sleep we need, the right foods to eat, to exercise every day, have personal hygiene and dress correctly to maintain a healthy happy existence.

But going to the store today, I noticed a hole in my t-shirt. Should I change it?

At three in the morning, I am still on the computer. Should I go to bed?

The table is out of the box and the pieces lay in the living room floor. Should I build it?

The bookwork from this weekend is sitting in a pile on the drawing board. Should I file it?

And my reply, “I don’t wanna!”

Celebs

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Celebrity.

What the heck is that all about?

A famous person? A superstar? An idol? A personality? An icon?

The covers of tabloids are plastered with faces and names of these celebrities. Some are doing outrageous things and others are just mundane, but the curiosity of following their adventures must be overwhelming because they are everywhere.

Since I don’t follow much entertainment series or listen to the latest tunes, many of these names are unknown to me.

What makes them so famous? There was a time when adulation was shown in a respectful manner to past political leaders, elder statesmen, or successful generals. They were taught and school and their pictures hung on walls. There was no invasion into their bedrooms or digging to scrap up their dirty little secrets.

It seems an entire industry was created to maintain a figure before the public eye, like movie stars. These people didn’t have to have created a scientific wonder drug or perform heroic acts or challenge the intelligences of the world with philosophical ideas. They just had to be pretty.

They were photographed as models and portrayed to the world as someone to idolize. They appeared to the general public to have lavish homes, elegant wardrobes, and exciting parties. The common person envied their lifestyles, or at least the facade that was presented.

Just the mention of their names drew people into movie houses, ballparks, and theaters. Red carpets were laid on the street so these celebrities could be paraded in front of thongs of drooling wannabes. A signature became a prized possession.

Perhaps they inspired others to follow, but the industry that produced them commercialized the process and disposed of last years model.

So today’s model seems to have to be thin, good-looking, voluptuous, blond, and rather sleazy. The icons of the past are replaced by pleasant looking bubbleheads who can be interchanged by the whelm of the audience at the expense of the participants.

In today’s world, anyone can be a celebrity. Look at the Internet. People write Blogs about all sorts of crazy stuff and are read all over the world. People build their own personality through You Tube clips presenting thoughts and ideas without any background knowledge of their expertise.

People can form their own celebrity by dressing a certain way, attending certain events, living in certain areas, driving certain cars and making a scene that others will record on their phones and post online. Even if others don’t capture the moment, anyone can post a Facebook page creating a following.

The reason I was even thinking about this subject, since I don’t follow its trends, is I’m trying to create “a celeb”.

No it is not for me, I could care less, but there is this local guy, who has written a book and is trying to get it published. He is not as well known as other local writers, so he has been trying for years and I had the idea if HE was a celebrity, people would flock to read his work.

I’ve seen pictures of him with Charlie Sheen, dancing with Pippa Middleton, and in the situation room during the Bin Laden take down. His infamous Tiki Lounge has been written about and his composition recorded by the great Blind Kiwi Hoover. He drives like a racer, wearing out cars and drinks like the captain of the Dusty Rose.

If I can talk him into it, I can make him as big of a star as… ? I forget the names and all the faces look the same.

What’s The First Part To Go?

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You kids don’t need to read this because you are invincible. I was too at that age, or so I thought, but now I look at the other side of the roller coaster and wonder.

What will be the first part to go?

You think about things like this when the most common topic of conversation with your friends is health. Everyone has a pain or a pill or a procedure they are taking. We talk about our parents, if they are still around, and foresee the inevitable end.

Medicare, which sounded so foreign not too long ago, has focused on the minds of the boomers as they try to reach the golden ring. Will it be around for the kids?? Hey, they will have to figure it out themselves, if they get off the video games. Besides we had to think about someone pushing the button so health care was the least of our worries.

So as the boomers retire by the thousands everyday, they will try to continue to live by the mantra of “Sex, drugs, and rock and roll” but in reality the sex will have to be enhanced by the drugs and the rock will be in a chair and the roll will be down the long white corridor under florescent lighting.

Have any of you old guys and gals started to figure what will go first? More than that, what will it do to you and your “quality” of life?

As we all know, the aches and pains of everyday activities are more predominant. It’s easy to get down with your bad self, but it is harder to get back up. That tennis elbow pain comes more often with the remote than with exercising. Some of the foods we loved to experiment with have become bland only so we can sleep and not wander down the hallway so many times at night.

Maybe it will be the knees? It will make walking up and down stairs difficult or impossible and it will eliminate playing soccer on weekends.

Maybe it will be the liver? When internal organs start shutting down due to misuse or neglect is will be hard to repair.

Maybe it will be the eyes? Yikes!! We can tolerate so many discomforts, but as we know, those of us wearing glasses, that reading is more difficult. We even associate blurry shapes with letters as we adjust our bi-focal lenses and wipe our eyes hoping to refocus. But what happens when they get worse? When television becomes radio, when reading or viewing the Internet is out of the question, when finding the medicine cabinet is done by feel and not by the common recognition of shapes.

Morbid? Sure, but I ride a bike. I ride to the store to gather my food. I ride to get exercise. I ride to meet friends. I ride to purchase clothing and other necessaries.

And if I was to break a leg……?

So if something like that was to happen, then what?

Sure it seems crazy to you because you might have a neighbor or a family member to call to come by and take care of you, but what if you did not?

Think of the isolation that is so similar to many in hospices now.

So as important as writing a will or getting your affairs in order, think about what you will do when the “parts” start to not function.

P.S. Last week, after a brief but ultimately successful vacation, I got back to my bucket list and ordered rugs, a dinning room table and wrapped bundles of dirt to be delivered. They all arrived in pallets and placed in the street in front of my house. I pulled out my little red flyer wagon and began to move the dirt. 40 lb. bags, 2 each, were placed in the wagon and pulled to the back yard. After the first two trips, I decided to put on a back brace I had not used in 20 years. The wagon, on the strain of the dirt began to fall apart, but the platform held, so the process back and forth, pulling the dirt and dropping it into a hole, continued. The last two bags of dirt finally ended the little red flyer wagon and had to be carried one by one and dumped.

The purpose of this long story is the next day, and for days continuing, my back decided it had enough of that and told me so. The simplest movement brought shocking pain and even sitting was uncomfortable. Having had back problems before, I decided to walk it out. Using my best Frankenstein impression, I shuffled my way around the neighborhood in 95-degree heat while doubling my consumption of alcoholic beverages.

Better today but still not right, I look at all the projects I want and need to do and wait. They can wait.