Suppose…?

 

Come November, after all the annoying mailings, political slants and lies, useless debates and everyday flooding the Internet with nonsense, opinions and bias, the day comes to decide which of the two self-declared candidates to vote for the highest office in the land…NO ONE VOTES!

I think there are a certain number of votes needed to elect a president. The last election showed how the numbers change and the percentage, by local polling matching the estimates of post-voting interviews, can keep the blood pressure rising.

It seems whatever the outcome, the numbers will be detested…unless NO ONE VOTED.

Then what?

So here are two guys fighting for the Office of the President. They’ve both been there, but who will sit on the crown?

Who Wins?

How about a boxing match?

Two old white coots strapping on the gloves for a take all grudge match? Imaging the betting on this ‘settle it in the ring’ outcome.

It may be less brutal than a duel, but remember, whoever throws the first punch…they both have secret service protection.

Or, I hate to say it, we could start all over again.

MOM

 

Everyone has one. There is only one. Biological MOM.

Two boys in my family called this woman mom. Just like most adults you didn’t know anything about her except she changed your diapers, feed you, put you to bed and in the morning, there she was again.

I was the youngest, so all that father/son bonding must have been done with my brother. I was a mamma’s boy.

MOM was responsible to delivering me to school, make sure I dressed fine for church, and prepared the daily meals. She never helped me with reading or math but was interesting in writing (a pass me down from her ancestors who wrote long flowery letters). Don’t know how much education she had?

My MOM had an extemporary life. She went from a backwater town in North Carolina to a semi-famous singer in a big band. She got to travel. She got to party with stars. She got to model. Her name was on the marquee.

Then the band broke up due to the War and the boys came along and life must have been a big change. Without fame, she still had family.

She had few friends but was steady with her second husband (my father). She desired the attention, but couldn’t match the wealth needed. She did mingle with the country club set and became very good at golf.

Then my father died.

MOM broke down. She didn’t know what to do. Like many important discussions, this was never talked about. The house was paid off, dad had life insurance, but MOM had never handled any of the books.

After the family gave condolences, they all left leaving me to handle what was ahead. Neither MOM or I were prepared for what was to become.

My career was taking off, my first marriage was fading away and then there was MOM. Every weekend I would go over to the house and try and help with the checks and do some chores while she was avoiding the adult that was supposed to be MOM.

Drunken phone calls at work, tales of workmen staying after hours drinking (and stealing), and finally falling down the stairs. It was time for a change.

My second wife and I tried to care for her, but she didn’t want it. I found a place where she could reside and I could afford that would feed her and avoid her consumption of alcohol.

She called her brother and returned home to continue with her alcohol addiction and growing old ungracefully. I decided to get a divorce, but another house and take care of my MOM.

Once my brother retired from the service, he had time to help out with MOM. Being the eldest and not experiencing the woes of picking her up off the floor or bailing her out for DUI while all the while keeping an eye on her house to make sure her ‘buddies’ were not breaking in to loot.

He and I settled on moving her, so we ventured through the options and found a suitable place across town that resembled a Williamsburg lodge and her bank account could afford. It had medical, cleaning and food services and the most part, MOM was happy with it.

This time we got smart and sold her house so she couldn’t move back.

My brother would come to visit every now and then and after a brief spell we’d go out for a beer to recover. MOM wanted her car, so my wife drove it out there and walked home in the middle of the night.

I stopped having contact with my mother.

Before my mother died, my brother asked if I want to see her. “No”

A MOM is all you have. Some have good memories. Some can be problems. Kids can apply life to MOM’s because they are the grownups.

I won’t be buying flowers on Mother’s Day. I will watch others yanking around their kids and scolding them on not behaving properly and ponder the years spent with my MOM.

Horses

 

The horse (Equus ferus caballus) is a domesticated, one-toed, hoofed mammal. It belongs to the taxonomic family Equidae and is one of two extant subspecies of Equus ferus. The horse has evolved over the past 45 to 55 million years from a small multi-toed creature, close to Eohippus, into the large, single-toed animal of today. Humans began domesticating horses around 4000 BCE, and their domestication is believed to have been widespread by 3000 BCE. Horses in the subspecies caballus are domesticated, although some domesticated populations live in the wild as feral horses. These feral populations are not true wild horses, which are horses that never have been domesticated and historically linked to the megafauna category of species. There is an extensive, specialized vocabulary used to describe equine-related concepts, covering everything from anatomy to life stages, size, colors, markings, breeds, locomotion, and behavior.

Horses are adapted to run, allowing them to quickly escape predators, and possess a good sense of balance and a strong fight-or-flight response. Related to this need to flee from predators in the wild is an unusual trait: horses are able to sleep both standing up and lying down, with younger horses tending to sleep significantly more than adults. Female horses, called mares, carry their young for approximately 11 months and a young horse, called a foal, can stand and run shortly following birth. Most domesticated horses begin training under a saddle or in a harness between the ages of two and four. They reach full adult development by age five, and have an average lifespan of between 25 and 30 years.

Horse breeds are loosely divided into three categories based on general temperament: spirited "hot bloods" with speed and endurance; "cold bloods", such as draft horses and some ponies, suitable for slow, heavy work; and "warmbloods", developed from crosses between hot bloods and cold bloods, often focusing on creating breeds for specific riding purposes, particularly in Europe. There are more than 300 breeds of horse in the world today, developed for many different uses.

Horses and humans interact in a wide variety of sport competitions and non-competitive recreational pursuits as well as in working activities such as police work, agriculture, entertainment, and therapy. Horses were historically used in warfare, from which a wide variety of riding and driving techniques developed, using many different styles of equipment and methods of control. Many products are derived from horses, including meat, milk, hide, hair, bone, and pharmaceuticals extracted from the urine of pregnant mares. Humans provide domesticated horses with food, water, and shelter, as well as attention from specialists such as veterinarians and farriers.

I think of horses as big dogs. They are just comfortable being with others and romping about. They are not predators, but are big enough to do harm. They can be docile enough to have a saddle strapped onto them and a harness with a metal bar stuffed in their mouth used as a guiding mechanism. When mounted and whipped, a horse will run. Left alone with another space to run and frolic and kick up their heels is a wonder to see.

I’ve ridden horses but was never comfortable in the saddle. My first wife was an English rider but never talked about it. My second wife knew horse flesh. We’d go to steeple chase events and she would pick out the winner. I’m not a betting man, but she was always right.

The museum was full of paintings of horses. The pride of horse was beyond a pet. I know people who stable horses and some who ride for ribbons.

The reason I bring up horses is every hero in the movies and on television when I was growing up, rode a horse. Cowboys, ancient knights, desert warriors, civil war cavalry… everyone rode a horse. Indians were chased on horses, wagon trains were pulled by horses, horses were hitched up in every western for the quick getaway. When a rider was shot, he’d pull the rein to the side pulling the head of the horse who would stumble and fall to the grown. The camera would cut to another scene rather than see if the horse got up or not.

Before CGI, masses of horses were ridden into battle scenes without stunt doubles. Hundreds of horses would collide with other horses or people running with sharp sticks. The logistics of these movies to get so many extras dressed alike to ride horses across a field for the camera to follow must have been formattable. People can be shipped by bus, but a horse needs more space to haul. Even the Kentucky Derby has a parade of horse trailers. The equestrian joy associated with watching horses run at full speed beats the pig race at the country fair.

After battle scenes of rifles, cannon craters, soldiers lying still (and mostly intact) and horses. These horses may have been injured in the clashes and had to be put down. There are no scenes of hobbling horses staggering amongst the carnage. Even the wild ponies of Chincoteague are rounded up every year to be auctioned off to a human who may (or may not) treat them humanely but still must be broken.

Jump through rings of fire. Buck cowboys with your testicles tied. Dance on hind legs. Stand pristine posed for a painting.

Something in the Aire

It is different. It doesn’t feel right. Things just seem odd?

Maybe the change of season. One day it is sweaters and the next day shorts. More than enough clouds and plenty of rain so when the sun shines, everything grows overnight. Rock on the porch one evening and hide under the blankets the next night.

With that noted, there are other things. The delivery trucks are not coming around? Normally there is a parade of trucks riding up and down the street leaving brown boxes on everyone’s doorstep. There is also no food delivery? Did the neighborhood decide to eat out after the pandemic? Are people learning to cook? The sound of construction has died down. There is not the sounds of ladders and hammers (except for the house that is being replaced at the end of the block). Maybe everyone used up their savings preparing their property to sell with the increased assessments? Even the sound of the lawnmowers and blowers only come on Wednesday.

The city came by early in the year, dug a hole at the end of the block, filled it in and left without any warning or announcement. They came back, dug up the hole again, filled in the new hole and then left. The only reason I noticed was they blocked off the street and left a pile of gravel in the alley to climb over. They also put a bump at the top of the hill to slow down speeders. I try to ride in off hours to avoid speeders. My city taxes did pay for a nice resurface of a rough ride side street. A city truck came through the alley cutting branches that lean over to get in the way of the trash pickup. Did get a message about leaves cluttering the street, but my neighbor took care of all the pickup.

Speaking of the city, and why something funky is going on, I noticed there was a water leak at my meter. A pool of water but not blocking the walkway. Of course, I did my civic duty to call the city to register the problem and request a fix. A few more calls as reminders and wait. The water bill hasn’t spiked, but when it all dries out, I’ll get another assessment of my water usage.

Another weird instance has been my request for some home repairs. A month ago, I used the same company to replace my steps, but now they seem to have forgotten me. Several e-mails with detail instructions and attached photos and no replies. Phone calls and no replies. Finally got through to a voice who seemed a bit confused and over whelmed. An estimate and date were agreed on and I’ll wait, and see?

Then there was this bazaar order from an old used and reliable prime-time product purchase online and deliver the next day service. I browse the network (the same as you) not really needing something but just shopping. I check musical instrument sites (as if I needed another one) and compare notes on tone woods and bracing. I order essentials like underwear and socks to avoid going to Target and being followed by security. It is also a solution for heavy bulky items not readily carried on a bicycle. There track record has been outstanding until….

I see these guitar finger picks.

Add to cart and confirm credit card number and expect a small package by the end of the month. Tracking the order, there was a delay and an apology for being late and then ‘the package has been lost’. Wha?

So back online (as we do to waste our time) and cancel the order for a refund.

I’ve ordered many items from speaker wire to audio receivers to sink washers without any problems, so I thought this must have been a fluke.

Why was this item so unique?

These were guitar finger picks that look like a paperclip retwisted to fit a finger. Most finger picks are like extended fingernails that pluck the strings like claws. There are thousands of different guitar picks on the market. Each has their own versatility and qualities. Guitar players have their preference, like baseball players have a favorite bat.

So, I decided to try again.

Another order, another wait, another delay. What was so difficult in getting this product delivered to my house?

Emails to the manufacturer and delivery company, followed by online customer service to finally a voice on the phone. The final solution seemed to refund my payment and an email that stated the problem was being investigated. Well, that’s that.

I sit on the porch watching the trees dance to a cold front moving in. I check my junk mail and there is this package?

 

Then the ice cream truck rolled by.

The yard still needs trimming. The neighbor is moving. Tummy Temple has again become a mundane daily visit to acquire tasteless substance. Still need to go to phone store to find out why my phone drops service and why my bill is so expensive?

5/4/2024