Ah, peace and contentment. Be sure to click the header, please.
The old grouch here is feelin' pretty mellow and relaxed right now.
In spite of the VA insisting I can't see my Doctor until January.
In spite of the seeming crookedness of our local politicians.
In spite of all the dangerous and ugly things going on in this world.
I've been smoodging (I think I made that word up...but I bet you can figure out what I meant.) around the Internet today.
Visited a number of sites, went to check up on Microsoft's latest screw ups, downloaded a couple of freebie programs (I don't love downloading them, just trying them out) and removed a couple of oldies that I don't use. Saw some cute things, some nostalgic things, some things that brought back old time Christmas's to me.
Here's a web site I would really like you to visit and interact with: http://ecard.ashland.edu/2004admission/index.html
It was sent to me by, of all things, a churchie site where I had left a comment. I don't normally visit this kind of site, but for some reason I found myself there a few days ago. I'm glad I did, now.
I found this quote:
All you need is love.
But a little chocolate now and then doesn't hurt.
~ Charles M. Schultz
I wonder if the approaching season is getting to me?
After all, I've had a lot of Christmases. And presents. And giving. And enjoyment. And great music. I remember the fun and the food and the football and some of the conversations, too.
I come from what was once a large family, but inevitable time and death and distance have broken us apart from each other. We phone various members during the season, but it's too difficult to get together, physically, with them now.
Perhaps Christmas is really meant to be a time of remembering. A time to chuckle over jokes and pranks we pulled on our loved ones.
I can remember when the girls were teens and just as obnoxious as any other youngster. I remember threatening them with something like "Keep that up and you'll get a lump of coal for Christmas." More than once.
While shopping for presents, I wandered into a candy store and LO! there before me, in their glass case were wonderful pieces of licorice made to resemble large lumps of coal.
Yes, I bought them. Yes, the girls were given them as their first (and supposedly only) present and it was fun. Laughter and joy throughout the house. Daddy had struck back.
Canada has lots of great scenery and many good people. They also have a chain of coffee shops called Tim Horton's. Here's a story I found about them:
Tim Hortons are Canada's favorite donut shops and there are even some in Afghanistan for the Canadian troops there.
Because of the high quality donuts and excellent coffee, they are also a favorite place for police to have their brief lunch and coffee breaks. Whenever you see more than three police cars in the same parking lot in Canada, it is usually either a police station or a Tim Hortons. Imagine the crush at this time of year.
A lady picked up several items at a Dollar Store here. When she finally got up to the checker, she learned that one of her items had no price tag.
Imagine her embarrassment when the checker got on the intercom and boomed out for all the store to hear,"PRICE CHECK ON LANE THIRTEEN, TAMPAX, SUPERSIZE."
That was bad enough, but somebody at the rear of the store apparently misunderstood the word "Tampax"for "Thumbtacks."
In a business-like tone, a voice boomed back over the intercom. "DO YOU WANT THE KIND YOU PUSH IN WITH YOUR THUMB OR THE KIND YOU POUND IN WITH A HAMMER?"
Of course, we never forget our cats at Christmas. An interactive toy, a bag of treats (handed out judicially) and petting and rough housing. Which brings me to this observation:
Cats are independent, they don't listen, they don't come in when you call, they like to stay out all night and when they're home, they like to be left alone and sleep.
In other words, every quality that women hate in a man, they love in a cat.
One day a little boy on a ranch here woke up and sat down at the table expecting breakfast. However, his mother said, "You don't get any breakfast until you do your chores."
Ticked off, the boy goes out to do his chores.
When he goes to milk the cow, he kicks it.
When he goes to get eggs he kicks a chicken.
When he goes to feed the pigs, he kicks a pig.
When the little boy sits down his mother gives him a bowl of dry cereal.
"Where is the bacon, eggs and milk?" asks the little boy.
His mother replies, "I saw you kick the cow, so you don't get any milk; I saw you kick a chicken so you don't get eggs; and I saw you kick a pig so you don't get any bacon!"
Just as she finishes saying this, the boy's father comes down the stairs and kicks the cat.
The little boy looks up at his mother and asks, "Do you want to tell him, or should I?"
And here's a letter from a New Mexico warrior defending our freedom:
Dear Ma and Pa:
Am well. Hope you are.
Tell Brother Walt and Brother Elmer the Army beats working for old man Minch. Tell them to join up quick before all the places are filled.
I was restless at first because you got to stay in bed till nearly 6 a.m. (but am getting so I like to sleep late.
All you do before breakfast is smooth your cot and shine some things --no hogs to slop, feed to pitch, mash to mix, wood to split, fire to lay. Practically nothing.
The guys have to shave, but they say it is not bad in warm water, and after I thumped a few of them, they don't tell nobody about why I don't need to shave.
Breakfast is strong on trimmings like fruit juice, cereal, eggs, bacon, etc., but kind of weak on chops, potatoes, beef, ham steak, fried eggplant, pie and regular food, but you can always sit between two city boys that live on coffee.
Their food plus yours holds you till noon, when you get fed.
It's no wonder these city boys can't walk much. We go on"route marches," which, the Sgt. says, are long walks to harden us. If he thinks so, it is not my place to tell him different. A "route march" is a casual stroll about as far as to our mailbox at home. Then the city guys all get sore feet and we ride back in trucks. The country is nice, but awful flat.
The Sgt. is like a schoolteacher. He nags some. The Captain is like the school board. Kernels. and Generals just ride around and frown. They don't bother you none.
I keep getting medals for shooting. I don't know why, the bull's-eye is near big as a chipmonk and don't move and it ain't shooting at you, like the Higsett boys at home. All you got to do is lie there all comfortable and hit it, you don'teven load your own cartridges. They come in boxes.
Be sure to tell Walt and Elmer and Mary to hurry and join before others get onto this setup and come stampeding in.
Your loving daughter, Pat