(Some of you may find that portions of this installment sound familiar ... so maybe I do repeat myself. In that case, I congratulate you on your fine memory ... and your patience. And I'll explain next week ... maybe)
A few days ago I was driving down a four-lane street ... minding my own business ... and the speed limit, I might add ... when I noticed a young couple with an infant in a stroller up ahead.
They were in a mid-block, marked crosswalk, halfway across the street, headed for the side I was driving along.
I stopped short of the crosswalk, turned on my four-way flashers ... and sat there ... while about half a dozen drivers pulled around me and went whizzing past.
Finally, another driver stopped beside me, so we had both of our lanes blocked, for the moment. The trio ventured out ... she waved a thank-you to us ... they got safely across ... and went on.
I’m not here to condemn those other drivers ... far be it from me to cast the first stone in the driving department ... I don’t know who those other drivers were, or what vital, urgent errands they were on.
I couldn’t help thinking, though, of how loudly their actions speak of a general disrespect for the law ... and for others ... as I witness it on the streets and highways these days ... and drivers’ disregard for the safety of themselves ... and others.
Will we never learn?
TODAY’S QUOTE: “I’m always very careful, so this is quite unlikely to happen ... but just suppose I were to crawl out of bed some morning ... and get my flip-flops on the wrong feet. Would they then be considered flop-flips?” - Professor Squigglee
AND ANOTHER ... Phyllis’ late father was a collector ... of sayings, among other things ... and here’s one now:
Now is the time to plan your life,
If you would make your mark;
You know it wasn’t raining
When Noah built the ark.
LOOKING BACK ... all the way to the Monday, April 7, 2003 issue of S&G ... “I was strolling through a mall the other day, minding my own business, when I suddenly saw this huge sign ... RETRO SHOES ... in one of the windows. Well! I can imagine what those are. Once you’ve got ‘em on, you stand up (if you can) ... and start walking ... BACKWARDS.”
LOOKING BACK (AGAIN) ... this time to an e-mail late last year from LOREE (Kansas) ... in which she suggested an installment about our first real “paying” jobs ... where actual money was involved.
Loree said she was about nine or ten ... and hers went like this:
Ah, yes ... memories of my first real paying job! I was a kid in New York State, and Freckles and I got a REAL job ... in more ways than one! First we rode our bicycle (that’s right ... ONE bicycle for the two of us to share) ... and we rode about four or five miles to a truck farm that raised produce near Lake Ontario. We called it a “muck farm,” since the soil was so rich ... and if damp, about like concrete!
Anyway, our job was to get down on our knees and traverse the length of the rows, pulling out WEEDS! ... sun boiling down ... wiping the sweat from our foreheads with grimy, gritty hands. And at the end of the day ... the long trek back home. But, hey, we were paid FIFTY CENTS a day for our efforts!
REMEMBER WHEN ... Laundry detergent had free glasses, dishes or towels hidden inside the box? - courtesy of WALT (Ohio)
YOU KNOW ... you’re a Floridian if ... Your winter coat is made of denim. - courtesy of HELEN (Florida)
ANOTHER QUOTE ... “Aspire to inspire before you expire.” - courtesy of TIL (Illinois)
TODAY’S POEM ... First of all, let me say this: I’ve got nothing against dogs. Some of my best friends, especially during my growing up years, were pooches ... and we got along splendidly, roaming the hills, sharing adventures, pausing occasionally to take in the view.
Why is it, then, that nowadays dogs ... not all, but a lot of them ... seem to have this compulsion to express their disdain for me?
It’s almost as though I owe them money ... or look like someone who might steal a bone from them. Not me, buddy ... not me.
Still, there’s that bit of animosity they seem to harbor, as detailed in today’s poem. (All I ask is that you read it silently ... I don’t want any more canines getting the wrong idea about me):
MY SUNDAY STROLL
How brave the dogs
crashing into the fence,
at me on the other side.
Are they afraid I'll jump
the barrier (at my age)
and attack them?
Does the fence make them
brave, as brave as I am?
Only inches from
flashing, pointed teeth,
agitated, syncopated paws,
those raging eyes, rising
hackles, I stroll serenely
past as superior as a cat,
knowing that the fence
will corner abruptly and they
must stop, game over,
while I, clearly the winner,
hear only the cheering
crowd as I quit the field.
(originally published in Moose Bound Press)
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UNTIL NEXT TIME ... take care ... see ya!