I remember when we were taught to do things properly. Simple things, like filling in a long form cheque. With a name, and a date, and an amount. Actually, pretty simple stuff. Skills that are still valid. Unless you actually work in the finance department of a corporation.
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There is a carefully measured balance between the rubber and the road. Or, more precisely, the air inside that rubber. Tires. I learned, early, that a flat tire was highly inconvenient. I didn’t own a bacycle, bufamily next door had a loaner Mustang. I would wheel my steed down to the garage on the other corner, pump things up until the little bell would ring, and then head out on the trails. Literally. Once I learned that a flat tire could be repaired with an afternoon of tool play, I would try to keep that loaner in better mechanical shape (so they would stop blaming me for the recurring flats). Part of my life experience.
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The season tree is gone. Escaped during the night. For about two weeks, the prime real estate in the center of the living room has hosted a tall bit of fakery, with lights and whizzy things and so many memory tokens. Few visitors; none of the kids. One dog. No damage from a tale, or a tremor. I expect the return, eleven months hence.
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I haven’t watched the show in years, because it triggers my trivial fever. However, we have been get some sort of streamed media version, devoid of commercials. Today, the opening clue offered a reference to the parent of the answer, along with a number associated with area. I knew the response, because of when I live. Odds are that none of the target audience had any idea.
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Some proof that I have too much free time: this afternoon, rather than watching paint dry, I listened to the live counting of votes for the position of Speaker of the House (in another country). Not because it mattered. Just because I had no need to paint. No paint. And in keeping with the fruitless nature of my activity, they did not elect a speaker. The high drama has been underway for days, and if ever we needed the invention of the telegraph…
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This afternoon, I followed a video thread. One that tried to separate the idyllic from the realistic. Actually, somewhat of an “I wish someone had told me these things (before I started).”
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“My dictionary backs me up on this one: free is not a sunonym for “hopelessly inconvenient”. For some time now (2167 consecutive days), I have been using a popular software app to learn another languge. I will name, without shame: Duolingo. Made some reasonable progress, and demonstrated to myself that I can “stick with it”. You can do the math, while I try to grin and bear it.
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It could be a fable. It could be true. Along the way, I have heard that a camel with too much weight in the lacks will simply squat down and wait for relief. In simpler terms, that straw could break his back, except that he’s too smart for that. Note: not lazy, smart. To each camel, the right payload.
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Is it illusion, or delusion? I go through lifem not having seen much of the world except through media. I have this great belief that we live in a land where winter is major. We dress accordingly, and plan our lives after consulting the weather forecast. Keep an eye on what might be next. In reality, the winter locally is very easy. Even the hares don’t always get their fur change done. The birds don’t all go south.
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Outside I don’t need (or w, a driving rain. There is a new generation that may have to forego the joys of a toboggan on a hillside. Yes, things have changed.
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