Itís terribly difficult to sit, butt first I might add, in a busted spring recliner on a Sunday morning after eggs and coffee and feel depressed about much of anything.
ĎSpecially if you have a muchly beloved radio station who plays eggs and coffee jazz and acoustic stuff. Sunday morning stuff.
Ally was doing a little checking in the checkbook yesterday and discovered treasure. Nice to know youíre in possession of more moolah than you thought you were. And in this case, quite a bit more. Heh.
For the second consecutive Sunday, Iíll be watching my football team on national TV. Such goodness from such a little thing. They won last week, and I didnít even have to do some obscure chicken dance in the den to help bring it all about.
Beth the Eldest seems to firming up her plans for adulthood. I dare not even breathe a further explanation at this point lest the dreaded hex of such things rears its head (see football paragraph above).
I made catfish/shrimp/swampwater gumbo last night and distributed same amongst the community. There was clogging to steel guitars late into the night.
Referring to moolah paragraph above, Iím told that shopping for, indeed, even purchasing more modern pantwear to replace aging and ripped variation of my current fashions is not only possible, but that the sporting goods store opens at 10 on Sundays. New pants, work pants in particular, always serve as an uplifting and empowering thing for me. Canít say that I could possibly explain why. Something to do with cold weather draftiness, perhaps. Itís an ennoblement, truly.
Maggie the Middlest gave me a dead-nuts sure item for her Christmas list this year. Seems that some blob of lameness broke into her car and helped himself to her CD player and assorted CDís, too. Now understand, this lass is much like the old man in the worship of music. To say that she is devastated is a little overreaching, but thereís a sense that something should be put right here. And when it comes to projects involving music, music appliances and motor vehicles, there are few who approach my level of insane and single minded pursuit of the quick and joyous solution to music on the road. Maggie deserves nothing less. Sheís saving every spare shekel for college. Her martyrdom shall not go unrecognized.
John Mayer has a live CD out. Hmmmm.
Workpants store and CD store are literally right next door to each other.
Bad, or slightly less than Good Things
I think that the Outfoxed crew is employed, if you want to call it that, at least through Thanksgiving. At which point the City by the Bay will be shut down for the winter. I canít say that Iíll miss it much. But somebody somewhere is going to be hosting a guest appearance of two rather grumpy master carpenters, and that right quickly.
Sure wish our beloved Andrew would get to the point of letting me pay for the priviledge of this site, and the now non-existant images that once graced us here. I chopped up all my credit cards (all one of them, that is) some time ago and unless he wants an envelope stuffed with the change from Watering Hole excursions I'm afraid there isn't any way to get back to Gold status. Just so that all five of you know why, you know, that there aren't any pretty's enhancing your viewing pleasure here, and why. Andrew, are ye listening my lad?
I re-read a bunch of my older entryís for this forum and noticed something. A very obvious something. There was a quiet sort of joy in so many of them. I felt good in reading them and going over familiar ground. And I missed that thing, that hard to find thing. I donít know how, but hunting for it Ė putting the dog to work in the field and flushing it out. That would be something good, wouldnít it now.
Putting joy back into the everyday.
Iím going to buy some pants. Maybe some shotgun shells, some birdshot. Have a cold beer. Watch a little football.
Seems like the good thing to do.
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