(A roisterous cheer from the other 7 as they are quickly thrown to the heated grate.)
"A Weber grill; a classic, just like us."
30 MINUTES LATER
"When's he coming back? We need to be turned!"
"I can't stand it anymore! Ayeee!"
"What an inhuman monster. It's not right. It's not right (gasp)."
A WORD FROM THE EXECUTIONER
No excuses. I got distracted. Ballpark Franks are a regular feature of the family gathering. There's one grandchild in particular who craves them, BUT, on this day the coals had already done heavy lifting with pork steaks and chicken and, as the embers were light in emissions I quickly threw the dogs atop. BUT, I forgot them for oh so long. AND, even the tinyest flame can burn deeply and the dogs who once boasted, "They plump when you cook them," did NOT plump; they ruptured terribly into carbonous canyons. Alas.
Moderate temperatures, sun-soaked weekends, Summer fading fast and Autumn in the wings; yes, it's time for the annual Yard Sale, or as some call it, "Garage sale."
A few days back I was leisurely tooling (an archaic term for driving) along and I came across, within a few blocks travel, a plethora of the front yard gatherings where unwanted "stuff" (be it nice or no) was being offered for pennies (remember them?) so that said items would simply be removed from storage and/or sight. Deals can be had. Two of my minor purchases were a nice battery-powered wall clock and a delightful oil cruet (carafe). Each cost two-bits (25 cents). Worth so much more before, but now woefully unwanted and valued as such.
The two photos above were taken by yours truly in July of 2018. I was allowed attendance because a vacation day was employed so that I could have two troublesome teeth (what was left of them) extracted. After the pulling I paused a bit and then spat out the bloody gauze and went to the rally. My placement was not ideal. Pictured is the then (and current) CEO of US Steel (albeit now owned by Nippon Steel of Japan), David Burritt, and President Donald J. Trump. The tariffs on foreign steel had helped immensely (how soon we forget) and the venerable steel mill in Granite City, Illinois, sprang to life after a lengthy slumber. Joy ensued as workers were called back to an occupation that alleviated the gnawing pain of lack and the community also sighed as investment benefited all in the region.
Now fast forward to 2025. President Trump has implemented steel tariffs once again and the industry will benefit (now, as then). However, for some reason the little mill that could; the ONLY steel mill that Trump 45 chose to visit in his first term, has been deemed obsolete and unwanted. And oh, there are, of course, word salad explanations as to why the facility must die, but methinks the real reason is that we're not a good fit. We don't go with the drapes or the new Armoire and the once valuable is deemed so much less.
And that's fine. We're a capitalistic economy, after all. But might I make a suggestion? Rather than the slow, excruciating demise of the place and people you no longer want or need; why not drag the "ugly" out to the driveway. Put up a sign: Yard Sale. Make an offer.
For surely there may be a buyer that sees beauty where you see none. And, since "vindictive" is not your motivation, perhaps someone else might want to invest and produce a little something that certainly won't threaten the international giant but will be a blessing to a thankful few.
Something to think about.
The poem continues...
...The difference is vision
The seeing unseen
From stagnant to stellar
From asleep to a dream.
Here's a little music that might touch the hidden place
"Come to Anna's boys, there's coffee on the stove"
There's a pretty waitress waiting there
She's waiting just for you
A cup of coffee
Piece of pie
And a smile when you're through...
In a bit of a nostalgic mood.
As with many (perhaps most) the essence of the "bean" is a regular part of my day. The house rule growing up was no coffee till you were sixteen (A "rule" ignored with my own brood. "Here's your sippy cup, son. Half milk, half coffee, and lots of sugar.")
Anyway, it became the beverage of choice in my sailor days because it was the only non-agua drink that they would refill for free; and I mean by "they," the wonderful waitresses at Anna Miller's in Aiea, Hawaii (on Oahu). Excellent coffee and hours of conversation; and perhaps some pie when funds allowed.
I hope to return one day.
The poem (lyrics) continue...
...Anna Miller's
Home away from home
Anna Miller's
There's no more need to roam
So, when you're feeling down and out
And need a place to go
"Come to Anna's boys, there's coffee on the stove."
The simple, and somewhat corny (but heartfelt song) Thus:
"For what is your life? It is even a vapour, that appeareth for a little time, and then vanisheth away."
(James 4:14 KJV)
Seek Eternal
(by R.P.Edwards)
In the dustbin
Ancient tells
Words of wooing
Self to sell
Music, readings, fading path
Where one might weep
Or one might laugh...
One might charitably say (and possibly even believe) that a sloppy work area is a sign of "artsy creativity." Yes, a maestro's mess could be interpreted as outward evidence that priorities are soulish and cerebral, rather than superficial and material. Or it could mean...he's just lazy.
Anyway, the other day I was in my cluttered basement cubby and I glanced at the floor to my right and saw it; the old cassette languishing midst the debris. From there I gazed in a panoramic swath and saw other evidences of quite a few once important instruments that now are just mile markers in my zigzaggy life's journey: the floppy disc, the four-track cassette recording studio and dual player, the word processor and perhaps my favorite; the old Windows 95 laptop with the academic cap atop (Fresno State 1988). All of these were important in their time (well, maybe not the degree), but they ALL have been replaced and nearly forgotten.
So, let us pause to remember that this life (earthside) is, at its longest, short. Yes, entertain and invest in its qualities and quirks (I'm fond of alliteration) but be wise to place your anchor in the eternal unchanging realm.
The poem continues...
...Yes, life's a vapor
And things as much
Importance withers
With tired's touch
So, seek eternal
Unchanging true
Where Jesus reigns
And all is new
****
Here's a song from my Youtube channel (link below) that centers on the blog's theme. It was created using some of the old technology mentioned above.
There is a way which seemeth right unto a man, But the end thereof are the ways of death.
(Proverbs 16:25 KJV)
Long ages ago, when yours truly attended Driver's Education, there was the ever neck-twisting admonition to look over one's shoulder (right or left) before a lane change. Why? The blind spot. You see, although the side mirrors were handy there was this certain "spot" which could hold a whole vehicle. In other words; you couldn't see it unless you looked for it. Over the years there has been many a time this practice has prevented at least a minor mishap. It's automatic at this point.
Well, enter the modern era with our fancy sensor-saturated vehicles. Cameras and electronic "detectors" make the old ways almost obsolete. However, some of us have not arrived yet in this area so an affordable and reliable aid is the "bubble mirror." It's a little add-on to the side mirrors that when attended to will show what's in the blind spot without altering your neck structure. It takes a little getting used to; but it doesn't lie.
I suppose we can extrapolate the concept to the very important area of our spiritual and earthly walk. Being familiar with the owner's manual is essential, but so too is the add-on of hearing the author's voice. I'm well acquainted with missteps because I did not attend to the "bubble." No need to linger there: drive on.
My beautiful Bella (photo above) is an American Shorthair with tuxedo markings. She's a gentle soul and often joins me in the evening repose (at least till the urge to nocturnally zoom takes hold). Lately, however, she's been mostly absent during these quite hours. Why? She was on a hunt. AND, from the second photo we know why. Apparently, she had stalked this elusive critter for a while and finally got 'em. The early morning ruckus I heard in the dining room gave testament. I can only imagine the joyful toying that cats do until the rodent finally succumbed.
I have little sympathy for the mouse (oh, I had laid some traps), or any other pest the elegant exterminator goes after (she's good with spiders as well). So, if you're on the fence about getting one of these delightful creatures; varmint control is a plus. However, having had other cats before, I know with age the urge to hunt gives way more often to the warm lap. And that's fine. But for now; hunt on, sweet Bella.
Oh, I'm well acquainted with the diaper-filled existence. Granted, the first wave of wearers has grown, but THEIR offspring have now also adorned the inglorious girdle. It's a part of life. A part of growing. A part of "must" doing. AND, as a grandparent, it touches me little.
However, on this day as I mulled about and eventually made my way to the Sunroom (an addon with a separate door of entrance) I saw "it" coyly nestled against the outermost exit. A little diaper wrapped in a leftover grocery bag. I knew immediately the why and when. No doubt the youngest among us had expressed himself robustly and his wise mother, rather than disposing of the aromatic package in an inner receptacle, she chose a place farther away but one that would be noticed before "trash day." It made me smile and it made me...a little sad.
