Fixing stuff, myself included…
2.) What’s your mood today? Do you believe in the power of mood rings?
3.) Describe your absolute favorite Halloween costume? Did you play tricks on people, even when they gave you a treat?
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Who’s Saving Time?
And by the way, just where are they saving it? Although, I’m glad it’s now gloriously bright at 7:30; I dread the darkness that will now descend at 5 PM. This reminds me, why do they make capsules shaped the way they are? Why do they (those madcap capsule inventors) think the capsule will go down vertically; invariably the damn thing turns and goes down horizontally trying to lodge itself in my throat.
I thought you were going to wrap up yesterday?
Yesterday’s gone. Hmm… it’s a day of song lyrics, like saving time in a bottle.
Are you in a good mood?
I can’t tell yet; when I woke up, I didn’t think so, but now maybe so. And just what are moods anyway?
I thought I was the one asking the questions?
Too bad; I’m taking over. When I was much, much younger we had mood rings, and it was easy to tell what mood you were in. Mood awareness groups sprang up like mushrooms in the basement. Before long the government stepped in and outlawed mood rings; they were afraid that people aware of their own mood swings would rock the established order, which tended to run in the middle.
I’ve never heard of that.
I’m sure there are lots things you’ve never heard of.
Are mood rings still illegal?
Well yes, but old moodies gather under various disguises and change moods when no one is watching.
Didn’t you ever see a Star Trek episode with shape sifters in it? It’s exactly like that, only much, much better.
It’s impossible for something to be exactly like, and different at the same time.
Ahhhh, but the world of moods is full of surprises.
“The most beautiful thing we can experience is the mysterious.”
What really happened?
I went with my parents to see the apartment they will be moving to in a “retirement community.” The condo they’ve been living in for the last 20 years is on the market; they’re making (keep, give, throw) decisions based on how much will fit in the smaller space. We all know that this is the last place they will live. They are so upbeat about the move, and I’m doing my best to be “happy for them” as well, and doing a damn good job of it. But, it’s painful, as painful as the arthritis in my mother’s hands. She said last night, “my thumbs are so swollen, and my hands are so painful these days. I just seem to be falling apart.” She showed me her hands; the knuckles were knobby and twisted, and her thumbs were enlarged. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t noticed this last week, or the week before. She said as she showed me, “I hold them like this so no one notices; I used to have such beautiful hands.” My mother resembles Katherine Hepburn; she looks like her now, and she looked like her when she was a young women as well.
What else happened?
I’ll tell you more tomorrow; I’ve got to go now.
What did you do?
On my way out of town yesterday, I noticed the little red needle of the gas gage was pointing to E. I pulled off Russell St. at the last available gas station, before the 95 Interstate and the BW Parkway. After paying the smiling middle easterner behind the bullet proof glass, and as I was inserting the nozzle into the opening, my mind wandered to thoughts of the serial sniper. While “I knew” he wasn’t out there, I nevertheless casually surveyed my surroundings as the gas flowed into the tank. At this point I noticed how dirty my car windows were, and spied one of those wiper sticks protruding from a shiny, black plastic water container strapped to an upright. All thoughts of the sniper had vanished. First I washed and wiped the outside of the windows, returning several times to refresh the water, but no this wasn’t enough. Then I went back and forth with wet paper towels cleaning the inside of the windows as well. It was while I was pulling away from the pump that thoughts of the sniper returned, and the words death defying stunt popped into my head as I accelerated into the flow of traffic.
Why is this significant?
I think the fear of “the sniper” is quite like the induced 9/11 fear many of us experienced after the terrorist attack last fall. It’s fear of our own mortality. Mortality is something you can live with, or live with it.
There’s really no getting away from it. It’s two sides of the same coin so to speak. You are living with it on a daily basis, whether you think about it or not. And notice, I didn’t say “choose” to think about it. Although, I suppose one might choose. Most of the time the thoughts that are not consiously brought to mind come unbiden. Thoughts bubble up to the surface of awareness, some we dwell upon, some we don’t and some cause ripples on the surface.
Why do you always talk about death?
It’s not so much death I’m talking about as the fear of death. As I said there are two sides. Death is the inescapable coin; on one side is fear, and on the other side is…
“The question is not whether we will die, but how we will live.”
Still in progress; light poles to follow. Click on the image for larger view. The painting is actually brighter, and higher contrast then the photo.
2.) Where’s the beef, Carmine Miranda, or what’s bugging you lately?
3.) Elliott would like to know, do you type without looking at the keyboard; in other words, are you a hunt and peek (in his case that would be hunt and claw), or a “true typist?”
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“Cannot find REALITY.SYS…Universe Halted.”