From A Wide Spot In The Road

As it turns out I checked I checked these stores on delivery. None of them deliver. One will pull your for you to pick up without having to get out of the car. As it turns out, I'm going more often. I have less to carry in. So far, so good for now.
 
Went outside. Checked the oil on my Ford, wiped the stirring wheel down, wiped off the dash.
Was going to sit out on the patio in the cool of the evening and play my harmonica. Flies and mesquetos were too annoying.
 

@drifter it's not fair that those stores don't deliver when they advertised they do!

I have a dog who likes a mix of canned dog food, canned pumpkin and dry food. I love canned Italian tomatoes and all these cans made shopping heavy.

So, I order a case of canned dog food from Amazon delivered to my door, along with the dry and the canned pumpkin. Hit a sale on the organic pumpkin- 15 oz cans for 99 cents each so I got a case of 12. Took grandson to Aldi's for a bunch of 14 oz cans of tomatoes which he brought in for me.

So yes, I agree with you that going shopping more often makes for lighter bags, so now I'll be doing that, too.

Cool that you play harmonica!

Yes, avoid those mosquitoes! They're deadly with that ever encroaching Zika virus.
 
Growing up into my teen years, I ran with and associated with guys who were musicians. I wanted to play an instrument so badly. In my part of the world at that time Country music was played mostly but some rock and roll was also getting popular. No one at that time had an amp so I couldn't even be a sound man. Later in life I picked up a harmonica and learned to play. I might add after all these years, I am still learning.
 
I am a reader and have been since my teenage years. I read mostly western novels.
Then along came Mickey Spalane writing a half dozen best selling tough guy novels
i.e. I, The Jury, My Gun Is Quick, Vegeance Is Mine, One Deadly Night, etc. Of
the necessities I carried to Korea with me was a full bent pipe, a pound of pipe tobacco,
And two Mickey Spalane paperbacks.

Right now I am reading "News of the World," a soon to be movie according to the author,
Ms Jiles. I tend to favor reading material I can download on my small mini iPad which is easy to hold, and very portable, usually kindle books. Now days I require large print materal and the kindle books allow enlarged print size. I am also reading one of Alan Alda's books, 'Don't 'Stuff Your Dog' or something like that.

Like many others I have in my retired years tried to write both fiction and nonfiction, but the talent is not in me. i do, however, keep a journal. I expect many people do. That's all for now. I'm going to check on the folks down in Louisiana.
 
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Dear Diary

As I near the end of my days what have I learned? What thoughts go through my mind from the long life I have lived? As I look out my window on the trees and bamboo in my back yard and upward to the clouds slowly drifting by, what wisdom has lodged in my brain?

As a youngster I grew up in household of faith, church every Sunday and often in the middle of the week. There were school days during the week and Sunday School on Sunday. We studied the bible, the Kings James version of that book and I carried that along with my school learning
into adulthood

During my military service I began to question my faith. My thinking changed slightly in that life was not necessarily an opportunity but a journey of survival. I remember sitting around our dining room table, my teenage kids asking me about the bible and life after death, I told them I didn’t know, that nobody knew with certainty other than what we learned and experienced as we lived our lives. I told them regarding religion I had no answers. It was something they would have to determine for themselves.

I held certain opinions how kids should behave, at home and in public, how my boy’s hair was cut, and how we should present our selves at work and at school. I thought I was strict but not too strict. I thought I did a good job raising my kids, but I was full of doubt, and held many regrets. I was mostly like everybody else.

It was not until I retired and had time on my hands, time to think and sort out my beliefs and how human beings related to one another, about workplaces, and upward mobility, about what had been and what is ahead. I still don’t have some answers but my thinking has cleared.
 
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Wherever did you go. I read your two comments and that's all I could see I tried to bring up the rest of FAWSITR, but couldn't do so. When finally I did, your comments werte missing. I guess I don't understand all I know.

I was going to say, did say, I posted that's the above because I expected I might be out of pocket for a few days. It was nothing you said or wrote or posted here. If you didn't post no one would read becase you the only one who posts here. I lost your last two comments I read them and then they disappeared. Invisible ink or something. No, nothing you said. I've been worried and posting irrational as a result, writing while thinking of other things. Someone looking in will assume I'm talking to my self. I enjoy your company. That''s it. Still a mystery.
 
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drifter said:
Wherever did you go. I read your two comments and that's all I could see I tried to bring up the rest of FAWSITR, but couldn't do so. When finally I did, your comments werte missing. I guess I don't understand all I know.

I was going to say, did say, I posted that's the above because I expected I might be out of pocket for a few days. It was nothing you said or wrote or posted here. If you didn't post no one would read becase you the only one who posts here. I lost your last two comments I read them and then they disappeared. Invisible ink or something. No, nothing you said. I've been worried and posting irrational as a result, writing while thinking of other things. Someone looking in will assume I'm talking to my self. I enjoy your company. That''s it. Still a mystery whatever happened to your comments.
Click to expand...
Not a problem, Drifter. I don't know what happened but I always enjoy your posts! 😄
 
I have a daughter with Multible Myeloma. If you don't know, that's an incurable cancer. She has had this disease for several years. She's been in remission. A recent development seems to be not good news. Good to hear from you.
 
So, who am I? What am I? I am a wannabe. Sometime I want to sit down at the keyboard and write
something. It doesn't have to make sense, but I need to like the writ that is before me, that has been
written by my hand. Sometime I run across something I like, a short, short or a poem I'd like to share.
You don't have to like what you read, if you do, But I do. None of this is perfect but I don't know what
perfect is. Take a look if you have the time. I have several files of family history in stories I have saved
and my children and grandchildren might some day like to read. Or maybe not. However the following
are not family history.
😎


Mexicano Pistoleers


He walked down the dusty street from the livery to the saloon. We The dust whirled in the street. His hand rested on the butt of his gun which rested in his Mexican styled holster. The street was quite, the shops were quite. There were no horses tied off at the saloon. Where was everybody? Watching him from behind dusty windows, no doubt. This was like a dozen towns he knew from Dodge City to Tombstone. He had been running knowing a posse was on his trail.

He didn’t think they were bluffing. They would eventually catch up to him. Even so he'd given them the slip. But he would run no more. Here he’s make his stand. He was good, he knew it and lawmen all over knew it. They would not brace him.

It’s true he had robbed the stage and he had shot the driver and a man in the coach. The driver had a rifle on the seat with him and he picked it up. If the darn fool in the coach had not gone for that derringer he’d still be alive but he had and had died for his trouble. Something was wrong, the town was too quite. He rode into town minutes before noon. The place should be thriving. No one stirred on the street. There was no traffic. Even the saloon appeared empty.

They would come for him but let them come. He would take care of them as he had done in the past. Posses down here in southern Arizona were always a bunch of Mexican low-life being led by some sheriff who had stayed in office so long he could hardly pick up a heavy pistol. He would show them. His hand still on his gun he started for the saloon when he saw movement in the alley, a lone individual.

“Drop you gun and raise your hands, Senior, you are surrounded.”

Surrounded? A lone man with no gun. This was a game he knew well and he crouched and pull his gun.

A dozen Mexicano pistoleers cut him down.


Drifter
 
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Let's try another story:



Cigarette


A newspaper lies open on the kitchen table where the old man is drawing on his last cigarette of the day.
Smoke curls upwards as he eyes the weather map on the open page.
His mind wanders away from the present, where he has been considering himself old and useless.
As he draws the smoke in deeply, the lines on the map remind him of another map, other lines.

Once again he flies above, studying the contour map of hilly ground where soon a parachute will bear him to a new challenge.
Then he has landed, labors up the hill side, muscles aching, short of breath, before coming to the crest, feeling the exhilaration.

He closes the newspaper, taps the ash from his cigarette.
Is it the smoke that stings his eyes, makes them water?
Spent ash drops like a tiny amputated part of his life, old, grey, and useless now.
The past has gone, he must live in the present.

Stubbing out his cigarette, he reflects on the dead matches, butts, and ashes.

He thinks of death.
 
drifter said:
Let's try another story:



Cigarette


A newspaper lies open on the kitchen table where the old man is drawing on his last cigarette of the day.
Smoke curls upwards as he eyes the weather map on the open page.
His mind wanders away from the present, where he has been considering himself old and useless.
As he draws the smoke in deeply, the lines on the map remind him of another map, other lines.

Once again he flies above, studying the contour map of hilly ground where soon a parachute will bear him to a new challenge.
Then he has landed, labors up the hill side, muscles aching, short of breath, before coming to the crest, feeling the exhilaration.

He closes the newspaper, taps the ash from his cigarette.
Is it the smoke that stings his eyes, makes them water?
Spent ash drops like a tiny amputated part of his life, old, grey, and useless now.
The past has gone, he must live in the present.

Stubbing out his cigarette, he reflects on the dead matches, butts, and ashes.

He thinks of death.
Click to expand...

Drifter; that one is very poignant to me. My father was a smoker up until the day he died. He was so sad and lonely after my mother died; it was like the "life" went out of him.
 
drifter said:
Let's try another story:



Cigarette


A newspaper lies open on the kitchen table where the old man is drawing on his last cigarette of the day.
Smoke curls upwards as he eyes the weather map on the open page.
His mind wanders away from the present, where he has been considering himself old and useless.
As he draws the smoke in deeply, the lines on the map remind him of another map, other lines.

Once again he flies above, studying the contour map of hilly ground where soon a parachute will bear him to a new challenge.
Then he has landed, labors up the hill side, muscles aching, short of breath, before coming to the crest, feeling the exhilaration.

He closes the newspaper, taps the ash from his cigarette.
Is it the smoke that stings his eyes, makes them water?
Spent ash drops like a tiny amputated part of his life, old, grey, and useless now.
The past has gone, he must live in the present.

Stubbing out his cigarette, he reflects on the dead matches, butts, and ashes.

He thinks of death.
Click to expand...
Oh my, @drifter , those were good. Especially that last one. Thanks for sharing them with us!
 
I was in Sprouts today. A small sign sitting on the counter read, "Yes we deliver. Same day delivery.
How about that. Perhaps a coming trend.
 
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When troubled I usually write about that trouble. It often goes for naught, sometime it goes like this:

the Dreamer


I stand on the bank of the river watching the water roll past me. The river is up, swollen in size due to the spring rains. It rushes along faster than its normal pace when it is at its normal level. On the far bank I see a father and son fishing and several people are walking along it's bank. A stone makes a number of splashes as a young boy skips them across the water. I know where the river goes. Down stream is a picturesque waterfall. The water falls over a hundred feet splashing onto rocks below. Destruction awaits anything going over the falls and certain death to any living creature.

I look upstream and see coming toward me, a small, flat bottomed boat. One individual sits in the middle of the boat. He is oar-less. He yells for people on the far bank to help him. No one pays attention. As the boat nears, I look at the man and I am startled to see that it is me. I'm going on down the river and I am terrified for I can hear the waterfalls. It makes a constant roar.

Yet, above all the noise I hear my name. The rocks are calling and I know they have already claimed me and I am seeing a replay of my demise; an event made noteworthy because I am one of only three to have met their end on on the rocks beneath the falls.
 
I arose this morning at six-thirty, my usual getting up time. I step on the scales and they are heavy. Thought I’d weigh light this morning. Had a plate of fruit with a slice of nutty toast and hot tea last night. It is that heavy, chewy bread, no doubt. Or maybe this is a normal good weight for me.


I bought a bicycle a while back. I wanted some wheels in case my drivers license is not renewed next month. I thought I could ride it. After all we don’t forget how to ride a bike, do we?

We replaced our microwave that sits on a shelf in front of our kitchen window with an over the stove microwave. The shelf one works well but we had an over the stove model before the kids got the shelf model for us.

I have a walker with a cracked wheel brace that could easily be repaired it seems. But I don’t do that anymore. Maybe I should throw it away, but where would I haul it off to? We have some other this and thats in the garage we no longer us but disposing of things is a problem.

My wife took her walker and went on her normal walk yesterday evening. She stopped and talked to a neighbor down the street. She told him about the walker with the damaged brace, the bicycle I was foolish enough to buy, and the microwave oven she replaced for her convenience. She gave them to him to use, to sell, to give away or whatever. He said he would pick them up shortly which of course will solve our problem.

Out my window the birds are feeding on the seed I left out for them. Mr and Mrs Redbird, the Cardinals always show up early. The doves are usually next, both the mourning doves and the ringneck doves. Then follow the sparrows and finches. The bluebirds are unpredictable. Sometime they are early to breakfast, sometime they show up later in the day. This morning two crows dined in my back yard. I also have squirrels who come here to feed, and Saturday a cottontail rabbit joined in. When we first moved here a few years ago raccoons roamed the neighborhood and kept eating the goldfish in my neighbor’s pool. I suppose the raccoons moved to a more lucrative area.

It’s still early. My plains are flexible today. I may read some. I have several library books checked out, a couple of kindle books I’m reading on. One book my wife checked out and read and wanted me to look at, a large book, hard to hold but does look interesting. Its title, You Staying Young, the owners manual for Extending Your Warranty. It is written by a couple of doctors. I’ll look it over and if nothing else it will give us something. I’ve had a good morning so far. I hope you have too.
 
drifter said:
Growing up into my teen years, I ran with and associated with guys who were musicians. I wanted to play an instrument so badly. In my part of the world at that time Country music was played mostly but some rock and roll was also getting popular. No one at that time had an amp so I couldn't even be a sound man. Later in life I picked up a harmonica and learned to play. I might add after all these years, I am still learning.
Click to expand...
I play guitar but for some reason have never bothered with harmonica. yet I love songs with the sound of harmonica in them. Dylan and blues artists. Recently I listened to Let me Go Back by Van Morrison. A great harmonica part in that. I think I need to get the harmonica holder so my hands are free to play guitar at the same time.
 

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