Rusted Rooster

Seven hours chasing flights to San Diego as they canceled, one by one, just out of reach. 

We came full circle. Back home.

The plan is to try again before sunrise on Saturday.

But it was fun being together, somewhere different. 

Even sitting in an airport.

The path back demanded a stop at our favorite seafood place. 

Raw oysters, Tito’s with lime. Rock Shrimp, fat scallops.

Slow motion return through a tunnel of Tomoka Oaks at twilight. 

Circular walls of Spanish Moss.

Van Morrison

Carla at the wheel, looking new, fresh, half her age.

Home is like a jewel box, fat with comfort treasures. 

Guard duty by rooster, a guy like myself, 

spotted with rusty patches...

 celebratory signs of a life being well lived. 

 

I'm not trying to be negative here, but this Black Friday stuff escapes me.

I don't get it.

If I really need something that Carla can’t find at Goodwill, even a present for someone else, I’ll go online to Amazon or Google, find the best price, and buy it. But to wait for a certain day when people lose their minds, running into unpleasantly crowded stores mostly to look for stuff you probably were already doing fine without anyway?

It’s like running into a burning building rather than out.

I don’t understand it.

Across the country, we just had the biggest Black Friday sales day ever. Is that a good thing? Certainly, it is for the stores. CEO’s suck on black market Cuban cigars and give each other high-fives from their padded leather chairs at the club. But what of us little folk? You know, the overwhelming majority of our population? Isn’t it just another red Herring? A 2019 version of the promise of a chicken in every pot? All the big players win if they keep us distracted. Fat and happy.

It’s like feeding starving people potato chips and cotton candy.

Empty calories.

Does anyone really need a bigger flat screen TV?

Politicians and CEO’s figure that if they can keep the little guys in a recliner with a Big Gulp and a 60” flat screen, we won’t make any trouble. We’ll think that we’re happy.

The distraction is little more than legal heroin.

It’s a tactic that supports the government shell game and the monster of consumerism.

God forbid that anyone search for deeper meaning.

Now, as Christmas approaches, mandatory gift giving ramps up big time. The tradition of giving gifts at Christmas was little more than a glowing pagan ember when Christians appropriated it to represent the gifts from the wise men. In the last 100 years, unbridled commercialism has used that coal to start a wildfire that most of us never pause to question. We’re more concerned with deciding who we put on our gift list. Who is worthy? Who is mandatory? Immediate family only? Friends? Co-workers?

Most people feel pressured. Like having geometry homework that must be done, knowing that it is doubtful that it will ever improve our lives to do it.

Who loves the mandatory “voluntary” gift giving in the workplace? Draw a name from a hat, buy that person you may have never actually spoken to, a gift.

Could we simply have a quick gathering instead, a few drinks, some tasty hors d'oeuvres, a sincere “How are you?” exchanged outside of the day to day…and then we all go home to our real families?

Hit and run perhaps, but real.

On the news we see the line of people camped out around Target at 3 am. When the doors finally open in the morning, people are neither pleasant, nor courteous. Generally, they’re full of something other than good cheer. They’re angry. Let’s wrestle over the last talking bear that commercials have made a must have item for the kid. Rather than fight with strangers, merry fucking Christmas and all that, maybe we shouldn’t be watching the commercial propaganda in the first place? Record the shows and skip the commercials? Read a book instead? Question the relevance of the whole thing and how it impacts my life?

Is it really worth It?

When asked to step away and render an opinion, most people agree that it feels forced. Empty and vacuous.

No wonder the suicide rate peaks around Christmas.

What if we just have a nice dinner together? No TV, no iPhones or tablets. Nothing that plugs into ears.

Now I’m going way out of the box here, I know, but what if we leave politics, religion and grudges at the door and simply enjoy dinner without all the usual distractions? Shut down the 24/7 white noise that screams at us from the monster of our voracious commercialism and the political spin machine. We may find that there is little else to do…other than to talk with each other. Live and in person.

That would be awesome.

I know it’s a stressful and chaotic time of the year. That could be why I’m thinking such crazy thoughts.

Maybe I should just settle down and grab a big gulp, hit the recliner, and watch something fun to take my mind off all of it.

Anything with the Kardashian stamp on it should do.

Thanks, Donnie!

Thanks Donald Trump!

This morning, I’m an optimist.

I thoroughly believe Trump and his clan will be badly trounced in the 2020 elections. Shown the door. Kicked to the curb. I still have faith that there are more good people in this country than bad. Overly simplified perhaps, but true.

“The greatness of a nation can be judged by how it treats its weakest members”

We were raised to believe the inscription on the Statue of Liberty: “Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, The wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”

We are stronger together.

But “We the people” means everyone, not only the very rich.
This current impeachment will mainly serve to highlight more examples of Trump’s lawless pattern of putting self before country.

Good.

We’re sick of it. Sick of him, sick of his corruption and his sniveling cronies, many of whom are now in jail, just tired of it all.

He doesn’t hide it. When confronted with his lies, even those on video, he denies. The inventor of “fake news” fully believes that no matter how outrageous it may be, the more he says it, the more it rings true for the lynch mob mentality of his followers.

There’s no changing their minds. Don’t bother trying. Facts don’t matter.

But there is some good news out there, and it’s big.

Trump has awakened a sleeping giant. It’s the giant of complacency that has finally gotten pissed off, ready to fight. Trump has shown us just how completely devoid of any redeeming qualities a man can be. He is, without question, the most hateful and despicable president in modern history. The problem is that it was well known before he was elected. It was out there for all to see. His exhaustively well documented history of lying, cheating, stiffing his vendors and throwing his partners under the bus. Trump was considered to be the bottom of the barrel in the already sleazy world of New York City Real Estate.

He was known to be an unrepentant and pathological liar. We knew of his indiscretions, his cheating, bragging about it all on the radio to Howard Stern.

Remember when we were taught that “Honesty is the best policy?” Remember when marriage meant “till death do us part?”

In 2016 it was all out there for us to see, but we were too comfortable with the status quo to get out of our Lazy Boy recliner and go vote.

46.9% of eligible voters…just…stayed…home.

46.9%!

That’s disgusting. Many of my fellow veterans fought and died to protect our right to vote. Millions, billions of people around the world wish they had that right.

President Kennedy’s main speechwriter said that the most important thing a president does, other than in time of war, is to lead by example. Trump has done exactly that. He has shown us the results of having a president who is a pathological liar with a severe narcissistic personality disorder and is woefully incompetent and uneducated as well. He doesn't want to read or learn or grow. Doesn't believe in science. Calls our own FBI "Scum". Do you want your kid to emulate this president?

Now many of his “best people” are in jail, our Allies laughing and distrustful of us as we abandon our position of leadership on the world stage. Even with the low unemployment numbers that Trump loves to tout, many people need three jobs just to barely make ends meet.

The rich are doing better than ever though. Donald Trump Jr made umpteen millions in 2018 and didn’t pay a dime in tax. Most of the 1% didn’t. How about you? Did you save a lot of money with Trump’s much heralded tax break? No? The rich sure did, and that’s what matters to Trump. Remember that whatever he says, usually the opposite is true. If he promises us a tax break?

Forget it.

This isn’t a popularity contest, folks. Facts matter. Many people loved Reagan, “the great communicator”, but he was the one who started taxing Social Security, our forced savings. He also lowered the top income earners tax rate from 70% to 28%. Does that sound like something that helps “we the people”?

So why should we thank Donald Trump? I thank him for energizing the opposition. For awaking the sleeping giant of the 46.9% who didn’t care enough to vote in 2016.

As for myself, going forward? I will vote a straight Democratic ticket in 2020 to flush the commode that is the current republican party. After that, it is no longer about party. It’s about the content of a candidate’s character and remembering that the best way to predict the future is to look at the past.

I will be vigilant from now on. Republican, Democrat, Independent, whatever.

If I smell a rat, I will immediately get out the rat traps and try to rid our government of the vermin.

I hope you will too.

Apple Love

We all know the old adage: “Money doesn’t buy happiness”, right?

I like that one, because we don’t have any money.

So, what really does matter?

You already know the answer…family, friends, human kindness, love…and an Apple watch 5 paired with an iPhone 11 Pro Max.

Wait, What?

That’s right. I love my family endlessly. The little woman, the kids, the grandson who eats toilet paper. Chica who worships me, Rufus who is just weird and runs out the doggie door if I approach because he thinks I’m going to pinch him. (Got any ticks boy?)

They are my world and I wouldn’t give them up for anything…except this iPhone and Apple watch.

When the entire family and the two dogs are in the drink, just barely treading water and I’m on the ship with only one life preserver, I yell at the Apple watch and iPhone: “Hold on to each other and I’ll throw you the life preserver!”

All of the others can swim, I think.

But I can’t live without constantly checking notifications. The weather, every 15 minutes. Camera angles, pictures from ten minutes ago, Facebook one-upsmanships, my e-mail spam, Pandora and Amazon music, YouTube road rage videos, Netflix, my Tetras game, the bank statement, the time in Japan, Hawaii, San Diego and 12 other places I never go, my blog, driving directions for anyplace more than a mile from home, the voice recorder I use to dictate memos that I never listen to, the calculator, missed calls, a sleep machine that creates bird sounds to block out the sound of the birds outside, Need to know our current elevation or what airplanes are flying overhead? I'm your man. Google Earth, Zillow (lying bastards… my house is worth way more than that), activity data and the gushing praise I get from my Apple watch exercise app when I get up off the couch and actually ambulate, and of course, there’s Amazon Prime.

Prime is my own personal Santa who helps me save a ton of cash all year long. (Listen! Hear it? Is that a delivery truck heading this way?)

A thousand other things too. 

That’s all I need. Oh, and two chargers, an electric outlet, a car adapter and lots of time that is better spent staring and swiping than having actual conversations with living people or doing stuff that requires that I move anything more than a few fingers.

Of course, the watch and phone are an exercise in redundancy. They do the same thing, but I need them both, all the time...because they’re paired and it would be wrong to break them up. Right?

These things give me the power to prioritize. That way, when Ruth calls to Face-time so we can see little Wilders first steps? I can mute the call and continue with my Hearts game and that video of “The people of Walmart”, without any rude interruptions.

This technology 24/7 gives me true freedom.

Now I can put the important stuff in my life front and center!

Fountain of Love…

“Love hurts

Love scars

Love wounds and marks…”

There may be long periods of time when everything is OK, bright and flowing, with little more than routine maintenance required.

Then, BOOM!

Feces hit the fan.

This little fountain is like that. She sits quietly in our front garden, happily gurgling away, loving life, and I love it back. In fact, I see the fountain as a metaphor for my own life. When it is up and running well, so am I. When I get up in the middle of the night, I go look out at it from the bay window, seeking reassurance that all is well.

Two nights ago, it wasn’t. Sitting down slowly, I took my blood pressure and was pleased to find that I was still alive.

Certainly, more than just routine maintenance would be required though. The pump had died. 

RIP pump!

Having encountered this once before, I knew what I had to do.

So I bought a new pump from the plant nursery that sold me the fountain ten years ago. Stopped at Ace Hardware for waterproof caulk and some Crazy Glue to securely attach the hose to the pump.

With growing pride in my ability to do such manly stuff myself, I thought of my car restoring friend and another friend who builds world renown goat barns. Now those guys are real men. They can fix or make anything.

I’ve always said that if I’m good in this life, I’m coming back as a hot woman with plans to marry a guy who can do stuff. Manly stuff… like fix things.

Poor Carla took a bad bet in choosing me. I don’t know how to really do anything other than talk, and that’s mostly bullshit. (Actually, I guess I would have made a good priest or politician at that.)

Back to work.

After cleaning the fountain and removing the old pump, I let everything dry out. An experienced handyman like myself knows how important that is if you want to start over, like new.

With caulk and glue in hand, I ripped a piece of cardboard off an old box from the trash. That would give me a disposable surface to put the opened glue on to contain any mess.

Once outside, with materials laid out neatly as organized men do, I managed to reassemble all parts.

Everything was properly caulked, almost ready to add water and flip the breaker back on.

Just needed to put one small dab of Crazy Glue on the hose where it attaches to the pump. The pressure has blown the hose off in the past.

Just one drop away from an enviable victory!

After piercing the nipple of the Crazy Glue with a long nail, I squeezed ever so slightly to get that one little drop. Apparently, the glue had hardened near the top, so I squeezed a bit harder…and harder. That’s when the back seam of the tube blew open. An entire tube of Crazy poured into my cupped hands.

The next hour was fun. 

My fingers were glued to each other, giving me matching paddle hands. Both paddles were glued tightly to each other. That piece of cardboard was stuck to the back of my wrist along with a dripping tube of glue and a nail.

Have you ever tried to open a door with your elbows? The glue tube had one last trick to perform though, it dribbled down my forearm and glued both elbows together.

It is possible to turn a doorknob with your mouth. Rough on the teeth, but possible.

Once inside the utility room, I added a can of paint remover to the decorative collection stuck tightly to my hands and arms.

A full hour of bathing in paint remover, wiping, scrubbing, tearing off skin I was fond of, swearing and pushing my drooping eyeglasses back up onto my nose by mashing my face painfully up against the washing machine every few minutes…priceless!

The paint remover fumes were worth it though. I usually pay big bucks for a high that intense.

And now? My fountain works perfectly. It's beautiful. I checked on it several times throughout the night.

The bottom line here is that my manly car restoring and goat barn building friends have company.

I’m a manly man too.

(And very happy that when my hands were wet with Crazy Glue, that I didn't need to pee. That could be a very awkward visit to the ER...)

Foodie...

Foodie: A person who has an ardent or refined interest in food and who eats food not only out of hunger but due to their interest or hobby.

Ruth, Hannah and I are all about it. Fresh, organic, a wide variety. We plan it, what delicious things to cook, where to go to dinner. Mentally preparing days in advance and gathering ingredients, I’m worse than they are.

But what should I say about little Wilder Maverick?

His favorite food is toilet paper, fresh from the roll.

Is that something I should brag about…or not mention at all? Will he graduate to paper towels as he gets older? Maybe whole shipping boxes by the time he’s in grade school? Does he have the potential for some kind of a recycling gig in this?

At least for now, Ruth needs to find toilet paper that is organic, free of any bleaches or dyes.

I wonder if anyone makes flavored toilet paper?

Genuine

What if Buck Owens and his Buckaroos threw a party and The Mavericks showed up?

Musically, they did.

Marty Stewart was there, along with Jim Lauderdale.

Dwight Yoakam flew across the pond and back in time, just to bring The Hollies along. Rodney Crowell passed a doobie around out by the pool. Junior Brown made low sounds in a wet lounge chair. George Straight came in to plug his early days on the county fair circuit. David Lindley set up a lap pedal steel in one corner, starting in with an intro lifted straight off an El Rayo-Ex tune. 

Dale Watson got there early after driving all night from his last gig in La Grange. He and Jimmy Dale Gilmore brought a truckload of Lone Star and several cases of Thirsty Planet Thirsty Goat Amber Ale for the real beer lovers.

Jimmy Dale promised to play his saw.

Things got crazy. Music happened.

When they were really cooking it sounded as if all of them had just stayed home and the Derailers had the place to themselves.

It sounded...genuine.