Too Easy

Life is way too short.  Cliche, yes, but true.  Life's far too short to worry about most of everything.  

Survive and enjoy what you can. Your ticket will be punched someday, no matter how long you live.  Try to get a bit out of it.

Easier said than done.  So much easier to say.  Too easy.

Listen!

Yakity-yak... Don't talk back.  

Government thinks everyone has as much spare time as they do.  ...Which is pretty much their whole lives, save a few minutes of voting a year.  Most of our lives should be dedicated to listening to their wisdom, according to them.

They believe we're hanging on their every world.

We're not.  We don't care about anything they have to say, unless it's about getting out of our lives.  The more they're involved in our lives, the worse life gets.

With all that free time, they somehow never have time to listen.  Sure, they'll host 'Townhalls' with pre-selected questions and pre-written answers.  They'll 'Meet the Press', which they have in their pockets. 

It's all talk, no listen.  They'll continue to infringe and usurp.  Nothing changes for the better. 

Truths

I don't need validation to speak the truth.  No one should.  If you say you're speaking the truth, though, make sure it's true.  Truth validates itself.

It can't be 'your' truth, but 'the' truth.  The truth is rooted in logic and facts.  'Your truth' is just an opinion. 

That doesn't mean your opinion is wrong.  It just means, if you give your opinion as 'truth', you're telling people you know something to be true.  If it's not, you're defrauding them.

The End of Papaw

Papaw is gone.  No, not my Grandfather... He's been gone since 1979.  I'm talking about the John Deere tractor I've owned for nearly two decades.  My girlfriend nicknamed him 'Papaw'.  

For the last half dozen years, or so, he's been sitting in my side yard, collecting moss.  Before that, he faithfully bush hogged the grass for years.  He'd even tote me over to my parents' house from time to time.

A new clutch was put in, right after which a bolt backed out of the flywheel.  Breaking it open again twice for the same job wasn't fun.  Less than a season later, the starter went out.  

I was bush hogging when it bogged down and shut off, failing to restart.  I pulled it back to the side yard, and that's where he sat.  I kept putting off breaking it open, again, since it's a bit involved, and years passed.

Don't have to worry about that, anymore.  A neighbor bought him.  Another neighbor's going to get it working for him.  Papaw will useful, once again... just not to me!

 

This was Past

We're here, now.  Whatever we do is tomorrow's past.  Not that something like that is news to anyone, but just that it's a fact.

We're living just a fraction of a second ahead of the past.  The stuff I typed above is in the past.  It's done.

This is my place to say whatever I want.  Right now.  Think about it tomorrow.

Cold, Pie and Coffee

Pie with hot, black coffee seems especially good this cool afternoon.  Chilly fingers like the warm mug handle.  Taste buds like sweet pie mixing with tart coffee.

Like most good things, it's gone too quickly.  Only a faint hint of pie remains.  That, and a swig or two of coffee.

Nothing of Import

Week's done.  This couch is comfortable.  Nothing important needs to happen.

Whatever you've got going on, make it happen.  If it's nothing, that's good, too.  Let it be.