I guarantee that they’re random. It’s up to you to decide whether or not they’re real thoughts
Having ignored single-parent families for years, the Elementary Teachers Foundation of Ontario is now on a crusade to save children who have “two mommies” or “two daddies” from discrimination. Since they might not have a mommy or a daddy when the appropriate day comes along, the Federation is advocating changing some names.
Fathers’ Day would be known as Love Day, and Mothers’ Day could be called GAMES Day, for Grandmothers, Aunts, Mothers, Even Sisters. Based on that, I suggested that Fathers’ Day be named FUGLY Day, for Fathers, Uncles, Grandfathers and other Lying Yahoos, but I just don’t feel the Love to accept it.
I just put a fresh crop of Karma in the barn for the winter. A week ago, I took the daughter up the highway for her pain-med infusion treatment. As we reached the on-ramp for the highway, we spotted a young man standing on the edge of the road with two big hockey bags. I haven’t seen a hitch-hiker in years, so we pulled over and asked him where he was going. He wanted to get to London, an hour up the road, and we were only going as far as Ingersoll, 45 minutes away, but he accepted the ride.
His chances of getting a ride to London improved by being as far as Ingersoll. He had broken up with his significant other (or she had kicked him out broken up with him), and the remains of “all his worldly possessions” were in those two bags. He hoped to get back a job he’d previously held, as a chicken catcher at a packing plant. Who says there’s no good jobs anymore?
Since the grandson is “all growed up” and moved out to his first apartment, the daughter is sometimes a little lonely. I went to pick her up the other evening to share a meal and a bunch of conversation. Coming down a hill to a traffic light, about a half mile from her house, I spotted a Ford pickup which had almost made a left turn, but was abandoned in the intersection with the hazard lights flashing.
I had time to wonder why exactly there, as I edged past it. A half block further on, I found the reason. A guy is clumping along with a two-gallon plastic gas can in his hand. I pulled into the next driveway, rolled down the window and asked him if he’d like a ride. He was overjoyed.
His name was Mike. Everybody, say hello to Mike. He was headed towards the daughter’s place, hoping for a ride from his dad, who lives nearby, but there are no gas stations in the downtown area. I drove him back out to a garage, waited while he filled the can, and drove him back to his truck.
The all-electronic dashboard on his truck doesn’t work right. How I can relate to that. He never knows just how much gas he has. When it runs out, it runs out, and the truck is too heavy for one man to push. Three more feet, and he could have coasted three blocks, almost to the gas station. He has the gas can in the bed, but somebody, who is not him, used it, probably for the lawn mower, and put it back empty.
In 1918, the U.S. Postal Service printed 24 cent stamps to celebrate air-mail service. Since the public didn’t know what airplanes looked like, the picture of the JN-17 “Jenny” was inserted upside-down. A few were sold before the mistake was caught, making this the most expensive collectible stamp.
95 years later, the USPS decided to duplicate the stamp to celebrate 100 years of airmail. Since everyone knows what a biplane looks like, the picture was inserted right-side-up, and a hundred sheets were printed before anyone noticed. Most of the sheets were recovered, but a couple are unaccounted for. They’re wrong, because they’re right, and we have another potential fortune-maker. Way to go, Post Office, keep up the momentum.
As the digital world continues to wrap its tentacles more tightly around us, the local newspaper has been including two sections of the New York Times in the last six Saturday editions. We got the International Weekly and the Book Review. Is the Times really that pretentious? We were treated to stories of South Koreans emigrating to Mexico for work. Dear Lord, are there jobs even Mexicans won’t do?
Last week there was a story about Malala Yousafzai, the Pakistani girl shot by the Taliban. Apparently she was nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize, and some were disappointed that she didn’t win. I’m proud of her and what she’s trying to do, freedom for Muslim women, and education for Pakistani girls, but really?? A Peace Prize? Nothing she’s doing is to bring peace. It’s like having a Casino built in your town, and giving it a Civic Award for creating more parking.
This week’s Book Review section had a two-page article about Phillip Roth and Norman Mailer, both powerful writers, who hit their stride back in what? – 1973? Nothing a little more recent?? Even H E Ellis would say, “If not me, at least do Jodi Picault!”
It’s snowing on my website. I don’t know whether that’s because WordPress just gratuitously turned it on, or because I clicked the snow icon last year, and it’s still valid. I haven’t noticed snow on anyone else’s site, but then, I’ve been in suspended animation, and remiss in my visits for about a week. Sorry!
I’m temporarily all ranted out. You may now provide adoration. I had to give all mine to the cat.