It’s late fall as I write this. Temperatures have taken a dive. There’s even not so subtle indications that it’s best to put the snow tires on. A first snowfall keeps law enforcement and tow trucks on overtime and body shops on edge. They all know what’s coming.
"Traveling broadens horizons." True, but I guess it's all in what you mean by "broaden." If a trip starts on belt notch No. 2 and devolves toward hole No. 1, an expanded perspective is happening, or perhaps, there's too much time spent in restaurants and bars along the way. Caloric intake correlated with weight gain is a good, solid, objective measure of at least some kind of growth. Unfortunately, it might also require shopping for a new pair of pants along the way.
Life isn't simple. If lucky, the journey starts with all the necessary equipment; everything works the way it's supposed to and it's all in the right place. Maybe that whack on the butt newborns used to get was to remind them not to complain too much. Luck can change quickly. Those who continue to think they have control after that tap on the behind are seriously delusional. Plans are made and change, whether it's liked or not. So much of experience appears to be arbitrary, a coin toss that could just as easily flip the other way.
Wise men are gifts. Oops, I'm NOT excluding women here. Consider both sexes lumped together. Whew, I'm tired already. Maybe I should take my nap and start over! In fact, the most famous wise men in history probably needed to bring women along on their journey to see the newborn savior. Perhaps then they would have gotten there on time instead of meandering around in the desert hauling all that gold, frankincense and myrrh around thinking they knew where they were going.
By the time you read this, the end of summer will be peeking over the seasonal fence close by. It won't be a full head shot, just eyebrows and wisps of hair blowing in a wind that suggests summer and the leisurely reading that comes with it, is coming to an end. Of course with global warming the season may be stretched; yellowing leaves won't quite be ready for raking any time soon.
When reading an article in the Pioneer, the last thing a subscriber wants to hassle with is poor grammar. It grates, interrupts, and distracts from the message a writer/reporter tries to convey. When someone has a great idea and puts it down on paper, unless they are a certified genius or Avant-garde author or poet, sticking to the rules of composition serves everyone. Then there is the person we call the Grammar Nazi!
I bleed a lot. It comes from medications that make it easier for the red stuff to flow through the highways and byways of the body. You don’t want blood to slow down or clog in all those arteries, veins and capillaries. It needs to keep moving. There is downside however to all these chemicals on board . . . if you’re a klutz.
“Would you go down to the basement and bring up the 6-pack of Blue Moon?”
Let me tell you of a Common Man. A person who is rarely acknowledged in this era of the Uncommon Man, men and women driven by mendacity and greed. No, the person I speak of was a gentleman in the truest sense, an individual of integrity and compassion.
I play Russian Roulette. It’s not the kind where you put a bullet in a gun, rotate the cylinder and pull the trigger, all the while swilling bad Vodka and ambivalent about the outcome. And it’s not like the grim scene from the “The Deer Hunter,” that still hangs in my mind, set during the Vietnam War, where Robert De Niro dances on the edge of despair. No, mine is much more benign. I play a game of chance in the University of Minnesota Duluth’s parking lots.