Guess who has been named President of the Coca-Cola Company and will be determining who is allowed to have Coke and who is going to have to do without. The name Summer pops to the top of the No Coke for You List; why is that? Hmm . . . I guess we’d better put our thinking caps on and try to figure this out.
Hey, you bears there with Der Bingle in the Fairborn cave . . . here is something you guys might consider. CLICK HERE.
I can’t say for certain, but I think when all is said and done, I’m a person who would really like money and power. I mean really, really like – as if in make a choice between good and not-so-good. If I could keep the good intentions at the fore, I guess maybe it wouldn’t be a tragedy for me to have power and money. And if the good intentions outbalanced the bad, that wouldn’t be so bad. Like, say, I bought a wonderful house and provided a great income for people . . . and they sort of got out of my hair. Is that so bad? And I could live on the ocean front, with a lovely glassed in study looking out to sea. And I could provide a lot for others and buy plane tickets whenever I wanted to go see them – or have a private jet, or, gasp, a second home near them.
So that’s about the gist of me. Then a couple of days ago I was up in the sitting room straightening up a little since I have started allowing my granddaughter to go up there and share the space. I stick things I like on walls and shelves and have even hung them from the ceiling. I’m standing there pulling the sofa throw back into position and I raise my head to the wall space above the scanner. There I have printed out and mounted – with a tack – these lines from Secondhand Lions, a movie I saw with Cameron some five plus years ago. He’s 16 now; I imagine he was 10 or 11 then, depending on when he birthday was in relation to when we saw the movie in the theater.
Oh, these lines. I meant to cite them right away, but I got carried away with one of my sentences. Finally . . . these lines:
Sometimes the things that may or may not be true are the things a man needs to believe in the most. That people are basically good; that honor, courage, and virtue mean everything; that power and money, money and power mean nothing; that good always triumphs over evil; and I want you to remember this, that love… true love never dies. You remember that, boy. You remember that. Doesn’t matter if it’s true or not. You see, a man should believe in those things, because those are the things worth believing in.
Actually, Cameron and I saw that movie and then the next night Cameron took his dad with him to see it again. We have two or three copies. We watched it often. And I actually printed out the quote and posted it some years later. Really? Why? I remember at the time stressing to Cameron that no matter how nice the words sounded, no matter how noble and inspirational, maybe you should keep a healthy respect for what seems to work out to be important in daily life. Things like affording medicine for your family, and food, and a place to live and lots of other things. Things like affording the best doctors if loved ones get really, scary ill. Things like the kindest, most competent nurses, round-the-clock care, the most successful doctors, the costliest treatments.
Yet, there those words are on my wall. And I’m thinking of my granddaughter sitting there and reading them and thinking, “Grandma believes this?” Perhaps it is the bit about the “should” part of being true that keeps them up on that wall. I don’t know. Perhaps I should pull them off and crumple them in a ball and send them toward the trash can.
It is easy for people with power and lots of money – heck, with just the power that lots of money brings – to hold the ideas of good and courage and honor high.
So what do we have? A grandma and a grandson watching a movie together and getting emotional about two old men and a lion and a speech. Is that enough? Oh, probably not. I guess it is something, though. And maybe it’s okay to hold things that “should be” in front of you where you can see them . . . as long as you know – like that old man speaking – you can’t let them blind you to reality.
Well, shoot . . . I don’t know. But the paper is still there, with the words still on it. She’ll have to make her own peace with it.
I read The Argyle Sweater by Scott Hilburn and so far my favorite is the very balding bear looking at toupees, i.e. bear rugs. Want to see it? CLICK for the UCLICK connection.
Today, though, was another one that just caused my head to flop forward – fortunately there was no wall right there, so, in truth, it was not really a head thunker . . . but it could have been. You can see it HERE.
I don’t know – maybe some people think hitting your forehead with the heel of you hand is head thunking. Maybe it is; I do that when I have been really slow on the uptake and all of a sudden I “get it”. Maybe the head flopping thing doesn’t have a name. I do it when something clever catches me unawares and I immediately think, “I am not worthy.”
But now I have myself thinking about the period inside or outside the quotation marks depending on the usage. Ah, the rules of English . . . deep down in my heart I love them. Still, I break them. Well, you always hurt the one you love, the one you shouldn’t hurt at all . . . and that’s all the lyrics of that song I remember. Oh, wait. I remember the ending: So if I broke your heart last night, it’s because I love you best of all. Whoa, the guy who penned that philosophy needs to be hit in the face with a fish. Talk about sleazing your way out of something.
First, before we delve into the dastardly business being conducted by Summer here at the Peanut Butter Cafe & Roadhouse. let us see some smiling faces from two of the guys who brought great happiness to us – first in their song and dance routine during dinner . . . and then during, well, a little after dinner interaction between the entire troupe and the audience.
Now, the dark side:
Summer seems to have a vendetta regarding dear, sweet, lovable old Grover, who is, of course, forever four. First she gave him a special cape mocking his super Groverhood and then she bucked his teeth.
So, Grover wrote a note to Summer – remember he is only four and a little shaky on his spelling – and left it on the refrigerator.
If the coppers arrest Summer, we are fairly certain we are not going to bail her out of the slammer – unless she decides to apologize to Grover and agrees to be his personal assistant (indentured servant).
Oh, it is not that cold of a day for winter here, but sometimes you feel it more than others. Today the sky is a washed out grey and snow is spitting from time to time and the wind is up a bit. So I got in into my head to build a rip-roaring fire.
Sydney sought out a couple of afghans and nudged them onto the floor and lay down on them. Still, I don’t think he felt his spirits lift very much:
As for the rest of us, here are a couple folks like to pick up and toss over their shoulders:
Sydney and I are alone in the house. No other person is here.
Today when I went over to the nursing home, Emory wasn’t feeling like eating any lunch at all and was going to nap, so Kathryn and I took advantage of the sunny day to go to the old St. James Restaurant in Avilla. I hadn’t planned on going and had on worn jeans and an old sweatshirt and shoes with paint on them. The waitress suggested we might want a table that was tucked in a hallway, but I said, “No, this is a special time and we want to be in the front room with the mural.” And so we were.
The mural:
Kathryn:
As for me, I need to spiff up.
I think Summer may be a HABOOB. Maybe this video of a haboob from weather.com will play here.
Last week I cited this article about a family with autism in this POST. I would like to see frequent updates to learn if the last paragraph in the aricle is still applicable. This paragraph:
In other words, one week of intervention therapy has done more than simply give Marissa some rules to follow and the household some much needed quiet. It has brought this once-divided family back together.
I don’t think the original article made it clear how long the interval was between the five-day- therapy and the determining of that concluding paragraph. It would be interesting to know.