Some days are going to be good days and then some days are painful and not all that good. Like it is when you have that small pimple on the bottom of your nostril, and you know you have to squeeze it, and at the same time, you absolutely KNOW that it is going to hurt really bad.
Yesterday was one of those kind of days.
I am in line at the bank, there are eight windows, and ONE TELLER so the conversation is strained at best, you can cut the tension in the air with a knife. So rather than being somewhere pleasant and nice, I find that I am over at the bank and this lady in the line is all hopped up about what she calls “Obama Money.” It is some kind of stipend that is currently being distributed to retiree’s and people on Social Security, the amount I believe is $250.
She wants to know if I have mine yet?
Not overly concerned about $250 in mad money from the government, I ponder this one very disturbing thought …”How does this complete stranger know that I am retired?” …. It is a sad state of affairs when people recognize you as a retired person without really knowing you, I must have that “rode hard and put up wet” look about me again.
This always happens when I venture out without my hat.
When you notice that no one bothers to ask you if you are a “senior citizen” for the 10% discount, then I would say you have officially arrived.
Here is a little ditty about two retiree’s.
Recently in New York retired rogue cops Stephen Caracappa and Louis Eppolito, who were convicted in 2006 of assisting the Mafia for many years were sentenced to life in prison. However, because the men retired from the force before they had been charged with crimes, they are entitled by law to their lifetime pensions of $5,313 a month and $3,896 a month respectively.
No word if they are to receive Obama money.
You ever stop to think about this $100 million President Obama has ordered cut from his $3.5 trillion budget. This represents a reduction of 0.0029 percent not exactly worth crowing about or writing home to Mama. If a family with an income of $100,000 cut a comparable amount from its budget, it would spend just $3 less over the course of a year.
Might be why the average Joe is rigidly locked down and staying in place these days. With the decline of housing prices and the economic uncertainty the populace is not moving. Some 35.2 million Americans changed residences this year, the lowest number since 1962, when the nation had 120 million fewer people.
Have finished what I consider a good read, “Brothers” which is a compilation of 26 stories of love and rivalry. The complete issue was originally published in the March issue of Playboy. One story that was extremely interesting was the segment of what it was like to be the Uni-Bomber’s little brother. Weather has turned off rather nice, stopped raining, you can slink out onto the porch sit in the chair and read a page or two before the dogs wake up to greet the meter readers in the backyards.
Life in the suburbs.
I read where a 17 year old Eagle Scout is doing fine after being stranded for almost three days on New Hampshire’s Mount Washington. Having sprained his ankle during a routine day hike, he spent numerous days on the mountain. He decided to take a short cut down the 6,288 ft peak which proved not to be the right move. Snowpack and running rivers blocked his path, and also his retreat from the normal route of trails.
He said that he slept beneath pine trees and in large crevasses and started fires with hand sanitizer gel. He was finally spotted by rescuers after he decided to head up the mountain, towards a weather observatory. “I would never do it again during snow conditions” he was quoted as saying.
Now on the other hand, I got lost when I was twelve years old, in a national forest for about 26 hours. Not all that scary, but it was an “eye opener” for sure.
Not having a clue as to where I was or where I was going, I eventually sat down beside a fallen giant and started a campfire with my zippo lighter and was sitting there smoking a Marlboro when a national forest search agent walked up to me and said, “You must be Don Smith, and this must be Fritz (our family weenie dog).” And I replied, “Yes, I am.”
He then instructed me to put out the fire, led me back to my parents who were overjoyed to have their wayward child back. My dad asked the guy, “How did you find him?” and the ranger said, “I saw his campfire smoke and walked up on him, he was sitting there smoking a cigarette and staying warm.”
At that point my mother promptly grabbed me and hugged me for all it was worth, later on my dad, whipped my butt for smoking again.
Proof again, that all stories do NOT have a nice ending. To this day I remember it as not being lost, but rather, just powerfully confused.
Some days are diamonds and some days are stone (from the song with the same title and/or lyrics). Now I return to my Clark Kent atmosphere, my duty in life that compels me to walk this uncertain, often turbulent path, to faithfully do what meets the needs of the day or pays the bill, and not what it is that I truly want to do.
What is your Clark Kent job this Wednesday, are you lost or just powerfully confused.
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