I love the English language, American English that is. Probably because I can only profess to be semi-literate in the only one dialect. Speak to me in any of the other English dialects or one of the 6900 plus other languages on our planet and I will most probably look at you like the proverbial indignant American tourist abroad until my senses kick in and I once again return to some sense of humility and the less than worldly American that I am.
Sometimes a word or series of words pops into my head and I marvel at its meaning, cadence, connotation and several other traits that I just can not seem to recall at the moment. A couple of words prompted the start of this post but as happens so many times concentrating on these words have left those words lost in the foggy confines of my own mind. If I happen to remember at some point in the future I will continue with this post. If not I do believe that these words will be relegated to “Draft” status and may never see the LCD lights of your computer screen.
Okay, it is the future and I still have no idea what those initial words were and rather than condemn these words to the pit of “Drafts” I release them just to give you, the reader, a little insight to the everyday happenings in my world, as limited and boring as it is. I have learned to live with it and not be too disappointed that this is all there may be.

PS This was supposed to be titled, “Sorry, English Is My First and Only Language”, but since I got a little off track here I will have to come up with a new title. Perhaps I will revisit the original thought at another time. Mind willing.


The door, long closed and presumed locked, is now ever so slightly ajar. Every dark, malicious thought or action now assumes it is time to once again to attempt to gain a foothold in the light. Enough said.

We all have experienced that gut wrenching feeling that things are not going so well down in our stomachs. Whether it be from something we have eaten or drank or the latest tweet drivel from someone with whom we do not quite share the same views.
Usually the best remedy, though the taste is never quite pleasing, is to just let it happen. Expel the vile bile that is causing the discomfort, get past it, watch what you ingest in the future and hope that you do not so frequently repeat the experience. Much easier to do with food/drink, not so with tweet drivel. I guess you could unfollow but you would also be opening yourself up to a level of unknowing ignorance that you may have to answer for later. Better to develop a thicker skin, I guess.
Now I do realize that this goes both ways, right and left, our sensibilities can be easily trifled with no matter the side and I too can be as culpable as the next person. Let’s just work on thicker skin and solutions and hope that it never comes to a much worse situations.

This Petty Pace

December 29, 2016

I am not much to look at. You could walk by me on a crowded street, or even one not so crowded, and you might not take notice of me at all.
My hair is greying/whitening, getting a little sparse in the typical hereditary spots, yet I still need haircuts unless I want to be mistaken for a homeless man. No offense to homeless men who, when it probably becomes a choice between haircut or food, food probably wins every time.
I may walk a little slow at times, usually when there is no place I have to be at no special time or if I am early getting somewhere and the leisurely pace suits me. At the present time there are no physical infirmities which dictate my pace but I am quite sure that time will someday change things.
When, and if I leave the comforts of home, it is usually for the necessities-food, fuel, haircuts, family gatherings, and preventative doctor visits. Fuel, food for myself, and for my precious MINI which carts this boney ass around when destinations are out of walking range. Living out in a rural area of Central New York pretty much guarantees all destinations outside walking range. But, if push came to shove I could make do. There happens to be a market just down the road well within healthy exercise range but on the edge of being able to physically carry, without discomfort, too much weight back home. I know from experience.
Interaction with other living humans is not one of my limited fortes. When I am indeed out and about in my small pond of humanity, it is also for food, though of two different sorts, physical and for thought. I do like a good breakfast, usually around brunch time. I have yet to find the perfect spot that not only serves up eggs, toast, hash browns and a good cup of coffee or juice to my hard to please expectations but also has comfortable seating, pleasant, attentive staff, an interesting view and at least a few people to watch when/if I am not engrossed in the latest novel by one of authors whose hardback books line the shelves at home.
All in all it is a good life. I might, at some point, consider trading it in on a new life but the new life would have to be way, way more better. Comfort being what it is, at least known comfort, compared to expectation. And then again would I even recognize a better life if I stepped into it tomorrow. One can hope. One can hope.