The Love Affir with California is consumated

When I married husbnad number 3, a California native, I began my conversion. True, the place was not Florida, where I had 29 years of close friends and adventures,; it was no the intellectual stimulation and libraries of Boston, which I left so reluctantly 40 years ago, but yesterday my Wh.conversion came.
Lobster, that wonderful concoction that helps me hang on, came to my little home town.
Well, sort of my home town. The next-abutting town over.The Red Lobster franchise there.began Lobsterfrest What joy. Then, the sandwich shop in my vicinity featured lobster rolls.I succumbed over and over.I wondered "what else could anyone want?
I had good friends. I had a comfortable coach which was almost paid for. My children were doing well in their respective lives. Mu husband was a gem.Like the lost bear, I had fallen into a honeypot. THERE WAS FRESH LOBSTER HERE.
Previous satisfactions have evaporated.I am truly content. LOng live California, my love, my home., .

olde lang zein in spadeds

Ah, nostalgia. e hip deep in nostalgia. CArds,, letters, photos of grandchildren and trips to Turkwy and basketball games and Kansas lakesides.
Our letter, in contrast, was minimalist with a lot of jokes, courtesy of my funny husband. Rather than mourning, we took a year and flipped it off. Why not. Our friends have anough misery without our adding to their stack. We're all old. We're all in what used to be called straightened circumstances (except for folks withmmilitary pensions.) The pictures dwpict people who are shades of their former selves, many still lovely but almost unrecognizable neveertheless.
We left our pictures in the MYPhoto file in our computer. We should be thanked (Probably won't be, though)........
Still, it's a great time of year.Don't you agree?That is, if you're a nostalgia buff.

"Maybe good; maybe bad"

I went searching for this old 80's story on the internet, and Howard somebody or other had a part of it and claimed credit for his hubris.  He certainly had that! I think I first read thus tale in a book by 70's Olympic gymnast Dan Millman, who went about inspiring people in that decade. Like any good cook with a recipe, I have absorbed it, revised it, and made it my own,
He4re's my version: Once, a poor Chinese rice farmer had a son and a fine horse. The neighbors came and cried "you are a fortunate man; you have a son and a horse."
"Maybe goodk maybe bad" replied the farmer.
One day, his fine horse ran away.  The neibors came and wept "you have lost your fine horse."
The farmer said "amybe good, maybe bad.
The nest day,   the horse returned leading five wild horses.  The neighbors cried "now you are a richman with siix horses."
The farmer said, "Maybe good, maybe bad."
The son was thrown by one of the horses when he tried to break it, and made lame.  The neighbors said, "Your son is good for nothing; he cannot help you in the rice fields."
The farmer said, 'Maybe good, maybe bad."
With no one to help in the rice fields, the spring rains came and flooded the plat.  The nighbors cried, "you are ruined."
The farmer said, "Mybe good, maybe bad.""
The rice fermented and made fine rice liquor, which the farmeer and his son were able to sell and become rich. The neighbors said "You are saved. Rice Vodka is your savior"
The farmer saidi, "Maybe good, maybe bad"
The army came through  the violage and conscripted every able bodied man for combat.  The farmer's son stayed home because he was lame.  The neighbors said, "fortunate you.  You have a son for your old age."
The farmer replied, "Maybe good, maybe bad."
The son became addicted to the rice vodka and eentually came to an AA meeting where he told this story. He got sober and returned home to his father to take care of him in his old age.
The story entered the AA lore and was told from Boston to San Diego. A friend told the farmer aoub it and ssaid, ""now you are famous."
The farmer replied, with feeling, "maybe good , maybe bad."

What Are We Doing Here?

The above title was the question at last week's soiree at our old folks Trailer  Park, and the answer came to  us with unbelievable certainty:  We are ushering one another off the planet.
And we do so with panache.  Heroes collect bottles and cans every monday and a group of oldsters use the proceeds to plan monthly parties which we all enjoy.
Other Seniors man a busy library/TV room to entertain  us on those long, lonely widow-evenings or when a spouse is watching a football game. We even have a computer room designed by our two techies out of spare parts (not the techies spare parts, the spare parts of discarded earlier computers). They, the techies, keep it going.
Since most of  us remember the "don't trust anyone over 30"slogans of the 60's, most of us are really surprised to be going (sort-of) strong in our 70's.  Most of us have downsized because the "big House" required lifting and scrubbing and climbing we could no longer do. We live here on Social Security and Food Stanps and most of us look up to see the Poverty Line.
That's ok. We have each other and our bingo and card games and potlucks and heated pool and jacuzzi and parties and we feel fortunate.(Grsndma Letty is the author of Murder at the Trailer Park, available from Linhart Publishing at http:linhartpublishing,com.)
We may be in a holding tank for the mortuary, but we make the best of it.

A Black President:: Unintended Consequences

Barack Hussein Obama lived in a state and a decade that was inordinately tolerant of him. Unlike him, I grew up in the Jim Crow era and locale.  Here's what I know the back room boys with their cigars and their "gentlemen's " clubs are saying to each other in private: "Obama is just one of them 'uppity' niggers." These guys hated Tiger Woods. He stole their game.  They hated Michael Jordan.  He replaced their heroes. They hated Jackie Robinson.  He didn't let well enough alone.If they'd been on the planet that far back, they'd have hated Jim Thorpe.
Their numbers are legion on wall street. In the back rooms of the Republican party. You see that everywhere.  They want Obama to fail, and they'll bring down the economy and even the country to accomplish that.
I doubt if anyone born after 1947 believes me.  But brothers and sisters, I know what I'm taking about.
Our president made a brilliant and spirited speech about Race in Philadelphia in the campaign. He needs to bring it up to date.
Much has happened since the election to underscore the latent hatred in America. It's only the minority that still honors Jim Crow.  The trouble is, it's a minority that sits in the seats of power in government, in business, in wall street.  These guys gotta be called out, and our president is just the guy to do it.