If I were Johnny Cash I’d be dead now and you’d wonder if I was a real ghost…writer.
Or maybe you’d ask me to tell you about that one time with June and I’d say that is between her and me or is it her and I.
Not that it matters because I am not Johnny Cash, especially after the dental bills for myself and the family.
Apparently it has become cool for me to fund vacations, cars and home renovations for the dentist. Excuse me while I take a minute floss and brush…again.
What Is Meant To Be
It is one hundred and fucking five or something like that with the heat index and I am walking outside for business purposes when the man next to me asks if I always sweat like this.
“Only during tantric sex, cougar hunts and fraternity parties.”
It is a ridiculous response and I can’t tell you where it came from but then again I can’t tell you where many of my stories come from.
They magically appear inside my head and sometimes I share them with you or others.
“How many cougars have you caught?”
Sometimes I forget how many hunters I interact with but I don’t miss a beat and say several.
“When did you start hunting them?”
“Somewhere around 2003 or so, but truth is that is hard to say. Sometimes you think you are hunting the cougar not realizing that she is already hunting you.”
“That is why you need to be careful, show them who is boss.”
It is a ridiculous remark to me, but I don’t tell him that. Instead I feed him another ridiculous remark, “I only let them think they are the boss.”
Somewhere in between nonsense and foolishness I can almost feel my dad shaking his head at me because this would be a waste of time to him but I just don’t care.
“What is the biggest one you caught?”
“About 5’7, 120 pounds or so. Slippery little devil, got away from me.”
“Dude, I hope you didn’t let a wounded cougar wander off. That is bad hunting and mean.”
“It wasn’t intentional. It just happened but I figured it’d make for a Moby Dick like story, call me Ishmael.”
“Don’t you mean Ahab?”
“No, Moby Dick killed Ahab and I am not ready to die.”
My baby starts 10th grade tomorrow. A few hours ago she told me 15 sounded weird because it means she is half way to 30 and I told her it is ok to slow down.
I am not ready to be 65, hell I am barely used to being 50.
That reminds me a couple of you readers are going to turn 52 soon, not that it matters. 😉
Anyhoo, baby girl was born two days after dad had a triple bypass. I remember speaking to him shortly after he woke from surgery and him telling me he felt like a buffalo sat on his chest.
I remember getting a round of phone calls from family and friends telling me not to worry about anything because what was meant to be would be.
Sometimes that sounds good to me and sometimes it is the fastest way to make me wonder if you always settle for the simplest way to explain things that don’t make sense.
Sometimes I respond differently than both of those ways…sometimes.
Been told by more than a few people that patriots don’t kneel during the national anthem, lampoon the president or do anything that might embarrass the country.
Every time I hear/read/see those things I immediately think of those people as fake patriots who in their hurry to prove they’re patriotism fail to see how their actions contradict and demean those who fought for our rights to free expression.
If our country can’t withstand simple criticism than maybe we are not as special as we like to claim.
Too easy to wrap the flag around ourselves while claiming the moral high ground while simultaneously pretending that we do no wrong.
Heaven forbid we don’t have the ability to murder hundreds in seconds because criminals don’t obey laws.
Don’t you dare talk about other ways of doing things because we’ll use scare tactics to set you straight and if you argue we’ll call you a socialist even though we don’t know what that means without asking Mama Siri or Google.
A few of these very fine people tell me they expect things won’t change without another civil war.
When I ask them what role they expect Generalissimo Trump to play they say I should recognize it is not his responsibility to try and lead people to compromise.
Occasionally I ask if they have read the Constitution or spent any time thinking for themselves…Probably not the best way to win hearts and minds.
Praise be and pass the ammunition.
There are too many papers on the table and in spite of my best efforts to fight the clutter around me I seem to be losing the battle.
I took a bunch of my father’s shirts, cologne and some assorted odds and ends from LA to Texas.
Sometimes I dab a bit of his cologne on my face and for a moment I can smell him. Since my hands are almost mirror images of his I can look at the keyboard and see him working.
Having been around some of his haunts in LA and visited places I know he likes here I am thinking about heading off to Chicago.
Not sure how soon I’ll make it there, but I have some places to visit again.
Somewhere in the back of my head I hear him speaking about how many times he moved and how unattached he was most to most possessions.
The older I get the better I relate and understand some of that.
I could probably get rid of most of what I have and not be overly alarmed or concerned. Very little is of true importance.
If I were Johnny Cash…