Tag Archives: food

People’s Edition

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“Did you try the the Curler burger?”

“Sure did.”

“Well, I’m originally from Illinois but my wife here is from South Carolina. Her daddy invented the Curler burger. He had an outdoor stand not far from the factory…I moved there because my company relocated me…anyway, he…”

“Excuse me. Do y’all want more to drink?”

“Yes, please.”

“Y’all want a cup to go?”

“Ya think she wants us to leave? It’s 1:45, fifteen minutes after closing.”

“No! Y’all stay as long as you want.”

“Just fill up my cup. I’ll sit here and drink it before we go.”

“About your father in-law?”

“The Curler burger was so popular, he always had a long line, ten to twenty deep, of people waitin’ to get one, even though they could’a eaten somewhere else closer to the factory. He finally opened up an inside place but it wasn’t nearly so popular.”

“Some people like to eat outdoors…”

“Like on a day like this?”

“So how did you all meet?”

“I worked at a plant for a soybean company, Continental Green…you ever heard of ’em?”

“No.”

“They were pretty big in mid-Illinois back then. Well, they relocated me to a new plant in South Carolina. That’s where I met her. Then I was relocated to Alabama and we retired here. She runs this place and has the Curler burger in memory of her father.”

“My husband was quite the catch.”

“I was a plant manager.”

“She’s still got that South Carolina lady’s charm.”

“Why, thank you, honey. The stories I could tell you…”

“We aren’t in a hurry if you’re not.”

“For starters, you know what’s the matter with today’s economy?”

“No.”

“You don’t? Well, I wish you did, ’cause here’s what I’d do…”

Just then, a fugitive from the law, Janous the Giant, walked in and shot up the place, taking a Curler burger with her on the way out as she emptied the cash register out of habit.

Signature

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Dots of white light reflect off domed water spotting tree leaves.

The hum of a heat pump and flapping of paper pinned to the wall indicate warm air flowing through ducted channels under the floor.

A minimalist going with the flow, following the past of least resistance for the simple pleasure of enjoying one’s thoughts.

A pair of thoughts – one’s carbon footprint and annual crop hectare usage – vie for attention.

Solar evacuated tubes give one a desire for relatively cheap “off the grid” independence, DIY, if necessary.

Then all one needs is a reliable source of water and food to claim freedom from social needs.

If that’s what one wants.

Economies of scale ignored for the fact of inexpensive, low disaster-prone land areas on which to live in many places around the world.

Quality of life more important than quantity/length of life.

Segue.

Having never received nor asked permission to live, one moves forward inch-by-inch, seeking balance in every moment rather than promising oneself there will always be a future moment to reconcile one’s brash actions in more youthful days.

Sad, but not depressed.

Begin.

Translating a blog into 16 languages not desired today.

Nobody knows who I am because I do not exist.

Free from agenda, one is and is not, free to stare at the woods with no movement except reaching to drink a cup of tea occasionally.

Purposeless.

Thoughtless.

Happy, but not exhilarated.

Almost absent of emotion altogether.

The perfect state.

Neither chased nor chasing, neither hurried nor held back.

Serenaded by a mechanical hum on a sunny day.

aum…zzz…amen

Your True Colours Come Shining Through

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A word of thanks to those who provide the backbone of civil society – safety/peace officers, firefighters, petrol/gas/power/water/sewer/phone/road/refuse utility workers, postal/delivery employees, hospital/first aid crews – and in emergencies, the many volunteers who go above and beyond their comfort zones to aid those in need.

Crises are part of everyday life and we respond the best way we can.

My wife and I saw that yesterday when we stopped at the local baseball stadium named after a former mayor, Joe Davis, where local restaurants had donated food being cooked free for the community, with donations taken up for a local charity; Gigi’s Cupcakes handed out free samples for a donation to the Red Cross; and many stores operated with a full complement of employees on-hand to provide them an income during tough economic conditions.

Speaking of which, in the George W. Bush and now the Obama presidential years, as millions of jobs have been added to the employment roster, are we in the U.S. truly seeing not only a loss of “good” jobs to low-wage countries/regions, but a dragging down of the living wage for the majority of Americans?

In other words, as an investor, if I want to maximise my profits, would it make sense for me to invest in a company employing workers who are offered no benefits other than an hourly wage?

I’m putting aside social responsibility at this point and looking solely at the benefits I derive from living with people around me who, for no one reason, are happy to find any job offered to them rather than create their own companies/legal business entities, or manage an investment portfolio that works for them.

While Obama and Trump and all the other political pundits jab each other jovially in hopes of getting the attention of potential voters in the 2012 U.S. legislative/executive election (as well as increase advertising revenue which hopefully translates into higher earnings for entertainers and the producers/agents they work for), I wonder about the truth.

What types of aircraft and from whom is India buying them?

While the rich get richer in an easy-to-make-money global economy, what value is rhetoric?

Is there such a thing as a safe investment?

If the U.S. government lives primarily off the backs of workers whose living wage is less than livable, what about those who live off the U.S. government – are we on an upward or downward spiral?

As long as other governments and NGOs rely on the U.S. as the world’s nonimperialistic police/military force, we’ll be okay?

And after it’s no longer okay, then what?

Questions, questions, questions…

My service to the community is small – while regularly paying taxes via sales, investments or income (except in cases like Amazon.com online purchases, it seems – a good reason to buy locally), and donating to charities I and/or my wife deem worthy, I recently gave platelets to the Red Cross via apheresis on Tuesday.  Is it time to give whole blood again or schedule another apheresis appointment?

This is the only moment I have in which to live.  How I choose to live it with you is in the guise of a regular guy – the Wandering Wonderer, the Invisible Hermit – doing my part to help us live together in relative peace and quiet…the loud 7250 watt generator in the driveway notwithstanding (thanks to City Lumber).

A final thanks to Lowe’s, Huntsville Stars baseball team organisation, Little Paul’s BBQ, Publix, Mapco and Walmart for their service during the regional power outage.

Our prayers, positive thoughts and meditation to those in need and those serving them during the emergency crisis in this part of the North American continent; also to those in wartorn regions of the world; and the woman I saw who stopped on the side of the road to help a turtle get to the other side with the chicken that didn’t know why it was there.

Seeing the Sight of April during April sightseeing

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An elephant in a bull shop – that’s me.

Soliciting funds over the landline for the children’s canine teeth rehabilitation association of psychological dental health associates.

Between requests from the Committee and the MORTIE network, I barely have time to meditate on making my heart skip beats in order to vary the syncopated rhythm that body uses to record these words.

A thanks to Veronica at Hale Springs Inn’s McKinney Restaurant, James at the Acropolis Four Stars Grill and a Citgo petrol station.

I wonder about a white Ford E250 van with Georgia state/Gwinnett county tag BLU 8683 – why did its wheels/tires seem so wobbly?

Do you forward your landline phone to a mobile phone in order to track outside callers who think they can hide behind unknown/fake Caller IDs?

Time to rest my brain behind the flat screen that displays this blog to me.

My wife and I are emotionally drained, with more to go.

One of us needs to maintain a modded, modern modicum of sanity.

I’m glad you can’t see my correcting of bad typing today – otherwise, you might believe my wife is the sane one.

Of course, I know she is.

Congrats to our flower girl (25 years ago), Rachel, for her fifth child getting baptised by sprinkling yesterday, as well as the young man who did, and the young people who made their public confession of faith in my wife’s hometown church.

Hard to believe Hannah’s little brother, Daniel Boyd, has grown into a church elder leading the Sacrament, and raises a little boy of his own now.

Silence today, listening to the echoes of extinct beasts prowling nearby primordial boreal forests.

Meditation, sleep – what’s the difference?

For one example, recent dreams have been a lot more vivid than recent meditative thoughts.

To be – that is the difference.

Why is Doonesbury endorsing Donald Trump for U.S. President? After all, we know the veil of satirical reverse psychology is a hidden means of promotion. Guess we know who Trudeau will vote for in 2012.

April, we want our egg bread in two weeks. Have we known you for three years now? How is it we grow old und you stay young like Stella?

Dragonflies and leafed-out trees call my name.

G’day, mates!

Up next: the April 1975 church newsletter of Rogersville Presbyterian Church…

Black Vulture Doing Time

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My sister and I can jump out of a perfectly good airplane flying thousands of feet above the ground but we can’t walk to the top of a rickety old fire tower.

Rhonda pines for the wolf that died of stress, she told us while feeding the deer, one which gored another to death, nature being what it is, even in locked pens.

Dinner at Amis Mill Eatery, served by Michelle, finished the day’s funnery.

Then back to my mother in-law’s house to spin a metal snake down the washing machine drain pipe to clear out a linty/muddy clog.

My sister almost stepped on a green snake as we hiked to the top of Bays Mountain and the radio tower trail turnaround.

A mother and daughter wore “Emory & Henry” T-shirts after they drove 30 minutes all the way from Virginia.

‘Tis fun to be ignorant touristy day hikers, chatting about life and photographing nature in spring.

Raspberry moonshine with the alcohol content “cooked” makes for safe and delicious dessert syrup, I’m told.

The planetarium show was great for kids, sparking my wife, sister and me to use iPad/Star Walk to look at the night sky in a field between the Amis Mill and my wife’s old home place.

My homemade/DIY daypack made of plastic bags and blue ribbon worked well today, reminding my sister to say there are a lot of homeless people in Asheville, NC. Heightwise, she stood on the Rock of Ages at Holston Presbytery Camp just fine this week.

As midnight approaches, I can say I’ll sleep well before rising for Easter service, sharing pews with regulars and C&E members.

G’nite, Anne Elizabeth. G’nite, Janeil Ann. Good night, John Boy. Good grief, my sore feet, which broke in a pair of Columbia hiking boots.

Thanks to everyone working at Bays Mountain Park and Planetarium, keepers of Kingsport’s precious jewel.

Thanks to David for the loan of an electric drill and Melinda for the offer of turkey, ham and dessert for lunch – sorry, my dear, but we didn’t get back until 9:30 p.m. tonight.

Time to get the clothes out of the dryer, fold/roll them and go to bed.

Today was a good day to die but glad I’m alive and well enough to talk about what happened.

Danger: Explosion Hazard. Do not use in the presence of flammable anesthetics!

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Riverfront Seafood Company.

Sitting by the Holston, upriver of I-26 bridge and Netherland Inn, first dinner with mon ami, my spouse, after two weeks of my mother in-law telling me the (her) end is near and baring her soul to someone before she dies.

In my final year of secondary school, a career aptitude test said I should be either a priest or a chemical engineer.

The latter career choice didn’t work out as planned.

And now I find myself receiving confession, unable to repeat the deepest spoken thoughts of my spouse’s mother because the living should be able to keep their innocent views of their beloved friend/family member while they’re alive, even after she’s gone.

A request to hunters:

If you pursue beings that mate for life, kill the pair and spare the one from a remaining life of loneliness.

In the small world department, our server, Leif, from Detroit, met his wife who was a bartender at Rush Street restaurant (where I worked 30 years ago while dating my wife) who served Leif a pint “shot” of Jagermeister the first time they met.

Although now separated, remaining friends, they share the love of their eight-year old who can read at the eighth-grade level.

Thanks to Heather at the Colonial Heights Dollar Tree and friendly folks at the automatic/express car wash next-door; Rebecca, Cindy, Martha, Melissa, Sharon Huff, Dr. (not Gate City mayor) Mark Jenkins and beauty shop hair stylists; Kingsport Fire Dept.; City of Bristol Rescue Squad; Betty Denny and her granddaughter Ashley (hope your dog’s inner ear infection clears up); Betty’s pastor at Marvin’s Chapel Methodist Church on Boone’s Creek Road; Spotless Car Cleaners; Rev. Robert White; Joerns Easy Care 2002 bed; LG LCD TV; Prevail adult care large washcloths; Jolene at MeadowView Eye, Ear, Nose & Throat Specialists for rushing the hearing aid repair; Rogersville BP petrol and full service shop; and whomever else I forgot.

Question to self: is it really the end for her, as physically healthy as she is?

Do I take her confessions to me with me to my grave?

When my wife is gone, I hope I won’t have long to live because I trust no one else alive with the totality of my spoken/written thoughts, not even you, dear blog, spread across the anonymous multilanguage word trails of the worldwide web.

Humour will go with me to my last breath, one final sarcastic sigh escaping my lips.

I like the line, “Journalism is not a profession but an art because anyone can do it,” but not everyone can do it well.

How many species understand loneliness?

I meant craft or craftiness, not art, in the quote above, didn’t I?

I did? [rofl]

If you sacrificed your dreams to have kids and you hoped your offspring fulfilled your dreams but didn’t, what else is there to look forward to but the afterlife you’ve been promised?

Judge not lest you begrudge.

Every journalist is a spy.

Every spy lies.

Therefore, does every journalist lie?

I retired in 2007 for this? I’m tired. Time to stop rambling.

Centering My Thoughts

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In/on a world of inter/inner fighting/competing species/states of energy sits a creature looking for a buffet of insects readily available in trimmed lawns interconnected in a suburban landscape.

Kelli smiles.

She serves a few customers in Pizza Hut on a sunny Thursday morning at the edge of town.

A Sysco food delivery truck passes by.

The old National Guard armory and recruiting center sits empty.

Land cleared for a shopping centre when times were good and plans for moneymaking schemes flowed like fool’s good out of city fathers’ minds grows weeds without profit in mind for insects, birds and wildflower watchers.

The local university extension campus attracts those who hunger for knowledge and better job prospects.

A mansion holds its aristocratic head high.

Kelli perspires while the billionaire Olsen twins appear on TV as time-rewound youngsters “acting” in a studio to resemble life in a full house.

Government authorised murder takes place around the world, the leaders denying and in denial.

Hyphenated hyena housesitters host herbal henna hen hosemakers happily hopping hats hissing hissy fits, fittingly fxed.

Suddenly, the Bob Newhart Show comes to mind, reminding one that two generations of sitcoms and one generation of Internet/web sensation videos have slipped under the bridge since this writer attended the UT/ETSU Kingsport extension center.

Time to wish Kelli well and pick up a repaired Siemens hearing aid with one-year warranty for 200 buckeroos.