The Old Age Rag

It started this afternoon. SWMBO was taking a nap and I was paying a handful of bills. I had a couple of life insurance payments due. (Sidebar: I first got these two policies, relatively small ones, when I was about 18. My dad bought them for me because he thought it was important for me to have them. I've been paying on them for . . oh, man, almost 50 years now. As I was writing another check, I thought of how much money the company had received from me over the years and of how little my heirs are going to get out of it. But . . that's another story.)

Anyway, I was paying my bills chronologically according to when they were due. When I wrote out the check for the second insurance payment and put it in an envelope, I suddenly realized I couldn't find the envelope and payment for the first payment. I began looking all over. I went through a large trash basket several times. I went through my receipts file at least 4 or 5 times. Finally, SWMBO woke up and came in and I said "I have a mystery for you to solve."

So she went through the trash basket. I went through the receipts file again. I looked under my computer monitor, under the CPU, under my printer, under my bed, all around the desk on the floor. I had previously . . . because I was also doing my weekly chore of cleaning out the cat pans and refilling them . . . been through the entire house and garage, tracing my tracks. I even went out into the back yard and took a look around. I went out to the mailbox to see if I had taken the envelope out there.

Nothing.

Somewhere late in here I shouted "There's another one missing." The check for the company who picks up our trash also is missing. This caused yet another search of, now, all the old familiar places.

SWMBO finally gave up and said "Just write another couple of checks, put them in an envelope and mail them."

"But", I said, "what if I end up paying them twice?"

"You won't", she said, "the 'lost' ones will eventually turn up."

After a few more rounds of the house, I succumbed to this logic. I was in the closet, getting a couple of envelopes out and looking once again in the drawer where I keep the stamps . . thinking that I might have laid the envelopes in there . . when it came to me.

I had written these two checks out earlier this morning and mailed them.

Oh, shit.

I have a birthday coming up in less than a month.

And . . . this is a symptom of old age.

Shit.

One noisy bird

There's a large tree in our neighbor's yard and birds of all kinds (as well as the occasional hunting cat) inhabit it from season to season. This morning it was one of my favorites - a Texas grackle. They are raucous but the variety of calls they make is amazing. I think they are even more vocal than our mockingbirds, though the mockingbirds are usually more gentle in their vocalizations.

I sat outside and listened to the grackle this morning and wished I could have put some of his calls on this blog for you all to hear. At several points, there were sounds that appeared to be from him flapping his wings. SWMBO says he must be courting.

You can read more about grackles here.

Spring and yardwork!

As I have noted, spring is here. That always brings joy to my heart.

Except when I realize what that means.

Yes, it means warmer temperatures and beautiful blue sky days.

But . . . it also means . . . . . . . yardwork!

Now, normally, I shuffle most of this off onto SWMBO and the BRD. But the BRD has been busy and SWMBO has been having a problem with a wrist she broke many years ago so . . .

That leaves me.

First job, doing some pruning on our mimosa tree.

Now, I must admit that SWMBO did the original cuts but then called on me to get some of the higher branches.

Incidentally, that tree behind the mimosa is a Globe Willow.

It always buds up and greens out about a month before the mimosa, which has caused me to refer every year to the latter as "The Dead Stick." I threaten every year to just cut it down because it is obviously dead and a blight on my landscape. I bet if Meggie's GOM was here we could get the job done before the girls would notice.

But, to continue, next on my item of hacking and slashing was what SWMBO calls the Fountain Grass. I should have photographed it before I starting cutting because I thought it looked quite nice, tawny in the sun with curling fronds. But SWMBO said fresh green growth was starting to show so it needed a haircut. Here's what's left (poor thing.)

SWMBO thinks this should be shorter so I guess I'll be back out there.

BTW, while out laboring in the balmy sun today, I noticed the mailman coming.

Remember when mail jeeps were red, white and blue? Well, take a look at this one:

The driver says the color change is because the Postal Department doesn't own the jeeps now. He's a contract worker and says when he bought the jeep he wanted something that would stand out. As I told him, I don't think there's much danger of anyone hitting him by accident.

Spring is here!

Oh, yes. Spring is here! 70 degrees in our parts yesterday and already 62 at 11:15 this morning.

Spring!

Is President George W. Bush insane?


I keep wondering about this.

Recently, he spoke to some of his warriors in Afghanistan. He said, approximately, -If I'd been younger and didn't have a job here, I'd like to be over there. It must be romantic to be part of a new adventure in democracy.

This from a man who dodged the Vietnam War and did not live up to his responsibilities as a member of the National Guard. The President is addressing people who are dying for his adventure. Granted, the Afghanistan war is at least more reasonable than the one in Iraq. But, what is this man thinking?

What is he thinking when he is doing his soft shoe shuffle in front of the White House?

What is he thinking when he cracks jokes and tells financial people that the economy is strong and he's optimistic about the country?

What

Is

He

Thinking?

What can I say?

It's a fine green day

Well, now. I had forgotten that today is Saint Patrick's Day until some friends sent me an e-card, noting that on March 17th . . everyone is Irish.

I was particularly pleased because the automated card culminated in a big pint of Guiness Stout.

Once upon a time, back in another city, when I was working for a radio station, I went to a true Irish pub on Saint Patrick's Day. The owners had removed every stick of furniture from the pub and covered the floor with thick rubber matting. They posted a policeman at the door so that once the pub reached its posted maximum occupancy no one could enter until someone left.

And the Guiness began to flow.

I was calling my radio station throughout the afternoon and doing live reports on the activities from the pub. Of course, I had to indulge in a wee drop of the brew. Every once in awhile. As the afternoon wore on, my reports became . . . . more fluid. I'd like to tell you how it all ended but for some strange reason, I can't remember. So I'll just leave you with this final thought:

One correction for true lovers of that dark Irish stout. The correct brand name is Guinness. I lost an "n" somewhere in that mad crowd back years ago.