Feb. 9, 2017
Me thinks I have figured out why I don't write more here.
1. I never get feedback. I write to myself? Sometimes my daughter Laura makes a comment to me - she is always nice about it.
2A. When I finally croak, what happens to the blog and the previous writing? I read in yesterday's paper that the odds are 1 in 2 billion of living to 116 years old. That's not in the cards I rather think.
2B. Originally, I mused - thought - pondered - that I was writing to my grand girls and their children so they would know their grandfather (and grandmother). Now, I believe that is not the way it will work. I croak. The blog goes unseen; nobody ever visits it. The money doesn't get paid to continue it. Poof. Magic. Zipper. All gone. Memories cease.
3. I am writing this to myself right now. My opinions don't really matter, especially if your opinion is different from mine. I am not going to persuade anyone to take my suggested pathway. Why should you?
4. My little Sadie is on the back porch right now in 50 degree weather barking to come back into the house. She turned one year old a couple of weeks ago. Her voice is heard. Her voice is being ignored. I shall pause to let her in. She's a good girl - a bit of a she-devil, yes. But, her voice needs to be heard when she thinks it is important.
5. I let her in. I asked Oscar if he'd like to come inside to the warm too. He looked at me; he looked over his shoulder and saw a squirrel. He ran after the critter with Sadie bounding after - following his lead. You see, while her voice needed to be heard, she only says a few things.
"In," "Out," "Eat," "Oooo another dog," "Ball," "Gotcha," "Bye-Bye," "Who me?" "Cookie," "Chew stick," "Pit," and/or "SQUIRREL!!!" Most of her words sound the same.
6. A local banker was featured in the our newspaper last week. He has written a book about his life in banking and growing up in small town Oklahoma. He recites that the book was written for his grandchildren's grandchildren.
This guy gets it - or being FRUM Ok-lee-homa, he GITS it. A blog doesn't do the work. It cannot do the work. He has a website I think called something banker dot com.
7. What to do? I would like to be remembered by someone.
8, I could print all of my blugs and bound them with future unwritten bluggys. I could pass that on to a grand child - maybe print hundreds of copies bound in bright blue leather. Sell them on Amazon.
9. Ask yourself this - unless you are one of the few special folks - what did your great great great grandfather do? How did he live? From where did he come? There must have been a wife and children? HERE'S THE GOOD ONE: did he own slaves? was he a slave or indentured servant? did he rob banks? did he burn witches in Salem? was he in the Civil War - or better, did he fight with Napolean? did he pal around with John Wilkes Booth? So many questions and no answers.
10. I can tell you right now, he did not write a blog, nor did he print out hundreds of copies of his autobiography encased in a beautiful bright blue leather binding.
11. Reading this week in the February copy of National Geographic, there is a lengthy article on booze and its beginnings. They can take it back 8,000 years B.C. and find residue of beer.
If there are 3 generations of people per every 100 years (hypothetically) and you go back 8,000 years, you had a grandfather drinking beer from a gourd.
12. 3 times 8,000 is 24,000 grandfathers who have come since then (many drinking beer) in order for you to pop Miller Light - I don't drink, so I have a slight problem relating to this. They did not have diet Coke 8,000 years ago I would surmise.
Now I could sit here and type in the word "grand" for you 24,000 times. No, I won't.
grand, grand, grand, grand, grand, grand, grand, grand, grand, grand, grand, grand, grand, grand, grand, grand, grand, grand, grand, grand, grand, grand, grand, grand, grand, grand, grand, grand, grand, grand, grand, grand, grand, grand, grand, grand, grand grandfather...
Isn't Copy/Paste wonderful.
It boggles the mind. Your and my grandparents survived all those years, climbing down from the trees in Africa, moving across the middle East, journeyed across Europe - unless of course they turned and went to China or Australia or the good ole USA. ALL THESE YEARS. And I sit here writing a blog for my own grand children that never will be read.
13. No I am not depressed. I am hungry. It is almost noon. I have done my part to regurgitate the human race for future beer drinkers. My process of thinking will figure out what to do for my grandgirls. Perhaps, you have a suggestion.
14. Had to write a #14; couldn't stop on unlucky #13. My boys Oscar and Bruno turned 8 years old yesterday. I cut up a bit of smoked meat for them (and the other 3). We howled "Happy Birthday To You" as the meat disappeared. It should reappear in the Pit today. It was a GRAND" time and nobody worried about tomorrow.
See ya guys,
A "STONE" is a family word for a personal story or thought, not quite an essay or short story. We moved to central Texas to be near a daughter. We are down to only one wirehair dachshund - Sadie. (Goodbye in 2021 to Oscar the ball boy and Bruno the larger twin) & my wife -- penned by a retired Texas H.S. band director - just nonsense thoughts unrelated to each other or anything other than what's happening and comments.
Thursday, February 9, 2017
grand grand grand reasoning
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