Question of the Day

Is gold a commodity or a currency?

Stephen

Bits & Pieces

I recently mentioned to Sweet Wife I needed a haircut. It was either slice it off or find a ponytail holder. I checked and my last cut was just prior to Independence Day. She agreed.

Today it took place.

After the hair trim we drove over to a new place, Freshfield Farms. They trade in fresh locally grown  produce and meats. Most organic, or so they claim. The place was cold, meat locker cold. We'd barely stepped inside the store when Sweet Wife said, "Let's go."

I quickly grabbed a nice slab of pork short ribs, a few bell peppers, and a bunch of tiny sweet bananas before she ran for the parking lot. The girl hates cold.

Back at the house, after we stepped inside, she snapped the above picture of my new hairline. She's proud of the fact my neck is again visible. She cut my hair. The lady has talent.

*****

The gumbo simmers. Took me an hour to build the sucker. Butchered the squirrels and browned 'em in bacon drippings. She slipped alongside as I stirred the rue and said she was pretty sure she'd found a piece of squirrel hair on one of the finished pieces. Told her not to worry, squirrel hair tasted fine fried. Gives flavor to the finished product.

Prior to our marriage the poor girl had never eaten wild game. Her family hunts at Publix and Winn-Dixie.

*****

Early tomorrow morning I need to climb on the roof and give it a good cleaning. The winds have made a mess of the house and yard. Then I'll give the yard a quick cut, blow clean the walkway and drive ....should only take most of the morning if I get started prior to sunrise. If the day leaves me free a few hours I'll drive to work and open the shop. After all, I've democrats to support through my continued payments into the friggin tax system. Six day work weeks are the norm around here.

If you believe this governments line of bullcrap about an improvement in the economy you've got your head stuck in a ditch. Sure, maybe in scattered patches of New England or Bumtussel, Alabama - but not here. On my five mile drive to work I'm able to count several hundred closed businesses, more 'for rent' or 'for sale' or 'lease to own' signs than angels in Heaven.

Here in my neighborhood there is a house but one from mine. Its on a nice piece of riverfront with a boat dock and small guest house. Its been on the market for three years. The price for this nice home has dropped from one point two million to a take it away price of (if my memory serves) four hundred thousand. God bless America.

Strange, but I've yet to meet anyone willing to admit they voted for Obama. Or, at least now....

Stephen

It's The Little Things

"Papa."
"What, Sweetheart."

We're in a local eatery for a slice of pie.

"Do you remember when we went to the flea market?"
"Yes I do, Honey, why?" Silence. The waitress tops off my ice tea. A thunderstorm is hammering our world.

She takes another bite, then, "You 'member you told me nothing in life is free."
Uh-oh. She has those big brown eyes locked on my face. The same eyes that melt my heart anytime she glaces my way.

"I do remember, Little Bit." More silence as she works on the pie and takes an occasional sip of  her root beer, her drink of choice.
The rain is heavy, it's warm in here.

"Papa."
"Yes, Honey."
"You 'member that nice old man that gave me those two little dolls?"
I know she has me.
"Yes, Papa remembers."

Silence. My coconut cream pie remains as is, half eaten.
"Papa?" I wait for a second then respond, "What is it, Honey."

"Papa, did that old man make you give him 'monies?"

I know where this is going. But it's fun as she blocks me into the corner.

"No, Little Bit, he didn't ask Papa to give him money."

Silence. The rain is steady pounding, the waitress moves between tables; a slow steady shuffle and you know she's weary and resolve to leave a nice tip.
Little Bit has her head down working over her slice of pie, then slowly lifts her sweet face.

Then, "Papa."
"Yes, Sweetheart."
"Then I guess some things in life are free, huh."  Like that.

Women.