Sunday thoughts….

Uh huh, Mickey D’s, fitty-four cent SMALL Senior coffee.. Sausage-egg-n-cheese biscuit (please don’t tell ‘em at work, I’m still in the Biggest Loser contest… weigh in July 31st, $200 on the line… sorry, was hungry.)

Sunday paper: local school district (public) mandating school uniforms. K. Some certain kinda pants for boys (“worn up to the waste”, ie, no ‘saggers’) and for the girls, certain kinda skirt (“must be fingertip in length”)… Now I don’t know how long your damn hands are, but mine ain’t very long. I opened my hand, looked at it, and thought “that don’t make for a very long skirt at’all.” I’m so old, I remember the Principal in our High School making gals stop, get on their knees, and if the dress didn’t hit the ground - they were sent home. The times, they are’a changin‘.

Field of Dreams. Costner, fitty-three, living on country acreage with wifey, thirty-three, and newborn kid. I guess they built it, he came, and the dude will be 74 when he shares the first legal drink with his kid. All kindsa thoughts ran through my head. Stupidity. Then perhaps envy. Then “Cool”. And finally “Eh, why not?” Is this heaven? No, it’s Iowa.

Gotta ‘chain’ email thingy yesterday. Onea the messages was “If you were dying and you could only make one phone call, who would you call?” Kinda heavy. Next line was, “what’s keeping you from making that call.” Good point. Another “stop - hey - what’s that sound, every body look what’s goin’ round.” Life.. Life is goin’ round. The hustle, the bustle, the race to make it to the next payday. The blinders. The ‘have to’s.’ Occasionally stop that merry go ‘round. And remember life, whoop there it is.

Fans. I’m a fan of fans. They're hella less than AC, and they feel good. A sleeping wonder - I have one trained on me each night to sleep. Back in the day, all the fans usedta be dangerous sharp metal thingys. My Uncle Don would always draw scorn from his wifey - as he had this penchant to stick his thumb into every sharp metal catcher’s mask looking fan thingy and have the fan make this hideous noise when his thumb hit it. Shock value. I too though, remember the day he did it and this particular fan ran counterclockwise. Pretty sure that’s the day Uncle Don stopped his fun habit.

Figgy. Figaro. The cross-eyed cat that bumps into wall and keeps going like the Eveready bunny. (Long ago, I’d quit a job on principle.. “not you Victor, surely not you”.. KMA. Mowed grass at a golf course. [close your ears.. I enjoyed that job.] Anyways, the momma cat of the golf course - made the rounds daily around holes 5 thru 8. Preggo. Litter. Seven of them kitties. We golf crew mower-people whittled it down to two - finding homes for five.

Figgie and another precious kitten left. I thought I’d found a home for one of them - but the lady wanted a picture before she would agree to take the cat. So, I found a small tree, placed Figgy and his brother up in it, snapped some photo’s - went to get them developed. Next morning, Fig’s brother met his death accidentally as a riding mower backed over him. Shit. I thought to myself “all kitten’s are cute as hell, why did that “B” need a picture to see if “good enough for me?”.. Therein lies the path of Figgy finding his way to our home.

Figgy now sleeps atop my dresser - which is right next to my bed. I have two wonderful new fans, expensive - and they’re the kind that’ll still be running years from now when Costner shares the drink with his 21 yr old kid. And then I have one fan that’s used and abused. It ‘was’ a floor fan, prolly 4 feet tall. Now, thanks to a probable wrestling match (or somethinginthehell Maynard did)- it has no base, and also no cover to keep one from accidentally “Uncle Don’ing” the plastic fan blade.

Somehow, each of the two fine, fine fans have made their way into Maynard’s room - and Big Daddy is stuck with the used and abused fan. Damn him. I prop it into the dresser drawer - point it at me - and snooze the night away. Another little “checkenginelight” account of my life.

Woke up this morning, breeze of the fan still on me - and the Fig, laying on toppa the dresser, head dangled over the edge - looking cute as hell. So - hand just hadta pet the little dude - and of course he gives the accompanying satisfied “meow”… then, he stands to stretch.. A humanlike kinda thing for the morning.. His paw slides off the dresser. And uh huh, he accidentally “Uncle Don’ed” the fan blade. Hehe. U seen on America’s Funniest Videos when cats spring straight up from all fours. Was kinda like that. I’m sure he was thinking to himself in cat lingo “the hell was that?” Mebbe you’da had to been there, I dunno.

So that’s me, my day. Short skirts, lucky Costner, my buddy Figgy - fans of all. If you get a moment, call me. Make that call. 867-5309. Tell me how your day is. Please remember to stop and smell the roses. Adopt a pet. And purchase fans that run clockwise.

The one constant through all the years, Ray, has been baseball. America has rolled by like an army of steamrollers. It's been erased like a blackboard, rebuilt, and erased again. But baseball has marked the time. This field, this game, is a part of our past, Ray. It reminds us of all that once was good, and that could be again. Oh people will come, Ray. People will most definitely come.

Tonight, 5 & 6pm games. I've decided to not fret about batting average. It's the thrill of everything around and involved. Baseball (or "plastic blade" softball for us old men) is like life. Teaches. Appreciate the surroundings. I do, I will, I am. Thanks for the lessons Costner, Terrance, Uncle Don, Figgy, KC Star.

Heaven on earth. Love, Victurd.