Oscar the Grouch and the Old Fart Collide

What a difference a day makes. Twenty-four little hours. And no, i don’t care what you say, this is Dinah Washington’s song.

And today there was a difference.

Last week, i caught the announcement Temecula Creek Inn, among other golf courses in Riverside County, was open for play. i told my buddy Pete Toennies, thinking the two of us might drive up (an hour’s drive northeast of here) and check it out. i didn’t think our wives would want to drive up and back in a day with 18 holes sandwiched in between.

Well, i don’t know whether they are golf fanatics, love being with their husbands on a day long trip ( i really don’t think so), or just wanted to go SOMEWHERE, but they not only glomped onto the idea, Nancy Toennies made the tee time.

We went. Weather was nice but hot. Temecula is desert but has become a mecca for ultra commuters and grown from horse ranches, sod farms, and  hot dirt, into this mega wanna be a big city with all of the strip malls and franchise stores you can cram into a country town with lots of heat added. Still, they built several nice golf courses and it is on the way to Palm Springs, Palm Desert, La Quinta, Indian Wells, Indio, etc., so i’m okay with that.

And we played. A polite description of our games would be sporadic. i’m used to that.

But we were out. Safe, distant, following the rules — Do you how incredibly hot those masks are in dry eighty degree weather? But it felt free.

Funny thing is i really haven’t minded this hunkering down at all, but just driving seventy miles and back felt like freedom, release.

This lovely reprieve from the dungeon was preceded  by some pretty dark thoughts last night. Well, maybe not dark. Just sort of wake up in the middle of the night and think that’s what i want to say kind of thoughts.

Actually, they weren’t dark at all because i was accepting having so many diverse friends. i thank you all:

there is, in my old age,
a curse upon me
and
i spit in its face
in spite of
involuntarily allowing the curse
to invade me occasionally;
yet
i spit in its face
even while
i see dumb shit
all over the place,
large scale, small scale
dumb shit
folks refusing to think beyond
their noses
believing they are the supreme knowledge
of the world
because
someone told them to think that way
to make them better
and
make the ones that told them
rich and powerful and loved
and
full of bullshit;
and so
they go on believing
their form of politics,
their form of religion
their form of living
is the right and only way
so
we should eradicate all the others,
which, of course, is
bullshit,
and
for god’s sake
(and i mean that universally),
they believe they are pure
and
do not see
the manipulation
of the power brokers
who call it good and pure and right
but
when the layers are peeled back
good and pure and right
are only a disguise for
hate and then fear,
and
they really aren’t for something at all;
they are against whatever they believe is against them,
but
i spit in the face
of my curse
and
refuse to don the layers of hate and fear
covered by against
as i am only against the against,
not the againsters
because they are good folks
who don’t look below the layers
and
they are my friends
for whom i’m not against.;
wipe that spit from your face,
my curse.

 

1 thought on “Oscar the Grouch and the Old Fart Collide

  1. I am reading your book of poems. I am enjoying it very much. I read some of my favorites to my friend as we drove to the bank in Metro Center. She liked GIT and also The Rain.

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