i heard him talking underneath the maple tree in our side yard;
i could not understand what he was saying,
nor to whom he was talking
but
i could hear him
and
wondered why.
i mean, why would someone even be in our side yard under the maple tree
talking to someone
in the late afternoon
toward dusk?
there was no drama in his voice, no humor, no anger, no angst;
from the sound of him:
it seemed to be a droll monotone to whomever he was addressing
and
why do i assume it was a woman?
and
why are they in our side yard under our maple tree? at dusk?
i wondered if i should go out to the side yard
and
introduce myself
to see what was going on.
would it be dangerous?
who was this man talking to someone under the maple tree in our side yard?
i turned on the television to the Five O’Clock News,
the only one we could receive in our small Tennessee town.
NBC, John Cameron Swayze, the clock that keeps on ticking,
but
i kept thinking
why would someone be in our side yard underneath the maple tree
talking to someone else?
his talk had turned to quiet murmurs;
i did not know why.
maybe i should go out
and
ask why he was talking to someone underneath the maple tree in our side yard?
if that worried, i queried myself, perhaps i should take my gun,
a snub-nosed version of the 44-magnum,
the same Harry Callahan used to wipe out many bad guys,
just in case, just in case;
but
as John Cameron Swayze droned on with the evening news and Timex resisting failure in spite of being tied to a 75-horsepower boat engine propeller,
the voice underneath the maple tree in our side yard
began to fade;
i was no longer sure he was underneath our maple tree in our side yard;
he, probably the two of them, were moving away;
i could no longer hear
his voice underneath our maple tree in our side yard,
and
i wondered why?
All posts by Jim
Young’s Rule of Argument
They can’t agree with you if you don’t agree with them.
Family Sense of Humor
My parents took my two widowed aunts on a trip around the country in the late 80’s, sort of a bucket list of places my parents had been on their many RV trips. The trip is legendary for a family trip. One of the stops was at Mount Rushmore.
My Aunt Bettye Kate Hall sent me the below post card.
i think it represents the kind of humor both sides of my family loved:
mid watch on an open bridge
Oh, let me climb those ladders again,
machinery gray steel ladders,
to the pilot house with an open bridge,
the enclosed pilot house holding
the large helm for steering her by
and
the engine order telegraph for the lee helmsman
to send the orders to main control
for speeds and engine revolutions
and
at the center gyroscope repeater
just below the portholes
looking out on the forecastle
shine the flashlight’s red light
on the captain’s night orders,
signing them as if in blood
to relieve the officer of the deck,
announcing
i have the deck and the conn,
and
when the off-going watch has struck below,
walk out to that open bridge
to scan the horizon to determine
if there are any contacts about,
undetected by combat information center,
with the olive-green foul weather jacket
zipped to the top,
with the cover pulled down
to face the wind,
feel it biting into my cheeks,
smelling the salt and the sea,
awed by the millions of heavenly objects,
take a breath, a deep breath,
and
say to myself:
when you are feeling the wind
on a ship at sea
you are alive.
Sunday Thoughts
Well, it’s been a while and i need a good rant. So this is for marketeers and the PR experts, those folks who sell a product or cause to just about the entire world, or rather they try to do that.
Folks, i thought you might want to know you ain’t getting to me. In fact, your efforts to sell something nearly always has the reverse effect on me.
i’m sure this will make absolutely no impact on the marketing/PR folks as i am not statistically relevant. i find that very assuring, sort of like having a life and not being a number.
For example, Maureen and i enjoy watching professional golf. Some brilliant marketeer sold the golf media folks, “Playing Through” was a neat and new idea that would sell a lot of product. So while i’m watching golfers play golf, over half the screen becomes a commericial, complete with sound. The golf picture is then so small, i have no idea of what is happening on the course, the golf course. Well, i make a note of all the companies in the commercials and vow never to buy any of their products again.
* * *
And for all of you who must know more than me about selling prescription drugs. i hope you are getting to some docs because you are turning me off. i rely on my doctor to prescribe what i need (oh sorry, the insurance folks now want me to call him primary care). Since i had to have a VA primary care doc to make myself available for the VA services, i now have two. i know which one is my primary doc, but you see, civilians, the veteran administration, and Navy medical are not allowed to talk to each other so i have to double or triple up on my communication. i’m pretty sure it has something to do with money.
But back to these prescription ads. They generally make me nauseous, if not ill. And if you might actually make me think about your ad, that qualifying stuff — i’m sure included to avoid law suits from ambulance chasers — at the end of each commercial snuffs out any attraction your ad might have.
And every time when i see one of those commercials after i turn the sound to mute, i wonder how much money was added to the cost of the prescription.
And who the hell are these folks you have on your commerical…and how much are you paying them to push your product? i can’t imagine anyone afflicted with what your product will supposedly cure would actually try to get your product with all the bad things could happen you reveal at the end.
And once again, if i do have a choice in what prescription i will take it won’t be any i’ve seen or heard or read on these ads.
* * *
And i would be much happier, if all of you folks selling stuff, would just tell me about your product or service, not how bad all the others are, not making me laugh and think it will make me buy it. Or have beautiful people that have no resemblance to me to buy your ad. And i’m damn sure i’m not going to buy it if an admired athlete or movie star is pushing it.
Once upon a time i was a a business development manager for a military contractor. A former employee who had been in my position asked a friend and fellow employee if we were “still selling smoke.” Sadly the answer was yes.
And it seems nearly every product or service is selling smoke. i guess those statistics these folks use in which i’m not relevant it sells their products. Not to me. Sorry. Oh, i enjoy some of the commercials when i fail to mute them or fail to record the program and fast forward through things that make all the sports i watch at least an hour longer than they should be. Some are funny. Some are touching. Some are interesting. But i ain’t buying. Sorry.
Now if you want to add a little box at the bottom of the screen that tells me you are the sponsor and what product or service you have and an objective point as to what it is, and let me watch whatever i’m watching, or listening, or in the case of the internet, reading, then you might have a chance with me.
But i know. i know that isn’t going to happen.
It is sometimes really enjoyable being a grumpy old ranting man who is irrelevant.