The Prodigal Son Returns.

Oldest son, his fiance, and their dog, just returned to the Palmetto State from South Korea (they may not forgive me- well, the dog (in the yellow tote) will- for using this photo of the quite road-weary warriors at left). Davis had been gone for more than two years. It's great to see him. His sibs are happy to see him, too, but it's not difficult to pick up a subtle "what's the big deal?" vibe. Reminds me of a story: In the parable of the Prodigal Son , Jesus relates the story of an irresponsible kid who cashed out his inheritance, and went abroad,  leaving his brother to continue to tend to the family business. After wasting all the money on wild living, he found himself starving, and he returned  home. He expected to be rejected by his pop, but his dad was just glad to see him. No lectures; just a big celebration. Prodigal's brother was not pleased. He'd been responsible, hadn't he? Dad didn't throw him any party. He'd been working his tail off, and he railed about how unfair it all was. Pop tells him he appreciated all the good son did, but not to be so hard on his brother: he was lost, but now he's back home. The parable is widely cited as a tale of redemption and forgiveness of the wayward child, and of God's unexpected and unearned mercy toward each of us. We're all that child from time to time... but we're also the good son sometimes, aren't we? We can be jealous of unexpected, and unearned, mercy given to others. So, cheer for the Prodigal Son, but pray for his brother, too!

Some Days are Diamonds; Some Days are Rocks... or Stone... or Rust.

I got my car, Duke, a nice spot at the Coastal Electric Co-op annual meeting on Saturday. Ah, it's nice to have that "nose out" parking job, when you're the lead car in a stack of two! ...unless, of course, it turns out that you're the middle car- the ONLY middle car- in a single column of three. That, actually, kind of sucks.

Life's like that, though: some days are diamonds; some days are rocks.

Odds and Ends.

St. Jude's just had its bi-annual rummage sale this Saturday gone. Piles of stuff that meant, and may still mean, something to the folks that drop them off. But, as comedian Steven Wright once noted, "You can't have everything. Where would you put it?". True, that. So what do you do with the odds and ends in life? You can take them to the rummage sale, I suppose. Then someone else can stuff them in a kitchen drawer with the eye-glass repair kits and crazy glue. Maybe. Or maybe, you can sneak them back into your own junk drawer, then one day when you're looking, perhaps you can even find 'em again.

Losing Sleep.

'Noles lost to a bunch of thugs from Cincinnati. I only wish they'd played earlier, so I coulda got some sleep.

I Can See for Miles, and Miles...

As I sat in traffic at a dead stop for ages, a Who classic taunted me. You can sort of hear it on the video below:



As if.

Mr. Magoo.

One of the things about getting, you know, older that is not all that great is you don't see so well. I've had bifocals for about four years now, but I've only recently started to wear them. Trees, as it happens, have leaves. I knew this instinctively, of course, and I have memories of leaves; however, I've only recently been reacquainted with leaves on account of the glasses. No more Magoo for SuperDave.

Harry Potter, Ecclesiastes, and Mushrooms.

"There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens". I've quoted from Ecclesiastes before, and I probably will again. What's got me going on the circle of life this time is Harry Potter and mushrooms. Lady Di and I caught the last Harry Potter on Saturday night (I know, all the real Potter-philes caught it at the Thursday/Friday Midnight show, but I had to work). I loved it, as I knew I would; but I was sad, as I knew I would be. I've read all the books at least twice, and I've seen all the movies more than that (except the last one, which I'd only seen once), so I knew that it had to end and I knew how it would end.

Still, endings are are sad, even if, as Semisonic said a decade ago, "Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end".

Schadenfreude.

I'll admit it: sometimes I take pleasure in other peoples' misfortune. The German word for it is schadenfreude. I'm not proud of it, but I take some solace in knowing I have lots of company. Don't believe it? How do you explain the success of these guys? My most recent jolt of schadenfreude came this weekend on the Interstate. I was cruising down I-26, just loving life, when this high dollar black Lexus zipped in front of me, and sped into the distance. I've been known to exceed the legal speed limit on occasion; consequently, I do not always see the S.C.H.P. as my friends, but on this day I was rooting for the Troopers to catch this dude. About a half hour later, to my glee, I saw the Lexus pulled over by a County Sheriff's deputy. And balance in the universe was restored.

Pregnant Pause.

This has got to be a really tough month to be in the late stages of, you know, uh... Um, you know, when the stork is about to bring his surprise? Well, I guess it's not really that big a surprise. Anyway, Lady Di and I had popped in to the local unit of a large international super-center to pick up various and sundry items, and we noticed one of our fellow parishioners pushing an empty shopping cart and looking mildly agitated. She also appeared to be very nearly ready for a visit from said stork. The lady-for the purposes of this story, we'll call her Beth. This is convenient, because Beth is, in fact, her name- approach and Diane spoke to her. "Beth", Diane inquired, "What are you doing out and about this, uh, late?". After a few minutes of pleasant conversation, we got the gist of it: the stork is taking his own sweet time, and Beth was hoping that a walkabout would speed up the process. A walk was in order, but walking outside was not an option because it is really, really hot outside these days. This store is large enough for a good walk and, more importantly, it is air-conditioned. The empty shopping cart may well have been merely a prop, though we didn't broach the subject.

Trashed.

I walked Bo and Brady yesterday afternoon, as I do every afternoon, and I noted a preponderance of roadside litter. Sad, that. My brother, the Amazing AndyMan, used to make a point during his ultra-marathon jaunts of picking up some of the various and sundry lots of litter he encountered. On my unquestionably more leisurely lopes, I'll occasionally pick up bits of detritus, too. Every now and again I'll think of that crying Native-American from the anti-littering ad of the 1970's. Remember? Sure you do.

Dress for Success.

I love the Boro. Really, I do. It has a lot of neat people. It is pretty. And a surprising number of amenities for a small place. You see people you know everywhere you go. 'Course, I forget, sometimes, that it is a small place. And that you see people you know everywhere you go. I specifically forgot this when Lady Di asked me to run a couple of errands. I'd settled in for Thursday night T.V., and was dressed to de-stress, not to impress. A too-small Tom Petty Concert T-shirt over my undershirt. Ragged shorts (made possible by temperatures in the 70's (maybe Punxatawney Phil was right, after all)). White socks. Top-siders. I was only going to be gone for a couple of minutes, right? Well, as I was filling up my gas-tank, maybe three carloads of my clients were likewise fueling their rides. I kept my head low, and I think I'd've been okay, but the pump wasn't having it. No receipt tape in the machine. "See cashier for receipt". Damn! I'm fairly certain I'd call her as a witness in a case. I detected a smirk, as she handed me my receipt. On the way out, I heard a couple of teenagers that I recognized from the office. "Naw, he ain't", says one. "Yeah, it is. That's the Public Defender". Hoo, boy.

I looked a little like one of Monty Python's Gumbies

Watching the Clothes Go Round.

Way back when I was in college, The Pretenders had a song called "Watching the Clothes Go 'Round". Something about the tedium and futility of life, or something of that sort, I think. I always sorta liked the group, even if I didn't always subscribe to their philosophy. Though I'm doing just fine, thank you very much, I still thought about the Pretenders as I did my laundry tonight.

I Think That I Shall Never See...

Okay, I'm no Joyce Kilmer, but I like a tree as much as the next person. Actually, I like trees more than the next person, since the person (next to) next door is mowing down a mess of 'em.

Fish Tales, Redux.

One of my fish, Tyson, went belly up today. It is the way of all fish, of course, but sometimes a guy can miss his fish. I got Tyson after the massive fish carnage I reported a year and a half ago in this post. Check it out, if you'd like. Or not. Anyway, farewell, fish. My your next life go swimmingly.

The Honeymooners.

Trying to get back into the swing of things after a couple of lovely weeks hanging around Charleston and cruising about at sea is no easy thing. It ain't all champagne and strawberries out there, you know.

Outgoing Male.

Some goons did a number to our mailbox the other day. The event caused me to reminisce, as many minor events do, to days of yore (my yore, not your yore). I was hanging out at Mitch Brown's house some time in the late '70's, when a car rolled up and someone smashed-in his mailbox with a baseball bat. There's never any pattern to these sorts of things. Mitch was voted Friendliest in our class and didn't have any enemies; it was just a random event. 'Course, the lack of any specific animosity didn't prevent us from jumping in my 1970 Ford Maverick and trying to catch the guy. Ford Mavericks were not especially fast cars, but we gave chase nevertheless. We chased the dude for maybe ten minutes in and out of our subdivision, Town and Country. Finally, the dude shook us. Now, Town and Country was a pretty big subdivision (at thirty thousand people or so, it would have been the fourth biggest city in South Carolina), and, as was the case for many subdivisions built or that era, there were only four or five different styles of house, so maybe he just pulled into somebody's driveway and waited for us to pass. We drove slowly and ran our eyes over many a driveway over many a block, with no luck. We finally gave up and I decided to go home. I pulled into my driveway and saw a strange car. I walked up to the window and tapped on the glass. Out of the window peered our student body vice president, Steve Bates. "Dude!", I said (or the 1970's equivalent. Maybe "Hoss!" or "Man!"), "What are you doing? Do you know whose house this is?". He indicated surprise that, out of the 12 thousand or so driveways in Town and Country he could have selected, he had chosen my house for refuge, and that he was aware that the jig was up. He was contrite, and as meek as anybody carrying a baseball bat could be. I'm not sure whether he replaced Mitch's mailbox, but I'm pretty sure he apologized. I'm not expecting history to repeat itself here.

A Wisp of My Former Self.

I tell you, I'm worn to a frazzle! A murder trial and twenty-seven guilty pleas in two weeks'll do that to you, I guess. Plus all the planning and various and sundry activities outside of work are a ton to handle. I'll try to get back back in the groove.

Prunes.

What's the saying? Time heals all wounds? Or is it time wounds all heals? Either way. I was reflecting, as I do from time to time, about Einstein's theory of relativity. No, wait... I think that was Ben Stein's theory I was thinking about. Either way. As I took a look at today's breakfast- Raisin Bran and prunes (I'm not sure calling them "dried plums" is better)- I was kinda hoping it wasn't a metaphor for, you know, life. I sighed, and thought about Hank Williams, Jr.'s "All My Rowdy Friends Have Settled Down". Then I remembered a cautionary tale from my (relative) youth.

When I was in, I think, my second year of Law School, a few of my buddies and I had been invited to a Halloween party. One of my buddies (to protect his identity, I'll call him "Randy") had been working construction while he looked for work more suited to his college degree. We'd all been extensively partaking of adult beverages that day, and, by the time we were supposed to leave for this party, Randy'd caked out. Now, during those days, almost any sins were forgivable; however, failing to rally for a round of pre-planned partying was not. We cajoled. We wheedled. We threatened. No movement. Finally, we pulled out the trump card: we cranked up "All My Rowdy Friends". Randy slowly, reluctantly, rallied. No time to pick out a costume, Randy went to the party as a construction worker. He went to the party where he met the woman he ended up marrying. I'm not sure if the story has a moral, but I like it, anyway.

Rite of Passage.

My colonoscopy is tomorrow. The procedure is just one of those things that you gotta get when you hit a certain age: a rite of passage, if you will. The doctor runs a little (I hope) tube with a fiber optic camera and itty-bitty snipping and collecting tools, through my intestines to see if there are any polyps or other things that aren't supposed to be there. If there are little things, they can be excised right then. If there are some not-so-great looking things in there, he can collect a sample to send to the lab. The procedure itself, while performed by a surgeon with the assistance of intravenous sedation, is supposed to be pretty simple. Sadly, before tomorrow's procedure, I've got to, ahem, cleanse the system, so that when the itty-bitty camera is threaded the wrong way down a proverbial one-way street, the traffic's all cleared out. I've got a lot, apparently, to "pass" before I am able to say, "this, too, shall pass".

Starting this morning at midnight, I've been precluded from eating solid foods. As I may have mentioned in days gone by, I love to eat. I go to bed at night looking forward to breakfast. At breakfast, I contemplate lunch. You get the idea.

So, whilst Lady Di prepares her tunafish salad for her lunch...

...I contemplate mine. There's always room for Jello? And then some. I can also have clear soda; hard candies; yellow, green or orange (but not red or purple) popsicles; clear fruit juice; low-sodium chicken broth and lots of water.

In addition to the few things I MAY have between midnight last night and seven a.m. tomorrow morning, there is one big thing I MUST have: Lots and lots of "action-inducing" fibrous water solution, called, I hope not ironically, "Go-LITELY". You may remember- or not: the movie came out a long time ago- the movie Breakfast at Tiffany's? Audrey Hepburn played the character Holly Golightly. The employee at the surgeon's office who gave me the super-sized bucket of the stuff is named Holly. I kid you not. I have stifled the urge to believe that that is the main reason that Dr. Calcutt hired her.

Anyway, I'll give you a report tomorrow or the next day. Right now, I've got to go. Really.

Been Busy, III

Two murder trials in two weeks, plus personal stuff going on. Sheesh. A dude needs a break. Know what I mean?