My time, best days, caring & football

I own time, for the moment, anyway ....

This week is mine. No work. No concerns.

Some might say that is a very typical week for me. Some might be right in the sense that if it were not for having to be in a specific location performing tasks under the direction of others who pay me for that service, the work is nothing to get excited about. It long ago became something more like routine activity rather than work -- rather than actual toil and labor.

This is resumption of an old theme of mine. How can anyone possibly work at the same job for 30 or 40 years without going crazy? I suppose safety and security and feeling comfortable with one's own skill level at performing a specific task is part of it. But why people trade a lifetime of potential exploration for a guaranteed wage (maybe not even that) and mundane routine escapes me. It would be like living in perpetual winter, to me.

Certainly, some work is going to be fulfilling, as in the instance of a nurse caring for people who need assistance, but how about cooking in a restaurant or delivering mail or assembling toys in a factory? How does anyone do it for years without end? If someone can explain it, I would like to hear it.

Doom and gloom enter the room ....

What days are among those you might consider to be the "best days" of your life?

One candidate for me would be the days of sitting around outside on campus lawns or in the student union, drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes and arguing about religion or politics or you name it.

Going out after work for a few drinks usually results in talk about work (or sports). I foster it as much as anyone, but whatever happened (among adults) to the great debates of youth and solving every problem there is to solve in the world?

Maybe we became "too mature" to care, or realized nothing we did anyway would make much difference. Call it a fatalistic attitude if you wish but, with few exceptions, I do not believe anything anyone here can do will make a difference much beyond the range of their own neighborhood.

I am not talking about volunteering at a hospital or a nursing home, or being a scout leader. Doing things like that obviously can be meaningful to life, survival and sanity in a rather nasty world.

What I am talking about is accepting the word of political demigods and following the zealots of political ideology which preach promises impossible to keep and spread rumors to frighten the weak and the timid into blind obedience. Some of those things are exciting and colorful, others offer security, but all are more dangerous than most would realize.

My step-dad told me more than once that I should enjoy my high school days because they would be the best days of my life. He was off only by a couple of years. Maybe not exactly the best days, but arguably some of the most enjoyable days for me, were those sitting on the campus grounds smoking cigarettes and drinking coffee and arguing about which of us was destined for hell. I am close to believing that we all are, at least we in the United States of America, with hell encircling us a bit more every day. The fascists are in the process of taking over, and half the citizenry in the country either do not care or actually wish for it to happen.

Who? Me?

A number of years ago, in college, a good friend of mine and a drinking buddy told me he was disappointed in me. He said he had admired me because I had the guts to do anything and did not give a damn about anyone or anything. Now, he said, he had seen me fail to live up to one of his expectations.

I told him he was close in his evaluation of me, but that he had somewhat misinterpreted me. I told him I might have the guts (or the arrogance) to do anything, but that I actually gave a damn about everyone and everything. Can you understand the resemblance in style and action of these two types in terms of behavior, and the confusion that might result among onlookers?

We stayed friends, but not as close. He had disappointed me, too.

Spring football practice has arrived .....

Spring football practice has officially opened in my neighborhood. The two boys next door, along with two of their friends, held a backyard scrimmage. Their yard was clear of snow, but I keep my deck shoveled and, subsequently, my snow was in piles and has been slower to melt and, subsequently, my yard was wet, slushy and muddy in spots.

Of course, "young boys" engaged in demonstrating their athletic prowess cannot be confined to one yard, and their game spilled over onto mine. It has been a while since I have seen boys get so absolutely covered with mud. It also has been a while since I last passed a football. No broken windows, I am pleased to report, and my jeans washed out almost completely clean.

Music Note: Listening to Bon Jovi ....
Specifically, "The Left Feels Right" ....
Some lines from: "Born to Be My Baby:"

If we stand side by side (all night)
There's a chance we'll get by (and it's alright)
And I'll know that you'll be live
In my heart till the day that I die

Cause you were born to be my baby
And baby, I was made to be your man
We got something to believe in
Even if we don't know where we stand
Only God would know the reason
But I bet he must have had a plan
Cause you were born to be my baby
And baby, I was made to be your man