EVEN FIGHTING DOGS TAKE A BREAK NOW AND THEN

Blog number 245 **** 11 November 2008

I think I may have just had an epiphany. We'll see.

It is extremely difficult - for me at least, to write an entry in my Blog every day. That newspaper columnists can do it has been a source of amazement for me ever since I have seen for myself just how difficult it is.

Three times in the past, I have had nothing to write about, so I just sat down and started writing. Each time I got what I thought was an interesting entry.

Today I'm reading a book, The Night of the Gun, an autobiographical story about a newspaperman's descent into crack addiction and his eventual return to the living. He is going back to his old friends and acquaintances and asking them to relate what they remember about their relationship with him.

About one of his friends, he is grateful because he remembers the guy entreating him to write every day - whether or not he had anything to write about. Maybe I was accidently onto something and didn't know it?

I talk a lot - about trivia my son says, about nonsense my wife says, but I DO talk a lot. I can kinda feel that this that I am doing now - just off the top of my head kinda thing, is how I talk.

Now I'm writing off the top of my head.

Kinda thing.

Our daily newspaper's obituary column has gotten really weird and unexplainable the last two or three days. I tried writing about it, but it got to looking like I was making fun of the deceased, so I dropped it.

I was making fun of the writing of whomever wrote the things. One was five hundred words in length, all one paragraph. The other day one was even longer than that. I am pretty sure you have to pay to put those things in the paper, so how much is something like that going to cost? And to what end?

One of the things it mentioned was the long trips the deceased made to visit family - never going more than two miles an hour over the speed limit. I'll leave it to you to ponder over that information in that context.

This morning, my wife driving, we were behind this car coming up to a red light and at the last minute the car ahead of us veers quickly to the left and into another lane at the last minute, stops at the red light.

Teresa - my driver, says, "Look at that man. He's got his arms crossed over his chest."I looked, and sure enough the driver is sitting behind the wheel, arms crossed defensively over his chest, an irritated look on his face. I opinion that there was an argument with his passenger - probably his wife, as to whether to go to Mimi's in Casa Grande or get on the freeway to go to Mimi's in Phoenix. I think he lost the argument and peevishly jerked the car around.

Well, I'm done. Your work begins...NOW!