I hesitate to get any happier, for fear I might herniate something!

SC

WANNA BE HAPPY?

Am I happy?  Why, I’m happy as a bug on the bow of a boat!  Have ya ever watched a grasshopper at the bow of a boat, when the ol’ steamer is churning along at a good clip, the hull is pounding the cobalt blue water into a fine spray and the shore is sailing by; and that ol’ grasshopper is clinging to the railing for dear life, his little antennae are trailing in the wind, his molars are all catching sunlight, his eyes are glazed over and glistening in grateful satisfaction, and the tobacco juice is streaming out the corners of his mouth and collecting in his whiskers and his ears?  Now that’s happy!

I've posted the first 18 chapters of Obie's Quest to this blog. Just click the year 2012, then the month February, and then scroll down to the post of February 13th.  Once you've read through chapter 8, simply click OLDER POSTS to read chapters 9 through 18.  Smile and be happy!

Elie & me

Sunrise, sunset; sunrise, sunset,

Swiftly fly the years.

One season following another,

Laden with happiness & tears.

Confidence and a grin

It’s the morning of the big parade.  The thoroughfare is lined with eager onlookers, reigning in youngsters and waving enthusiastically.  All at once one woman leans from the curb, waving frantically and beaming with pride.  Pointing into the marching band, she exclaims jubilantly, “That’s my boy, the only one in step!”  
   Never hold back to stay in  step with others, you're probably not going where they're going anyway.  Just find your own stride and confront the world with confidence and a grin.  SC

Me and my shadow, all alone & feelin' blue

JWC

Beloved Ancestors?

I wrote a novel a few years back, and dedicated it as follows: “to my beloved ancestors, and the faith and fortitude that drove them to pursue their dreams.” I’ve been criticized by some, for suggesting that I feel actual affection for people I’ve never met.  I assure you that affection is very real.  My dear, departed grandparents shared with me stories and photos of their own grandparents, people who I’ve clearly never met, but for whom, because of those photos, sentiments, and stories, I feel genuine affection. Stranger still, and believe this or not, I feel genuine affection for someone who was scorned by society and crucified, thousands of years ago on a far away shore, someone who I’ve clearly never met. Perhaps it’s that very communion that explains my curious affection and peculiar devotion.    SC

EXTRAVAGANT AMOUNTS OF POLLEN!

Does anyone out there suffer from seasonal allergies?  When I was just a little fellow, my dad and granddad went in together and purchased a Caterpillar. It was a dandy little farm tractor, a 1929, with a blade and disc, and a spring-tooth harrow, and everything.  And in order to start the thing you had to hand crank it.  When I got older, my granddad had emphysema and lost his breath easily, so I used to turn the crank for him, which made me feel very important indeed.  When they first brought the tractor home, Dad, determined to make good use of his investment, tilled up every square inch of our acreage that was remotely susceptible, and some that wasn’t, and several flower beds too!  And then he seeded and fertilized it exceedingly well, and waited for the spring rains. By mid May, we had a luxurious stand of four foot high grass.  By June, the seed heads were bursting with extravagant amounts of pollen, and having never experienced such a forest of grass on the property before, we kids saw an opportunity for adventure.  We ran like a gaggle of crazed turkeys through that lush forest, turning flip-flops and doo-dads, and creating lavish clouds of yellow pollen that filled the air and clogged our eyes and ears and noses and every orifice of our youthful, naive anatomies with thick, noxious goo. When I could no longer breathe, or see, or enjoy our antics with impunity, I felt my way home to Mother.  And I assumed a fetal position on our couch, and moaned inconsolably, and the membranes of my little eyes turned hemorrhoid blue, and filled with fluid, and they itched like poison ivy on mosquito bites, and eventually lie panting and pulsating on my cheeks, like little Vienna sausages in torment. And I’ve never really enjoyed pollen from that day to this, or frolicking in the high grass, or Vienna sausages either for that matter. SC