Listening to Hunters Brag about Bucks

I am hardly a PETA member.

I frequently have fantasies of shooting dogs that annoy me on runs.

And I suppose, hypothetically, if I were hungry and no nuts and berries were around, I would kill to eat.

But if an animal isn't annoying me and I'm not starving with limited food options, why would it be fun to kill?

I like competition and I like being in the woods,

but to know the deer that one minute is running in the forest is now dead because I had free time and gun on my hands is

creepy.

The Ones They Pick

The stereotypes are objectionable not because there isn’t some truth behind them
But that they slam doors and erect walls between people and their potential.

Our own abilities place limits on us we can’t always overcome – not everyone can throw like a Manning or paint like Hockney even with lots of practice.

Why shut more doors with thoughtless statements about how all ________ are?

(fill in blank with gender, ethnicity, race, religion).

We need to frame phrases to suggest a million possible futures.

Trapped in our own Context

It is just after 6:00 am when I enter the parking garage to drive to Manchester. I hear a shuffling noise to my left and shift my gaze toward the garbage cans where I recognize a woman I frequently see after my morning run; I usually get on the elevator as she gets off, book in hand. Now she is squatting by the trash reading a book and smoking a cigarette.

The coworker was planning to see a Red Sox game for her birthday but when she found out not only is smoking forbidden in Fenway, but also outside the park, she cancelled her plans.

The coworker booked a trip for herself and her husband to go to New York City before Christmas to see the lights, the Rockettes and enjoy the holiday atmosphere. But when she found out they couldn’t smoke in their hotel room, she cancelled her plans. She explained that she and her husband start their day with a cigarette in bed and end their day with cigarettes in bed.

*************


The whiners have no problem finding new and different things to whine about. Woe is ME. It is so awful for ME. No one knows how bad it is for ME. Of course these whiners aren’t the people who really are experiencing seriously bad times, but they thrive on the negativity and attention their endless pity parties bring. They sap the energy and enthusiasm from all who have the misfortune of falling into their gravitational field – their black holes have powerful sucking power.

*************

I wasn’t sure I wanted to run an extra lap this morning, but I finally persuaded myself and as I began the fifth lap I barely noticed a homeless man in green fatigues struggling up the sidewalk with his black trash bag presumably full of empties. There are so many street people here who wander the sidewalks before dawn sorting through trash cans and dumpsters in search of containers they can return to Paul’s Market for deposit returns, I don’t give this man a second look… But as I approach he puts down his swollen trash bag, turns to face me and starts to applaud. Clapping his hands as I run by. Okay so now I am not regretting that extra lap, now I am grinning and now I am running a little better and a little faster. I wave a thank you to my newest fan.

Skimble, where is Skimble?

I could almost feel my atrophied synaptic connections resprouting while on holiday in England for ten days. But the return to reality hit even before the plane landed and the goal is how to keep alive that vacation state of mind.

The box of chocolates we purchased helped a bit. Thursday night, after another 13 hour work day, we stood over the kitchen counter with a steak knife in hand surgically slicing each chocolate in half - the calvados truffle, the plum pannacotta, the black current & champagne - each taste brought back those delightful moments in Harrogate's Hotel Chocolat.

As we left Becky's diner this morning after a hearty breakfast and walked uphill through the steadily falling rain, I wished we could hop abroad a train - to Knaresborough or York or Carlisle.

Musings, Viewings and Eavesdropping in the UK

The Railway Museum in York is like stepping into a Huck Scarrey book. Ryan’s childhood train favs are all here The Rocket, the Flying Scotsman….

In Manchester the billboard on the football field (soccer to Americans) advises the players to “Humiliate then Celebrate.”

There is another billboard in Manchester visible from the train; “How many fans actually live in Manchester?” (again for the "football" challenged – this is a reference to Manchester United.”

According to our Knaresborough tour guide, the reason we call it cow, sheep and pig, but eat beef, mutton and pork is due to the Saxons farming and the Normans eating.

Susie wants still water and her husband insists the attendant in the executive lounge at the Marriott ring up the Maitre D’ to bring more still water. Since all non-alcoholic beverages are free, this seems more than a bit cheeky. Still water? Without bubbles – non gassata.

After a coughing fit, the woman on the train continued chatting with her seatmate, "and we were outside puffing (pronounced Pouffing) away...

Two old men push the trolley down the aisle of the train on the Settle-Carlisle line. They are volunteers. “Do you require any refreshments?” they politely inquire of the passengers. After buying and regretting buying a large (really?) cup of “filtered coffee” (as opposed to instant) and finding it to be not only non-coffeeesque but too reminiscent of weak veg soup to drink, I overhear one of the trolley volunteers explaining to a passenger that he only works part-time and some days the trains are full, especially in the winter, but they sell very little coffee. What was I thinking?!... when in Britain... I should have ordered tea.

Of course one doesn't want to take the whole "When in Rome" adage too far - or in Leeds I would be throwing my trash on the sidewalk, or street or in the bus shelter. Yes the Bin Strike is in the 18th day, but the trash cans aren't overflowing - so that can't be the excuse for rampant littering.

I send an email to the Leeds Council suggesting an anti-littering campaign.
Cheeky Americans...

Let them Drink the Koolade

Their thirst is unquenchable
And it makes no difference to them whether it is real (or artificially sweetened)
They lost, or perhaps never had, the ability to tell the two apart
They can’t be troubled with differentiating opinion from fact
They prefer the unexamined rhetoric and hyperbole.
The rants and slogans that stir their emotions.
They’ll jump on every bandwagon.
They are too far gone for logic and rationality.
The best you can hope for
Is to stir up a new pitcher
of another flavor
perhaps something less red.

Listen

From the man wearing a tool belt in the manhole to the man in the suit in the boardroom, there are those who believe their piece of the truth is the whole truth.

When the hourly worker says it we hear ignorance and roll our eyes at his limited view of the big picture.

When our leaders say it, we hear arrogance and know their smug hubris will cause pain to all, including
the hourly worker.