The Deeper Truth

 

Country music is more about story telling than it is about fiddles or guitars.  The music is secondary; it is the loneliness that pushes the jukebox buttons and yours. 

 

 

 

zc

 

Hello

 

It's 1960 calling.

Roger? Really?

 

Since when did a chat become electronic?  I have an issue with a company’s product, and they project an image on my screen and prompt me to chat with it, as if this is the best they can do when it comes to Customer Service.

 

“All of our agents are currently busy, blah – blah – blah…”

 

“Call volumes are higher than normal, so please stay on the line and your call, blah – blah – blah…”

 

“Many of our menu options have changed and most simply hang-up on you, blah – blah – blah…”

 

“Hello, this is Roger from Bangladesh, Gibberish – Gibberish – Gibberish…”

 

Here's a thought...
        If call volumes are higher than normal -
        change normal.

zc

 

 

Reflections

 

Not all that long ago I was content to play in puddles of rain, build things out of mud and pretend it was a real adventure.  Then I grew up and learned to be serious and do serious things.  Puddles became an annoyance and mud was to be avoided.  But sometimes I miss that adventurous me.  The freedom to be silly and get dirty, without the concerns of washing darks with lights, or chasing wrinkles from shirts. 

Once in a great while, someone will ask what I’m thinking about.  I dare not tell them I’m sitting on the ground at the edge of a mud puddle, playing with the reflection looking back up at me.  I doubt they’d get the same image.

 

 

 

zc

 

 

 

Two Flowers

 

This is the story of two flowers.  Born in the same yard, both sharing identical weather conditions, and yet one always worried and one never did.  The more beautiful of the two was forever concerned the weeds were going to steal all her food, the bugs were going to bite her beautiful leaves and that the morning frost would be too heavy for her pedals and they might snap off. 

Her friend stood bravely in the same soil, surrounded by the same weeds and subjected to the same frost, and yet always smiled and laughed at the day.  He would tell her how beautiful she was and didn’t the warm sun feel good? 

She would ask him how to always see the sunny side of things, but he didn’t know what to say, except to just enjoy what we have and thank the butterflies for creating the momentary breeze with their wings.

But she couldn’t do it.  Her bigger concern was the butterflies landing on her with their big convict shoes.  “They never wipe their feet.”  she grumbled.

He felt bad for not being able to show her the world he enjoyed.  If only she could focus on the good things, the fun things, her world would be so much brighter, but she seemed to almost be happy, almost content, if only…

 

“If I could just get them to wipe their feet before landing.”

 

zc

Let it Never be said

 

That I wasted my time while here on Earth.

Pop Quiz

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Peter Caen
Archer Lincoln
Mark Van Meter
Harry Carlson

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