Various And Sundry Saturday Morning...

...musings about much of nothing.

Living alone gives one the pleasure of doing pretty much what one pleases. I have a faint memory of what it was like when the boys were young and I was still married. It was a constant whirlwind of activity. I was hither, yither and yond with nary a break and it was fun because I felt as if I was making someone's life better. In retrospect, I did, in fact, make them better.

I'm sitting here swilling Franzia and listening to the radio. Unusual for me on a Saturday. TV bores my ass to no end lately. I just heard an add that encourages parents not to fart around their young children because it contains toxins that might deter their mental development. I have nothing to say about that other than the sooner I go the better.

Billy Graham's wife died. I was sorry to hear that. I met her once at a governors function when the ex's father was the budget director for the state. An absolutely charming lady, and a looker to boot, even in her sixties. She had some sort of twinkle in her eyes that just escapes me to this day.

I called the almost-second-wife the other night on a whim. I sure do miss that voice. And the banter we seem to be able to carry on to this day. Thirteen years later. She lives on a pasture with two horses. She never rides them. Seems odd to me. This is a city girl. Her dying brother talked her into it, best as I can discern. She has a mate she doesn't sleep with and he leaves at nine every night. She deserves better.

The older brother almost died a few weeks ago. Had a hernia that he ignored and his guts and one of his nuts decided they wanted to see what life was like outside the confines of where they are suppose to be. I would never tell him I was concerned, because that would violate this thing we have going. But it scared the shit outta my ass.