Price of eggs. My mind is (easy over, soft yolk) f-r-i-e-d.
I want to say - - - something, poignant, significant. And… I got nothing.
I’d settle for something just a little bit interesting.
But, too much going on, in my (fried) brain. Too many cross currents. Too damn much.
Smoke coming out of ears. Circuits fried. (Reboot needed. When it all stops working. Reboot. Reboot. CTRL ALT DLT. Reboot.)
<><><><><>
Someone asked me, “Are you good?”
My Answer: “No - I’m not good.”
I am not good little kitty, I know it’s a new day. Next day of the rest of my life. Hold on there little kitty (a poster on a Guidance Counselor wall.)
Of course, I will hold on, but… I don’t think that everything is going to be OK.
Sometimes we go - too far. Sometimes we lose something, or someone. And then - everything changes. Forever.
Too much. Too far. A line crossed. Someone or something lost.
And then, everything from that time forward, it will forever be - different. No going back.
Nothing can ever be as good, as good as it once was. Less great. Never to be - as good as it was - never, ever - never again.
^^^^^
Price of eggs. Bitcoin. Stocks and interest rates and home prices. More coins in your piggy bank today than yesterday?
Good for you. Good for me. Good for us. Pat self on back.
Could everything, all at once, get better?
All the right things all go to the right - up, up, and up.
The wrong things all straight arrow lower - down, down, down.
Maybe rabbit. Maybe.
Maybe for a bit, a blip. Don’t blink. Don’t bet the house on it.
My bet?
I’d bet on some hot heat. Followed by… engine too hot. Overheat and a breakdown. Occupy, take a knee, all broke down, off on the side of the road. Help needed.
Hello AAA. Too big to fail calling. I’ve seen this movie before… Don’t worry. Elon, the good immigrant, The Space Pilgrim, Super Elon, he will be OK.
But the price of eggs?
>>>>>
Switch to feet on the ground. The here - the now.
Holidaze coming quick.
Picture this:
MAGA and Comma Las, sitting down at a big table, hand in hand, fa, la, la, la, la - swaying back and forth, happy bliss on every face, together singing - wahoo doray, wahoo doray…
Yeah… that’s the ticket. No feakin’ Grinch and his comic book cabinetmaker pix are going to steal our joy…. Gaetz the hell outta here. Weirdo.
I have a friend who draws newspaper cartoons. Maybe he can make this one come true. Bring my mental picture to life. (Are you listening Newspaper Cartoon Guy?)
MAGA, Comma La; wahoo doray…
I like it. (mental picture) Don’t you?
<><><><><>
Photo:
1996, we attended a family reunion in Grand Junction, Colorado.
C and S flew into Denver and we did a loop around the State. Rocky Mountain High, vacation.
In this photo, like today, we were entering a cool looking mountain pass, a scenic road.
It all started out way, way cool. And then it got a little bit hairy. And then - - - white knuckle - scary.
Ecobox rental car, on a narrow mountain miners trail (“road”), with dropoffs down to next week on one side and sheer cliff straight up on the other. Donkey trail. Oh yeah, with spin the wheels slippery rock switch backs to add a little spice into the mix.
Somehow, grace of God, or stupid luck, or probably a combo of both - we made it.
Past the old Miner Cabin Ghost Town, across the mountain trail, back to civilization. Over the river and through the woods. To the other side. To the reunion.
MAGA and Comma La, drinking brews, singing songs, telling stories, holding hands…
Wahoo Doray