Yesterday was a non-stop circus of obligations which finalized by attending a City Council meeting to address the proposed rehiring of a guy to trap and kill stray cats and wildlife.  What can I say?  I had to attend and to voice my thoughts on the matter.  I was just one of many who spoke.  We were each allocated a mere three minutes.  The pathetic little man who filled in for the president of Council last night was without a doubt the rudest individual I've encountered in some time. 

While most of the public speakers were there to offer City Council alternatives to the status quo of catch and kill, there were also speakers with other concerns.  One man was deaf and his sign language was interpreted for the councilmen.  It appeared to me that these elected officials turned a deaf ear to the brave man who stood before a crowd to express his rage in the only way he was able.  Like all of the others, he was dismissed as if his concerns were of no concern at all to the elected officials. 

Most of those speaking on the animal control issue addressed valid points although one woman used the forum to pat herself on the back as if she were independently responsible for the salvation of the city.  Frankly, her "contribution" was negligible.  Yet another woman spoke as a cheer leader for the bounty hunter because he came and trapped a skunk that was "digging up her lawn...."  (It wouldn' have occurred to her to learn why the skunk was doing so.  She could have simply limed her damned grass and the skunk would have gone away.)   An eloquent black man addressed the unexplained and unjustified closure of the voting facility in his neighborhood and its relocation some miles away which effectively makes it impossible for some in his community to get to the polls.  This should have alarmed the council members, but it didn't appear to interest them much at all even when the man brought up the subtle return of Jim Crow politics.  He had a legitimate reason for outrage.  The highlight of the evening was when a screaming match ensued between some  crazy guy concerned about tattered Hall of Fame flags and the guy with the gavel.  That was great fun and quite entertaining to think that football flags was really a politcal issue important enough for the obvious sports fan to react so hysterically. He gave us all a big laugh as he stormed from the room at the end of his allocated "free speech."

As for the others who spoke with passion and hands-on experience regarding the animal control subject they too were at best tolerated.  Sitting in the audience I saw one councilman on the verge of nodding off.  Another was apparently doodling.  He certainly wasn't paying attention.  A few were actually interested, but they were in the minority.

Throughout the seemingly-endless session the rude little moderator with a gavel exercised his "authority" to scream (no exaggeration!) at the speakers to, "SIT DOWN!" at the very second their three minutes expired.  It was quite an eye-opening evening.

I divorced myself from politics a couple of years ago, but because this involved an animal issue I felt compelled to attend last night's meeting.  Being there and watching the dismissive attitudes of some of the elected officials was a harsh reminder of just how pitiful and effete government is, even at the local level.

 

 

When I walk old Kenny's fields and see the changes that others have wrought upon his old farm it makes me sad, but no one ever seems to take notice of this shed.  In my soul I think that when this old building finally succumbs to gravity, so will old Kenny.

The Need of Being Versed in Country Things  by Robert Frost

The house had gone to bring again

To the midnight sky a sunset glow.

Now the chimney was all of the house that stood,

Like a pistil after the petals go

 

The barn opposed across the way,

That would have joined the house in flame

Had it been the will of the wind, was left

To bear forsaken the place's name.

 

No more it opened with all one end

For teams that came by the stony road

To drum on the floor with scurrying hoofs

And brush the mow with the summer load.

 

The birds that came to it through the air

At broken windows flew out and in,

Their murmur more like the sigh we sigh >

From too much dwelling on what has been.

 

Yet for them the lilac renewed its leaf,

And the aged elm, though touched with fire;

And the dry pump flung up an awkward arm;

And the fence post carried a strand of wire.

 

For them there was really nothing sad.

But though they rejoiced in the nest they kept,

One had to be versed in country things

Not to believe the phoebes wept.

 

How lovely to awaken and discover that while I slept winter had finally arrived.  Everything was white and the trees were flocked as still more snow fell.  I would have loved a walk in the woods, but I had a memorial service to attend.  The mother of my former companion had died. Like other men from my past I remain a friend to this one. I was going to be late, but going to pay my respects was important.  As I drove from one wrong church to another (who knew there were so many Methodist churches in that town!!!) I thought to myself, "What a beautiful day to put one's physical remains to rest."

The deceased lady was a lovely person and the church was filled with many of her friends, most all of them quite old, shrunken and delicate looking.  I overheard muttered words of intended consolation and saw fragile fingers dabbing at withered, tear-stained faces. 

But there was also a contingency of friends from our music group who had ventured out on this snowy morning.  We did not offer the sort of words that the older crowd whispered and while the mood was essentially somber I believe that my former companion and his brother were more comforted by our mere presence than by words. 

As I drove home I thought about my own demise and have decided to write my own obituary.  I've noticed that most (but not all...) obituaries rarely convey the essence of the dead person's life although the author may have had the best of intentions when he/she listed the high school and college the ninety year old person attended, the surviving nieces and nephews, etc.  What does that information really say about the deceased's passions?  I want people to know what motivated me and what I hope my life meant rather than what schools I attended.  With the exception of my wonderful daughter I have no surviving family other than a couple of cousins with whom I don't associate, so they will certainly not be listed.

Like most things in life it seems that if you want something done in a particular way, do it yourself.  I hope I have a lot of time left to compose mine.

 

After nearly two long weeks of intermittent illness I think/hope I am now recovered. (Trip to doctor$)  The new furnace has been installed and for the first time since I've lived in this old house there is a comfortable uniform heat$$$$$  It's really too good to believe!  The computer broke which is yet another reason for the spotty posts of late, but today it too went to the 'doctor' and like myself it seems to have made a complete recovery$$$  The clothes drier also broke, but fortunately T. repaired that (I'll take him out to dinner which will be cheaper than paying the Maytag man.)  

So, these are just a couple of the highlights (?) of the past few days.  It's been costly to say the least, but I sincerely hope that there is nothing left to break or 'fix'.  Maybe life will return to normal.  Dare I really think this is possible?

 

With the exception of Tyler the twenty-three pound rooster and Chopstix, the rooster who had no feet, I've never had white chickens.  There were Buff Orpingtons, Barred Rocks, Comets, Black Australorps and lots of others, but all were birds of color.  That's just how it was until the arrival of the three white chicks which I purchased last spring.  Since they all look alike they have no individual names.  I just think of them as Gladys and the Pips.  This trio has proved to be a most entertaining investment.

You may recall that it was one of the Pips that vanished without a trace and was thought to be gone forever, but who returned like Lazarus, minus half of one wing.  She was bloody and had a very bad attitude for some time after her mysterious escape from an unknown abductor.

It was also one of the Pips who recently disappeared, but was accidentally discovered attempting to set a mountain of eggs on the uppermost bale of hay.  That discovery led to the avalanche of ‘snacks' for dogs that happened to be in the hay room at the time.  As the hay supply diminishes I still find an occasional egg that had slipped between the wall and remaining bales.

Once again it is Gladys and the Pips who have proven themselves more resourceful than their colorful coop mates.  From early spring until late autumn many meals are enjoyed by me and my friends at the marble topped table on the brick porch, but during the winter months I dump wild bird seed on the table for the breakfast club of jays, cardinals, sparrows and chickadees. 

I really shouldn't have been surprised to discover why that seed was disappearing so quickly.  It's now a regular stop for the Pips on their morning foray to the pond.