Let's say you're feeling a little down about your situation in life. Maybe work is a drag. Or you've put on a little weight. You're getting a little older and you don't like the additional lines you've noticed popping up on your face. Whatever your woe, I've got the cure. It's people-watching. That's right. Just spend a little time watching others and you will, in no time, feel better about yourself. The other day while filling a water jug at the Mountain View Store, I happened to get in a little people-watching by accident. My spot on the spigot afforded me the perfect view of the parade of low-lifes marching in and out of the tiny market. I watched one guy in utter amazement. He staggered out of the passenger seat of a car that had just pulled in and parked right in front of me. His hair was about shoulder length and brown, I think. It was hard to tell, since it had obviously not been washed in this century. Neither had his clothes. It was quite something to see him manage to actually propel himself forward, let alone remain upright, as he made his way into the store. I can't imagine how he was able to find his way once inside. He was about as blotto as a human being could be and not be comatose. When he re-emerged through the doorway a few moments later, he swaggered and swayed his way across the parking lot toward the gasoline bays. There, he plowed face first into a 2x4 plank sticking out the back of a truck that was filling up. He winced, looked around, bewildered, then patted the board almost apologetically as he cautiously made his way around it. The dude staggered out to the highway. When I drove by him, he held out a thumb on one hand while voraciously shoving a sandwich into his mouth with the other. No, I did not offer him a ride. He wasn't the only colorful character to visit the market in the 10 minutes I was there. Just the funniest, saddest and most pathetic. There was also the usual array of jittery tweekers, disillusioned tourists, macho monster truck drivers, working stiffs and more. It's a busy place for such a tiny store.
The very next day, while waiting to check out at the KTA (that's a local supermarket) I was followed in line by a woman too fat to actually walk the aisles. Her fanny spilled over the seat like large blobs of pahoehoe lava stopped in mid-air en-route to the floor. She rode an electric cart with a basket on the front. It was, of course, overloaded with food. Not long after she pulled up, her husband did the same. He too rode a cart, for the same reason. These people were immense. They each tipped the scales at 400 pounds or more if they weighed an ounce. Within moments, offspring appeared. They were ambulatory, but chips off the old blocks none-the-less. These youngsters were well on their way (or should I say weigh) to becoming their parents. The chubby kids, a girl and a boy, were about 10 and 12. I could only surmise that the folks had been at least a little bit thinner a decade ago. If they'd been as huge as they are now, I'm quite sure the little tikes would never have found their way into this world. I was disturbed with the idea that they were able to get things together to breed in the first place.
OK. That's enough musing at the expense of others. The point is that people-watching can help you see that, no matter how bad you think you've got it, there's someone else out there who's worse off. Probably much worse off.
Crawford and I went to the vet today. She has a weird squishy, irritated looking bulge between two of her toes. I was relieved to learn that it was just a cyst, possibly caused by a foreign body like a sticker or sliver or something she stepped on. "See that little puka there?" asked the Vet. "Oh yeah..." I observed. A tiny hole, a little oozy, could be seen in the middle of the strange growth. It's always better to hear the word cyst than some long, challenging word ending with "oma." Those omas are always bad. Crawford does get a little nervous at the vet, but she loves the ride there and especially the ride back. As always, the Vet and the techs fell instantly in love with her.
The weather was spectacular for two and a half days in a row. Wew-hoooo! So I fired up the tractor and cleared an itty bit more tall, thick grass from the property. Today, I wielded the push mower on the smaller sections of the yard on which the tractor would be overkill. Pushing the mower is a respectable workout; navigating the hills and under trees can result in the breaking of a serious sweat. It's actually great when you hit an old, buried lemon or tangerine with the blades while venturing under the fruit trees. The air is instantly filled with a fresh citrus scent.
Tonight, it's raining. The dogs are barking incessantly because the neighbor's dog is doing the same. It's all I can do not to dive into the jar of Jelly Bellies on the desk here in Ron's office. So I've flashed back on an image on those extra large shoppers and have decided it's time to log off and leave this room. How's that for willpower? Until next time, aloha!
The very next day, while waiting to check out at the KTA (that's a local supermarket) I was followed in line by a woman too fat to actually walk the aisles. Her fanny spilled over the seat like large blobs of pahoehoe lava stopped in mid-air en-route to the floor. She rode an electric cart with a basket on the front. It was, of course, overloaded with food. Not long after she pulled up, her husband did the same. He too rode a cart, for the same reason. These people were immense. They each tipped the scales at 400 pounds or more if they weighed an ounce. Within moments, offspring appeared. They were ambulatory, but chips off the old blocks none-the-less. These youngsters were well on their way (or should I say weigh) to becoming their parents. The chubby kids, a girl and a boy, were about 10 and 12. I could only surmise that the folks had been at least a little bit thinner a decade ago. If they'd been as huge as they are now, I'm quite sure the little tikes would never have found their way into this world. I was disturbed with the idea that they were able to get things together to breed in the first place.
OK. That's enough musing at the expense of others. The point is that people-watching can help you see that, no matter how bad you think you've got it, there's someone else out there who's worse off. Probably much worse off.
Crawford and I went to the vet today. She has a weird squishy, irritated looking bulge between two of her toes. I was relieved to learn that it was just a cyst, possibly caused by a foreign body like a sticker or sliver or something she stepped on. "See that little puka there?" asked the Vet. "Oh yeah..." I observed. A tiny hole, a little oozy, could be seen in the middle of the strange growth. It's always better to hear the word cyst than some long, challenging word ending with "oma." Those omas are always bad. Crawford does get a little nervous at the vet, but she loves the ride there and especially the ride back. As always, the Vet and the techs fell instantly in love with her.
The weather was spectacular for two and a half days in a row. Wew-hoooo! So I fired up the tractor and cleared an itty bit more tall, thick grass from the property. Today, I wielded the push mower on the smaller sections of the yard on which the tractor would be overkill. Pushing the mower is a respectable workout; navigating the hills and under trees can result in the breaking of a serious sweat. It's actually great when you hit an old, buried lemon or tangerine with the blades while venturing under the fruit trees. The air is instantly filled with a fresh citrus scent.
Tonight, it's raining. The dogs are barking incessantly because the neighbor's dog is doing the same. It's all I can do not to dive into the jar of Jelly Bellies on the desk here in Ron's office. So I've flashed back on an image on those extra large shoppers and have decided it's time to log off and leave this room. How's that for willpower? Until next time, aloha!
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