“All my life’s a circle.” A great lyric from a great song. But how true is this? Something dawned on me the other day, sort of a thing where one cannot escape themselves because every shape leads back in/unto itself. Take a triangle or parallelogram: their lines are the perimeter of an enclosed space, just like a circle’s. It is outside the lines that there may lie limitless possibilties … or not. If the outside is our planet, the aforesaid constructs upon it, then once again we have defined and limited enclosures on a circle rotating in two other circles (axis and orbit) in perhaps a circular universe. Try a t-shape or perpendicular lines, meeting at a juncture point. Isn’t that juncture point another circle? Same thing with a cross. And if a straight line curves around a circular sphere as would parallel lines, back to square one, so to speak. How do we escape our starting point? Are the alpha and omega one in the same forever and ever? Scary. Or maybe I know next to naught – or aught – about geometry.
Once upon a time, if you threw enough chemicals into a glass, you might wind up with a molotov cocktail. But if you only threw in grapes and a little sugar, eventually you wound up with ‘mazel tov.’ Do I hear you saying sour grapes? Indeed. Unlike the ‘sage’ advice just doled out by the spouse of our first in charge, I feel wo/man cannot live by one cup of H2O per day. Yet strangely, we all lived by a bit more five or more decades ago in that golden era which bookended the Baby Boomer generation. And part of what made us so golden were the products we lived by and loved and felt we were married to; we never foresaw the impending and one-sided divorce due to adulteration. Funny how that word works, isn’t it? Yet, like the current ‘wisdom’ we find our products horribly watered down but so wish it was with the pure stuff if it has to be at all. Instead we are left with something reminiscent of what we once had – just enough of the good(s) to keep us hooked to the crooks who refuse, due to huge profit margins and possible connections to Big Pharma in some conglomerate soup, to never restore us to consumer sanity.
Please, tell those companies whose products you once couldn’t live without and now can’t live with: ‘I want my Maypo … and I want it NOW’! (provided you remember what that was).
I actually write this with one product in mind: Coca-Cola. Not Classic Coke. And certainly not New Coke. The real deal that was in thick glass bottles with metal serrated-edge caps you needed a bottle opener to pry off. (Not the stuff on your grocery shelves today.) Better yet, there was the ‘real thing’ that was pumped from your local soda fountain as a thick syrup, then hit with a long blast of seltzer (‘club soda’ to most) and stirred with a long (iced tea) spoon at the candy store. Sometimes it was mixed with cherry syrup for a real cherry Coke, or a fresh slice of lemon was thrown in. I think this even predated ice in your glass, the kind (still) often stamped with “Coke” or “Coca-Cola” on it. Yeah, like today. If you were not one of the lucky ones to have downed this exquisite draught, you haven’t lived. It’s honestly been years since I’ve said ‘bottoms up!’ because that’s what is about to happen to you if you live on those chemicals in a can.
What would you oldsters give to have a real piece of chocolate again vs. something with a percentage attached? How ’bout real unadulterated cereal? Remember, Trix were for kids! What about real meat, practically still mooing in the back of the butcher shop? When was the last time you tasted chicken that truly tasted like one, that wasn’t stringy or overly plumped from hormones practically oozing beneath their skin on your plate or coated with some type of buttery-looking lard? Even soap: Did you ever smell a bar of real Dial, pale green football-shaped Palmolive or Camay, long before the time they made you cringe and sneeze? Does anyone remember Drakes cakes: Ring Dings with that thick shiny chocolate icing, Devil Dogs of rich cocoa, and Crumb Cakes topped with a thick layer of struesel crumbs vs. mainly powdered sugar? And then there’s the fast food joints. But I’ll end with one that I still frequent infrequently, Dunkin’ Donuts. Anyone remember their namesake item? The staff behind the counter sure doesn’t no matter what their ages, and it’s been what …. not even two full decades since that plain fried donut with a handle disappeared from their shelves jammed with almost everything but what made them famous.
Boycotting puts companies out of business. I’m not asking for that. I’d much rather see each and every one of you who reads this blog to write their manufacturers, companies and restaurants, reminding them of what’s important to you – what put them on the map. If we keep getting what they’re dishing out, none of us will remain long enough to complain.
I’m beginning to put two and two (or the final pieces of the puzzle, perhaps?) together. If Obamacare becomes Nobamacare and the debt ceiling is or isn’t (does it really matter anymore?) raised, the U.S. is virtually worthless except for their drilling for natural resources here and abroad, by hook or by crook. While they quibble in congress (another smokescreen), foreign and domestic entities buy up this third world country for pennies on the dollar. (Same principle as buying devalued stock created by the 9-11 calamity, especially if we have a run on the banks.) They would also own the debt, but we know how those closed door settlements go, don’t we? Be prepared people. It’s just my present theory but, for now, I’m stickin’ to it.
I know enough about astrophysics to safely say that it excludes the realm of flying cathartics. However, I wish to purge a long conceived notion about the universe, i.e., an ever-expanding realm, possibly in a vacuum, that points towards the eye of God (or somesuch cherished notion where science meets or melds with religion. I’m not here to dispute the presence of the Higgs-Boson). My totally amateur theory is based on the construct of our planet Earth’s being held in place/space by bands of electromagnetism vs. gravity as it spins on its deviating axis. I do not believe in gravity, and I am probably not alone in this where it pertains to deep space. My differing envisioned models of the universe could be drawn with bands of force holding it in a sphere or circle vs. a linear timeline. If I am correct, I am possibly light years ahead of the quantum pack, if not moments! To date, I have neither seen nor heard anything pertaining to this theory. So, guys and gals, you’re the first. I expect I’ll be the last invited through the wormhole.
My whole life I’ve had an uncanny ability. Some have considered me a witch! All I know is that if I think it, it happens, sometimes in seconds or hours, sometimes years apart when that deja vu feeling immediately hits. By that time your memory skills aren’t as sharp as your precognitive ones, so you flounder for a date. I dare not put my gift to a test as someone is always bound to lose. Usually it’s the store associate at the checkout counter finding their computer system has just gone down. I guess this shows I should be concentrating on far more positive things – like winning the lottery.
He is a cat who could be dead or still alive tonight. He is also a symbol of abandonment, decrepitude, poverty and pain, but always accompanied with dignity. Old Cat has been gracing our doorstep for years: an old yella fella of the tabby variety who sired more than his share but never forgot who was good to him. If ever there was a cat I would’ve loved to have befriended from the beginning, he would be the one. A sizeable, striped yellowish-butterscotch-and-white with a pink nose, he wound up having a good dozen or more lives, returning as each began anew. With one ear gone, several broken hips and legs, usually limping and always looking sideways from his injuries, he has managed to show up for his evening meal like clockwork. His purr somehow seems to get louder as he brushes unabashedly against you, still respecting your boundaries when you place his dish a few feet away. A trail of blood may be all that remains of this valiant fellow at this point, something I saw in my mind’s eye but a week ago. We have one of his great grandsons, terrific temperament included. We once took in his offspring, two butterscotch brothers, my just knowing they were FIV ridden, and having to mercifully put them down for fear of their transferring the disease to our privileged and pampered pets. I can never live it down nor forget their faces, always in fear of gazing at their photograph. Old Cat – once a head with only a spine attached – the cat I refused to feed for a night or two back then, praying he’d perish because it was implausible that he could survive. And yet some kinder soul with far more hope apparently made sure that he did. He rebounded beautifully and returned to us, never to be ignored again. He is the one who reminds you of those who freeze or swelter in public parks or far worse at night; the ones no one wants or knows how to handle without getting irreparably damaged themselves. Like them, he never asked for protection, just kindness. His strength is forever my weakness.
A song I’ve long considered for my epitaph some day, its morose and somber chords a bass/baseline for looking above and beyond. Since the day I first heard it long long ago, it has haunted and stayed with me. “Traveling eternity road”, indeed, so long as Justin Hayward is my accompanist