Gullibility Factor---Tax Forms-wise

     First of all, the highly vaunted claim that for many if not most, you will be able to file on a postcard-sized form.  Yes, the form is smaller, but you need 2 of them and so that takes 2 sheets of paper instead of one.     And be sure to wear your glasses and arm yourself with a fine point pen, because the print is smaller, and the spaces are cramped. More than before.
    And more to follow, as I get deeper into the process. I'll wait for a while.
 

CBD Horror Either Way

CBD     CBD
CBD== cannabidiol (One of 70+ compounds in the hemp family)

CBD==Corticobasal Degeneration

  Both of these terms are relatively new to me, though in the last few months I have received numerous ads for the former, CBD Oil.  I delete them instantly. I wish I could extinguish the second mentioned as well, but that is impossible.
   Today's TU carries an article on hemp oil finding a way into food. It printed a most repulsive recipe ever, even without the addition of CBD oil: a duck egg poached in rosemary and spiked with CBD oil. The chef works at Yawning Duck Culinary Services. That is the most off-putting restaurant name I can think of. I wonder if those who chose  that  title knows that poultry yawn when they are sick. Have they not heard of "the gapes."
    (I'd write more, but my ailing keyboard makes it difficult. Sprite begone.

Keyboard Cleanse

     I can tell you that it's a lot easier to pop the letters off the keyboard  than to put them back on.The alcohol Q-tip regimen seems to have worked for the  most part.  Dr. G. may be right about  not drinking soda.  Just a little spilled Sprite from a tipped can results in a serious coating of gunk on the keybed.  Though I suppose it could be buildup  from futile attempts at spraying with Windex  and GreenWorks. A new keyboard  may be in the near future. Time will tell: it always does.

Truer Words were...

    When I was a high school junior, we had a young English teacher who in a rare deviation from our other teachers, would sometimes veer off the course laid out in the syllabus, and embark on speculation. One day he put forth the opinion that when a person has children, the life focus is off the parent and on the children.
     Even to a teen, that made sense to me because at the time I was reading The Forsyte Saga, a novel which delved deeply into the generations of the Forsyte family. And sure enough, it was turning out to be true:  the reader invested a lot of time and attention to the characters in the first saga, who were destined to become secondary characters when their children entered the picture. The older characters were no longer as interesting, and became increasingly irrelevant.  I thought the teacher had a valid point.
   Life intervened and the proposed thesis played out.  The anticipation, excitement and adventures of life surface and are explored, only to be subsumed when other newer lives take precedence.
     (I spilled Sprite on my keyboard several days ago, and have been unable to clear its effects. Typing is tedious. Will have to return later...)
 

Sunday Morning Comin' Down

  We were on vacation and driving through one of the southern states, maybe South Carolina, when a warning light went on in our car's dashboard. After a while, when the light persisted, we decided to get off the interstate and get the problem checked out.  Dave drove off an exit and into a town. It was a Sunday, in summer, and not a single business was open. To say there was not a soul around would not be even slight exaggeration. The kids were young then and so were we, youngish anyway, so not that much into nostalgia.  But in one of those "slice of  life" memories that now frequently pop up, I can hear Dave saying, "This is what is meant by Sunday morning coming down."
  Of course he was referring to the hit song of Kris Kristofferson, the Harvard student and Rhodes Scholar who was a leading songwriter, singer and actor of the time, despite being a well-known renegade.
   A few weeks ago, I saw a video of  him in performance with Lady Antebellum singing "Help Me Make It Through the Night," one of Dorothy's favorite songs. It was haunting, for a lot of reasons. I've viewed it many times since, and all I can think of is a comparison to the Lion King.
   I haven't thought of Kris Kristofferson in years, and it's always a shock to see what age does to a person. But there he is singing away, plaintive voice, a little croaky now, but the brilliance still shining through.  What struck me most though is the deference shown to him by the Lady Antebellum band. The lead singers show so much respect and appreciation for Kris when he sings his part of the song that I see him as the aging lion. Then the lead singer takes his part with the booming voice of youth and virility.  The contrast is inevitable. And sad.
  ***I looked up the life of Kris Kristofferson: he is now 82 years old and has been suffering from memory problems. At first attributed to dementia or residuals of his wayward life, his family learned recently he tested positive for Lyme disease. Reflecting his usual phlegmatic outlook, Kris's attitude is what difference does it make.

A Dream--Read at your own risk

  It was a nice day and I was walking in Valley Falls. I decided to stop and ask Barbara if she wanted to walk with me, and she did. We walked to the upstreet corner house where Sharon and Bob lived, or did so in the dream. Their home was open and inviting, with people coming and going, calling and such. Sharon invited us in. and she sat with us in a small corner room.
     We made conversation and I inadvertently mentioned Chad as if he were still alive. Realizing my mistake, I apologized, but Sharon was gracious and understanding, and we agreed that her grandson resembled him. Sharon invited me to come see her tulips when they were in bloom, showing me the bulbs under the windowsill awaiting the time to plant.
    I asked her if she'd heard from Ruth, and she said she understood that Ruth  and Mike were selling their house, and she assumed that it was because they were wanting to travel extensively. I was surprised.
   After a while in the visiting  room, Sharon left to join her other visitors. The room we were in seemed to have grown smaller and somewhat removed from what was going on. So I decided it was time to leave. And here's where the dream stopped making sense to me. Barbara said she wasn't ready to leave yet, so I left her there, sitting alone in the room.

February 1, 2019 7:30 a.m.