And the Beat Goes On . . .

Oh, the new year, full of promises such as the world is going to hell in a hand basket and all of those who have worked for a living and retirement for the past three decades should finally realize that any promises the government ever gave them—which were far and few between for working folk—were total BS.

So let’s move on. I asked for pepper spray for Christmas. Didn’t get it, but did get a night vision scope. When I asked for a coach gun for my birthday, Jack asked, “What is wrong with you?!” Just trying to be a good Boy Scout, I think.

Mom called early on a Monday a. m. and in a panic-stricken voice said, “I’m in big, big trouble!” Did she kill someone, rob a bank, pull up the pansies at her subdivision entrance? No. She had flushed her entire set of keys down the toilet at Publix. And . . . she had a bridge party at her house within the hour. Luckily, after some coordination, Jennifer, who works near the debacle, was soon to the rescue with a set of keys to Mom’s house which also held a set of spare keys to her car. “You can put this in that blog of yours,” said Mom. Here you have it Mama!

The first of the year is always slow for writers. Coupled with the psychotic Georgia weather—just shoot me. Jack is once again out of town which means that Bear, his favorite canine child, is ever vigilant, jumping between barking at everything that moves—today a wild turkey in the driveway—and sitting on top of me whenever I settle. That would be fine if he didn’t weigh 80-plus pounds.

Jack called and told me once again that I couldn't reach him via cell phone the following day because such communication-with-humans devices weren't allowed in the high security area where he worked. "That's so that no pictures can be made, no data recorded, and so on," he explained.

"And also for the most important reason," I added. "Because cell phones cause the aliens' heads to explode when you're all in the pod, and though their heads do regenerate it causes a horrible mess."

"Yes," he replied patiently, and then quickly changed the subject.

Today, a Monday, gloomy and alone, I watched a PBS special by Dr. Amen who wrote a book called “Change Your Brain, Change Your Life.” He had some good tips but I wondered if I could rebuild a brain from the medulla oblongata up, because that’s all I have left. So I called David to give him some of the doc’s hints about focus and concentration. I started with, “I just saw this guy on television who wrote the book ‘Change Your Brain, Change Your Life.”

“Mom, I am NOT getting a brain transplant!” David asserted. Then he went on to tell me about an ROTC field trip next Sunday which includes a trip in a C100 transport plane. Great. “Could you tell me about these things AFTER their completion?” I asked. I actually accept change (such as my only son talking to me in military acronyms) really quickly. For example, just this weekend I peeled the Tasmanian Devil and Yosemite Sam stickers off of our bedroom mirrors that David put there when HE WAS SEVEN YEARS OLD! Yes, I’m flexible that way and always on the forefront of change.

Oh well, out with the old and in with the new. But as I asked at a “FINAL DAYS” sales event with friend Denise, “Does that mean theirs or ours?”