|Greeting to all and welcome new visitors to the EastWing.
Yet another little taste of winter. Two weeks of mild, 2 days of winter, WE even had ice and snow this time around, then another bout of oh so mild. I don’t know how much more of this oh so mild crap I can take in one winter. J Now I don’t care who ya are, ya gotta love oh so mild in the flat lands of northern Indiana this time of the year.
Don’t know if I told ya, but I convinced the She to let me keep my Blue Christmas Lights year round in the EastWing. SWEET! Yeah, I’ve got the little blue icicle lights on the center east windows of the EastWing. It don’t get much better than that. Little lighting bugs in a jar outside by the flagpole out there by the mail box along the road on 800 south, at Christmas time, and now the prospect of Blue Christmas Lights in July. Life is good here in the EastWing. The Gods of Smile have themselves descended upon the face of BobbyRay.
LABELS ! Ever notice how much labels control our lives? Yeah, they do, they really do. Everywhere ya look, labels. Labels control pretty much the way we think about everything. We think the tell us lots, they tell us very little, to nothing. We label people, we label things, we label all our stuff. Why I’m even damn proud to be called a hillbilly. But there was a time that the label of hillbilly here in Starke County Indiana was a stigma.
Then the stigma became the standard when we became the majority population, thank you very much. So how do ya say “in your face”? Is that a label or a face? Now being hillbilly in Starke County Indiana is kinda like Star Bellied Sneeches. Don’t know ‘bout Star Bellied Sneeches? That’s another story, someday soon, Lord, someday soon.
Democrat, Republican, Christian, Lite, Giant Size, Supersize, Mini, Goldbricker, Gold-digger, Saints & Sinners, they’re labels all. We label people. Macho Man, Pretty Woman, Big Boy, Fat Cat, Big Dog, Sneaky Snake. We label animals, Fat Cat, Big Dog, Sneaky Snake, Big Boy. We label stuff, Diet, Fat-Free, New & Improved, Jumbo, Extra Jumbo, Shrimp.
But my personal favorite of all the labels I’ve ever seen in the whole world is “Gluten Free”. Now I don’t know about you, but I don’t have a clue what in the world Gluten is anyway. But it just seems so reassuring to me when I find something is “Gluten Free”. It’s like a breath of fresh air, to be gluten free.
It was just this past Friday that my son Johnny and I found ourselves having a late lunch at a Cracker Barrel Restaurant in Lafayette IN. Johnny paid the tab and as a special treat, he bought two “Buck Eye” candies. Sure enough, right there on the label of that Buck Eye, “Gluten Free” I’m sure the lack of Gluten contributed to the unique taste of that Buck Eye.
I’m just trying to remember if, back in the day, when I was in fact, a Buck Eye on campus, if what we ate had gluten. It may well have, but it didn’t matter back then, ‘cause ya couldn’t taste gluten then. I guess today ya can.
As for the fans of Gluten, let me say, I’m not saying it’s good or it’s bad, I’m just saying I don’t even know what the hell Gluten is. But Lord if I have to judge Gluten, let me it lots of room, ‘cause it I have to error, I pray it be on the side of Gluten. Gluten Free, Shewwwwww.
I no sooner wrote the above paragraph ‘bout praying on gluten, than realized I would most likely get some really nasty emails from a group of EastWing friends out there in west Kansas who, seem to me, to just sit in those rolling hills and wait for me to mess up and say something that’s gona send me straight to hell. Talking ‘bout Gluten might be one of ‘em. I’ve been accused of blasphemy so many times from Kansas, it’s like that ducks back and the water deal, that rolling off thing.
To me, what’s humor and what’s blasphemy, is sometimes just in the eye of the beholder. I’m beholding to the position that not a single word has ever, even remotely ever, come close to blasphemy from the EastWing keyboard. Humor, I’ve attempted, from time to time. And just every once in a while, it shows to someone else, but blasphemy, give me a break here, I preach the gospel according to BobbyRay. Blasphemy. Uh Oh, I forgot, a while back somebody said that BobbyRay preaching the gospel was blasphemy. Damn, I hate when that happens!
Last week I had in my office, a tax client, and a good friend, the person responsible for me telling the original story of the “Pop Bottle Wars of Toto” several years ago. We talked about that Army, and about that war. It was so much fun to visit with an old friend. To talk about times long since gone. To retell the stories, to relive the stories, to once again walk the streets of downtown Toto as a child of the night on Halloween. To get candy in a bag. To get unwrapped popcorn balls sticking to your candy in that bag. To once again trick or treat in downtown Toto.
It was a time when you picked up the telephone and spoke to a lady who would connect you to the person you wanted to talk to, to begin with. It was a time without WKVI Radio, or even South Bend Television. The speed of news was sometimes measured in days, not seconds. And it served society well.
It was a time when people visited each other’s home, and talked, just talked, not texted, not emailed, not facebooked, talked. In person, talked to each other. It was a time when visit meant family, visit meant fun, or visit meant company’s coming over. Either way it was an exciting time.
We talked about the Toto Volunteers, that rag-tag army I put together there back in the day. The Army that so gallantly fought for the everlasting freedom of Trick-or-Treat in downtown Toto. The same Volunteers who bravely waged the “Pop Bottle Wars of Toto”. Of how it felt to be a proud member of the Toto Volunteers. We were proud, we were one, we were army. We were The Toto Volunteers. We still are. It’s a single word, family.
A few days ago a one page document arrived in my email that sent chills down my spine, and I’m still trying to determine the source of this document. It may have come from the Federal Government, maybe USDA, maybe Health and Human Services. It could have a more clandestine origin, maybe the CIA, or the FBI. I think it could have even come from the Office of Home Land Security.
Tis a safety warning released to the general public. It’s designed to ward off death and mayhem in our society. It’s truly a public safety announcement. Its purpose is to issue fair warning to unsuspecting victims across our nation. It list six very simple steps which, when observed in total, can alert one to impending doom. This document is a terrorist alert notification of the highest level released to the general public. A warning that cannot be ignored. Your very life may very well hang in the balance. It’s just that important.
So as a public service, I feel compelled to share this vital information with all my EastWing friends. Do not, I repeat, do not ignore this vital safety information, and take appropriate action to ensure your own personal survival.
The document is simply titled:
“HOW TO TELL IF YOUR CAT IS PLOTTING TO KILL YOU”
1. KNEADING YOU Now you may think this is a sign of affection, but your cat is actually checking your internal organs for weakness and strike points.
2. HIDING IN THE DARK PLACES AND WATCHING YOU. Your cat will hide and observe you in your natural habitat, in order to learn your routine, and determine when best to attack.
3. EXCESSIVE SHOVELING OF KITTY LITTER. After using the litter box, you cat kicks kitty litter around for no purpose at all, with most of it going onto the floor, this is practice for burying a body.
4. SLEEPING ON computer KEYBOARD Your cat knows that humans have superior technology and as such, will attempt to cut off all of your communications with the outside world. When isolated you’re more vulnerable and easier to attack.
5. STARING CONTESTS Should you get caught in a staring contest with your cat, do not, repeat do not, look away. Looking away will signal to the cat that you are weak and an attack is most likely to follow shortly.
6. SPRINTING AT LIGHT SPEED OUT OF ANY ROOM YOU MAY ENTER Whenever your cat does this, it’s actually a failed ambush. Your luck had held once again.
When I shared this document with Sophia, she didn’t smile, she didn’t run away, she just crawled over on my lap and started kneading my belly. So I’m keeping an eye on Sophia, just in case. What really worries me is the fact that Sophia seems to meet every one of the six warning signs. When I asked her about that, she just smiled, and you all know what I’ve thought about Sophia’s smile in the past. Damn Republican Cat.
Now as for Sophia, I don’t know if I should hug, or shoot her. But it’s hard to shoot a cat that smiles at ya..
I’m thinking it’s time everybody in the EastWing share some responsibility for the operation of the EastWing. And so specific duties have been assigned to everyone.
The Gray Lady, the Gray Lady is in charge of peace and tranquility, harmony and beauty in the EastWing. Of all things pretty is the realm of the Gray Lady James.
My darling Pup Baby, Mustina, Bless Her Little Heart, she’s good for nothing ‘cept be your dog, dog. And so the Pup Baby, Mustina James, is officially identified at the EastWing Dog.
Sophia, The Calico Conservative Cat is in charge of all things political in the EastWing, while Spike, the Man Cat, is now the Official Mayor of Kitty City.
Bentley, the 90 lb Pit Bull, Bentley, well, Bentley’s in charge of Home Land Security. I no longer lock the front door when I go to work, I just hang out the sign on the door knob. The sign says:
No Locks, No Alarms, Just Security Provided by PIT BULL INC. “Come On in Punk, Make My Day”
Stay safe in Afghanistan.
From The EastWing, 2 Day Winters, Labels, Gluten & Going To Hell, An Old Army Friend, Attack Cats, EastWing Duties, Pit Bull Inc.
I wish you well,