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Hello again, friends. Thanks for meeting me here today.

Today’s column is not today’s column. Boy, that doesn’t really make sense, does it?
What I should have said is that I decided to put the column for today in file number 13. Probably a good move.

You see, my Incomparable First Wife confirmed my concern about it, after I asked her to read it and give me her opinion.

While I felt it was too personal, she said it wasn’t “uplifting.” Both of us were right. And so, here I sit early Monday morning, hoping for a spark of inspiration, or at the least a clue as to a topic. Come on, coffee, kick in. Get at least a little brain wave vibrating.

As my grandmother would say: “Spit into one hand, and wish in the other, and see which one gets full.” I get that.

I can tell you what I’m not going to write about: the election. These things now seem to go on, drag on, forever. The amount of money spent during the primaries, and then the general elections, is reprehensible. Maybe the British have it right. An election is called for, and usually just a few months later is held. This is part of their parliamentary form of government.

And, I am not going to write about the pandemic. To see so many people disregard the advice of the best scientific and medical minds in the land is utterly bewildering. Tragic, truly.
So. Where does this leave me, column-wise, this morning?

The intended column for today was about the aging process, and how it has affected me, especially health-wise. We don’t need that.

I have a friend who recently asked his doctor “What’s happening to me?” The doctor leaned in close and softly said, “Eighty-one.” That, I get. For sure.

Right now, this very moment, I’m looking out into the backyard and beyond to the fields, and see Babe making her way along the “cow corridor” from the “south forty” to the “north forty.” God bless her. She must miss her mother, Gladys Mae, as do we.

So far, this written rambling may be falling just a wee bit short of riveting. You think?

Well, come on, now. Just what can a self-imposed home bound octogenarian have to write about that might even be remotely interesting? Don’t answer.
Hey. Something just happened – well, just a little while ago – that brought a bit of excitement into our quiet existence.

You see, Sally was in the dining room, catching up on her correspondence, when Mary Bart said, “Momma, Sadie has done a dookie right by your chair.” A no-no, but Sadie doesn’t opt for puddle pads. So. Sally immediately gets up, and . . . yes. You know where this is going. She steps right into Sadie’s contribution. Oh, yes. Who says we live a drab, uneventful life?

Anyway. You’ve now just read today’s replacement column, of sorts.
I’ll try to do better next time.

But I’m not making any promises.

Stay well, friends. Life really is precious, however we may be asked to live it now.

Peace.

Note – Sadie is one of Mary Bart’s two chihuahuas. The other is Stanley. We love ’em both.