There’s nothing new under the sun and there in lies the problem. Everything we do eventually boils down to a routine. Even the routines become routine. We know where everything is. We can do most everything without ever any more having to focus on anything. Our paths are as much felt as seen in great detail. Known.

It’s not like we don’t acknowledge the details, we do. But we acknowledge them as much from memory of routine as from fresh data inputs. We glance over the ‘scapes as if only to reassure we’re on the desired route. Details as vague reference points only. Navigational aides. Noticed on the periphery.

Even when reading most of the words are recognized, interpreted, and incorporated into the sentence before they are completely and closely examined. Gotten the gist and then thrown on the list. Sped read right on by. Only closely re examined when returned to to clear up misinterpretations in the original thought.

Is it any wonder our eyes get lazy and have trouble flexing their muscles enough to read small print or focus on the cracks? Partly to not get distracted by the cracks. Some of the cause could be our propensity to not want to see the cracks in the first place. Seeing the cracks leads to having to address the issue.

Maybe we should address the issue of exercising our eyes. It could be as simple as using them again. Not just looking but actually trying to see things clearly. It may take more time. It may be genuinely rewarding during that time. New details? It may even sharpen our memories.

I best save this draft before I forget.
(I Did)

Don’t know ……. if I’ll ever get it published.

See ya then, see ya there.




It’s a topless summer.

Workers. Not just the crews working on the “acreage”. The guy living there since way back when it was a farm has been running around without his shirt on too. Many years ago I quit wearing a hat. Once I had a tractor with a cab roof to protect me from the noon day sun I never felt the need. My son liked open station (topless) tractors. He died eight years ago rolling one over a terrace.

Body slammed by one hundred fifty horses.

Markets. On any normal year we spend the most active weather months, spring-early summer, looking for a top in the price charts. This year we seem to be looking for the bottom. The hedge funds are wearing their shorts and their not covering them. If they do that may be the only rally left this summer. A kind of never summer summer.

How high can that dead cat bounce?

Corn. Up to five in a row. A stalk, an ear shooting out, but a broken off dying top leaf or two and tassel. Topless corn. And I’m very fortunate. Not far north and east of me the fields are really beat up. Driving by those unfortunate neighbors I am starting to see loads of silks covering the almost totally downed-broken off messes. Just add pollen.

Do these anomalies show up on their satellite views?

Beans. The Japanese beetles (Not an Asian cover band) are giving the sore-beans a run for the money. My money’s on not spraying them, the bankers are reluctant to loan farmers the basic needs let alone rescue treatments on a crop in surplus. According to the hucksters down @ the board of trade. I’ll trade ’em their delusions for a little bit of reality.

We’re nowhere near seven years ahead.

Dancers. Bottomless too. Just ‘cross the river from Offutt. Quite a party when the fly boys get paid. Twice a month. For a mere ten or fifteen bucks you can sit and watch yourself thirty or forty years ago. Or get a closer look for a few more ones. But that might only make you feel old. I guess I finally understand those old geezers who only stop for a short while.

Now that I’m one.

That’s enough orneriness for a hot summer day. Stay cool. Stay hydrated. Stay topless. We have a lot of silks to cover. Spin those tassels …….

Then, there.