Small is Beautiful

Willard and Ann know what they want. Small government. You see...they don't need government. The less of it in their lives the better. Less regulation for any business Willard has a stake in. Less to consider when he practices his faith. Less to declare when he files his taxes. Less to pay when he gets his way. Small is beautiful they say. About government...that's all...that they want small. Most other things in their lives are not small. There once was a Willard that friended rats....

"You will find that the State is the kind of organization which, though it does big things badly, does small things badly, too," - John Kenneth Galbraith (1908 - 2006).

Doing the Right Thing....

"We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness."
Our President may have done himself in, politically, yesterday, with his declaration in support of gay marriage. What a courageous and honorable thing to do. I can't remember another President putting himself in that position in my lifetime. I support and respect his personal belief, but have a sick feeling in my gut that it just may cost him his job and give us an Etch A Sketch President. The opposition has tried to return us all to the "Good Old Days" of illegal abortions and restricted personal liberties all year long and there are "True Believers" out there that scare the hell out of me. How can doing the right thing make me feel this way? It should make me happy...why am I sad?

Inventory....

There are parts of my body I have not seen in years. I am flexible...kind of like an over-starched white dress shirt that maintains my upper torso erection. Bend but not break is an ideal. I've lost a lot of those over time.  But that's okay. Change comes with age...and I refuse to be a whiner. My dad spoke of a fellow he drank with from time to time...a man a little bit older...who would suck the joy from the room as soon as he opened his mouth. They were not friends. Just bar stool neighbors. Dad explained that this man would begin to complain about every pain in every body part as soon as he sat down. And my dad was not there to relive this man's pain...he was there to forget his own. One day, finally, after weeks of trying to seem like a good listener, and neighbor, weeks of complaints, he asked the man, bluntly, "How old are you?" "Seventy-five," he said. "So, what the hell do you expect??" He never sat next to my dad again.