Back in the Dark Ages when I was in high school, I played volleyball. Not well, but I tried. In the 1970’s, girls’ athletics was not quite as competitive as it is today and being 5’12” (as I used to call myself) didn’t hurt my chances of making the cut either.
Generally on any team, you have to communicate with each other. Specifically in volleyball, if you don’t communicate with your teammates, you might plow into each other, which would defeat the purpose of getting the ball over the net. When the ball comes your way, you have to send the message, “I’ve got this, so you don’t have to, but be ready because it might be coming your way next.”
As that tends to be a bit wordy, it is condensed into simply:
I’m a recycler. I haven’t always been, however. I grew up with learning that respect the environment meant putting trash in the bin. We grew up with Smokey the Forest Ranger teaching us how to not start forest fires (he must have grown up in California…) and there was some commercial about a Native American with a tear in his eye.
So in essence, if I was to be a responsible citizen, everything went, um….into the landfill.
I’ve mentioned before that Bob and I take on a somewhat Rockwellian look as he reads to me while I crochet in my great-grandmother’s rocking chair. At this writing, we’re still on Ayn Rand’s famous American novel, Atlas Shrugged, but are somewhat bogged down in the author’s voluminous rant via the character John Galt. I finally opted out when my more intellectual half offered to read the rest of that chapter on his own and pick me back up when the plot resumes…
Bob has also read the likes of Plato, Aristotle, and Euclid. Why, you may ask? Not sure. I’ve enjoyed some Virgil and Augustine, but I also tend toward Calvin and Hobbes. (In all honesty, Bob is well rounded Continue reading “Dante in a graphic novel??”
Status report: my garden is semi-surviving despite this June’s horrid hot/dry spell. Here in Missouri it appears the wheat is getting in okay, but I’m concerned for the corn if we don’t get some rain soon. If y’all have a few spare thunderclouds, you might send them our way. Just keep the twisters.
Is that too much to ask?
Even though my garden is surviving the shock, I’m not sure my husband will when he gets the city water bill…it should come any day now. Actually, he knows the score and is more than supportive with my gardening habit hobby. With all the musical instruments and classic comic books and thin, round pieces of plastic “art” (he prefers the more expensive blu-ray to the less esteemed DVD…), I suppose we’re even-steven. At least he can eat my time-well-spent.