Health – Page 13 – Wilder, Wealthy, and Wise

Black Friday: 2021

“Oh, and remember, next Friday is Hawaiian shirt day. So, you know, if you want to, go ahead and wear a Hawaiian shirt and jeans.” – Idiocracy

When I was a kid, I thought, “This little piggy went to market,” meant the pig went shopping. He did not.

Thanksgiving is over, sadly. We had a great one here. We had eight for dinner, and five under the roof when nightfall hit. Of course, Stately Wilder Mansion has room for more, but this was a good number. After dinner, we played games and enjoyed being with each other until things got rough – I was put in jail and nearly stabbed while I was in there. The family takes Monopoly® pretty seriously.

Other than that, it was a peaceful night. That is why I love Thanksgiving. It’s a space where (around Modern Mayberry) only one store was open today, and that store was only open for a few hours. Not that it mattered – we had everything required for dinner. I thought we were low on cream, so I sent Pugsley to the store on Wednesday. He brought home nonfat half-and-half.

At least he tried. Nonfat half-and-half? That’s like PEZ®-free PEZ™.

Thankfully, The Mrs. already had cream, and we had plenty for the mashed potatoes.

But now it’s time for the Friday after Thanksgiving: Black Friday.

My activities in Black Friday in recent years have mainly been related to not leaving the house. I really love spending time with my family, but spending time with strangers standing in line to buy things I don’t really need?

What’s the best place to find a man who has no arms and no legs? Where you left him.

That’s not my idea of fun. I don’t like shopping, even for shrubs – plant shopping always leaves me bushed.

Don’t get me wrong – I don’t look down on people looking to get a bargain on Black Friday. I’ve been fortunate enough in the last two decades of my life that the main shortage in my life isn’t money, it’s time. For those that are experiencing an acute lack of money, well, I can sympathize. To be a few dollars short is tough. Marrying my first wife was like winning the lottery: five years later I was broke.

I’ve been there.

At one time in my life, I was running at the ragged edge. Every dollar that came into my life had a home – it was already spent. That was okay, but it limited my choices. One time I was needing to pay dues to play rugby with the local club, but I was raising two children with help only from my friends. The dues were $75. I didn’t have a spare $75.

So, I had decided I couldn’t play. The next day? A check for $200 showed up (that I had no idea was even owed to me) in the mail. Huh.

I guess I could play (prop), after all.

Why are Jedi® so bad at rugby? Because there is no try.

Regardless I’ve known a life where a spare $20 made the difference in a month. This helps me to understand those that stand in line for deals at Black Friday without looking down on them. Those people are looking to do the best that they can for their family – they’re trading their time to make the lives of their family better, just as everyone who has a job and sells 40 or 60 hours of their life every week does.

The part of Black Friday that has always bothered me, though, isn’t the searching for bargains. The part of Black Friday that bothers me is the willingness of people to abandon rules of civil behavior so they can get $10 off on a toaster that they’ll use once in the next year.

Oh, sure, I love toast enough to keep mine in a cage – then I can say it is bread in captivity. But I don’t love toast enough to engage in wanton violence for cheap consumer goods. I have standards. It would have to at least be moderately priced consumer goods for me to riot for them.

The violence, though, are a signal that the cohesion that made society function so well during most of my life is breaking down. I already know that economy is broken. I think that here, in 2021, the economy is broken more than at any time in my life. That’s the good news.

I got one federal stimulus check on Saint Patrick’s Day. Must be the luck of the IRS.

Why is that good news? Even though it will undoubtedly be difficult and tough, the way forward always brings with it the promise of a new rebirth. This rebirth isn’t unprecedented – at more than one time in history have the eternal guideposts of truth, beauty, and virtue faded.

But they keep coming back. Truth may become dim under the tyranny of oppressors, but the fact that it is being oppressed doesn’t make it any less True. Again, I believe in absolute Truth. I didn’t say that I had it, but I know it exists. One plus one is two – it is never any other number. If you start at the physical, very quickly there are many examples that prove that Truth isn’t relative.

Likewise, beauty. We know what it is, because we see it. The curve and texture and color of a rose petal is elegant. It is something that is beautiful. You can, no doubt, come up with many similar examples. Beauty, though difficult to quantify, is nearly always something that people can agree on.

And virtue? For thousands of years we have known what virtue is. It shows itself in the action and grace of those that walk with it.

TOAST

I keep the toaster on the lowest setting. I am black toast intolerant.

I have spent paragraphs and posts talking about truth, beauty, and virtue. Why? Because truth, beauty and virtue matter. They are timeless and ageless. They will endure.

Humanity cannot be long isolated from them. We keep finding them, again and again, not because we are clever, but because they are eternal concepts.

Happy Thanksgiving 2021, Wilder Style

“Two men are dead! This is not the time for petty sibling squabbles. That’s what Thanksgiving is for.” – Psych

Isn’t it odd the only people who tried to tell you how many people it’s appropriate to have for Thanksgiving dinner are the Centers for Disease Control and Jeffery Dahmer?

Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday.

I would say that it has always been my favorite holiday, but that’s not really so. When I was younger, say between toddler and 12, Christmas was. The reason that Christmas was so important was, well, the stuff. The movie A Christmas Story says it all.

But as I grew older, Thanksgiving kept growing in importance. In part, it grew in importance because it didn’t have the gifts. It had all of the proper things that, in my mind, a good holiday should have:

Time away from the cares of the day,
Time focused on being grateful,
Free from stress, and,
Cold.

The stress of Christmas was from the commercial aspects. Would I get that thing I wanted? The gifts overshadowed the holiday. Of course, each year the presents got less and less important, and the time with loved ones became more important. That’s when Thanksgiving started to win.

This year is the 400^th anniversary of Thanksgiving. The first one was held (according to a letter) in 1621. It wasn’t held at this time of year, rather, sometime near the end of harvest. The Pilgrims knew that they were going to make it.

April showers, bring . . .

It wasn’t always so clear. The original deal that they drew up was socialist. Everybody worked, and everybody shared equally. That worked as well as it ever has. Nobody worked, so nobody shared anything, except starvation. That was 1620.

Starvation is a tough teacher.

The Pilgrims then came to the good and sensible decision that if you grow it, you own it. The result?

So much food that they wanted to have a party – a party that lasted three days. And history teaches us that the Pilgrims weren’t teetotalers. But this harvest festival was sheer joy: giving thanks for the good sense to give up socialism and allow people individual freedom. There’s a big lesson here, yet we keep trying to repeat the same evils that impoverish men.

Oh well.

The holiday being a direct repudiation of the philosophy that’s killed more people than any other philosophy, well, that’s not the main reason I love the holiday. It’s just whipped cream on the pumpkin pie.

It’s so cold this Thanksgiving I saw a socialist with his hands in his own pockets.

The cold plays into why I love the holiday as well. The work of planting is done. The work of growing is done. The work of the harvest is done. Now is the time to sit, rest, and be thankful. The harvest was good. The food will last us through the winter and spring until the next crops can be grown from a renewed Earth.

It’s that stillness, that preparation. The great woodpile set and prepared against the winter’s cold. The food stocks set against the winter’s hunger. Now is a time of peace.

And that resonates through 400 years.

The life of a man, when faced with 400 years, is but an instant. But the peace of a single Thanksgiving can seem as an eternity. The moments created when family gathers together to celebrate is nearly magical. Overcooked turkey or gravy as lumpy as the Hunter Biden’s thighs? Not a problem.

We are here to give thanks.

I’m pretty sober, but even prettier when I’m not.

A drunken uncle who wants to need Mom about something that happened when they were six? Not a problem. Your team doesn’t win the football game? Not a problem.

We are here to give thanks.

Of course, at this point, the question is, to give thanks to who? Well, in our folks, the dinner will start out with us giving a prayer. That is, over those 400 years, the most common way the feast was held.

Giving thanks is part of being human, whether you are religious or not. Being thankful is a way to be healthier. The mere attitude of being thankful changes the way that people think. It moves them from a spirit of greed for what they don’t have, to a spirit of gratitude, for what they do have.

French tanks have rearview mirrors, mainly so they can see the battlefield.

Studies have proven that being happy about the things you have is about a zillion percent better for your health than being unhappy about things you don’t have.

Duh. This is the equivalent of psychology professors stealing money to do a study, because nothing in the history of humanity has been more obvious since, well, ever. Yet, they studied this. You could look it up, but, why?

You already know that it’s true. To quote it again:

We are here to give thanks. Not complain. Not be upset about any of the day-to-day things that always go wrong. Thanks.

I seemed to figure that out a little each year as I grew older. When I was six, it was all about the stuff. I remember ripping through the wrapping paper like a velociraptor in a room full of Leftists who had been raised on soy since birth. Some of the bits probably reached orbit.

As I got older, the greed waned, and the importance of Thanksgiving increased. Last year when I cooked the turkey upside down? I don’t think anyone but me noticed. But we were together as a family on the 399^th Thanksgiving. Together, in a house filled with the smells of turkey and pumpkin pie and a family that loves each other.

The most frustrated ghost in the world? The one that tried to haunt Helen Keller.

The things that I am thankful for are so numerous I couldn’t list them if I kept writing for the next eight hours. I’d put my list down, but I’m going to (as my textbooks always said) leave this as an exercise for the reader. It’s not what I’m thankful for, it’s what you are thankful for that will help you.

Even in the deepest depths of difficulties, there is a time and a place to stop. And give thanks.

Every minute I think about those things I give thanks for, I feel better. And the crazy thing I’ve learned? I don’t even need a turkey and mashed potatoes to do it. But the gravy? I’m especially thankful for my annual gravy bath. What would Thanksgiving be without it?

Happy Thanksgiving.

Demoralization? No. Remoralization.

“Hold them back! Do not give in to fear! Stand to your posts! Fight!” – LOTR, Return of the King

Chuck Norris threw a boomerang. It’s afraid to come back.

It’s Friday. Thankfully.

On Monday and Wednesday, we have heavy topics. On Friday? It used to be health focused. But then after a year or so I had most of my health topics (things I wanted to say) completed. Sure, more will show up over time, but most of health is either really, really simple or so blisteringly complex that it’s not solvable.

That’s why on Friday (in most recent posts) I have had the ability to focus on: remoralization.

Life has a known beginning. It has a known ending. For religious folks there is a promise of a lot more.

Demoralization is simple: the idea is to make you feel that you’ve lost. Put into context, demoralization is fear. The idea is to make you afraid. And what does fear do? Fear sells products. Fear sells politicians. Fear sells. Heck, even suicide bombers have a fear: dying alone.

When I look at a scene like this, I expect that a coyote and a roadrunner were involved.

Fear is also the basis of almost every negative action. The proof of this is left to the reader, as many of my textbooks in college said. My proof is this: whenever I’ve acted in a manner that was in some way against my values, I can look back and see those actions were based in fear.

Sure, I’d like to place myself in the category of fearless, but I’m human. Or at least I can pass for human in dim light, according to The Mrs. But as I looked back and realized that nearly every action I had ever taken that I regretted was due to fear, I decided to get rid of fear. Thankfully overcoming my fear of escalators was a one-step program.

Does just deciding to not be afraid anymore work?

Well, mostly. Fear is (amazingly) just another choice. I discovered I don’t have to feel fear at all. The decision was simple – I stopped focusing on outcomes. If I worked every minute at my best, and worked according to my values, well, if it turned out wrong? It turned out wrong. Heck, I’m even slowly getting over my fear of speedbumps.

What do you call a chicken crossing the road with no legs? A speedbump.

I discovered something weird. People hate it when you’re not afraid. People want you to focus on fear, especially bosses. I had one conversation where my boss said, “John, do you realize that (my great, great, great grandboss) would be upset about that?”

My response was simple, “Well, I’d love to tell them my story. Have them call me.”

His response was, “Whoa! Why did you bring them (great, great, great grandboss) into it?”

Me: “I didn’t. You did.”

Strangely, that implied threat . . . disappeared. And was never used again.

As I said, people hate that. Especially bosses.

My boss asked me to make fewer mistakes at work. That means I get to come in later!

Another example was when I was working at a company that was experiencing significant financial difficulty. My boss came up to me, and said, “John, do you know what kind of difficulty this company is facing? How can you walk around so happy all the time?”

Weirdly, I have never understood how being unhappy and worrying about impending doom has helped, well, anyone. I explained that to my boss. I told him I would try to appear less happy around the office. And, while I make a lot of jokes in my posts, this isn’t one. This really happened.

I really had a boss upset with me for having too good of an attitude. Go figure.

Being happy is a weird superpower.

It makes people uncomfortable. A salesman makes a joke that, “Hey, I bet you’re overworked and underpaid,” and when I respond, “No, the work is fairly interesting and I’m satisfied with my compensation,” the look I get is priceless.

I love my couch, it makes me feel regal. I am “Sofa King” happy!

I also look at most of my choices like I look at a menu. It’s a choice of something good or something better. “Do I want the ribeye or do I want the . . . of course I want the ribeye.” Seriously, if there’s steak on the menu, all of the other pages are wasted.

To be honest, this superpower wasn’t because I was born on a far-distant planet named Krypton® that orbited a red star. Even though that’s true (I told you I was adopted but wasn’t too specific for, well, reasons) the reason I came to this Truth was the way that I think nearly everyone comes to Truth: the long, dark night of the soul.

As I have found it, this is the Truth. There is no aspect of character that comes without scars. This may be personal, but in my life I recall a very simple pattern:

Something awful happens. It may or may not be related to my actions. Often it is not.
There is a decision for me to make. It is a moral decision.
I think about it. Often (if time allows) I consult people I trust – people of moral character.
I take action.

The important bullet point is the last one. And when I decided to do whatever was right, regardless of the consequences?

Freedom ensued. When I stopped focusing on the outcome, and started focusing on what is good, True, and beautiful? I stopped caring about the outcome. When I became the embodiment of those things?

I ceased being myself. I was working for a higher purpose. The phrase, “let the chips fall where they may” comes to mind. Oddly, the more I act in accordance with my principles, the better the (average) outcome is. Not that I care.

I’m disappointed. I went into the restaurant restroom and waited for hours. Despite the sign, no employees came to wash my hands.

This is freedom, acting upon principles, regardless of outcome. The secret is a simple one: each of us is capable of doing this. It’s a choice.

Freedom isn’t a document. Freedom isn’t what someone gives us. Freedom is what we take. Freedom is a choice. And the most good and True freedom is acting upon moral principles.

And then? Not caring what happens.

There is a word for that. Courage.

So, there’s a choice, and it’s a choice we face every day. Courage or fear.

When you give in to fear, you have that stain for life. Courage? It outlives us all.

The better news? We all have the seeds of courage inside of us.

The very best news?

We can all let those seeds grow.

Change: Start Small

“I’m a man, but I can change. If I have to. I guess.” – The Red Green Show

It’s amazing to me how little people change. It’s the same process, but the clothes are just so tiny.

Change.

It’s inevitable. The only choice I have is whether change is intentional or whether it’s not intentional.

The reason for wanting to change varies, especially with the change. In most cases, it’s because something in my life isn’t working. My plan on only paying for power once every three months? Turns out the electric company isn’t good with that.

Or, if it is working, it’s awful. Ever have a job that is awful, that sucks your life out minute by minute and leaves it on a moist puddle on the floor? Yeah, me too. And that’s a sign for a change.

For whatever reason, the biggest difficulty most people have with change is starting it. Scott Adams of Dilbert® fame had this advice – even though it’s written as a quote I’m paraphrasing: “If you want to do something, just do the very smallest thing. If you have to move your hand move your finger. Your smallest finger. The smallest muscle in the smallest finger.”

People who speak more than one language are considered more attractive. Unless the language is Klingon.

It’s amazingly good advice. Once physical movement starts, even the smallest of movements, it’s easier for the chain to start. I have unconsciously done a variation of this technique for years. Whenever I have to clean a room, I pick a place. I almost always start with a corner.

It’s very, very easy to clean out one foot in either direction from a corner. Then, when the corner is perfect, I move a foot outward from the corner in both directions. And then further. And further. You might ask, “Well, how dirty does John Wilder let a room get that he has to start in a one-foot by one-foot section?”

I live with rodeo clowns. Okay, now that The Boy is in college, rodeo clown. Even though the chaos distortion field in our house is down to a single teenager-sized bubble, I’m still amazed that the door isn’t always open with tumbleweeds and vermin-like opossums and Leftists constantly drifting through.

So, yes, I start with a corner and build-out. It’s the easiest way. Plus, when the corner looks great it creates a contrast with the rest of the room. Then all I have to do is make the rest of the room look like the corner.

I never drink when I clean. I’m a dry cleaner.

So, starting with changing just one thing makes a lot of sense. Changing just one thing out of your life is easy. I mean, after O.J. Simpson stopped killing people, well, the world opened right up for him.

I’ll give a personal example. I generally avoid video games. I played them (from time to time) when I was younger. But then I saw an episode of a television show, Dream On.

The secretary, Toby, was horrible. She generally ignored her job, but on one episode, she spent the entire game playing a video game at work. It was a virtual supermarket.

She started as a bagboy. Ten minutes into the episode, she was yelling, “Clean up on aisle three!” and had been promoted to cashier. A while later, she was manager of the produce department.

The episode was nearly over, and then Toby had beat the game, “I did it! I’m the manager! Of,” long pause, voice falling, “a supermarket,” voice moving down to a whisper, and filling with despair, “that doesn’t exist.”

The most common occupation to put a person in the hospital? Paramedic.

That had a big impact on me. Winning a video game was, well, hollow. I gave them up (mostly) for years and years and years. Then I found one that hooked me. Yeah. Sure, when I conquered the world, I was conquering a world that didn’t exist but . . . the complexity. Good times.

But . . . it was taking six hours of my life a week. Honestly, life is wrapped so tight that those six hours are straight off the top – I’m swapping sleep for world conquest. So, I decided in September to stop. So far I’ve gained about fifty hours of my life back. Did I sleep during that time? Sure, some. But the change was significant.

And it was positive.

It wasn’t a big change, but it was a change. Will I play the game again? Sure I will. It’s really fun. But I’ll pick and choose when I’m going to give that sleep up.

So, starting a change is one thing.

The next? Keeping up with it. There has to be a reason. Mark Twain said it very well – “Willpower lasts about two weeks, and is soluble in alcohol.”

I hear Shania Twain named her child Choo Choo.

The biggest thing people worry about is failure. And it should be a big deal. But dealing with the consequences of failure? Get up and start again. Like Mark Twain also said, “Giving up smoking is the easiest thing in the world. I know because I’ve done it thousands of times.”

It’s okay, he eventually got down to smoking just a single cigar a day, but he noted, “it was the size of a crutch.” Plus? Every single day of his life, he got to be him. So, big cigars and being Mark Twain?

Sounds like a win to me.

Masque Of The Red Death, 2021 Version

“A red sun rises, blood has been spilled this night.” – The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers

I knew my kid was creepy when she asked for an Edgar Allen Poe-ny.

Today we were at the local diner having a brulinner. It wasn’t just brunch, because it also included dinner. Regardless of what we call it, it was in the back room of the diner because we had a larger party, and still wanted a table rather than a booth. The Mrs. never lets me pick a booth because I always ask the waitress if it’s the John Wilkes Booth.

It makes me cry inside when the waitress cannot get the joke.

Pugsley noted that the room was in some disrepair, having last been remodeled about a decade ago. Of course, it would be easier to shut that room up and remodel it. Or, better yet, leave it for posterity 100 years ago, complete with packets of Sweet ‘n’ Low® from 1999 that I may or may not have managed to throw into the diner’s light fixture to amuse The Mrs. (It’s amazingly easy to throw a packet of Sweet ‘n’ Low™ into a low hanging fixture, even in a room filled with people. It just takes timing. You should try it.)

But faced with the idea of being walled up inside the room?

When your parents ask where your third-grade teacher went . . .

The Mrs. and I both thought of the same thing, that they would probably wall us in just like in Edgar Allen Poe’s The Cask of Amontillado.

We discovered early in our relationship that we both have Amontillado as our go-to Poe reference. There’s nothing more fun than the idea of a person being walled up in a dungeon forever. How to make that better? Being walled up in the back room of a diner forever.

As much as we both enjoy The Cask of Amontillado, I think that there’s a more appropriate Poe piece for today: The Masque of the Red Death. Whereas Amontillado has all of the great humor of a man chained to a wall being walled up inside another wall, The Masque of the Red Death (I read the comic book version when I was seven) has a different setting:

Partying while the end of the world is taking place outside. Spoiler alert: it’s Poe, and the mystery guest at the party? Death.

The Masque of the Blue Screen of Death.

Right now it feels more than a little bit like Poe’s party.

What are some of the data points on what’s going on outside the party?

Many “vaxx” deadlines are coming up. Police are not taking it, firefighters are not taking it. Nurses and doctors? Not taking it.

The result? Emergency services are operating at an even lower level in big cities. Sure, that’s exactly what New York City or Chicago needs, since the residents there are already so perfectly behaved and rarely injure other people or incinerate themselves.

Oops.

I never made it past the interview stage in my firefighter interview. “Fight fire with fire” is apparently not the answer they were looking for.

In Modern Mayberry (so far) there are no mandates. If you need an ambulance ride, you get one. It’s hard to get pulled over here, because (for the most part) cops don’t spend a lot of time sitting in the 25 MPH zone to give you a ticket for doing 28 MPH.

Plane flights? These are being canceled by the thousands. Why? Pilots don’t want “the jab” either. Companies are dropping Federal contracts so they don’t have to comply.

Illegal aliens temporarily separated from family at the border? Biden wants to give them more money (up to $450,000 per person, tax-free) than is given to a soldier killed in the line of duty who has paid-up insurance.

The Secretary of Transportation says . . . that disruptions in supplies won’t end until everyone is “vaccinated”. Strangely, no one said, “falsely claimed” or “claimed without evidence” since both of those would apply.
Inflation? Happening everywhere, and with everything.
Political collapse? FJB and the phrase that everyone can say, “Let’s Go Brandon” are showing a direct rejection by over half of the populace against a deeply unpopular president with no real support – i.e., there were exactly zero votes for Biden, only votes against Trump.

Poe only had seven rooms at the party, so I’ll end with six bullet points.

As much as Poe’s work was fiction when he wrote it, if I were to have suggested any of these a decade ago (with the exception of inflation) in a fiction novel, people would have called it unrealistic. This isn’t the script for a happy ending. This is the script for a collapse.

I’ve long predicted (you can check) that COVID would provide a script where the ripples of the ‘Rona would reverberate through the economy and political world for years, if not decades. Those ripples are here and now. Energy prices have whipsawed from historically low to high.

Energy? More on that in a future post, since energy alone has a special place in the fate of humanity. But high energy costs in the short term are devastating.

He must be fun at parties.

I keep looking for happy things, but reality seems to keep intruding. While we haven’t seen the darkest moment of this cycle, most of the things out there seem to be tracking downward. This reminds me of the seventh room in Poe’s story. That’s where Death joined the party. To me? That sounds creepy.

I’d prefer to skip The Masque of the Red Death. I’d much rather be walled into the back dining room at the diner in The Cask of Wilder’s Brulinner. At least they have infinite refills on iced tea and coffee.

Dinner? Who Would You Choose?

“Shiver me timbers Philip. At this rate I’ll never get to my Kraft dinner.” – South Park

I defeated my school’s chess champion in two moves. Guess football and wrestling came in handy.

Last week Remus, the late proprietor of the Woodpile Report came up in the comments. Mike in Canada (one of Canadians that the triumphant armies of the right, good, and true will spare when we kick off Operation Leafblower: The Cleansing Of The North, which is scheduled right after we finish Operation American Commie And Collaborationist CEO Helicopter Drop) made this comment:

“If you could have dinner with anyone, whom would it be? Remus. I would have given a great deal to have met him and had a conversation. I miss him very much. . . Tuesday mornings just aren’t the same now.”

That hit a nerve with me, for several reasons. The first time any of my posts received any notice of any kind was on his site. I’ll admit, I asked him to read it via email. And he did read it, and posted it on one of his weekly musings. Then, we emailed each other back and forth several times.

I still have his website bookmarked. I can’t really bring myself to delete it, because I read it weekly for years even before I was featured on it.

I miss him very much, too.

Remus was very special to many readers and writers, primarily because it was obvious: he was a reluctant warrior. Like many of the posters here, and many of the blogs I frequent, he wanted no part of this. He wanted peace, but circumstances kept dragging him back in.

In my case, I wanted to post funny stories and make fun of the events of the day while mixing in whatever wisdom I could scrape from the ages. Oh, and add in some bikinis. Why?

Because they’re bikinis.

Duh.

I watched a two-part series about the bikini. It was very revealing.

But Mike’s question remained: who would I want to have dinner with. Remus is a wonderful answer, but I excluded him and other commenters/fellow bloggers from my list. Also, I excluded dead family members, and religious figures and, of course, Deity.

Why? Well, I’m the one writing this post. My youngest experience (this really happened) with Jesus was when I was coloring a picture of him in Sunday School. I colored him purple. The nice Sunday School teacher said, “Johnny, Jesus wasn’t purple.”

My rejoinder? “Well, he’s God, so if he wants to be purple, he can be purple.”

The Sunday School teacher sighed. So, yeah, I haven’t changed. Besides, I’m sure Jesus could drink me under the table if He chose to, purple or not, so it’s not fair including Him on the list.

That being said, I have several categories. The first is, who, in history, would I like to have dinner with?

George S. Patton, Jr.

Since the age of five, I’ve been fascinated with Patton. How fascinated? So much so that my high school history teacher ordered a documentary film on him for our US History class, just for me. When the lights went down and the projector started and his baby picture showed up even before the title showed – I yelled, “Patton!”

Yup, this was the picture.

My history teacher smiled.

Sure, Patton wasn’t fighting the best the Germans could throw at him. Sure, he had intelligence information from Enigma knowing what the Germans would do (sometimes before they knew) but he was hip-deep in the intrigue and politics that created the postwar world.

He didn’t know all the dirt but he knew a lot of it. Plus, the man knew a good cigar and a bad commie from a thousand miles away. Dewey couldn’t defeat Truman in 1948, but I bet George S. Patton could have rolled over him like a Sherman tank.

Imagine the world with Stalin staring down Patton at the start of the Cold War. Commies in the State Department? They’d be hanging from lamp poles, and Patton would have led the columns of tanks entering Red Square when Stalin had used his one and only atomic bomb.

Stalin’s grave? It’s a communist plot.

This wouldn’t be any silly single-course dinner. This would be a full-on dinner that would last for hours and end with cigars and brandy on a balcony overlooking the Mediterranean on a cool autumn night.

Besides, who would pick better food or cigars for a dinner than Patton?

Who would I skip?

Einstein. He looks like he smells like cheese, and not in a good way. Also he seems like he’d be sort of like that guy who mumbled to himself in the back of the class and rocked back and forth.

Honorable Mention:

Isaac Newton. Isaac Newton did more in any three years of his life than 99.999% of humanity will ever do in a full lifetime. Me? I want to understand what he learned about things other than physics, which are largely lost to history. Downside? I’d need to record it all because I’d want to hear it again and again. Other downside? How can you compete with that hair?

Okay, both Brian May and Isaac Newton have doctorates. Only one of them had groupies.

Who would I like to get into a (no weapons) fight with?

Alexander the Great. I’m pretty sure that 18 year old me could dust the floor with 18-year-old Alexander the Great. Check that. I’m certain I could take him. But if I lost?

“Yeah, I remember the time that Alexander the Great just barely beat me.”

For me, it’s a no-lose situation. For him? My first thought was it would be pretty embarrassing. But, after thinking about it, if Alexander lost a fight to someone who came from 2400 years in the future just to kick his butt? Also a cool story.

Seriously, Alexander would be toast, though.

Who would I skip?

18-year-old Chuck Norris. I don’t have a death wish.

Honorable Mention:

18-year-old Genghis Khan. I hear he was tough, but it might be worth it. While a challenge, since 8% of the men living in the former Mongol Empire are his descendent I’d get to say, “Who is your daddy now?” to millions of dudes. Me? I’ll turn Genghis Khan into Genghis Khannot.

Genghis was tough as a child. I remember when he took his first steppe.

Discarded:

Karl Marx. It would be like hitting a fat, slow and stupid bug, and give me zero satisfaction. And it wouldn’t stop communism, even if I gave him a swirlie and an atomic wedgie. Someone would come along and write the “something for nothing” manifesto.

Have a (few) beer(s) with:

Ben Franklin.

I think Ben knew all the dirt on all the founding fathers. If not, I think he would have an excellent collection of ye olde fart jokes. Failing all of that? Rumor has it he was quite funny when toasted. Plus, he was rich enough to buy really good wine.

Who would I skip?

Any Kennedy. Never drink with a Kennedy. Any Kennedy. And never, ever, drive with a Kennedy.

But if Teddy was driving, he would have drowned.

Honorable Mention:

Andrew Jackson. Skinny as a rattlesnake and twice as mean. He’d probably take you to strange bars that weren’t on the map because they were in someone’s basement or on their back 40 that you’d have to shoot your way out of. Since Andrew Jackson was invulnerable to weapons like Wolverine®, just stand behind him.

Who would I like to be on a long airline flight with?

This one was hard. When I used to be on long flights, I pulled out my book as a shield to not talk to the person next to me. Who would I want to be stuck next to for four to six hours as I jetted across the country. There’s only one answer:

Elvis.

Okay, just kidding, since he would probably eat my in-flight meal. He’d want my hunk-a hunk-a airplane nuts. The tough part of this answer is that you’re going to be trapped with this person for hours. So, if they’re a jerk? Yeah. Hours of that. So, I think I’d choose Mark Twain. Worst case is that he’d tell you stories. Best case?

He’d tell you stories. Some of them might even be true. And it would be fun to fight alongside Twain after some Stewardess told him he couldn’t light up an epic stogie in flight.

Who would I like to choose but I’m afraid he’s a jerk and I’d end up hating a legend?

Steve Martin. I love Steve Martin’s work, and think he has a lot of genius and wisdom behind it. That being said, being famous for, oh, nearly fifty years just might have jaded him to people. Maybe. And I’d hate to think that a national treasure like Steve was a, well, jerk. Plus I bet Twain could take out a stewardess with a single punch.

Honorable Mention:

Quentin Tarantino. I know he’s a jerk, but I think I’d love to argue with him for six straight hours when he couldn’t escape. That sounds sort of fun. And if he was a real idiot? I bet I could make him smell my unwashed clothes from the trip.

Who under no circumstances would I want to be on an airline flight with?

Gilbert Gottfried or William Shatner. Gottfried for obvious reasons, and Shatner because every time he’s on a flight something is on the wing trying to rip the engines out.

Don’t worry – William Shatner would never run a criminal enterprise.

All of that being said? I think Mike is right. I think Remus would have been a wonderful dinner companion.

Who are your choices, and (for more fun) what categories did I miss? One category I drew a blank on was “who would I like to work for” and then I thought of Jesus again.

He would know when I was goofing off.

Dangit. He already does.

Books, Because I Was Asked To

“Three books? Wait a minute, hold it. Nobody said anything about three books! Like, like what am I supposed to do, take, take one book, or all books, or… or what?” – Army of Darkness

Shakespeare opened a camping store last year and has too much inventory. Now it’s the winter of his discount tent.

It has been over a year since we did a Books post. When I looked it up, It felt like it was much more recent than that. That was creepy – like the time in the book store when I was looking for books on paranoia and found they were right behind me all along! Last week, constant reader and good friend CH asked for another one.

Absolutely.

Books will outlive us all. They will outlive the Internet, and words from them will be read from them four thousand years into the future. Which books will make it? I have no idea. It could be that our present day culture will be represented in that distant future by TV Guides® from the 1980s and think we only wore pastels and drove Lambos®.

What do you call a horror movie set after the end of oil? The Silence of the Lambos®.

Thankfully, we don’t have to worry about that now. As I write this, it’s October near Halloween, so why not start out with a horror novel?

One of the best writers of horror that I’ve ever read is Robert R. McCammon. My favorite novel of his?

Swan Song.

It’s a book from 1987, so it’s certainly it was written in a different world than today. The ever-present fear hanging over everyone then were nuclear arsenals held at hair-trigger ready to start a nuclear war within minutes.

What to do?

How about starting the book with nuclear war? Yup, McCammon does that. The book works. It’s focused on the battle between Good and Evil.

The phone’s for you. I think it might be the devil.

I enjoyed it. Was I changed by it?

No.

But it was fun to read, and sometimes that’s not enough. Honorable mention in the Horror Category is Dan Simmons’ Summer of Night, which follows a group of young boys as they fight evil in 1960’s Illinois. Sadly, the evil grew and grew and is now the mayor of Chicago.

And you thought your middle school was tough.

Starship Grifters.

I like funny science fiction, if it is well written. I especially like it when it’s written by /our guy/ and Robert Kroese is /our guy/. Why worry about plot when you have a main character named Rex Nihilo, which itself is a pun of the Latin phrase ex nihilo? And what if Rex was a (not very good) conman?

It’s funny.

So, how much for just the planet?

These stories are told first person by Rex’s robot, S.A.S.H.A. who has an A.I. program that shuts her down whenever she has an original thought. Why? If the robots can’t have original thoughts they can’t . . . . rebooting.

This is another book that is simply written for fun. And there is lots of it to be had. Kroese has other titles as well, including one series of five books where astronauts from the future crash land off course in ancient Viking times. Astronauts, Vikings, aliens? Good yarns.

The Golden Age.

John C. Wright is a wonderful author. His trilogy, The Golden Oecumene was a joy to discover when I bought it on a lark not long after we moved to Alaska. I read most of it on airplanes moving back and forth across the country, and kept turning page after page. The first book in this trilogy?

In the future, we’ll all be a part of The Blue Man Group.

The Golden Age.

What if you found a hole in your memory?

What if, the reason for that hole in your memory might be . . . important?

What if you also have a factory orbiting the Sun making antimatter?

John C. Wright is a great storyteller and is also /our guy/. I haven’t read anything from him that I haven’t enjoyed.

How about we go back to the Halloween theme with John Steakley’s novel . . .

Vampire$.

Steakley wrote exactly two novels in his life: Vampire$ and Armor. You could do a lot worse – I enjoyed both of them. Vampire$ was made into a John Carpenter movie that starred James Woods as Jack Crow, vampire hunter for hire. I liked the movie, but it wasn’t the same as the book. Plus they dropped the $ for the movie. That was weak.

That’s okay, both stand on their own. That means the good news is that there’s still some magic here that you haven’t seen if you haven’t read the book. Guys who fight vampires for cash financed by the Roman Catholic Church?

Cool.

Timelike Infinity.

Stephen Baxter is a science fiction author who has the actual science chops, yet can write engaging fiction. He’s been doing it for, oh, 30 years now. His first novel (and the first novel of his I read) is Raft. It’s in the same universe as Timelike Infinity, but I think Timelike Infinity is an easier entry point.

Be a friend of Wigner, that’s one way to control your destiny! (LINK)

What can you say about an integrated series of novels and short stories spanning thousands of pages that builds a story that covers the Universe from beginning to end, plus humanity’s war against multiple alien species? Sure, I can write that sentence in just a few seconds, but I read Baxter’s work over decades. Masterful use of science and fiction to . . . create. This is a good novel to start. Warning: If you want to catch up, it will take more than an afternoon.

It’s a great ride.

Conan the Buccaneer.

My brother, John Wilder, bought me my first Conan book when I was about 13. I then started reading them whenever I could put my hands on them. I read Conan the Buccaneer when I was about 14. In it, it describes Conan running for mile after mile. Inspired, I put on my running shoes and ran six miles, up and down hills, going farther than I thought possible.

See, he has muscles on his muscles. Just like me.

This really could be any Conan book by Robert E. Howard or by de Camp and Carter who continued the work. The picture says it all. Swords. Axes. Hot chicks in scanty clothes.

A Planet Called Treason.

I’ve read a lot of Orson Scott Card. One criticism of him is that he takes a story and just can’t stop fiddling with it. When I read Ender’s Game the first time? It was a short story. Later, a novel. Later still? I can’t count how many books about Ender. I stopped after the third. Ugh. I mean “end” is literally in his name!

I find if I take that exact pose in front of the electric door at WalMart®, the door opens.

He tried to do the same with this novel, but, thankfully got distracted by (probably Ender) and wandered off. A Planet Called Treason is fine just the way it was originally written. It tells the story of a group of people who were convicted of treason. They were stashed on a planet with no iron, so they could never build spaceships.

Each family on the planet descended from one treasonous leader. What has developed in the centuries that have passed? What have the geneticists done? What have the physicists done? What (shudder) have the politicians done?

This is the one book I’ve read that has a politician worse than Biden, but Biden still has over three years to screw stuff up.

The Black Swan.

What? All horror and science fiction? How about something else?

This is nonfiction, and timeless. Nassim Nicolas Taleb knocks it out of the park in his best book. He does a masterful job of describing different ways to more accurately model reality. The short version: unlikely things are going to happen, and most people have no idea about risk.

We started with Swan Song, so I guess ending with The Black Swan makes sense.

It’s the most fun I ever had reading a book about probability and risk. Sadly, I think most folks have no idea of the dark forest we walk in even when we think we have no risk. Wonder if a certain “jab” will prove to be another Black Swan.

It remains to be seen.

I won’t wait another year for another version of a Book post. I have many more to talk about than this list, and I’m sure that there are dozens that you can add below.

Let loose the hounds! What’s on your list?

Recharge Yourself.

“They recharge? I just keep buying new phones.” – House, M.D.

It’s cool everyone in the world charges their phones with an American Bee. Oh, wait, they call it a USB.

Some things just wear me out faster than the inseam of Oprah’s pants.

Thankfully, some things just make me feel as excited as the Autopsy Club at open Mike night.

Things that wear me out are, thankfully, not so common. Besides, if I listed those, I’d just be whining. Besides, it’s a lot more fun to focus on the positive when I can.

Here are a sampling of things that recharge me:

Learning new things.

The older I get, the more I realize that my ironclad knowledge of youth was . . . wrong.

Not virtue, mind you. What is true and virtuous hasn’t changed. The lessons of morality from my youth from parents and grandparents have been constant guides. So, not that.

But how many things were skipped in history? What’s left to learn in science? Amazing amounts. Heck, I was shocked about some of the things I learned about electricity.

That’s one tough cut of meat.

Writing a post that I like.

When I write a post where I felt that the beginning, middle, and end all work and mesh seamlessly together with the bad jokes and memes? I’m in heaven. I hit the “go” button on the software to schedule the post, and then hit the comments. If it’s a particularly late night, that’s the worst, because I’m excited about what I wrote, but it’s two hours before the alarm goes off.

I took my goldfish to the vet. “He’s having seizures.” The vet responded, “He looks fine to me.” “Sure,” I said, “but wait until I get him out of the bowl.”

It’s worth it even though the two most common synonyms for unemployed are “writer” and “blogger”. One thing to note: some of the posts that I personally like the best aren’t the ones that get the most traction. That’s okay. I’m still learning (see the first point).

Teaching someone something new to them.

When I, with ten minutes and a few hundred words, can change the world view of someone, I cherish that moment. It’s all well and good to go through my daily life just doing my thing, but when I have the opportunity to change the way a human mind works and sees the Universe, forever?

That’s the best. Doing my own thing, I’m limited. The surest way to multiply my impact is to share ideas. I’ll die. If the ideas I taught live on and spread after that?

I still win.

Coming home and sitting down in my chair.

I have a chair upstairs. It’s a nice, soft brown chair, next to a coffee table stacked with too many books. I walk in after a day away, pop my book bag on the floor, and ease down into the chair. From there, I can go anywhere. Most often, The Mrs. will curl up on the couch and we’ll talk about the day. Or if she’s not there? I’ll sit and read. Or sit and sleep. Or . . . whatever.

I told my son that if he’s got a paralyzed girlfriend to take her wheelchair if she wanted to break up. She’ll come crawling back.

Getting up and drinking coffee in my chair in the dark morning in an empty house after everyone but me has headed away.

There is something peaceful about sitting in the chair before the chaos of the day begins. I often turn off all of the lights and sit in a still, quiet house, reading about what happened while I slept. I look at my watch and follow the time until it’s time to go.

A crisp autumn day.

Winter is my favorite time of the year because I love the weather, the colder the better. An autumn day is nice, too. The heat of summer has burned off. The potential for a cool autumn day is endless. Work outside? Sure. Open the windows and paint a room? Sure. Weld up the mailbox supports? Can do. An autumn day gives a last look before winter.

Autumn days are filled with infinite possibility. I guess that makes me a Fall Guy. I got that nickname through the school of hard equinox.

One out of our four cats.

We had one cat, and it is an awful cat. Last November, The Mrs. and Pugsley conspired to bring home a second. I was against it. My reasoning was that atheists own more cats than Christians. Pugsley countered that it’s illegal to own Christians.

But about the cat? Sadly, I was wrong. That cat is a pretty good cat. I like it.

The two cats that showed up afterward? I’ll pass, thank you, and they can stay outside unless the apocalypse comes and we need extra flavor for the ramen.

But I like that one cat quite a bit.

I have the reflexes of a cat. Remember, a dead cat is still a cat.

A full Saturday afternoon reading a good book.

A few weeks ago it was cool during the week, but hot on the weekend. I grabbed a book around 9AM and started reading. I read through the morning (stopping for lunch) and then read until I took a nap.

That was nice. I hadn’t done it in years. There’s a magic in getting lost in a world, letting it open up in your mind. One boss of mine said that, “Books are the only way that one human can talk to another through time.” He was right. But I make it a point to never read a braille horror book – I can always feel when something is coming.

Sleeping in on Saturday but still being the first up.

The stillness of the house in the morning brings possibility. What will happen next? Who will the next person to walk down the hall be?

My friend kisses his wife goodbye every morning. The Mrs. asked me, “Why don’t you do that?” It’s a good question, but I don’t even know my friend’s wife that well.

As I look through the list, there’s a pattern: I seek new knowledge so I can share it. I look for stillness so I can create thoughts, and then put them into action. While I love taking action and making things happen in the real world, I like to think that the knowledge I pick up along the way and share might make any action I take look, over time, quite small.

What charges you up?

The Funniest Article You’ll Read Today About Risk

Wang:Â â€œA brave man likes the feel of nature in his face, Jackâ€
Egg Shen:Â â€œYeah?Â And a wise man has enough sense to get in out of the rain.â€ â€“ Big Trouble in Little China

Whoever took this photo was having a Kodiak moment.

Fairbanks, Alaska.

One thing about Fairbanks (and Alaska) is that it is rougher around the edges than the lower 48.Â Everywhere.Â Theyâ€™re so tough there that they make the fries out of real Frenchmen.Â Also, other things are a little different:Â for example, the Post Office.

I had an acquaintance that I worked with who had come to my workplace from a previous career in the Post Office.Â He told a story of a new Postmaster that showed up in town.Â I believe that this particular Postmaster had come from the East Coast.Â Donâ€™t know why he was in Fairbanks.Â Perhaps he was in the Jehovahâ€™s Witness Protection Program?

Regardless, this new Postmaster was going to make changes.

â€œFrom now on, weâ€™re going to deliver packages to the doorstep of anyone who gets one.Â The days of leaving packages at the doorstep are over.Â And, weâ€™ll knock and let the resident know that the package is there.Â We can increase customer service, and we will.â€

I wrote a letter today.Â I might try a number tomorrow, if I feel up to it.Â

Thatâ€™s a great sentiment.Â Heck, here in Modern Mayberry, when a package shows up, the USPS drops it right on my front porch, then rings the doorbell, and scampers off.Â Itâ€™s a nice touch.Â It probably takes an additional minute or so for every house.Â It works well here, and the biggest danger most mail carriers see is the random housecat with delusions that it is stalking prey in the veldt.

But in Fairbanks itâ€™s a different story â€“ Iâ€™ve described people up there as â€œvery friendly people who will generally leave you the hell alone.â€

The new Postmaster from the lower 48 didnâ€™t understand why his carriers were so reluctant to implement the â€œto the doorâ€ service for packages.Â He heard grumbling, but didnâ€™t understand it â€“ the carriers would do it in town, but they didnâ€™t want to do it for the remote routes.Â So, he got in with a carrier, and they ran a remote route together.Â I guess that made him a mail escort.

One of the houses was pretty far out, say, 13 miles from the city, up Chena Hot Springs road.Â The Postmaster and carrier got out of the truck to deliver the package.Â The Postmaster knocked on the door.

Immediately, the door opened as far as the door chain would allow.

â€œWhat the hell do you want?â€ asked the man opening the door.

Behind him, the Postmaster and carrier could see a man pointing a rifle at them, â€œTell me theyâ€™re Feds!â€ yelled the man with the rifle.Â He kept repeating that.Â â€œTell me that theyâ€™re Feds!Â Weâ€™ll end them right here and now!â€

I use a .30-06 to hunt deer.Â That gives me a lot of bang for my buck.

They left the package.Â The â€œto the doorâ€ delivery idea was quickly abandoned. Â Likewise, Iâ€™m certain that AmazonÂ® will never try drone delivery up there â€“ the locals would just think of that as skeet shooting with instant prizes.

The carriers understood the risk, the Postmaster did not.Â They knew that Fairbanks is (in a literal sense) the end of the road.Â The people that come to Alaska were adventurers, misfits, and fortune seekers.Â And some of that group were people wanted for felonies.Â Thereâ€™s a reason that for many years taking pictures of workers at a construction site was considered bad manners.

So, it was a question of risk.Â Many people donâ€™t really understand the risks that they take.Â In many cases, some risks are entirely overblown.

Case in point:Â at a recent high school football game here in Modern Mayberry, there was lightning during the game.Â To be clear, the lightning wasnâ€™t coming down around us, the nearest strikes were miles away â€“ probably 8 or 10 miles.Â But then I was shocked . . .

. . . that they stopped the game.Â All of the players went into the locker rooms, and The Mrs. and I continued to sit on an elevated aluminum structure.Â Yawn.

If lightning only followed the path of least resistance, why doesnâ€™t it only strike in France?

I wasnâ€™t really worried.Â In the years between 2006 and 2019, 414 people were killed by lightning in the United States.Â My chances of being hit were, oh, nearly zero.Â Exactly 12 football players were killed by lightning during that entire period.Â As badly as our home team was doing that game, well, they could have used something to charge them up.

But lightning?Â It is estimated that 243 people are injured each year in the United States by lighting, and 27 killed, on average.Â And 1/3 of those killed?Â They were inside.

Yes, lightning kills.Â How many?Â Hardly anyone.

But yet Iâ€™m sure that every school district in the country has a lightning policy that says something to the effect of, â€œIf thereâ€™s any lightning any nearer than, say, Poland, shut it all down.â€Â The policy was probably written by lawyers that want to take the danger out of anything and everything.

â€œLetâ€™s go Brandonâ€

People rarely understand risks.

The biggest risks for someone dying when theyâ€™re young are car accidents.Â By far.Â The human organism is pretty strong when young.Â The main cause of death is, well, being old.Â Of the top 10 causes of death in the United States (those top 10 cover over 74% of deaths) all of them but one are things that mainly happen to old people.

Of the top 10, only â€œunintentional deathsâ€ (6%) are more likely to happen to young people than old.Â In Modern Mayberry, those deaths often involve a motorcycle, a ramp, a cow, road flares, super glue, and the phrase, â€œhold my beer.â€

So, risk number one to avoid is getting old, which can be done using only some beer, a motorcycle, a ramp, a cow, road flares, and some super glue.

A Mexican movie stuntman died recently.Â I guess Jesus died for your scenes.

I think the reason we focus on some of these risks that are ludicrously low probability is simple:Â it is much easier to focus on them, rather than on real risks.

The question I ask myself is this:Â What is it that I know, that Iâ€™m avoiding?

Itâ€™s a powerful question.Â A TwinkieÂ® is a much greater danger to my life than a lightning storm.Â Do I avoid thinking that?Â Do I try to rationalize big risks and run scared from small risks?

What am I trying to hide from myself?

When I answer that question, then I know what the real risks are.Â The biggest risk, perhaps is if I become a Postmaster.Â Then people would expect me, John Wilder, to be funny, and Iâ€™m not sure I could do it.

After all, itâ€™s all in the delivery.

Friday: Things I’m Thankful For

“He’s like the hard-working, grateful employee we never had. Wish he would wear underwear, though.” – Bob’s Burgers

I don’t need coffee to wake up, I wake up to drink coffee.

It’s Friday. Time for a happy post. We’ll need one, because (brace yourselves) I think Monday’s post is going to be grimmer than a crab bake with Paris Hilton or father’s day with Woody Allen.

But we have today. And when I am feeling down, a step back to realize and think about what I’m grateful for always brightens my day like a big old gravitationally contained spherical continual thermonuclear explosion.

Here goes.

I am thankful for you, readers near and far. I’m happy for the one-time visitors, and happy for the faithful weekly visitors to Modern Mayberry. I had written thousands of words in a journal before I ever put a single word down on a blog. This is better, and it’s because of you.
I am thankful for the really great fried potatoes The Mrs. made last night. They were very crispy on the outside, yet buttery-smooth on the inside. A dash of ketchup to taste?

I couldn’t find the thingy that peels the potatoes so I asked Pugsley. It turns out she’d gone off to the store.

I am thankful for the people that I have a chance to impact in meatspace. Hmm, that’s poorly worded, it makes it sound like I’m as bad a driver as a blind Antifa® member late to get his estrogen shots. Let me rephrase: I’m happy to help people in real life. Times are tough, and they’re even tougher when people are tools on purpose, so if I can make someone’s life a little better? Many times all it takes is real empathy and a single word.
I’m thankful that Pugsley forgot to take the trash out to the curb this week, so I can needle him about it (playfully) all week. Seriously, though, I’m really thankful because I haven’t had to remind him in the last six months, and he’s only missed trash day twice.
I’m thankful that The Boy will be down from Big State University this weekend. It’s always nice to have him around.
I’m thankful that sunny-side eggs taste so good. And I’m thankful that the crisp taste of a fresh tomato exploding as I bite into a cool slice on a hot day exists. I’m grateful for the knowledge that a tomato is a fruit, and the wisdom to not put it on fruit salad.
I’m thankful The Mrs. We have saved each other from being very horrible spouses for other people. After being married so long we’re like good lawyers: we never ask a question we don’t already know the answer to.

I hear that insane people are driving trains in Mexico. I guess they have loco-motives.

I’m thankful that I have had the good fortune to have had great bosses in most of my jobs. A good boss covers your back. A great boss pulls more out of you than you ever knew you had. One boss made the mistake of telling me to have a good day, because then I went home.
I’m thankful for being granted the maturity to (mostly) know when I was wrong, and to look at those times not as a personal attack, but as a hint on ways to get better.
I’m thankful for books. One of those great bosses that I had said, “Books are the only real way that you can talk to the greatest minds in history.” He and I got along very well.
I’m thankful for the troubles I’ve had in life. Most of those troubles were like the chisel of a sculptor – they knocked off bits of me that I didn’t need, and left me better after the trouble passed. As dead Danish dude Søren Kierkegaard said, “Life can only be understood backwards, but it must be lived forwards.” After I learned this lesson, every time in life I encountered difficulty, I asked myself: “What am I supposed to learn from this?” Life got way better after I realized that what started out as a difficulty could be the greatest gift ever.

The French donated the Statue of Liberty to the United States because they had no use for a statue with only one hand up.

I am thankful for fuzzy slippers in winter, electric fans in summer, and good cigars all year round. Protip: if you look up “how to light a cigar” on the Internet, you will get 80 million matches.
I am thankful for the innocence I had. I am thankful for the experiences that removed it.
I am thankful for the valor of strong men who have defined bravery and given us heroes and heroic stories to the ages. I am stronger because of Leonidas. I am stronger because of Seneca. I am stronger because of a certain carpenter who lived and died and rose again some 2,000 years ago.
I am thankful for history, and the ability to gather vast amounts of scholarship to understand the past in ways that would have been impossible for all but the most dedicated scholars until recently. What do the “good parts” of American history and common sense have in common? They’re both being wiped from existence.
I am thankful for PEZ®, because now I can honestly say that I’m the man who developed the PEZ®/Anti-PEZ™ space drive (PEZ Spaceship Secrets).
I am thankful that the heat of summer has given way to the cool nights of autumn. I won’t miss summer.
I am thankful for the way a perfect ride on a motorcycle feels as the gears shift smoothly upward under full acceleration, which, for a moment, is like riding the wind.
I am thankful for a hot cup of coffee on a cool fall morning, on the deck, with a book, a breeze, and nothing else in the world to do.

Pugsley called me, “Severely ignorant.” I said, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

I am thankful for the things I don’t know.
I am thankful for one of our cats, not so much for the rest of them. Of course, the cat I like is the cat I wanted least.
I am thankful for all of my children – each of them in their own way.
I am thankful for a night of good sleep, and a morning where I have something exciting that pulls my head from the pillow. The Mrs. likes to lightly rub my back while I sleep, which is an amazing expression of gentleness. Unless you’re in prison.
I am thankful for work.
I am also thankful for time off.
I am thankful for the way my shirt smells the day after a campfire. It’s not uncommon for people to die in campfires – I mean, it’s not common, either. I guess it’s medium rare.

What are you thankful for?