Unconnected Thoughts From Up North
There are people who have to win in life; it is an eternal struggle to be on top. That I can live with and can accept. There are others who have to win to overcome something way deep down inside them.
They say that a drunk tells no lies. There is also the saying that to know the real person, give them power. That sounds reasonable. However, I found that if you want to know a person, spend an evening with him playing cards or shooting pool. You can learn so much about someone like this, that it is almost awesome.
I am not a great pool player, but I am good enough to know that the game is won by the errors made by your opponent. He would be beat by his weakness.
We, our family, are beach people. The definition of these sandy salt-breezed folk would go like this: We, the beach people, are the ones you see walking the beach in light rain, in snow, on Thanksgiving Day afternoon. We gather shells, scale flat rocks, we take our shoes off and more than one of us has conceived an offspring down there, too.
We swim, versus the folks who come from away, buy the expensive homes along the beach, stick up Private Property signs, and sit there with a jug of sun tea, she with a trashy beach novel and he with the New York Times. We don’t read and don’t give a rat’s patootie for their Private Property signs.
(Random thoughts by Jim Carten)
They say that a drunk tells no lies. There is also the saying that to know the real person, give them power. That sounds reasonable. However, I found that if you want to know a person, spend an evening with him playing cards or shooting pool. You can learn so much about someone like this, that it is almost awesome.
I am not a great pool player, but I am good enough to know that the game is won by the errors made by your opponent. He would be beat by his weakness.
We, our family, are beach people. The definition of these sandy salt-breezed folk would go like this: We, the beach people, are the ones you see walking the beach in light rain, in snow, on Thanksgiving Day afternoon. We gather shells, scale flat rocks, we take our shoes off and more than one of us has conceived an offspring down there, too.
We swim, versus the folks who come from away, buy the expensive homes along the beach, stick up Private Property signs, and sit there with a jug of sun tea, she with a trashy beach novel and he with the New York Times. We don’t read and don’t give a rat’s patootie for their Private Property signs.
(Random thoughts by Jim Carten)
posted by Tom Carten at 4:00 PM
1 Comments:
I recall a relative who moved to small-town America at his retirement. Being a big city guy, he made certain his land was fenced in and he posted no trespassing signs seemingly every three feet. About a year later, he complained bitterly that people there just weren't friendly. We finally convinced him to take the signs down and wouldn't you know, he made a few friends. It must be sad to have so much that you assume everyone wants a piece of it. I'd rather be poor with friends.
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