Irons in the Fire
Returning from Sioux City recently with Margaret, I was running some ideas past her for an upcoming article. I’ve made several mental notes and/or hand written notes on each of the subjects prior to our conversation, but hadn’t developed enough passion for any of them to put the effort in. My mind and my time are preoccupied with a multitude of other matters at the moment.
Some of the ideas I’ve considered but are not limited to include: A 1987 interaction with former supermodel Kathy Ireland and American Idol judge Paula Abdul while working in Malibu is a good example. I declined an invitation from one of them to go dancing that evening, suggesting some darts and Guinness. She gave me a nasty snake eye and peeled rubber as she sped away in her foreign sports car.
The farmers are returning to the field for spring planting, firing up their machines and dusting off the necessary equipment. It reminds me of a “boys and their toys” analogy, but I know it’s far more than that, even though they love it so. It’s long hard work. But scratching the dull colored dirt into a deeper darker shade – Etch-a-Sketch on a grander scale, has to be immensely satisfying.
President Trump, who I believe has many good intentions – along with several awkward ones, and his tendency to ad lib cringe worthy statements regarding both is easy game. The stakes are high for everyone concerned on either side of the rhetoric, and be they totally worthy or complete fantasy, I wish a more eloquent statesmanlike individual was delivering them.
Recreational vehicles and campers of an assorted array are beginning to appear again, traversing Highway 20 or 81, heading to whereabouts unknown. I wonder to myself where they’ve been or where they’re going. Is everyone happy inside as they look forward to their adventure or is mom hiding the steak knives to avoid an unplanned stop to the local ER?
A recent dive into the history of the Inquisition and the Crusades, and the dwindling cultures of many European cities by migrating Muslims who have seemingly no intention of assimilating with their adopted new homes makes me curious. It also makes me sad and a little afraid. Is this what is referred to as Islamophobia?
The sermons at church lately have been difficult to hear with crystal clarity because of the noise interference generated by babies and toddlers. I know the words coming from the pulpit are important and are intended to teach me something and raise my awareness to our Savior’s majesty. In retrospect, I think the message came through quite well and is just as He desires; young families doing as Genesis 9:7 instructs. I adore every squeak and squeal.
I stopped playing golf years ago because in all honesty, I suck. Sunday afternoons – unless yard work or some other vitally important chore beckons, are saved for napping and watching it on T.V. It can get pretty intense if you give it a chance. I’ll lean back in the Lazy Boy with my Bermuda shorts, black socks, short sleeve Wrangler plaid shirt and Deer Foam slippers, and feel like the coolest cat around; a style and look that I swore would never happen to me.
The mostly weekly publication of “Inside Billy’s Brain” in the Osmond Republican – thanks to the wonderful Managing Editor Regina Lorenz, is a small sliver of a slice of a dream come true and I thank her for that. The consistency of the writing will wane here in the next few months; I got a lot happening. When more time becomes available – as was the plan from day one when we relocated here, I’ll continue the submissions if granted the privilege. Until then, God Bless.
