Today's column is a detritus of thoughts.
When you open the Westinghouse and seven items fall out mashing your big toes and the nails become a lovely burnt sienna, and you could appear as a guest on History Channel's Rock Stars, it is time to clean the fridge.
When you open the door to the Kenmore and an odiferous emanation slams into your olfactory cells and you find a guy from the History Channel's Swamp People living in your veggie crisper, it is time to clean the fridge.
When you go in the bank and meet a person working behind the counter why are they called tellers when they mostly ask questions? Have you noticed that banks tout themselves to be friendly and they want to treat me, the customer, as a friend and neighbor then the first thing they ask is, "What is your account number?" I thought you want to treat me as a friend not a number?
More about banks. My bank that rhymes with Base paid me the munificent sum of $3.28 in interest last year. That is sure to blast me up into the next tax bracket. My accountant Charlie Cadge at Cadge's Tax Consultants and Car Wash will have to work overtime to find a dodge for that much money. Banks always talk about interest but most of the work there is boring. I know because I worked at a bank once.
I have grown weary of television adverts that depict people with the IQ of a gnat failing to accomplish a task that anyone with two working brain cells could do. A recent advert by Vaughner Paint Sprayer showed a guy with so much paint on him that he looked like he had lost the paintball tournament, three times. Then they showed how easy it is to use a Vaughner. Another ad showed a guy with a garden hose that looked like it was a python snake on uppers. Then it showed a device to roll up the hose and store it neatly. Those kind of people are out there driving among us and I wonder if they should be allowed out of the home without adult supervision.
Another thing about my bank. They have a trust department yet they tie all their pens to the desk with a hawser used to moor the USS Enterprise aircraft carrier in a hurricane. It doesn't look like they trust me.
Is it mandatory for all college and professional football teams to have at least one Samoan named Polemalu, Tatupu or Tueasosopo playing for them with hair flapping out from under his helmet hiding his name on the shirt? I am reminded of an explosion in a mattress factory?
It is peculiar how, even long after you've accepted the grief of losing someone you love deeply and truly have gotten on with your life, every once in a while something comes up to stir the waters of memory and for a time the scar tissue separates and the wound is raw again. I know it happens to me.
Larry grew up north of Calvertville on a farm and graduated from Worthington High School and Indiana State University. He can be reached at Goosecrick@aol.com or (317) 839-7656. He has written five books.