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Archive for July 19th, 2014

Airports, where time stops.

Cruel Wife and the kids dropped me off at PDX three hours early so they could make it to their hotel.

Honestly, I needed the down time. I hate goodbyes with family I see once a year.

Did you know that time stops in airports? Just like hospitals, courtrooms, funeral homes, and shopping malls.

But as I cruise the ‘net, I find interesting things, and this one brought a huge smile to my face. Not for the young victim, because nothing will fix him, and my heart bleeds for him. But the smile came from seeing this sorry sack of shit get what he has coming to him.

Actually he has more that he deserves, but I bet it will come to him soon enough.

The father is a saint, for having the self control to not kick the sick son of a bitch to death.

Yeah, you’ll have to pardon my frame of mind. I will be better in a few days.

an eternity later

Just saw Peter Ustinov. He shambled into the airport men’s room as I left it.

I am not sure which is more disturbing; Seeing Peter Ustinov or the realization of how old I have to be to recognize a long dead actor from so many years ago.

“Thirty five minutes” until my flight begins boarding. Might as well be like the Stephen King short story “The Jaunt”.

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I am near to going home after a week with family. It has been fun but I am ready to go home. Sleep in my own bed, sit in my own chair, and kick my own cat.

Let us be clear… I love seeing my family but I hate coming back to where I grew up. Too many memories.

In a handful of hours I will be back in my own home, and thrilled to be there.

But I enjoy seeing my dad. He and I got on the topic of adults that we ran across in our young lives that took an interest in us but we never understood why until years later, or may not have ever done so.

He mentioned one teacher who wrote in his book “‘Can’t’ never did anything.”

It is an unusual thing to say in a kid’s autograph book and surely had a reason.

I told him that I had a teacher give me “The Count of Monte Cristo”. He remembered her well.

Out of all the kids she had in her classes she wasn’t known for handing out books not on the reading list and saying things such as “I think you will really identify with the main character.”

And I still wonder what made her do that. I can make all sorts of guesses but what did she know or think she knew about me and my life?

If you have had that happen, I would love to hear about it, and why you think it happened.

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