The Culture that has been here all the time

One benefit of living into my seventies is that we have lived through scary times. Hiding under the desk at school in case of a nuclear attack. Dictators and belligerents pounding their fists on their tables, criticizing the US. Polio and cancer threaten our health. Gasoline shortages. Inflation. Immigration concerns. Spies and counter-spies. Clashing ideologies.

Guess what? We survived. Enemies became friends, and friends became enemies. 

Meanwhile, in the hidden agendas, greed and profits played a big part in keeping the world in one piece.

Yes, the headlines in Tabloids and their equivalents do a good job of keeping us on edge, joined by fake news online. And don't forget the apocalyptic and post-apocalypse movies added to our uneasiness.

Yes, if you are a victim of COVID, live in an area where a disaster occurred, or are in a war zone, the worst may happen, but thinking of life in these United States, we seem to get through it all and life goes on.

So far, at least.

I am thinking a lot about my old friends.

Hey all, I finally realized something: Since my only social life is when I interact with people online, I now know I am like a worm on a fish hook. I can squirm all I want, but nothing will change until a fish swallows me up.

My bad mood is getting worse fast. Life is hopeless.

I could have an open house kink party, but I live in a very conservative, conventional little town so that Idea died before it even was thought of.

What people in this town openly support and what they support in private remains hidden. AI image from pixabay.com

I went to bed somewhat early because I was not feeling right. My wife was already asleep, and soon, the two dogs and my big cat were in bed, too. I put the TV timer on for five minutes and lay my head on my pillow, with the dog in my arms and the cat snuggled between me and my wife. Christmas lights from houses in the neighborhood dazzled on the windows. I only have two LED imitation candles in the windows, and they are just because we live in an old house - a tradition of some kind. I closed my eyes and tried to imagine oblivion. 

Suddenly, I was walking around in a warm setting, almost tropical. The palm trees swayed nicely. People were enjoying the balmy weather, strolling or sitting on benches. I could hear the surf not far off, so I walked over to the fence between the road and the sand and watched some children romping on the beach and several fishermen surf fishing. The image was similar to when I surf-fished in my youth, except there were no palm trees where I fished. I lingered and did not keep track of time. The sun began to set, and the sky was as beautiful as I had seen. Softly, I felt a hand on my shoulder, and it was the woman behind me.

She was like my second wife, with blonde hair and green eyes. Trim and graceful, she spoke almost in a whisper, "I have been looking everywhere for you, Jim."  She softly lifted my hand, and we walked. As we did, she said, "I will help you care for Jeanne. Now you don't have to worry any longer."

Bam! The cat pulled on my beard, which was his way of telling me to get up, master; "I'm hungry."

Sigh, it was only a dream.

Just another season. I like the cold weather and the snow flurries that visited us yesterday. I am grateful for my limited enjoyment: a few NFL games, ancient movies, and dramas or dramedies from the UK.

I hope all of you are well.

Jim

My lover held a blanket in her arms and whispered, "Follow me to the distant garden in the forest." Her soft voice was alluring, and she moved like a willow in the breeze. She tossed the blanket between the fruit on the vine like a wave upon the shore. Beneath her flowing gossamer gown, I gazed at a living goddess from ancient Greece. This must be a figure of Aphrodite come alive. Her smooth, pale skin seemed to glow in the moonlight. I was helpless to resist her. Soon, we were tightly wrapped in one entity, indistinguishable as separate lovers. Hearts beat as one. Breathing was as a single billow. The soft grass under the blanket made our bed complete. Her lips bore the heat of the fever within. Her breasts were soft, her nipples hard, compelling me to nourish my desire. The identity of my manhood explores the cave of Venus within her. When we were nothing more than an ashen stone in the moonlight, the sweet sleep of joy gave us rest.

My wife has severe cognitive degeneration (ADA, think Bruce Willis). She still likes it when I tell her she is pretty. I put a small amount of makeup on her, and she smiles, hugs, and kisses me (nothing more). I ordered a wig for her to see if she would like it—real human hair. Her mom had very thin hair as she got older and had several nice ones — too bad I didn't ask for them before she passed away.

A rich man lived in a mansion with servants and paid helpers to keep and run it. He spent all his hours awake plotting how to gain more wealth - some people believed he did that in his dreams, too. When holidays came around and things like birthdays for people in his life, he delegated the job of sending cards and gifts to his assistant.

His assistant was a nice guy who barely made a living from the salary the rich man paid him. Many years passed, and all went as usual, but the nice guy became ill and passed away in the hospital unnoticed. The summary of his obituary read, "He was a nice man without a family." He was cremated, and that was the last thing the rich man did for his employee—no one knows where his ashes are kept or even kept.

Not too many years later, the rich man became ill, and hoards of people sent flowers to him while he was in the hospital and took turns visiting him. When he died, they all collaborated to have a most beautiful and magnificent ceremony, an eloquent eulogy, and even a parade with a horse-drawn carriage and marching band playing a somber dirge.

People gathered at and around his mansion for the reading of his will and last testament. The crowd gasped when they learned that a daughter and a son received all his wealth and worldly possessions—only the nice guy knew his children existed.

If you want to pay homage to him, you can visit the great cemetery on the hill overlooking the town. It is made of the finest Italian Marble and is as large as a bus.

Rich Man                                                  Nice Guy