Monday Mish Mash

This is the last Monday in August and summer draws to a close officially with Labor Day next week. The heat has returned again so we won’t forget to be somewhat glad to see summer leave. Things have been rather quiet, not a bad thing, allowing for iced tea and reading on the deck. A little daydreaming slips in as well.

Autumn’s calendar is beginning to fill up, which is often the case. The new school session doesn’t affect us much these days other than reducing traffic on the road a slight degree. The Ruby Slipper is beginning to snort for a road trip, a good idea since winter is rubbing her mittened hands with glee at seeing autumn move in on us. She will be next! Then there is the last fishing of the year to done while lazy leaves float down Ozark streams.

This last week I had to take pictures for an editor to accompany a memoir piece about my growing up near a Grandpa’s DX station. I can still smell the oil, feel the grease that lingered on everything including the phone book, and see that old distributor cap recycled for a pen and pencil holder. The editor asked for a picture of the Tom’s jar. They appear in flea markets now, some are reproductions, but I know the provenance of mine as it came straight from Grandpa. I can lift the lid and think I smell salt from peanuts, sugar from Double Bubble, or chocolate from Pay Day candy bars.                                               

                  

This picture hangs in the gun section of the Bass Pro in Springfield. I took a picture of the picture because it fascinated me. I would like to know the story that goes with this woman and her bear. Hum, I may to write a bear hunting story on some coming day!

 

 

I have been reading a lot Old West stories lately. Lots of crime, murder, hangings in those old days, but a day’s news now doesn’t sound a lot better. Humans have progressed in many ways but anger, jealousy, and hatred are still as rampant as they ever were. Sometimes I am so overwhelmed by the senselessness of it all. Maybe that is why I read of days gone by…there was still hope the human race might improve. I return to those days of yesteryear when cowboys honored womanhood, a gun was a tool for good more than bad, and squeak of leather on a saddle and clip of hooves was music better than mega speakers from car radios ranting foul language.

Enough mish mash from me on this Monday...