March 11, 2024

Yesteryear
One year ago today: March 11, 2023, hybrid cars – loan auto-approved.
Five years ago today: March 11, 2019, screwing up is a choice.
Nine years ago today: March 11, 2015, a typical day.
Random years ago today: March 11, 2001, $130 interest fee.

           Still no word from the Reb, but I know she’s in good hands. The house is full of people, so they’re taking turns at the hospital keeping an eye on her. My role is to keep the household operating. By late morning, all the pets were fed, the plants watered, the dishes done, and I piled the doggies into the van and headed north to Bowling Green. I took the old highway east of Mt. Juliet, I think it’s 109. It’s a cold day, good thing that van has two heaters. (Later, it turns out she may have a type of kidney reaction, most unusual for a healthy diet like hers.)

           The boys and I, not one to miss a Spring morning, decided to take a run up to Spencer’s for coffee. This is the college coffee shop in the history downtown of Bowling Green, Kentucky. Sammy & I have been there before, so we took the scenic route, I think it’s called 109. Smooth sailing means we arrive early in the morning, here’s photo of the boys at a park bench, waiting for opening time. Sammy was putting on a great show for the passersby, how ill-treated and starving and lonely , oh, the whining, oh, the drama. On the trip, I was listening to my audio-book, “Mastered By Love”. While I don’t care for romance novels, this tale is a fascinating insight into how the English aristocracy managed [to keep power] and it is a wonder it survived as long as it did. I learned the dukes had big land-ownings because the king needed them rich and powerful to protect his realms.

           I learned that each Duke was granted title that continued only as long has he was able to produce a son as an heir. Any lapse in that progression meant the title for the dukedom could revert to the crown, to be granted to anyone who pleased the King. No wonder there was a stop-at-nothing demand for them funny-looking English princesses and ladies. And why so many of the noblemen had permanent mistresses. So by the time I got to Bowling Green, I was not keen on the machinations of women looking for social status. You see, this book begins and stays on the theme that Minerva, the “chatelaine”, secretly had the hots for Royce, the reluctant Duke—until disc five. Then, there was a change in the plot. But what kept me happy was scoring $20 of the cheapest gas yet on this trip to Nashville--see photo.
           Back to the audio-book, the change was for the worse. Initially, it was an amusing tale of passion, these two ready to do the wild thing. Up to now it was a story of romance, desire, youthful sex, all the ingredients. What changed? Well, he kissed her. Suddenly, the plot is not longer about fun, or adventure, or the wonderful journey. Now, she pulled her hand back from his and is conniving how to get the best bargain for her sexual wares. I doubt the author intended this, for her (Stephanie Laurens) this abrupt change is the most natural of things. Yet women who think this way cannot, for the life of them, imagine why men like younger women who seem more capable of doing things simply because they are fun. (No need to remind me of consequences, I know exactly what I’m referring to.)

Picture of the day.
Hindu God of War.
Remember to use BACK ARROW to return to blog.

           So, I plunked in a chair near the doggies with my coffee and had that otherwise intriguing tale of royalty and honor and grand themes on my mind. That is, up to the point where she now wants guarantees and assurances of what for years earlier she dreamed of compelling upon him. Yep, and these women can’t understand why so many men shun older women who behave that way. In a way, I can identify with Royce when he states he has very little experience seducing women. I’m no Duke, but I know the situation. These older women and their mental gymnastics give seduction a bad name. Wait till you near what happened next, as I left town.

           I saw on my DeLorme an old highway, Route W31. The GPS took me down a road with a big sign, WKU and some orange symbol that could be a basketball or a fruit. I just wrote it off as call letters for a local radio station. Then, I found myself inching along through the campus of Western Kentucky University. Oh boy, college babes. Oh no, absolutely wrong. I passed around 220 females—I had somehow turned into a complex of rentals, condos, sorority houses, and female dorms within walking distance of campus.

           Folks, we are not going to make it. I’m not even going to show you a picture of these women. Instead, here is nicer photo of what you could expect to see on the bottom by scuba diving in one of Tennessee’s many man-made lakes. The women? Burkhas and turbans and fat. Misshapen, out of shape, unhealthy-proportions, there was not one I would have hit on. Not one. There has to be some physical attraction and the first 200 of them did not rate even a second look. Of the twenty others who had decent figures, each of those had something that set off alarms. Those few, while not ugly, each had some major off-putting feature that spelled no deal. Future single-mothers on welfare if you ask me.
           Don’t get me wrong, some of the lower strains of men must obviously find purple hair and bulbous thighs attractive or we’d already be approaching extinction. My first experiences with large groups of such women was with the phone company. Back then, you could return to a campus lecture or concert and see it was 90% gorgeous, slim, white teen women, and be assured it was not your memory tricking you into thinking women were better-looking in your day. Today, I saw hundreds of college women, but not one that came close to, shall we say, making the grade.

           Then, on the return leg, I got millennialized. I’d seen a few billboards for a Shaker museum. No, I’m not going to stop the van to phone them, or go visit their website, both have proven a waste of time over and over. The signs are enough, so I turned off W31 for a few miles off the path. Ah, there it is, a small stand of simple rectangular houses and a big church, shown here. As you pull up to the parking lot, you see the tiny sign, “Closed Mondays”. Millennialized.

           Another feature of WKU was the large number of sports-oriented buildings and fields. Small arenas, gymnasiums, and work-out areas. All of them vacant. This is a warm Spring Monday where I’d expect to see dozens of teams out to practice. Nothing. The few men in the area were scruffy, leotard-wearing, sluggish-moving types with mostly man-buns. Nope, this bunch are not going to make it.

ADDENDUM
           I’ve opted to stay around until the Reb is back home and the situation is stabilized. She has something, which I instinctively attribute to a vegetarian diet. These are known to be somewhat higher in sodium and JZ has warned me for years that can cause kidney pains. I stopped at the market and stocked up on pet food as best I know. Her formula changes over time, so I follow what she has on hand. That means doggie vitamins and fish oil, and a type of treat for the cats. All of which have doubled in price. In other news, the engine light for that valve solenoid is now turning itself off once we reach operating temperature. Do I take a chance?

Last Laugh