For some reason (unimportant to the moral of the story) this poetic journal entry from Doug's book keeps coming to mind causing me to smile.
Scribbled in Goose Creek and dated March 16, 1976, it goes like this:
"Hi-Blade Johnson (a now deceased friend of mine, who was, too, a man of constant dreams and far-fetched notions) wrote when he was in his 70's a poem that pretty well sums up the whole picture of material possessions. It goes thusly:
I'm a slave, I'm a slave, I'm a slave to my homeAh, the joys of home improvement which bring such literature to mind.
I'm a slave to every darn thing that I own
When I own a home I can live at my ease
But when I leave the place the plumbing will freeze
Who'll feed the dog? Who'll feed the cat?
I'm stuck with the chores like a mouse in a trap
I'd like a boat and a home by the sea
But if I get these things I'll never be free
I'm a slave to women, I'm a slave to my booze
As there's no way of winning I'm certain to lose
I don't learn my lessons, I'm not very bright
Tho the sun's shining brightly I can't see the light
When I get my paycheck I rush straight to town
To buy some more chains to tie myself down
I'm a prisoner indeed in my very own home
The prison bars are the things that I own
I'm caught like a fox with his hand in a noose
I'll never be free until death turns me loose."
Had no electricity for 8 hours today, part of home improvement. We could still run errands, water the yard, and keep an orthodontist appointment. After that, though electrically disoriented, we found other occupations. The kids pulled out the Monopoly board. Me? I picked up good old Soren and began my readings. Nothing like Kierkegaard to put the finishing touches on an already 99% fried brain!
Surprisingly enough, SK was good medicine for me!
I'm thirsty for more...