Brown Paper Bag

Bag, poke, sack...you know, it's what you tote your lunch to school or work in. People who hyper-ventilate also use them to blow in when they have an attack. Perhaps it would be good to send a few to Wall Street and maybe even to Washington. They are for sure having a panic attack. Throw money at the fire, that will put it out for sure.

I've thought about Wall Street and it may be true what the old people said way back...that it was like gambling. We can kick it around to see. You take a working man who has enough money in his pocket to pay his bills and support his family. He remembers stories of a place where he could take his paycheck and double it maybe triple it, maybe even win the big one. Well, he didn't win and came home with empty pockets. The wife and children had a tough week ahead. He thought about it all week, no lunch money but he could handle it, he thought more. He was a pro now, last time the casino tricked him but he is old school now and come Friday, he'd show 'em. Tired and nervous, his wife begged him not to go, the children wanted to play ball that evening. ' You'll see, I got it figured out.'

Late in the night, he comes home. His pockets are empty, the gas tank is empty. Everyone wakes up sad. Monday, the power is turned off and he has to borrow money from his parents to get it turned back on.

Now take Wall Street and read the above scenario over again. Isn't it that even when people have enough, they still want to step up that ladder quicker than the normal will take them? Double-down, double-or-nothing...well, people are there waiting for people to prove they can beat the system. Most cannot!

bicycle story

Speakin' of Countin'

We had an old mule one time back on the farm. There wasn't much cotton picking or corn picking to do, we had already done that, so I was out in the woods with the mule trying to snake up some firewood. I must have been twelve or thirteen already and weighed at least seventy pounds so that old mule was no match for me. He probably wouldn't a pound over two thousand. I got the harness on him and hooked up the single-tree with the dogs (hooks for the logs) dragging on the ground and a hammer in my hand. I got him backed up to the log and started driving the dogs into the downed tree. It was my first time but I knew to put the dogs on three sides so the log would pull and not roll. Now my dad was a logger from way back and that old mule knew him. That old mule also knew how many times my dad swung the hammer to get the dogs in the log. I took too many swings and the mule lost his patience. He took off to the woodpile and stopped. 'Now what was that all about, he forgot the log.' I chased after him and we tried again. On the same number of swings, the mule headed for the woodpile. This time though the log was attached enough for him to drag it with him. It took me a while to figure it out but that old mule was counting my swings by the ping it made when I hit the dog with the hammer. A countin' mule, now that is something. Wall Street and Washington both could use an old mule like that.