Thursday, November 28, 2013

The Universal Collision | 2013


Wow. The biggest collision to happen to since 1699? Or some ridiculously historical date way in the past. I know it's not happening for another 10,000 years, like I'll be around to deal with it.

I just shake my head wondering where people are getting the money for all this + traveling on top of everything.

Christine Romans, she of CNN, says don't charge if you can't pay off everything by January's end. Smart advice.

But I wouldn't feel less thankful if I stayed home and had bagels or Chinese, pizza even. I'd stay in, and watch the entire second season of AMERICAN HORROR STORY | Asylum.

And I would be thankful for the people in my life, but I wouldn't think any more or less than them if I could not only save a few bucks, but put a portion of the money I'm not spending in the calendar collision of three major holidays, all whack require money, and money to get there. Let's divide by four: say I was going to spend $400 and donated 25% of that to the less fortunate who would would love to have a Thanksgiving dinner, and I don't know if I could be a fly on the wall at a place like that.

Thank would be $100. Which could buy 10 boxes or bags at the various grocery chains. Or dinner out or four people with $25 which might throw a turkey to the $10 bag for marriage.

I'm not saying that I'm not going somewhere and not going to be with family and not have a good time rather than a dysfunctional afternoon, and the folks are driving, because my driving wouldn't be acceptable, and I'm not hateful to the point I can't drive with them, and work on my blog at the same time. 

Either way.

I remember when I was post grammar school and entering high school. I was going to bars by then. But part of my excuse for some things was CYO – Catholic (or Christian) Youth Organization. And we would collect from the church and school and donations and stuff and put together complete meals, meals which make today's pickings look slim – and bring them to the project. Subsidized housing which generally is so terribly run down rather than geometrically fashioned, and drop bags to the Negroes. Yep. The Negroes in those days.

And somehow a camera always ended up in my hand because I wasn't afraid of going directly into battle or the front lines to get my photo.

And out of the blue, but really in a series of stairs taking you to the upper levels, there were shadows with peoples' front doors there, visible, saved, somewhat by the lack of a lightbulb over the door.

And the one that did I wouldn't take a photo, but especially when that woman said "hey – hey you. The one with the camera. Take a picture and I'll break your arm."

Somehow I believed her.

And I still haven't taken that picture. Nor will I.

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