"Well, well, well, I do declare," the Southern Rose blushed. "Little ole fragile me, a joy forever. Can you imagine that?"
"Not you, little miss bighead," the grouchy old thorn growled. "He was talking to the pretty lady. He doesn’t even know you exist."
"Well, Mr. pointy head", the Southern Rose said, "Miss Lottie just said how beautiful I was and how much she loved such a beautiful rose".
"Oh for Pete’s sake you might as well be a blond rose for all the sense that makes." the old thorn snorted. "Do you know what forever means?" "You'll be dried up and gone and I'll still be here"
"Under your belief I'm a thing of beauty, because I'll be here when you’re gone and you will have no idea if I'm forever or not," the nasty thorn chortled. "Well," the Southern Rose came back, "you may be here forever but you certainly aren't a thing of beauty."
"Oh Beau, Miss Lottie said, "Will you pick that beautiful Southern Rose for me? I will cherish its beauty forever." "Well if that's not the damndest thing I ever heard," said the jealous old thorn. "Well, well, well, I do declare, the Southern Rose blushed. ”Little ole fragile me, a joy forever. Can you imagine that?"
I bit my tongue to keep from speaking. However, when I do something like biting my tongue, sometimes I go beyond the think mode. When someone says “I bit my tongue” it usually means that they held back a comment. They did not make their comment because they did not want to offend someone else’s beliefs, thoughts, ideas, religious convictions, or political views.
I always think that is a stupid thing to do but I do it all the time. Why start an argument, I say to myself. The issue or the point isn’t worth an argument or a response. What really crawls in my craw is that I not only keep ”mum”, a lot of the time I agree even if I do not agree. I am not sure why. Maybe it is to keep the peace or maybe I am not really sure of my position. Maybe I am leery that I’ll have to explain my reason for disagreeing.
On the occasion that I am speaking of I really did bite my tongue. On this occasion I was discussing politics with my bother-in-law. I am somewhat conservative but he is off the deep end downright stupid conservative. He believes whatever flies around the internet. I believe most of what flies around the net is miss-statements if not out and out lies but he is sure it is the “gospel”.
We were “discussing” at a family gathering. I was getting hot and he was getting hotter and I started to express my views in a strong tone when Nancy, my wife, said, “Stan”. I stopped and I bit my tongue.
Really, I physically bit my tongue. I bit it with the teeth in my own mouth. I put my tongue between my teeth and I chewed or chomped. I must have thought it was a piece of steak of something.
When I was young my first and now my ex and also deceased mother-in-law fed me cow’s tongue one night. I didn’t care for it. It had the texture of liver and the taste of “gamey” meat. Gamey meat comes from animals that have run a lot before they were killed. Their blood is ripe in the muscle and it comes out in the taste of the meat when it is cooked.
My tongue didn’t taste like steak or cow tongue or any other meat that I have eaten. It tasted like blood. The only good thing that came out of having a cut, swollen tongue is that it convinced me that I never want to be a vampire.
The word "deadline" was first used in a journalistic sense around 1920 and most people assumed it meant that "if you missed your time line the editer might kill you."
But the word really goes back to "Andersonville", a civil war prison of hell ran by the Confederate Army. The "deadline" was a line 19 feet from the stockade wall and any prisoner crossing that line was assumed to be escaping and was shot on the spot. The conditions were bad at Andersonville. I found the following quote.
July 9, 1864, Sgt. David Kennedy of the 9th Ohio Cavalry wrote in his diary;
"Wuld that I was an artist & had the material to paint this camp & all its horors or the tounge of some eloquent Statesman and had the privleage of expresing my mind to our hon. rulers at Washington, I should gloery to describe this hell on earth where it takes 7 of its ocupiants to make a shadow."
A "deadline" at Andersonville seems to have a much deadlier meaning than a journalistic "deadline".
It seems that over the years not too much has changed. Journalists still think their "deadlines" are more important than a soldiers "deadline". Maybe that is true if they are war correspondents. Sometimes their "deadlines" are the same as a soldiers
If I am ever in the position that requires getting something written on time I am going to call it my "lifeline". Afterall, a timeline requirement should mean I will get paid for it.
Low long is long? I have been staring at the ceiling for what seems like hours. How long? I don't have a clue. The ceiling has taken my mind. It's one of those holey plaster board types with water stains. I see cob webs from the corner of my eye but the water stains make me ignore the cob webs. They are not important. It is important to keep focused on the stains. They seemed to tell me that my life depends on my looking at those damned stains. I stare until they start to attack me. I become woozy. They are choking me, draining the life out of me.
"Has he awoke yet?" "No, he's still in coma. It's probably better. With his injuries and the way we have had to pin his head to that board he is better off sleeping. He won't be albe to move his head for at least 6 months." I just gave him another shot of morphine.
It began Sunday evening when I was trying to write something for my journaling class. I had chosen to write about the clash between the feminine and masculine issues in my mental makeup. I could not write anything that I was happy with. I worked until 2 am and finally gave up. The next morning I was late in getting up. While I was showering I started writing the article in my mind. I usually take a five minute shower but on that morning it lasted forty-five minutes while my mind wrote and edited.
I left the shower, dried off and went into the bedroom to dress. My wife asked me if I left any hot water and of course my reply was that there was plenty of hot water. Her answer was a mild threat which I of course ignored. It was something like "if my shower is cold, I'll get even". My mistake was not listening. My failure was that I did not believe her.
The next morning I was enjoying a nice hot relaxing shower. I noticed a shadowy form in a blue flannel night gown entering the bath room. My mind did not trigger any alarm. I had failed to listen to her threat and made the mistake of not being alert. My hot relaxing shower was interrupted with the full force of Niagara Falls coming down on my head and body. Oh oh oh, damn that's cold I groaned and the shadowy flanneled night gown giggled and laughed with glee. I told you I would get even she chirped. That glass of water came right from the refrigerator. . My "Rib" won again