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 As my dear friends, Marc and Ali, named it, today is Blursday. It’s not a day like another, it is the other day.

It’s all about retirement in a locked down Nation full of people equipped with the skill of the steel ball that’s trapped in a pin-ball machine.

A Pinball Language Glossary - The Morning Call

Work life stopped and America went on tilt. Yikes, “Mask or ventilator; mask or ventilator… hmmmm, so many choices.”

coronavirus, COVID-19, ventilators | National Post

Thing is retirement can bring many things but time is not one of them! Heck, I’m retired and don’t have much time left! My fuse is burning fast as the clock ticks double time while I dribble on my shirt what food doesn’t manage to get down my sporting turkey neck.

Vultures wear stop watches as they circle above.

Vincent van Gogh - Wikiquote

Something’s flying overhead so I’m wearing my hat….

Mail persons knock to see if they still need to deliver to my address.

Creepy Door Images, Stock Photos & Vectors | Shutterstock

The good news is a Wednesday morning can feel like a Saturday and a Monday like Friday. Tuesday usually sucks retired or not. Tuesday has very little to say about anything; it’s not Friday, no better than a Monday and  not related to any weekend at all whether you’re moth balled or under the work master’s lash. Nope, I’m telling ya, I’ve looked at Tuesday from both side now and Tuesday’s a dump of a wannabe day. Maybe this is why I picked Tuesday to post this glob—what could go wrong? Or worse….actually, it’s Blursday.

Adam Lupton's paintings show the passing of time as a disorienting ...

Anyway…

While working, I never answered the home phone when at home. I told people to text me because, well, I don’t text.

Now? I answer so many calls from travel agents offering deals that might kill me if I go on them I feel I know the solicitors personally. “Hey, you’re the person who offered me that trip to see Head Hunters last week aren’t you? Well, hows the kids?” Okay, honestly, I feel sorry for anyone calling trying to sell travel packages right now… “Hey! We have a great deal for you driving from Gainesville to  Orlando in your own car! Free coupons on the interstate at the interstate stop!!!”

Holiday From Hell Cartoons and Comics - funny pictures from ...

Okay, no ones going anywhere if you live in Florida unless you’re extremely suicidal or just count on your co-pilot, God, a bit much.

Life couldn’t be better for me. Telemarketers call all day long and some campaigning phone calls are starting to light up our dial. Everyone is so sweet. The Fed Ex man rings the bell and stares as I answer wondering if I’m dead or alive. My dog sounds viscous and I swear the delivery people look like they’d rather be attacked than to have to stand near me for another minute.

I stopped by a take out window and the food nearly flew in my face as I signed the receipt  Alfred E. and drove off.

Seriously, I have a friend who is a grave digger part time. Does Randy think this might be some sort of bonanza year?

Argentine city digs hundreds of graves amid pandemic even as curve ...

I mean, I guess there’s a bright side to even in the worst happenstance. Like I’m on the track and that train’s coming but my wife divorced me, I’m about to lose my house, I have covid-19 , syphilis and I think a coral snake just bit me, the Sahara dust full of pathogens is upon us and the hurricane season is here…maybe, just sit tight and wait for that train? BTW, why are trains in America never on time? In Japan, where they outlawed suicide, the trains are always on time? So, what’s up with that?

Here’s to the Blursday’s of retirement and frankly, my dear, I’m hoping for a hell of a lot more of them. I don’t care how blurry.

Franque23 is retired and continually never bored. In truth.. I’m Lovin it… Cheers.

 


( some pictures enlarge by clicking…like the papaya tree.. Oh my)

Dale wants to know why I count everything? Well, clearly I was once an Australian Shepherd—she must not know?

Anyway, I am a counter; I count on good luck, good friends, good times, good weather and good reads. The beautiful thing about being an optimist is I’m never disappointed. Life is a roller coaster and every bottom leads to the top of the next plateau—that”s what I count on.

But what could this have to do with these 48 tomatoes in our kitchen today? (There’s a few more you can’t see…really about 61 in all.)

Well, that’s simple. A few weeks ago I counted over 314 tomatoes in our garden and hoped the crop would make it—note: I refuse to count cherry tomatoes. Anyway, the tomatoes started becoming randomly ripe here or there without rhyme or reason throughout the garden. In that the plants are often over 6 feet tall, I had to hunt for tomatoes as if they were Easter eggs.  Eventually, after boiling down about 31 tomatoes to freeze into 3 or 4 quart baggies of sauce per day, I think the tomato bunny is leaving my yard.

Today’s pick included a 17 green beans, a mess of collard greens and about 18 1/2 tomatoes.

However, please note the six large brown bags on the table behind today’s hunt. These bags are the secret to reaping in ripe tomatoes in Florida’s early heat and before the 4,129* bugs here that use infrared spyware and well coordinated attack plans can sting the fruit…Dang, I dislike everyone last one of them…(NOTE: for the first time in, no joke, 42 and 1/2 years of gardening in North Florida, I haven’t seen but two fruit stinging insects in my garden! I’m not sure if this is due to the air quality improvement, the normal season we are having weather wise here for the first time in ten and 1/4 years or random luck. But, for whatever the reason, I’m getting worried about not seeing the insects I hate to see… so I’m going to a shrink about this,)…

This is our first child and my wife, Dale, back in 1982 in our Micanopy home. The garden is about 27 feet left of her.

Bonus picture: this papaya grew as a volunteer from our compost I spread last August. It’s about 25 feet tall; so far, it has had 33 papaya’s on it. In all, 17 papaya’s grew in the garden from our compost but I transplanted the others thinking, “Who needs 17 papaya’s growing in a veggie garden?” Good thing. Apparently the trees live up to five years.

Anyway,,, back to those 6 brown bags—they held 56 (plus three rotten) tomatoes in different stages of ripening and four papayas… So, the deal is to pick most of the tomatoes in the garden as they just start to ripen, especially if the tomato has splits or rings on its top which means they’re likely to split open or rot on the vine if you leave them outside. There’s a trick to this picking called timing, but why go into that when your mind is already blown by the  128 tomatoes I’ve made into sauce and frozen in 18 baggies so far? Plus, every recipe leaves something out.

Above: 73 tomatoes plus three rotten ones.

The three rotten ones….

Here’s the fifty-six tomatoes from the brown bags.

Of the 56 tomatoes in the bags, 36 were ripe.

It can take up to four or five days for tomatoes pulled from the garden less than green but turning white or red in spots to ripen in the bags. I check them every day as one that goes bad in the bags makes a mess. Some tomatoes may ripen in one to two days,,, it all depends on how ripe they are when you pick them.

I hope this helps. But here’s the thing: you don’t need hardly any space at all to grow tomatoes. You can grow them in pots on a balcony if that’s what you have to use. Or, since tomatoes are the best thing coming out of just about any garden, if you have a 3 foot wide, ten or 15 foot long space that gets at least 1/2 day sun, dig that soil up. Add good soil, put up a straight fence down the middle of that row supported well by stakes that are at least four feet high. Now, buy 9 starter tomatoes from Lowes (if you only have a ten foot row–one planted every 3 feet on either side of the fence) and plant them. Be sure you have a watering source… hose, sprinkler… something….

This type of set-up might yeild you 100 tomatoes…!?!?

One more thing,,, stay away  from Big Boy or Better Boy tomatoes if planting in Florida. They’re size is spectacular to see but the top ridges in these varieties tend to split open in Florida’s heat.  Plant around Feb. 15th or August 15th in Gainesville and cover if we get a weird cold night or two.

And, if you have a backyard, plop a pool in it if you can—there’s nothing like a swim after a day of picking 18 and 1/2 tomatoes.

Cheers from tomato land.

Franque23 is counting on you.

*I will admit to having never counted the insects…maybe.

 


It will be ten years back this summer to be precise…( Please enjoy the linked video with music below)

This is a Franquemont-Morgan reunion our families have held it seems forever. Basically, you need to understand the Franquemont’s are true royalty in our hearts and minds and the Morgan black spot side of our genes are the worst kind of horns-wagglin’ pirates. I tried that year to do a story hour to appease the pirates,  as shown through out this clip below, but none of that worked as attested by one of ours being snatched and tied to a chair for like days–you’ll see that too.

As always, it all happens at Lake Bonaparte, and this 2010 reunion gathered 58 of the good Franquemonts and the bad whatevers who think they are pirates.  Oddly, no one drinks at these reunions that I’ve noticed. Really!* You’ll see us innocently roping off of Round Island—a feat no longer possible with the development there—only to be chased down by the cops who escorted us across the lake for the want of one life jacket cause 17 wasn’t enough. You’ll see some brave the rapids in the Eastern Adirondacks… fires at night and some very bad singing! It’s all here! The hummingbird steals the show highlighted by the children who know we’re nuts.

Sunsets, swimming and the massively Franquemont Franquemonts win, win, winning!

On a special note, the two groups like the yin-yang have formed as one under the name: MorgaMONTS.  IN all, 2010 reunion was a calm year: very few got thrown in the lake that much each day, I don’t remember a single short sheet bed set but the beer theft was rampant. I still have warrants issued on this… It’s important to note that almost every single adult I took out fishing that year caught a large bass or northern worth mention..this could mean on an every four year bumper fishing cycle that 2020 may be tough fishing. We’ll find out this year at our 2020 reunion!

To be sure, the Lake was wet, the night fires hot** and the stars above brilliant—like my Franquemont story hour:-) The lake is so much fun; family reunions like ours happen around the shore each summer. 

Imagine…

enjoy the show…..https://www.facebook.com/lachlan.franquemont/videos/t.1384221843/425061848537/?type=2&video_source=user_video_tab

Franque23

 

  • Water, that is.
  • ** I honestly believe no one fell in a fire this reunion…
  • What a year this was!!!
  • Last year was an off year, no reunion…Shadow and I chilled out with my wife Dale and Grandchildren
  • Older times lead to new and none will be forgotten

  • taken at the Muse lodge.
  • from our dock

(Click the pic for a larger view)

My Mom and Dad visited Lake Bonaparte often before and after I was born. Luckily, they got to spend about 30 summers at the lake after their employment days. Talk about memories!?!? I wonder which ones mom recalled most of all during her last summer on Bonaparte?

You know they had fun! (With our next door neighbors, the Sherman’s.)

My Dad trained for WW II at Fort drum and rested many days long after sitting across the lake from that training Camp’s location. He loved to see the planes fly over.

This is an old map of Bonaparte…(our camp built in 1970 isn’t listed.)

There are so many beautiful days at Bonaparte.

(Picture taken from our overlook of Porter’s Bay)

And cool summer nights to enjoy with family and friends.

(In the Muse Lodge porch camp)

Or stay warm by a fire…

We love our fireplace—overhead fans above the flames circulate the warm air.

Lake Bonaparte has a knack for getting cold. The one span of three days I visited during mid January the night temperatures hit 40 below twice and then warmed up to 30 below.

Even while casting images in a glass window while overlooking Nagasaki, Japan, the memory of  daytime snows falling on our daughter in Natural Bridge, New York, stayed with me.

And speaking of fires by the lake on those skinny dippin’ nights—what was I thinking!?!?! I’ve looked at this ol’ timey picture by Priests for years and years,

AND, mom snagged this Northern right in our bay! Like how many teeth of a good reason is this not to skinny dip?

Forgive me  if you know, but I feel we all should know Cody got bit on the leg in front of the Sherman Boat house in Porter’s bay (broad daylight) by a bass so large he had to go to the hospital! Just maybe, it was this fish I caught about 15 years later?

Fishin’ at the lake. Love it!

Perhaps many don’t know my brother Buz, (Ed Franquemont) helped build the first house on Round Island? He owned Bare Bones, a building outfit.

Here’s the team that built that house….!

My brother, Ed. (This shot taken elsewhere)

However, this shot below is on location on Birch Island where my ex-brother-in-law, Paul Doherty, lived with Meta for 30 plus years. My niece’s husband, Craig Carlock, was in charge of nibbling down trees to clear for pathways on that Island long ago and everyone should know. We still call him ‘Beaver Man,’ though he also does the best drankin’ loon call you’ve ever heard.

This is Craig watching our dog, Shadow, clear 22 feet off our dock going for a ball….and we’ve built that dock again since.

Have you noticed, lake people wave back?

It’s all too much fun! There’s always some to do or think thing about…

Beware of Pirates…..at the lake! Them Morgan clan folk.

I’m thinkin’ even our dog Shadow is looking for fish!

Impossible not to love.

While at the Lake, my sister, Sharon Franquemot, with a book published in nine languages, You Already Know What To Do, remains humble with me about our family’s  Kingly Heritage.

(really….our ancestor’s home is below. Karl Eugen ruled as Duke over most of Germany and Southern France in 1750)

So, the thing about visiting this one of five castles Karl Eugen had… sure it’s large but,….it was hard to find the bathroom.

(Karl Eugen’s largest home in Ludwigsburg, Germany)*

Anyway, I take my love for Lake Bonaparte back home to where I work in Florida and share it on bulletins boards at the Headquarter’s branch of the Alachua County Library district….

What a place to know, right? Lake Bonaparte:

Random shot of another bulletin board and one of Dan Franquemont…at the lake. (Muse Lodge)

So much—

Bye for now.

Franque23 loves Lake Bonaparte—The place and people we never forget.

*https://www.google.com/search?q=ludwigsburg+germany&oq=Ludwigsburg+germany&aqs=chrome.0.0l8.5814j0j7&sourceid=chrome&ie=UTF-8

 

 

 


(Click the pic for larger view)

Have you ever noticed the Jimmy Durante* size nose on the front of your dog’s snout?

That dog nose has it all over your nose; a dog can smell perfume from two miles away!

But what has this to do with Lake Bonaparte dog days? Well, it’s true I’ve bragged plenty about the time three years ago when my dog, Shadow, leaped 28 feet off our dock for a ball!

This is the moment; a twenty-eight foot leap that we measured.

But I think this year Shadow took being a dog at the lake to a whole new level. Actually, it’s scary. I mean he turned my four grandsons into dogs with a simple flick of his tail.

I’ve got them just where I want them….Shadow.

The next thing I knew, the boys were crawling around inside and out as if they were dogs! They were rolling around on the lawn, on all fours, barking and pointing like a bird dog…(Shadow, as a  Catahoula Leopard dog, is 1/4 blue tick hound).

I’ll teach them my pointing tail trick...What happened to their tails, anyway?

I’m hoping they omitted the butt sniffing thingy dogs do—not sure, I mean these are boys!

Shadow is about 100% of the time guarding us, or is he keeping us in place?

Does Shadow imagine he’s going to church?!?!

Who’s the real captain of this boat?

I’ve got them reading…..

Okay, timeout for a hug…..

Wait, Isaiah’s got it! Time to hug AND read!!! Shadow, the Great.

It can be tiring training four boys to be dogs.

 

Okay, this is my, ‘They are really screwed up,’ tail…..Shadow.

There’s this magic allure that emanates from dogs even when they’re drooling for your hot dog. Shadow is our dog, but sometimes I really have to wonder. Heck, he’s got me scratching his belly night and day and holding doors open for him whenever he wants. I panic if his water bowl gets low and I’ve about sold my soul for all natural dog treats and food.

You are now under my power…like forever, dude. Shadow

I only carry your socks in my mouth because you think it’s cute.

Guess how many times I’ve absolutely decided that this time, THIS TIME, I was going to drive away on an errand without him and then changed my mind?

Nope, your guess was waaay off…Start thinking about the figures in America’s National debt and you’re getting close.

Orange you gonna take me? Dude, I’m going with you, now get the keys…

Sure, I sleep in some days…when Shadow lets me. Who can sleep with a cold nose on your cheek? Unfortunately, I thought it was funny the first time I didn’t budge from bed once awake and Shadow hiked up on the bed to trample my face. Now, I’ve got two choices in the morning—either I lie comatose in bed without opening an eye, keeping my breathing pattern sleep-like while daring not wiggling a toe the slightest bit OR I get face-dog-paw trampled until I get up.

I’m not gonna admit to being in the rain while walking Shadow or waiting for him to come back home. I know that person looked a lot like me, your honor, but it’s a case of mistaken dog food, no, I mean identity.(Am I low on dog food?)

I do think dogs love to stick their heads out a moving car window for the rush or air, but they also are taking in an entire universe of smells as we speed along.  The book, Nubs,** is one of many amazing true stories about dogs who traveled unreal distances to reunite with their loved people—dogs have a uncanny sense about direction and life in general.

Of course, there’s more…..

“Interactions between people and dogs can be beneficial for both species. Increases in β-endorphin (beta-endorphin), oxytocin and dopamine—neurochemicals associated with positive feelings and bonding—have been observed in both dogs and people after enjoyable interactions like petting,”https://www.scientificamerican.com/article/is-the-gaze-from-those-big-puppy-eyes-the-look-of-your-doggie-s-love/

Maybe one more doggie fact for those lake lovers who follow their dogs around…

“Accordingly, behavioral studies of dog cognition have revealed similarities of dog behavioral traits to humans. Dogs have been found to engage in gaze following similarly to human babies , exhibit selective imitation  similarly to human infants, (Dogs)….observe photos of faces roughly similarly to human adults and to link photos of objects to objects themselves .

https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC3641087/

This last finding in bold is why we have Shadow’s picture on a magnet on the refrigerator at his eye level…I thought this picture made him happy when I first put it up and now I know it does.

There’s no place like the lake for Bonaparte dogs, so I guess ‘us people’ followed?

Cheers

Franque23

*Jimmy Durante

*

How do you like me, now?

Bonus picture of us building the dock about 10 years ago…Sherman cool dock in background

**https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/6557929-nubs


(As always, click the pic for a larger view…)

If it weren’t for the traffic on Rt 3 the place would be paradise—it got so bad this year I think I saw several cars pass by on a single ten mile drive to town! And, I guess I should mention the loon racket at night, especially between 10ish and midnight; will they ever shut up! Then there’s the morning crows and chickadees, the afternoon blue jays, red wing black birds, those dang soaring eagles, cooing cranes, whistling hawks and late afternoon quackin’ ducks to spoil any days nap. When will a guy ever get some sleep!

Even the view can keep a guy up!

There’s a weird speed to time at the lake no one has yet to understand. It’s like a horror show. You’d call time fast to pass at the lake but, then again, it never lets go. Nope, the memories, smiles, talks and moments fly by like the wind but sit like a immovable block in your soul as well. You can think what you like, but I’m saying there’s no surgery that can take this massive thing out once it has seeped inside you. There’s a devious kinda magic to those waters and reflective sky at Bonaparte that mirrors deep by day and night in the Mind’s eye—it’s sorta like a strangle hold on your senses you can’t sue and win.

Lake friends last forever as well. Who has time for that?

The whole experience is torturous.

You catch a good fish a few years back and spend the next 7 trying to do it again….oh brother, what a bother…

It’s been a while for me, being so busy with raising a family for oh so long, since I’ve had real time to make new friends or see old ones while up at the lake. This year was different. I got to know Kim and Steve and their ten inch high killer dog, Lola. I’ve never been afraid of dogs, but now that’s over. I’ve struggled with our fireplace pull rods for over twenty years which is why having some strange guy named, Bill-the-Beatrus I think, fix the rods with a minutes’ thought and about ten minutes time is problematic. My sense of self worth is gone forever, it’s over, doctor, and those psychiatric bills won’t be cheap.

Time spent with Toni, the two Michelle’s, Forbes, Randy, Laura, Vicki and the Sherman’s is always fun, but who let them out of the loony bin? To boot, now there’s no cop on the lake. And now, with our Grandson making friends with our neighbors son pretty much any sense of normalcy that never existed here is entirely gone. Why keep dreaming about it?

It’s also possible to take really bad shots up at the lake..(does anyone have a flashlight)

Hear’s one of my thumb I took this year at the lake….perfect shot!

It’s great to see Bill again; meeting anyone my ancient age or older has a special zing to it. There’s like this on-going contest between the lake petrified folks to see who falls in the lake first and doesn’t get out. I can tell Bill is watching me closely as I age and our fifty-foot bluff gets closer to the house. Some may not know it, but Grady-of -the-lake(now deceased) had nine lives and he spent one of them running towards this very same bluff. There was no blue moon the night before or heralding of angels in the morning of the afternoon when Grady, Dave Morgan and I sat on our porch before this steep drop off. All of a sudden, Grady gets up and starts running full speed toward the bluff as though he might do a high dive into the lake! Only a lunging hand to his ankles stopped his forward movement and saved a grave digger the effort. Mind you, this run of Grady’s had nothing to do with beer(s), but rather the magical pull of our evil lake was at fault.

I’m telling ya, there’s more than the best pure air up at Bonaparte—it’s full of friendship forged through good time and bad. There’s nothing like building a dock, camp or boat house and have the ice take it out the next winter; there’s nothing like the bond of spending money like a drankin’ sailor on lake side repairs. There’s a saying; only buy a boat if you can afford to buy ten—maybe the Bonaparte camps are the same way.

But who cares when you’re young, free and without a care like about none of us.

Still, those losses and efforts all make for great stories shared between a laughing, here’s-to-the-lake crowd. (Beers help, too)The night sky is more than pay back for any expense. But, daytime swimming, soaking in the sun—did I fall asleep that long?—fishin’, kayaking, bird watching, boating, tubin’ ( I did see a skier), and even some sail boating also take the day to flight. The air is incredibly invigorating at the lake. Breathing there is sorta like breathing in an oxygen tent where ever you go. So, the loony’s on the loose, the evil lake stare, the crazy birds, the alluring sunsets, the mesmerizing night stars and stormy five-foot high waves that tear docks and boats apart are all worth it. Why do I think this? Well, I’m nuts like the rest of you.

Cheers from the archives of franque23 Lake Bonaparte insanity logs.

Franque23

 


Ah cranberries! Life is too short! Soon, I’ll be rollin’ out of here so I butter have fun before it’s gravy time. Eventually, I’ll be nothing but soggy leftovers wattling my way to de-boned. Life isn’t a piece of cake no matter how it’s sliced.  But can I have seconds?

On second thought….

The more years pass, the more I look like a Thanksgiving turkey.

I’ve grown a turkey neck and a nice plump belly along with a nibble, gobble face. Gizzards! Life is moving at break-neck speed. I’m still walkin’, but maybe without my head! (My dad used to talk about seeing chickens and turkeys run around after their heads got chopped off!)

If I’m not gobbling while stuffin’ my face, I’m wobbling on ancient toes—the ones attached to what my wife used to call,’perfect feet.’ Please pass the bunion; I’ll have another: two just isn’t enough.

Ever see a turkey’s knees? Never mind, just look at mine in beach shots for a quick overview. Turkeys like me are essentially bald but they have feathers. Me? I have a feather duster.

Racing to the bathroom is when I strut my stuff.

 

And about that famous roasted turkey smell as it wafts through the house. Here’s the yin-yang of this turkey-talk: if only a whiff of me smelled that good after doing garden work!

Nope, my flowering youth has been turned upside down and slowly roasted in the sun by years looking for scratch.  My young self has been basted and tented; my clock has been cleaned but for a smidgen of a second left before that big timer in the sky goes off. But, is there pie in the sky? Yep, soon I’ll be car-soul-rolled and placed into a container to be stored until moldy.

Wait! I’d like more seasoning! Another sprig of a spring with more summering would do nicely.

Cheers-I hope you had a good one!

Franque23

 


Can you spare a minute?

This post may have started with the 9:09 PM starting time of the Milwaukee Brewer’s and Dodger’s game on Oct 16th. Why, for the love of anything you pick, would a game start at 9:09? Googling the question reveals that the TV time slot actually starts at 9 PM but announcers (and it’s got to be ads) have stuff to say for, like, 9 minutes. Okay, but 9:09 still seems a bit random to me. Why not have announcers fart around for another 6 minutes to reach that even 9:15 PM time or, better yet, could they just shut the hell up and talk after the 9 PM game starts?

The Babe knew how to ‘time’ his swing…

Little things matter. People, fans, have enough to do work-wise and drinking-wise (This is , after all a Brewer game) to nail a 9:09 time slot. It’s all wrong, but it gets worse. It turn’s out a local High School has lunch scheduled at 12:17 PM and its normal school day ends at 2:37 PM. There’s one for all you driven crazy by parenting driving pick-up moms to focus on. “I pick up the kids at 2:37; at 2:37; at 2:37.” All over town mother’s and dad’s stare into a mirror and repeat this over and over the night before every school day.

Me and my guitar along time ago….

 

When did our ,’Minute Madness,’ start? It vaguely seems correct to think minute madness origins can be found in airplane schedules. They always had weird departure and arrivals times but have you ever seen a plane land or takeoff ,’ON Time,’ no matter what weird time they picked for either event? Me neither. Thing is, this every minute matters approach filtered down into our society like a fungus on tree bark. We’re consumed by bizarre time punctuation. And here we are, a society semi-sprung from parts world-wide where the afternoon breaks for nappy’s, wine or chatter used to be 3-ish or 4-ish to five-ish.

I guarantee Napoleon did not invade Paris at 3:13 PM. No, our paid, fired, hired or hounded by the minute life is not the stuff of history.  I’ve never read that Isaac Newton’s brain-dent from an apple happened precisely at 1:02 PM.  Nope, survivors of the World now gone minute-mad call that an, “aha moment,” and leave it at that. Can we just walk away, call a time-out, and avoid being hit by another apple in time?

Time-out. Now time for this or that, not enough time, time lost, time gained, saved or wasted, time spent, time-in, time forgotten, time can be so many things—that’s the good news. The bad news is time is the task master of us all now-a-days. Worse, time not only exists in our heads, on phones, watches and punch-in clocks at work but it’s especially adorned by Cuckoo clocks, and rightfully so. Never has a true unknown ever ruled over the world like our vague concept of time.

Salvador Dahi painted melting clocks

To be fair, man does have an AC/DC timeline in place… whoops,, I mean a BC/AD time line in place. ( BC=Before Christ and AD=After the Crucifixion)So sure, we know stuff happened before Christ was born and then lots after, but the trouble is when he was born can slide back and forth by ten years, some say twenty, others say up to sixty years or more! I ask you, how much of what we do today can be off by, like, thirty years? ” I build houses and yours will be up sometime within the next thirty years.-That’s a promise!” A man runs to catch his train but he’s two minutes late getting to the station. The train is nowhere in sight so he asks the train station attendant, “Did the train leave?” The Train attendant looks over his records. ” Yep. That train left about a week ago-sorry.”

Time is based on nothing but agreement formed in the backrooms of history. Time truly denotes nothing but has the power of the leash and lash we’ve given to its practice. And wouldn’t you know it, I asked one of our many volunteers at work tonight when she was leaving. “8:12,” was her answer. I stared ahead in disbelief, knowing I’d write this glob and not ask her why, ‘8:12′?

You know, I finished this post in the nick-of-time….whew. That’s called ,’split second timing.’

TV aired a show about people living off the grid and one fellow, a man with an engineering degree who’d been well employed as such, said the greatest thing about his life in the boonies was that he didn’t wear a watch, and he had no idea what day, month or time it was.

My brother, Ed Franquemont,(Harvard Grad.) lived in Peru for ten years with his wife and children. Ed once told me the best thing about living as he did was that there was no specific time, only day and night, and the passing of the sun and moon in between.

once upon a time at our home on Long Island, Ed and I shoveled a lot of snow…

Hurry here; hurry there: this time thing is a madness, and we are all bound to this fever. Sad. Can we have a re-do and think this thing out one more time over a four-ish nappy and bottle of wine? We might find we get less done but we are much happier with all that progress.

Franque23 doesn’t wear a watch , or have a, ‘smart.’ phone. I’m still dancing.

 

 

 

 

 


I’m thinking eating an apple and then a banana could make a person fart? This could be trouble. I’m working the public service desk for the nest 5 hours and I just consumed both! If the answer to my first important question of the day is,’Yes,’ I can only hope some service dogs come in. The good news? I’ll be the first to find out the validity of the premise so I can quickly leave my area in search of a book or some other task.

Question two for today: Has our Supreme Court always been strictly a partisan affair and corrupted by outside interests? I didn’t believe so as a child, but , then again, I also believed in Santa Clause.

My take of the Kavanaugh selection? The vote was 48 NO to 50 YES for confirmation. This means there were 48 correct votes and 50 wrong—that’s about it. For liberals, the future for Supreme Court decisions looks bleak; that the Supreme Court no longer appears to have a swing voter might wreak havoc as decisions come down during the years ahead.

Third question: Why is the suffix, ‘Jerry or Gerry,’ such a derogation? We have the, ‘Jerry’s’ (the German soldiers during world War 11) and, Gerrymandering, (Pretty much the sole corrupt political device that secured the election for many candidates throughout our country.) If something has been Jerry-rigged it won’t work for long—we all know that. But did you know, “Jerry,’ is another name for Chamber Pot!?!?!OH I know, a chamber pot was well received when needed, but it still seems to be a bottom-of-the-barrel sorta thing.

So why does all this matter? My name is Gerald, often turned to, Gerry, by family and friends, so I’m a bit sensitive to having a name associated with, 1)the enemy, 2)corruption, 3)something that won’t be any good or, 4) a piss-pot and worse. This is why being called,’Franque,’ by friends on athletic teams in High School was such a relief!

Fourth question: Since 1996, Medical Cannabis sales tax collection in states that have deemed the drug legal for medical use has totaled over, One billion, two hundred eighty-five thousand dollars. These are the medical sales. Imagine if the illegal usage sales and the tax charged were added to this figure? Why in any Capitalist’s, rational head would it seem good to not legalize Pot?* Folks—we have a bunch of seeds and stems running our DOJ (Department of Justice). (Sessions is a jerk).

Fifth question: Why do so many men seem to hate women? Last time I looked, read or have been told, every man on the planet came by way of a woman. Or, is this alternative fact?

So many men lust for the same-sex they hate, demean, exclude from human rights that our world seems a whirling dervish of septic brain rot. For now, unfortunately, this is the good news. The over-all history of men’s atrocities toward women makes our current societal condemnation of women an improvement of epic proportions. I’ve always had a,’soft-spot,'(meaning I care?) for the plight of the Native American’s and for all indigenous people. Thing is, take any total number of any single group who has been wronged in history and put that figure against the number of over one-half of the world’s population throughout history—that would be female—and imagine which number is larger. See? Women make up the largest group number of people tortured, used, abused, slaughtered and misaligned in the history of Mankind. And I do wonder about the term, ‘Mankind.’ Divide the word, Mankind,(Man—kind) and see that each half of the term is kinda off.

Sixth question: Why are so few patrons coming to the service desk? Hmmm. And no, that was a burp-I swear.

Franque23 loves bananas and apples.

 

*https://www.forbes.com/sites/andrewdepietro/2018/05/04/how-much-money-states-make-cannabis-sales/#28e12c8df181

 


Here’s the deal—no fish is going to an Ivy League school. It doesn’t matter how many fins they have, their underbelly colors don’t count and the tail size has no Equal Opportunity standing.

But, do fish think?

oh my gosh–I’m on a stringer–now what?

Of course not! Fish swim around dropping eggs like flies and eat each other when possible. The don’t really go to school, and how many very tiny books has anyone every found on the bottom of the Ocean, or any lake? I have yet to read any book written by a fish (though I’ve wondered) and they’re all nudist no matter the water temperature which is a bit off.

Still, this odd worm of a thought keeps luring me into its weedy lair, and it’s so bad I hate to ask. Fishermen/women, secure the oars.

Here it is on a swivel hook: why, or better yet, how can lures that once worked so well in the past not work to catch fish worth a flip ten years later? No, listen, this is important. Let’s examine the flat fish lure , all the rage in the 1960’s and thru the 70’s. It was a great, effective lure for catching Northern’s trolling or flipping the shore line for bass.  Now? It’s as if every fish alive has been through the drill and knows to never eat a flatfish lure? Why? How can this Be?  Is it a matter of fashion? But then this would indicate fish have a sense fashion? “Oh my God! I’d never be caught dead biting that lure!” The fish said.

See? What’s the deal? Do fish have amber-alert type memos that last beyond lifetimes? Fish ten generations removed from the flatfish lure eating frenzy still know today not to strike those lures. Let’s face it, it’s been 50 years since Mankind knew cigarettes cause cancer and we still smoke them! Or, how about those hamburgers I still buy from time-to-time in fast-food places? Those are good for me, right?

Yep, whatever the reason, fish seem to communicate important life lessons through generations better than humans. That’s odd; this is what I’m saying.

Okay, forget all the writing, just answer me this: why do fishing lures become less effective over time?

In the meantime, check out this great link of many, many interesting facts…they’ll hook ya.

https://www.thoughtco.com/hilarious-historical-facts-4154997?utm_campaign=wilat&utm_medium=email&utm_source=cn_nl&utm_content=12721193&utm_term=

Cheers…. have fun this wkend

Franque23

I let the big ones go. So, is this how it happens? “Tellin’ ya, I was abducted by a weird bald guy and put on a string , then let go…I got caught on a white plastic worm: don’t go there.”

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