There is nothing like hearing a bully gloating to bring out my piss and vinegar. It may have skipped a generation because that wasn’t my Dad’s style but it was his father’s. At his death a close fried wrote a letter to the family explaining the kind of friend he was and describing a basket ball game where some thugs tormented one of my grandfather’s teammates. My namesake challenged them to meet outside. They were bigger and he got a pounding but that was the spirit my Welty grandfather’s friend so admired. And the other grandfather is the one who was awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor. I’ve written a lot more about him.
Stewing about our President has inspired my next column in the Reader and a snow sculpture that I am in no hurry to complete as the weather won’t cooperate until I leave town for a of couple weeks. But my snow isn’t going anywhere. I may pile more of it up for my return.
I still haven’t proof read the post from a couple days ago. I’m not in the mood. Yet. Its midnight. Time for bed.
I’ve been working on the sculpture. This won’t help you much.
and this is apt for my column