Deep truth: surfing works


You know the uncomfortable feeling you have when there is something stuck in your craw?

ie: something that’s in your stomach but shouldn’t be……

I don’t concentrate much on my eating habits, always the one to seek the freshest, locally sourced foods. So perhaps this comparison isn’t apt.

I’m referring more to the thing you frequently revert you, when you have time on your hands.

You’re waiting for the phone to ring. It doesn’t.

You’re waiting for someone you’ve contacted to email you back. They don’t

You’re waiting for the picture you’ve requested to make it back to you. It doesn’t.

So. You consider your options.

There’s always reading. But you did so much of that when you traveled about to other places to help people. So filling time by reading seems pointless.

Besides, how much of all that stuff you read do you really remember?

The lure of one sometimes evil entity out there beckons to you.

I am referring to the internet.

If you have a computer and access to one of the many search engine apps, you can go anywhere.

It’s called dreaming.

I once skied in Taos, N. M. So the Taos people know my email address, and probably the way my kids come home from school.

Their site says I have only five days to get myself in on the chance to win a helicopter flight to Alaska.

Then there’s Winrock International and CNFA. These are USAID-funded groups that seek volunteers to travel for them and use their information, training skills to help others.

I scan both sites. And I see nothing that vaguely fills my skills set.

This is when the teeth grinding part of the day sets in.

What to do next?

Go across the street and deliver mail.

Done.

There’s always the research option. But how boring can that be? Do I really want to learn more about the necessary prerequisites for proper soil care? I do know a little about that, but is more really necessary?

You look at websites put up by dear friends. Unfortunately, most of these people, are in Washington, D. C. or Des Moines, Ia.

A cheering kind of thing did occur when I recently did that. I was looking at the site for Middle C Music in Washington. Dear friend Myrna owns it, and has run it since 2002. She formerly worked for my business, Takoma Kitchens.

She has a listing there of people who teach at her store, and schools they periodically run.

One of her teachers is friend Mark. He is a musician, composer, lead singer in a band named Slickee Boys.

The Slickee Boys were so big when we lived in Washington that there would be reunions of the group at the 9:30 Club. The Slickees had quit performing together. But because they couldn’t resist the performance itch, they’d come back for encores and draw huge crowds.

A gentleman I once knew when I lived in Takoma Park, named Clayton Hardison, knew one of the group’s members. This Clayton Hardison, a trustee at the Takoma Park Presbyterian Church where I once had a commercial kitchen, referred to the Slickee Boys as an orchestra.

I thought: if he only knew.

My friend Mark wrote a number of great songs. My all time favorite probably was This party s——.

A snappy little number.

The point of my little story is this. I looked at the Middle C site and saw that Mark was again going to teach young wannabe rockers.

Oh, the joy.

There was a great photo of Mark, and I downloaded to my desktop. It’s labeled Markie.

And I posted a note to Myrna at her store.

A grand bonus: shortly thereafter there appeared a note from Mark, saying he had seen my very deep message.

This, my friends, is why one sometimes mindlessly surfs the web.

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https://www.thebellvillestar.com/wp-content/uploads/sites/39/2018/03/web1_markie.jpg