Kenneth loves the outdoors, but not as ambitious as drag racing, shooting skeets, or rock climbing.
Boy! There Are a Lot of Folks
who swear by their Type-A personalities. They look as regular as our neighbors down the block. No. I cannot say with a clear conscience that they are of dangerous minds with secret dramas, some deadly, some confusing. That's humanity in a nutshell.
Type-A folks run like hungry hunting dogs from sunrise to late at night and still want more when they finally arrive home. In the early days of these folks' marriages, they got home at a decent time and ate a decent dinner with their happy wives and amazing kids. All was great. No worries to be found. All was great in America.
As the Type-A folks grew and began to learn more about their jobs (Type-A folks always do more than (a) job) and before you could eat a pound of salami, the Regular-Get-Home-at-a-Decent-Time Regular Folks turned their heads to us and then with a smile that rivaled George Washington appearing daily on Mt. Rushmore, they acted like they had changed--everything from National Politics to the latest NASA projects that blinded us into believing that those space trips were just for scientific means. Why do I suddenly feel like a lab rat?
Enough. Boy! Time flies when birds are on the wing. I have always secretly-loved Edna St. Vincent Millay due to her early works. She was not a Type-A poet. But she was talented and more famous than talented because we are talking about her today in 2021. To me, that is famous. And I still secretly love her.
Back to The Type-A Guys
That sounds much like a B-movie broadcast on one of the higher, cheaper satellite channels that stack infommercials so high that there are is no one to man the TV station, just a handful of ancient Macintosh computers. Boy! Sad is what I am talking about.
Let me go hypothetical. There is one Type-A person (in photo at top) just sitting somewhere on the green grass in a plush valley that resembles The State of Virginia. This is a lovely locale. The guy and his pet dog, "Otto," are both to just sitting. That's it. Just sitting. Boy! You'd think that the age of the guy, around 20, single, should be out and about romping with girls, eating with buddies, or watching Sports Center on ESPN. "Otto," on the other hand doesn't really care where he's at just as long as his master, the single guy, feeds him frequently. This is so Norman Rockwellish.
The mild breezes brush against the guy's face sending a smile to his face. "Otto" has already fell asleep. Dogs like "Otto" are like that. So are people. The guy is not drowsy. But he does not make an effort to get-up and walk a mile in my shoes (nod to Joe South), but he is content to just sit in the grass leaning on an old oak tree and "Otto" is now sleeping so deeply that if a jack rabbit were to run by, he wouldn't care. Neither would the guy leaning on the old oak. I do not know or care what the old oak would say.
Written and unwritten things in life rival that of being lost in a coal mine. Then again, "this" piece has an opening showing the light of day. Even Type-A people love the freedom that days like this afford guys can do pretty much whatever brings them pleasure. So if I were any judge of this photo and text, I would have to confess that the guy leaning on the old oak while "Otto" gently sleeps (no relation to the Beatles' "While My Guitar Gently Weeps"), a solitary thought has entered the happy Type-A boy's mind.
What if? Just what if, I were to sit here, the Tyoe-A guy confesses and continues to be alone, except for "Otto," and reveal to the people in some far away town as well as the chipmunks and squirels who live in this plush valley. This guy has many interesting things that people like other Type-A people love to do. Type-A guy is excited. Finally, something to do. For the last three and one-quarter hours, "Otto" and I have just sat here and many times were motionless except for the gentle breezes that kept caressing my face. Now I feel a bit drowsy. Boy!
In this rare case of oppotrrunity in life (of just sitting doing nada), the below are the things that Type-A guy would love to do, and he can do each one due to all of the endless freedom that others have fought for and won. No one asked me if I would do these things, but sometimes hub readers carry cold hearts underneath their working clothes.
⦁ Climb the old oak that I've used to lean on and rest.
⦁ Talk softly to the old oak to just see what he would say.
⦁ Recite my favorite poet, Edna St. Vincent Millay, to my sleeping pal, "Otto."
⦁ Inspect each mile of that pretty valley that my eyes can see. Who knows? I might go into a great long life of surveying when I get home.
⦁ Take "Otto" to the local vet and get his hair trimmed.
⦁ Bribe "Otto" to let me take him to the vet by feeding him a 25-pound bag of dog food.
⦁ Visit my on again and off again girlfriend and tell her (most) of my intentions.
⦁ Make her a pretty homemade basket out of these grassy vines and flowers. She will love that.
Or not say one word at all, about these and the almost-endless of things that I would do if again, I find nothing to do.
You cannot appreciate freedom too much.
January 17, 2021___________________________________________________
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