| Biographical Non-Fiction posted December 17, 2023 |
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Just thinking or maybe not.
Scatter Shooting
by Terry Broxson
Scatter Shooting refers to a newspaper column that legendary Texas sports columnist Blackie Sherrod used to write on Sundays. It means covering several unrelated topics.
***
It's pushing toward five o'clock in the afternoon. I'm sitting in a big dark brown leather chair I've owned for over twenty years. I've had it restuffed twice. It has a hole in the armrest where my fingers grab to help pull myself up.
I don't ever plan to get rid of the chair. It certainly fits me. One could say we have grown together over the years. Where I have a plethora of wrinkles and sags, the chair has wrinkles and sags. We both have a withered patina.
The good thing about the chair is that it has no expiration date or best-used-by date. Lately, I'm thinking I have passed my best-used-by date. I suspect my expiration date is coming up pretty quickly.
My brother-in-law, Bill, used to say humans would be better off if we had an expiration date tattooed on our forehead. His thinking allowed as to how this might help the planning process.
I don't know if it would have helped or not. Bill expired on his way home from a liquor store after buying a half gallon of vodka. He was eighty-one—heart attack. His best-laid plans, drinking that vodka, went unfulfilled.
I suppose he could have saved the money. Bill might have described himself as sagacious about money or perhaps frugal. I might have used a different word. Two of his sons inherited that financial trait. One didn't.
***
I grew up in West Texas and attended the Baptist Church as far back as I can remember. According to the records, I met Jesus, and Brother Jim, our Preacher, baptized me shortly after I turned eleven.
Thinking about those facts today sent my seventy-seven-year-old mind back to my eleven-year-old self. I had been saved many years before I started drinking, smoking, and fornicating. There are a lot of folks who do it the other way around.
I know for a fact Brother Jim never said a word about smoking. It was the fifties, and almost everybody smoked, except my mother, of course.
The rules for drinking were simple. Don't let another Baptist see you.
Dancing, an absolute no-no, could result in fornication. At eleven, I had no idea what the word meant. Brother Jim didn't like it. So, I didn't either.
Truth be told, I saved myself from those worldly pursuits—until my twenty-first birthday. And then, not so much.
Baptists don't have confession and penance the way Catholics do. But over the years, I had many good Catholic friends. So, in the spirit of religious harmony, I offer my confession.
I did quit smoking about forty years ago.
I quit drinking last night, about seven-thirty. No Baptist saw me.
I confess, I think Baptists were wrong about dancing.
***
Christmas is coming up, and my condo is decorated with a few items left over from what could be considered two packrats' nest of Christmas's past. It takes me eight minutes to put them up and six minutes to take them down.
In the early years, we went to a tree farm north of Dallas to find a fresh tree for our townhouse. Like Goldilocks, Zoe had to look at each tree to find the one just right.
When the thirteen hundred square foot townhouse turned into several thousand on an acre in the country—six artificial trees were required.
Each tree had a different theme. It took me a few days to get everything unboxed and set up with working lights. Zoe did the actual decorating. It saved a lot of rearranging time.
It's not the work and all the decorations I miss.
It's better these days to do less. Enjoy a movie or two, listen to Christmas music, or read a Christmas book. I hear there is a new one about Santa.
A real treat would be to have it my way. That would be a double meat with cheese, onions, mayo, lettuce, tomato, and jalapenos. I need to check if Whataburger is open on Christmas Day. If not, there is Christmas Eve.
***
There are several advantages to being an old coot who lives alone as Christmas turns its page and a new year begins.
Old coots don't make New Year's resolutions. Waking up tomorrow is resolute enough.
College and professional football games become interesting and exciting in America. It's playoff time. Last year, the Super Bowl drew an audience of 114 million people. The other 236 million Americans didn't give a hoot. For the rest of the world, it was a Sunday in February.
The new year stops the endless ads and solicitations for Medicare Advantage Plans, which bombard our televisions and mailboxes.
***
It's just an opinion. I can't prove it. I'm not even gonna try. Imagination is the spark plug of humanity.
All things are possible.
Scatter Shooting refers to a newspaper column that legendary Texas sports columnist Blackie Sherrod used to write on Sundays. It means covering several unrelated topics.
***
It's pushing toward five o'clock in the afternoon. I'm sitting in a big dark brown leather chair I've owned for over twenty years. I've had it restuffed twice. It has a hole in the armrest where my fingers grab to help pull myself up.
I don't ever plan to get rid of the chair. It certainly fits me. One could say we have grown together over the years. Where I have a plethora of wrinkles and sags, the chair has wrinkles and sags. We both have a withered patina.
The good thing about the chair is that it has no expiration date or best-used-by date. Lately, I'm thinking I have passed my best-used-by date. I suspect my expiration date is coming up pretty quickly.
My brother-in-law, Bill, used to say humans would be better off if we had an expiration date tattooed on our forehead. His thinking allowed as to how this might help the planning process.
I don't know if it would have helped or not. Bill expired on his way home from a liquor store after buying a half gallon of vodka. He was eighty-one—heart attack. His best-laid plans, drinking that vodka, went unfulfilled.
I suppose he could have saved the money. Bill might have described himself as sagacious about money or perhaps frugal. I might have used a different word. Two of his sons inherited that financial trait. One didn't.
***
I grew up in West Texas and attended the Baptist Church as far back as I can remember. According to the records, I met Jesus, and Brother Jim, our Preacher, baptized me shortly after I turned eleven.
Thinking about those facts today sent my seventy-seven-year-old mind back to my eleven-year-old self. I had been saved many years before I started drinking, smoking, and fornicating. There are a lot of folks who do it the other way around.
I know for a fact Brother Jim never said a word about smoking. It was the fifties, and almost everybody smoked, except my mother, of course.
The rules for drinking were simple. Don't let another Baptist see you.
Dancing, an absolute no-no, could result in fornication. At eleven, I had no idea what the word meant. Brother Jim didn't like it. So, I didn't either.
Truth be told, I saved myself from those worldly pursuits—until my twenty-first birthday. And then, not so much.
Baptists don't have confession and penance the way Catholics do. But over the years, I had many good Catholic friends. So, in the spirit of religious harmony, I offer my confession.
I did quit smoking about forty years ago.
I quit drinking last night, about seven-thirty. No Baptist saw me.
I confess, I think Baptists were wrong about dancing.
***
Christmas is coming up, and my condo is decorated with a few items left over from what could be considered two packrats' nest of Christmas's past. It takes me eight minutes to put them up and six minutes to take them down.
In the early years, we went to a tree farm north of Dallas to find a fresh tree for our townhouse. Like Goldilocks, Zoe had to look at each tree to find the one just right.
When the thirteen hundred square foot townhouse turned into several thousand on an acre in the country—six artificial trees were required.
Each tree had a different theme. It took me a few days to get everything unboxed and set up with working lights. Zoe did the actual decorating. It saved a lot of rearranging time.
It's not the work and all the decorations I miss.
It's better these days to do less. Enjoy a movie or two, listen to Christmas music, or read a Christmas book. I hear there is a new one about Santa.
A real treat would be to have it my way. That would be a double meat with cheese, onions, mayo, lettuce, tomato, and jalapenos. I need to check if Whataburger is open on Christmas Day. If not, there is Christmas Eve.
***
There are several advantages to being an old coot who lives alone as Christmas turns its page and a new year begins.
Old coots don't make New Year's resolutions. Waking up tomorrow is resolute enough.
College and professional football games become interesting and exciting in America. It's playoff time. Last year, the Super Bowl drew an audience of 114 million people. The other 236 million Americans didn't give a hoot. For the rest of the world, it was a Sunday in February.
The new year stops the endless ads and solicitations for Medicare Advantage Plans, which bombard our televisions and mailboxes.
***
It's just an opinion. I can't prove it. I'm not even gonna try. Imagination is the spark plug of humanity.
All things are possible.
 Recognized |
#6 December 2023 |
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