Writing this column is, at times, therapeutic. All this rainfall is getting me down. So, this is a deliberate attempt to not look at the rain gauge half full, but half empty.
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I like bug bites. If I have no bug bites, then I’ve been spending too much time in the office behind the computer. A bug bite means I’ve been outside working on something or reading the newspaper out on the deck or practicing how to grill on my new Father’s Day gift, a gas-fired grill. Chigger bites are even better. Scratchin’ a chigger bite means I’ve been laying in the grass looking up at the sky or smelling the roses.
I like running out of toilet paper. Nothing (short of giving a pay raise) elevates my stature around this newspaper office than a timely resupply of TP especially if it’s the softer brand. Nothing – not a smile, not a compliment, not a “thank you” and certainly not winning any ol’ award – nothing means more than providing a fresh supply of TP in the bathrooms. When I come back from the store with restock, I am S-O-M-E-B-O-D-Y again. All the girls take notice (at my age, if that’s the only way I can get the ladies to take notice anymore, well, I’m still thankful).
I like sweating. That means I’m burning calories I need to shuck. Or, better yet, I’m standing in the sun rather than in the rain. As wet as this season has been, I’ll take sunlight whenever I can for as long as I can.
I like sweating when I work. It’s soothing for body and soul. Sweating with a farmer’s tan is the ultimate. It says I’ve been outside doing something worthwhile as opposed to just sitting around and sweating in a lawn chair. I like the sweat that comes with honest work.
I like the dirty floor at home. We’re into a small remodeling project right now. It’s a rather small effort compared to more important things, so we never exactly know when the workmen are going to show up from day to day. Naturally, we’re anxious to complete our project and get “normal” again. A dirty floor means the guys have been working at our house and not somewhere else. I like dirty floors.
I like memories of roller coaster rides. I think. Like my young son once said, just after a harrowing experience. We asked if he had fun. He smiled broadly and said, “Yes.” Then when asked if he wanted to go again, he smiled bravely and in the same tone of voice said, “No.”
Yes, I remember exhilaration. But, no I don’t need to be in the lead car on the brink of a huge downward plunge anymore. I’ll get my jollies elsewhere, thank you. After two surgeries, I know without a doubt my back simply won’t take it anymore. I’m happy and satisfied with the memories. I like the memories.
I like BBQ. No explanation necessary.
I like dog hair. At least you know what it is and where it’s coming from. It brushes off without too much effort, much better than bird do-do. It’s a great reason to keep the dog outdoors, something that even the greatest dog lover will accept. Floating dog hair is especially useful when you’re looking for a tactful way to say “Get ‘em outta here” as you’re about to sit down to supper.
I like the noise from my straw when the milk shake is gone. It’s the sound of indulgence. It means I’ve cut myself a little slack on the diet I should keep or, even better, I won another friendly bet with a friend or coworker, as is the case right now as I write this. Wish you were here to listen to this…
I like a wet lap. It means the grandkids are visiting. If you’re lucky, it’s just water from their swimsuits after a frolic in the backyard wading pool. If you’re not so lucky, well, changing a No. 1 diaper is always better than changing a No. 2.
I like reading directions. If I can actually read, then I’m not taking any medicine and trying to read that ridiculously small print they put on those bottles. Besides, reading the directions isn’t all bad. If anything still goes wrong after you’ve read the directions, you’ve got somebody else to blame …the dummy who wrote the directions.
I like black motorcycle seats. As you sit astride a black seat after your bike’s been parked in full sun for a while, you don’t even think about how hot anything else is. Not even the heat radiating off asphalt pavement. Well, not for a little bit.
I like commercials. Otherwise it might be a whole hour before I could take a bathroom break. That means it’s a really good TV show. I like deliberately ignoring commercials, those people all telling me what to do or how to think. Sometimes it feels good to talk back at those yack attacks. When such things happen, it’s socially acceptable to be rude, knowing that the other people in the room will ignore you just as much as they do the commercials.
I like fruit flies on bananas. I’m told bananas are a good source of potassium which I’m supposed to eat to fight aging leg cramps. I hate bananas. But even my mother won’t make me eat a banana whenever flies roost on this fruit. Same goes for banana bread, too. So, even flies are good.
I like standing in line. It means the shopping is (finally) over and I can go back home. It also (hopefully) means I’ve got enough money to pay for whatever it is in my hands or piled into the cart. Usually, I stand in line and think about how hard it must be financially for young families nowadays. Actually, how much harder for young families nowadays in so many ways. Standing in line makes me feel lucky to be old.
I like it when I write about this much. It means I really can’t think of much more to say. I try hard not to waste your time and I worry that, perhaps once again, I’ve failed. But getting to this point means this weekly chore is over. When I write too much and this column gets too long, I realize that writing here is no chore at all but a privilege.
So, if you’re disappointed despite reading this far, at least you’ve practiced your reading skills. Comprehension helps keep you mentally sharp. So, see if you can write your own “What I Like” list.
As for me, what I really like most is that you read. It indicates you’re curious about the things around you, that you’re not only interested but want to be engaged in this business called life. I’m glad you read this newspaper. Reading this column may be disappointing. But reading this or anything else proves you’re alive.
And, in at least this one respect, ain’t you glad, too?