"Rooted" may be a better choice of words. What you see above is the top of an actual fence post that used to sit on my property.

The photograph above represents what I eventually came to see whenever I paid it a visit. So I brought it to life with my camera and some computer software simply as an exercise in creativity.

I can only attest for the 23 years I have lived here but local historians believe it's a good bet this post was probably placed in the ground over a hundred years ago. The general consensus is that it was set where it shouldn't of been; just outside my property line.

So last spring when the city of Alpine was reassessing it's property the location of my errant post was duly noted.

When I took down the fence [by demand] this post was so stubborn I had to pull it out with a tow chain hitched to the chassis of my truck. Apparently it was placed in the ground when it was still alive and as a result of an apparent "last gasp" effort, it sprouted roots. Seriously, a fence post with actual roots.

My wife has labeled me as a know-it-all (and as she is one herself she must certainly be correct). Know it or not it's her rhetoric reference to the the fact that my opinions are rooted in 62 years of experience. The fence post story illustrates the fact that right or wrong, in the end, even the most established and rooted of "whatever" can be dislodged with proper persuasion. So please feel free to attempt to dislodge any of my opinions that follow if deemed necessary.

Monday, August 24, 2009

Perhaps Dylan Thomas said it best...

...on death and dying.

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

I'll just add one verse here -

And you Obama, with your lofty sight,
Curse you, and your freedom sucking Czars,
Your single payer scam, your foolish cash for cars,
Rage, rage against our dying rights.

- Larry (couldn't help myself).

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