Sunday Rambling

General Betrayus? Did I hear that right? No. Can't be.

Killing time until The Masters comes on. Someone once said to me that "if you've got to kill time, you should work it to death." I think it was Fred Hooey, but I usually attribute the quote to my father. Hooey is a good name, fun to say. I think it's Swedish.

So here I am working it to death, more or less. What are you doing? Woowoo Charly has dragged herself away from the Sunday morning political puffed up pundits and is watering flowers. She's killing time until The Masters too. RTGFKAR is cleaning up the dishes from the splendid, golden brown, fluffy pancake breakfast I prepared. RTGFKAR doesn't kill time, he uses it. Gus is taking a nap. He got his share of pancakes and, like me, wants to sleep off the calories. Don't we all wish that worked.

I just finished a book entitled "Fifth Business." I could not figure out the significance of the title until, near the end, the author clued me in. In permanent opera companies like they have in Europe, there is a prima donna, always a soprano, and her lover, a tenor. Then you have a contralto who is the soprano's rival and a basso who is the villain or the tenor's rival. In order to make most opera plots work you need one more character to move things along and this character is usually a baritone. In the profession he is called Fifth Business. So there you have it. Isn't that interesting? The protagonist in the book was being asked if he and his life were just Fifth Business. I think most people are Fifth Business in someone else's opera, heroes in their own. I know I am, but then I have no choice, I'm a baritone. (Some people might say I'm a nary-a-tone.)

It's a crackling, crisp, cool, clear, cumulus cloud spotted kind of Sunday. The kind of day it always is when you want to stay in and watch sports for three or four hours. The kind of day designed to make you feel guilty for not going out and enjoying it instead of sitting on your butt ogling images on a screen. Fortunately, here in Boquete, these kind of days are routine so we can always get to enjoying the "great outdoors"...manyana. (I have to spell it that way, I don't have a squiggly mark to put over the first n.) (Great outdoors. How come nobody ever says the great indoors?) I don't feel guilty though, because, well, I just don't feel guilty. Probably comes from not being raised Catholic or Jewish. My parents never used guilt to manipulate me so I never got the hang of it. They just used fear. It's less subtle, but equally effective. Maybe that's why I like being inside. As I kid I wasn't allowed in the house except for breakfast, lunch, dinner and bedtime. "Go outside and play" was the usual command. Later, of course, as a teenager, who really wants to go home? Now I'm just making up for all that lost indoor time. No reason to feel guilty.

Sure I'm rambling. I'm a rambling kind of a guy. Watch me now as I ramble over to the TV. It's CBS, right?