Bee Kay Gooch had Kassidee, Krissee and Kooger quick and early. Kooger’s the baby. Bee Kay and Jason married Labor Day and Kooger came Christmas. Spyder Blunt, her stepdad, had a restraining order on Jason that year, but kid’s find a way, don’t they? I haven’t seen much of Jason’s parents since my Monty and Commander had that tiff at The Last Drop. Monty told me he was just joshing when he called Commander “Commie” — he didn’t think it through. I nearly cried when I saw the shiner Monty got. They tusseled for as long as it took both of ’em to fall down. The domino table broke Commander’s toe. He called Monty a sorry son of a so-and-so and drove home. That’s the last words they had. Marvel tried to get Commander to patch things up, but she said Commander just called Monty a horse’s petoot. Monty said Commander couldn’t tell shoe polish from Shinola. These men! Those kids favor their momma, though. Thank goodness! Jason’s no feast for the eyes, unless you like tattoos. But I’m here to tell you, Bee Kay has kept her figure. Her head-turnin’ days are not over yet.

stag country bbq sandwich
(Copyright 2018 James Mansfield Nichols. All rights reserved.)




Humility
Even a cursory look at following blogs uncovers so much good image-making and wordsmithing it humbles one. I ply in contrast what seems but a plodding literal depictiveness, a pyrrhic victory of method over invention, craft over creativity, sarcasm over substance, the strutting of personal nonsense on one’s tiny stage. I guess that’s why I often feature in my commentary the zany image created by Texas artist Tom Jones of the galloping rodeo lady balanced forefingeredly athwart the saddle horn. It suggests an implausible act of flaunting. No help for one’s sense of inferiority but to press on, grateful for the attention paid.
(Copyright 2018 James Mansfield Nichols. All rights reserved.)