A note from the foreman

  My dearest Mrs. Rangell,

 Yesterday the crows turned mean and killed all of our chickens except for the scraggly ones that hide under the front porch all the time anyway. Jake, the new hired man, called it a sign that the End Times is nigh and so he left to be with his family in Mexico. He didn't even wait for his due wages because I would have had to go to town to get it out of the bank. Anyway, after Jake left the duck pond started to bubble and hiss and now smells like the ground around the septic pipes when it rains. I see a lot of dead frogs around that pond, which would really have scared Jake. Otherwise all goes well.

Prufrock meditations

 He sits and weaves impossibilities
 Memories of passions that could never be.
 Conquests of gals that didn't even know
 He'd come, he'd seen and taken his last bow.
 Wrong moves he made that now must be repaid
 By waves of winces, guilt that can not fade.
 In a lifetime of poorly picked comforts,
 Of miscast malice and wasted efforts
 He now moans and foams into the black void
 That no man who ever breathed could avoid.
 Belittled by riddles he never asked
  He peers into fearful dark that looms, aghast
 At the howl of time racing ever more fast
 As days rush by counting down to his  last

One of Dr. John Watson's shorter sentences

"So, Holmes," I ejaculated taking brief cognizance of my friend and boon companion, Sherlock Holmes, as he began yet another pipeful of that odious shag which, having been left for weeks in the toe of the Persian slipper that he keeps tacked to the mantle despite Mrs. Hudson's clear yet unspoken displeasure at slovenly behavior that I believe must be the result of mistreatment from her husband and the injuries that required treatment in London where the doctors were later to become the villains in one of Holmes's cases that I am eager to commit to print as one the great consulting detective's most significant investigations, eclipsed, perhaps, only by some of the darker criminal endeavors of Professor James Moriarty because it involved shooting a huge cannon secreted in a large leased barn near the French port of Calais to lob a bomb to destroy the Bank of England aimed with uncanny ballistic accuracy using the mathematical secrets the villainous professor gleaned during his inquiry into the movements of certain asteroids, which were deemed one of the greatest insights in the calculus since the breakthroughs of the esteemed giant of science, Sir Isaac Newton, in his laboratories at Oxford, which was where the current adventure would play out for us as a romp in the hinterlands surrounding the tiny Thames embankment of that academic village, "should I summon a phaeton  for our short trip to Bristol Station?"     .

Kaizen

Take your time
But do not waste what you take
And add quality to what you make
Then over time what you do
Will add to what you've done
And that's Kaizen, my son,

Flow

Not too hard
Nor too easy,
Get to know Flow

Jimmy wants to be your friend

Jimmy has been a bit short and even snappish with his fellow Americans largely as a result of being required to follow human events for so many years that the repetition tends to drive one to distraction.

And in that spirit I suggest a pause in coverage for just a few years--long enough for each and every one of us to find his/her tranquil spot. I visualize someplace with warm temperatures, beautiful surroundings and plenty of room to sit back and go down to Zero.