Poor Biff’s Almanac — Saturday Morning Ramble







It is just before 8 am on a Saturday and all is quiet; the kind of quiet that occurs when it has snowed during the night.  Everything is silent and muted.  But it didn’t snow last night.  It just is oddly quiet.  I hear no leaf blowers, no lawn mowers, no trucks backing up with their strident beeping, no vehicles with inspection-failing exhaust systems, no sirens in the distance, no planes flying overhead.  And since it didn’t snow during the night, I have no other conclusion to draw other than I have been struck deaf.  And yet I can hear the clicking of the keys on my laptop.  Very strange.

But moving on to other, more interesting topics (or, more accurately, less uninteresting topics), today is Saturday.   (That wasn’t the less-uninteresting topic.   I was just transitioning away from the things-are-oddly-silent paragraph.)  It has been awhile since I’ve had one of these Saturday morning rambles.  Though I am not a morning person, once I am awake and once I have somehow teleported out of the bed and next to the coffee pot downstairs (since I can never quite remember how I got there), I am awake.  And if all the world is quiet (as it somehow is today), I am usually able to bang out a page or two of quality writing.  This, obviously, is not one of those mornings.  It is quiet, true enough.  But the brain is struggling to come up with anything other than commentary on the ambient noise level.

This is doubly strange because I took a lavish dose of Flonase last night before bed and so was able to breath through the night at nearly 60 or 70 percent of full capacity.  Typical flow rates without the aid of modern over-the-counter medications is about 20 to 30 percent.  My point being that I received adequate amounts of oxygen through the night and so should have woken up with the brain firing on all eight cylinders.  Instead I am finding it idling roughly on the side of the road with the hood up and blue-ish white smoke billowing from somewhere deep within the tangle of wires and tubes and things.  All I can do is stand there and stare at it contemplatively and stroking my chin whilst pretending I know something about car engines.  But all I’ve really manged to prove is that I am bad at metaphors.

So, I will spare you any more of this morning ramble in which I can only seem to speak of night breathing, a mysterious lack of noise in the neighborhood, and abstruse car engine metaphors.  I will hopefully be back later today with something better to offer you.  Perhaps something in a short story or an amusing anecdote.  However, based on this particular post, I wouldn’t get my hopes up.

Have a great Saturday!


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