The number three is considered the smallest unit needed to create a pattern, making it a cornerstone of structure, storytelling, and cognitive processing. It signifies completion, balance, and harmony - often called the "Rule of Three" and is deeply embedded in science, culture, and psychology as the 'magic number' for memorability.
Holy crap, I think Victurd, who claims to having "sure, tried pot, wasn't for me, didn't do anything else".. me thinks he fibs... he done swallowed or smoked something... he's talking fancified and he's a bonafide simpleton. There's a hole in this bucket blog Dear Liza Dear Liza.
Oh bite me. Back to simple. Basically, I think we live a life in threes. (Uno) Infant, youth, hubba hubba to school, backpack on back, ie, growing up...... the (Dos) 'middle third', a backpack of responsibilities, wage earning, having, teaching, guiding, our own infants, youths, snotnoses....and, (Tres) the geezer, senior stage, where, due to them prior two stages, we now walk hunched over, kinda like we still gotta backpack on, but, we ain't.
A, B, C, it's as easy as 1, 2, 3 as simple as do re mi. Right Michael?
VICTURD? Uh huh? How did you get here? Well, quite frankly, that's kinda personal, and, actually, I never asked mom and dad.
I give up.
I don't. When we (and I use 'we' in thinking most everyone here is a Boomer, ifn's ya ain't, welcome, buckle your seatbelt, have fun... When we were kids, we knew......... kids... folks (parents, aunts, uncles, teachers, cobblers [COBBLERS?} uh huh, cobblers..we had one in our town, 'twas meant to represent like shopkeepers, folks in that age range..., cops, preachers, taxi drivers, etc........ and then grands... over the river and through the woods to grandmother's house we go.... you know, them people that don't work... they sit on benches at the park, on the Square, they wave... they always seem happy..
CHANGE. All three represent great change. Great lives, in and of themselves, great change from one kid, adult, senior to the other. Think it's time to stop, children, what's that sound, everybody look what's going down..... a brief respite.. life sadly teaches, not all are blessed to experience all three stages in life. Point being, we can't take a day for granted. And that's all I'll say about that.
Now, howinthehell did this blog idea start? I was visiting with a loved one.. now, a grandparent... and it was related how soon, sometime today, a pile (that's more than three little ones) will roll, energize, out of a van, YIPPEE's all around.. then, they'll race (surely hollerin' out "FIRST!, SECOND!" as they reach the door into the joint where they find a humongous indoor playground with boo koo inflatables to slide down, bounce on, hide from, flip, roll, yada (and surely probably, get germs, the flu, colds, yada)
Thing, time, life changes. We, Boomers, had station wagons "DIBS ON THE VERY BACK SEAT!", no seatbelts that I remember..excitement to us was a weekend trip to granny's.. Am I the Lone Ranger or does anyone else remember when scattered across our great land, on highways, there were a buncha little rest areas with picnic tables? It was A TREAT for dad to pullover, us, the snotnoses, to energize out of the station wagon, YIPPEE's all around.. then, race "FIRST.. SECOND!" to the hey boo boo pic-a-nic tables... gobble down some'a mom's fried chicken, warsh it down with cherry Kool-Aid.. then, back on the road again Willie., and Susie, Junior, et al. (Long paragraph, TBC)
Similar, surely, to the 'today' snotnoses, traveling in the van, drop down DVD players for dayum near every chair in the car... seatbelts.. "YES Tommy, you have to use a booster seat until you weigh 80 pounds." Headphones, earbuds, whatever you call the damn things, each. Different. Same. "I got first dibs on the USB port to charge my phone", "SECOND!"... That. Then.
Dad worked, mom stayed home. Factory, grocery store, sales calls outta town until Thursday nights.. wherever, whatever to make a buck, provide. Moms, mostly, learnt us ABC's, "take your dirty clothes to the basement and put 'em by the warsher" and, 'tweren't bad in dad's absence, for a game of catch.
Now, mom works, many from home. Dads, too. Soccer moms can now be dads too as they drive you to practice, take their laptop with 'em, or, that fancified phone with no 'tachments, in their ear, work from the bleachers, some even cook and fold laundry.
Back in our day, it was common across town to hear "WAIT UNTIL YOUR FATHER GETS HOME!" Mom was strapped with much, some dads, had a strap.
Nowadays, poor kids. FOUR, not two, eyeballs on 'em. Not to mention Ring cameras, surveillance 'game' cameras for the whole damn acreage... a camera (phone) in damn near every 3BR, 2BA room. All we had to worry about was Mrs. Jones seein' us, tellin Tommy's mom, who told the Wagner lady, and then, it finally got back to our folks, and by then, we'd long had chance for an alibi, good story.
This is where I, the blog writer, get to add my personal input, opine, and sorry, there ain't one damn thing you can do about it. Oh, I guess you could comment, but hells bells, of late, seems like only one or two of you swing by to read it.. and frankly, as bad as they've been, I don't blame ya!
My opine. I think the MIDDLE part (kids, FOLKS, geezer/senior) is the hardest part. We just left the fun part where we had a lot of fun things to do, really, not much responsibility... now... our heads turn, offer, "NOT FAIR", then, for years, we are the ones who monitor, work, scold, teach, mentor, 'IS IT MONDAY ALREADY"... then, when we finally DO take this job and shove it, there's bursitis, arthritis, and THAT (SS check)? is what I gotta live on, with today's costs? Uh huh, sorry, I wish for you there were do-overs (and yes, damnit, for me too!)
But then, ya settle. You grow used to it (that last part, and I hate the word last). We look back on our own grandparents, lie to ourselves "man, they were old, looked it, thought like it... I'm glad we're still young inside, sure, a few more wrinkles, but with ma' new hip, I can still juggle AND do the Twist at the same time."
Again, a reminder to us all, we're all not afforded all three, kid, adult, geezer.
Much changes, yet, much is the same. The "IS IT MONDAY ALREADY" is now replaced by "What are you gonna do today Herbert?" "I dunno, I ain't thought about much after Wordle, you?"
Tin cans with string, library trips to Dewey Decimal, those damn Flashcubes that burnt your hands a full three days after you dropped of the film at Fotomat, slide rules, pocket calculators, have all been replaced by phones. IPhones for the lucky ones, Androids for us "We are poor little lambs". Bah, bah, bah.
Life IS good, no matter if you're in the balcony, lower middle, or, the Uecker seats... Young is young, middle is middle, old is old.
"Hey Herbert?" "Yes, Mabel?" "Just checked ma' phone, Uncle Sam deposited our SS checks right after midnight... I'm votin' Dairy Queen for a Peanut Buster Parfait!" "OK, then I'll race ya do the the sedan, but only after you bring me my walker and gimme a ten foot head start." "OK, but you'll never grow up Herbert." "Hope not."
So.............. with all that said, THIS, is an order.
STOP. AND. SMELL. THE. ROSES.
But, wear gloves, they're prickly.
Love, Victurd
