I was pleasantly surprised to see those annoying footprints in the aisles at Walmart, warning, “Do NOT Enter” are gone.

You may remember I bemoaned those ludicrous directives in a column and apparently someone was listening. I think it was Bart Simpson who said, “The pen is mightier than the flaming bag of poop.”

I’m not so full of myself to take complete credit, but I wrote and they removed. Hopefully that construction cluster at the west end of E. Sheridan will likewise vanish. Where there are mindless intrusions, there shall go I, just groaning and bemoaning till common sense prevails. That is my vow to you.

Also at Walmart, I discovered another comfort-food gem. “Sweet Sue” stole my heart with her canned chicken and dumplings, a culinary sensation not experienced since my dear Mom’s dumplings. My only motive for this PSA is the fuzzy feeling I’ll get when passing you on the street to see you give that smiling thumbs-up sign while rubbing your belly. For my money, that’s more thanks than any monetary reward.

I guess you probably noticed I’m just musing this week. Call me a dreamer, but I think musing is vastly underrated. I actually owe my ability to fall asleep anywhere – during my first MRI for instance – to my musing nature. After one of my wee-hour lights-out bedtimes, I muse like there’s no tomorrow. Not intentionally, mind you; it’s just where my mind naturally takes me. I just think about a Rolodex of random things I analyze and dissect.

After watching a baseball game, for instance, I might find myself trying to remember a certain Pittsburgh Pirate’s name from the ’70s. Very little time passes before I’m snoring (of course I’m just assuming since there are never any witnesses).

I might muse about my most infuriating irritations, like how every single time I have to leave my car, a favorite song starts. Today I’m running late for a South Fork shingle delivery when I notice the fruit van and remember it’s the last day for those succulent, Utah peaches. I pull over in a dangerous rush and just as I’m bolting from my truck, I hear, “Oh I can’t forget this evening, or your face as you were leaving, but I guess that’s just the way the story goes. You always smile but in your eyes the sorrow shows … “

On the horns of a dilemma, I abandoned my beloved song I may not hear again for a coon’s age. I’ve noticed our FM station has added some old classics, deviating from the normal, continuous loop. On the way home, I heard “Pain in my head, spots in my bed; my pants are so old that they shine. Out on the street, I ask the people I meet, to buy me a bottle of wine. Whoa … bottle of wine, fruit of the vine; when you gonna let me get sober? Leave me alone, let me go home …”

I’m a hog for those oldies-but-goodies. I just hope I’m not rushing when I finally hear, “Yummy yummy yummy, I got love in my tummy …” I’d endlessly bemoan missing that ageless tune.

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