An English In Kentucky


















Friday November 2nd 2012    Tim Candler

    Dear God, I need to tidy the room where I sleep.  I don't remember when last I had a cold with sniffling, but it seems to me it was some time ago.  And it must be at least months, because a careful archeological excavation reveals a layer of tissue papers that I have to call "puss filled cavity man."  And his generation clearly had an aversion to Cowry Shells, because lo I have searched for the Cowry, and there he was hidden by one of those little piles of tissues that imagination inclines to dismiss as a potential for future usefulness, a valuable resource that becomes a blind spot in the day to day, and therefore invisible.  But more important, why have I searched for the Cowry? The answer I have decided is in the word "grand-fatherliness."  Which is an ill-defined  condition I might soon share with a new being. 

    This Cowry was no artifact washed ashore for sun-blocked beachcombers to find.  This creature was taken alive from his shell.  I know this because years ago I was taught how it was done.  You don't boil him, because that can distress his value.  You put a hook in him, hang him from a line.  Time and sunshine does the rest.  And a long time ago the reason you do this made perfect sense.   Probably still would if it made the difference between money and a "thank you" to the Cowry for supper and money but no "thank you" to the Cowry for supper.  Which I suggest is about as 'grandfatherly' an example a person should ever allow himself to get.  Otherwise there is an inclination  to draft constitutions.  A moronic holding of truths, so well summed by the expression "Get off my lawn!" or "Tidy your room!"  And I have outlived three most venerable grandfathers, so I know what I am talking about.

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