A friend came to me and asked, “What do you think of Kanye West for President?”

“Not on your life!” I answer.

She frowns at me as if I said something wrong, “What does that mean?”

“It means,” I say, a bit too defensively, “Did you see what he and Kim were wearing in that recent photo shoot from their ranch in Montana?”

“Yeah,” she responds, “So?”

“It’s a working ranch,” I return, “And those clothes are not good for working in and shows a lack of common sense. I don’t want a President, or First Lady for that matter, who have no common sense when it comes to working cows or a ranch.”

“Oh,” she says completely without resolve.

“What? Did you think I’d object to him because of his skin-color?” I smile, already certain of the answer.

“Well…” she starts her thought.

“Thought that’s what you thought,” I interrupt.

“Guess that makes me look like the one whose…” she begins.

“Prejudice?” I cut her off, a little harsher than I meant.

“Yeah,” she says, sounding ashamed of herself.

She’s left of center, I’m right of center and we’re still learning how to remain civil about politics and society.

‘Laziness,’ that’s what I call my current affliction, it the only way I can describe my activity this morning. Nine-twenty and I’m jus’ rolling myself over to get outta bed.

Of course, I turned off my alarm before it went off at 8:00 and even before then, I reset it from 7:00. By the time me feet hit the deck and I even think about beginning my day, I learn from my wife, whose prepping for a shower, that she’s been up since 6:00.

In that three-hour-plus time period she’s gone for her three-mile walk, mowed the front yard and edged it, mowed the backyard and has unloaded and put away everything in the dishwasher. She is not lazy and further, doesn’t like to waste time lounging around.

Her next household chore: painting the coat closet door in the front room which she’s already got taped up. It’s a job she’s been working at since early last month, having already whitewashed the bathroom doors, the bedroom doors and the two hallway closet doors.

There’s coffee in the pot and a some in my cup and I’m supposed to be writing, but all I can find to put down into words is this crap.

Not to brag or anything, but I’m very skilled at forgetting what I’m doing — while doing it.

In defense of alcohol, I’ve done some pretty stupid stuff while sober, too.

Bought some marijuana-infused toilet paper. My asshole has the munchies now.

A short tale about today’s society…

Cain thought God was a fruitarian, offering Him what he had grown.

“I made you in My image and like you, I eat meat.”

Cain was butt-hurt. Then his brother, Abel appeared with his meat offerings.

Digging the smoky aroma and that tangy sauce, God blessed Abel while pigging out on barbecue.  This really pissed Cain off, and to make a point, he rocked Abel’s world.

“You want rump-roast, tenderloin, perhaps ribs with a side of slaw or beans?”

“Take a hike!”

Cain slipped on his boogie-shoes, beat it to the Land of Nod, then tripped-out on a world tour.

Bib-over-all’s have been a staple in my life for as long as I can recall.  As the name implies, they’re designed to be worn over top of regular cloths to protect them from getting dirty and torn.

It’s rare now, to find someone wearing them as an ‘over-all,’ in a work environment. I certain don’t wear pants under my bibs anymore.

Back in the day however, and not all that long ago, they were worn like a daily work uniform and you could get them in any color you wanted, as long as it was blue. Meanwhile, the jeans that one wore under the over-all’s were called ‘Joozers.’

The memory of this probably would’ve never come to me if I hadn’t been reading Stephen King’s, ‘My Pretty Pony,’ last night. In this story about the measurement of time, he writes, “Grandpa was wearing the inevitable pair of blue-jeans beneath his overalls. ‘Jew-pants,’ he called them matter-of-factly — a term that all the farmers of Banning used. ‘”

As a kid, it never once occurred to me to think about where the word came from. But then, as an adult, I know that a German-Jew named Levi Strauss created a riveted work pant…

As I sat on my side of the bed this morning, pulling on my bib-over-all’s, I had a sudden flash back to a day, shortly before Grandpa Bill passed away. It was the end of summer, my brother and I were playing in the field next to the house.

He was sitting in the shade of the one car garage, rocking back and forth, watching us. I can still hear that one wooden slat under his chair, squeak each time the heel of his rocker moved over it.

Grandpa was physically ugly, mauled by age, cigarettes and booze, health failing, but I didn’t know that until he died later in the year. But in my minds-eye, I can still see him that sunny day and recall how he was beautiful, simply and wonderfully beautiful.

It’s a description I still find very difficult to use for a man, even a truly beautiful man.

As I let this tiny memory tumble through my brain and tremble my heart, I issued a small prayer to be allowed more of these recollections. They’re like three-cent postcards, picture on the front and a couple of words on the back.

I want a shoe-box full of’em.

It’s official – I’ve entered my sixtieth July. Don’t know if I should laugh or cry.

Gonna take my time writing for the next thirty-one days. And I plan to stick to subjects that are not of the ‘supernatural/horror’ realm.

Rather, I wanna touch on things that are of this world, true life, or as the title of this post suggests, real. What those subjects are, I don’t know yet as this will be a day-to-day kind of take on life in the moment.

I know, you’re saying, “Dear God, I hope it ain’t politics.”

Honestly, I’ll do my best to stay clear of that one, however I will not avoid giving you my opinion on ‘society’ and all that crap. And no, society in this case does not mean the Hollywood types, rather those people insisting on destroying everything around them, because they are offended.

There are also a number of memories from childhood, I’d like to share. There is a whole frame of work in my brain, lodged under ‘recollections,’ that are vastly different in my America, an elder America, than the one the media, politicos and their ilk are providing nowadays.

So here is to July 2020 – let’er rip!

Told my wife that if she ordered one more thing from Amazon, I’d burn it. She ordered a scented candle.