I figured it was time for me to write something. I haven’t written since the pool debacle, but that’s because I’ve been in it every day, and haven’t had time to sit at a computer. If I could safely carry a laptop on the floating tube in the pool, I probably would have written hundreds of things by now. Lazily floating around a pool with a cocktail and a cigarette will throw you into all sorts of transcendental thought.
For example, I spend a lot of time staring up at a branch that is lodged in a tree in the center of the yard. It needs to come down, but I haven’t figured out how to accomplish it. It’s wedged about 30 feet up in what I think is an ash tree that towers over 75 feet in the air and breaks off branches every time we have a strong wind. We have a strong wind pretty much every day. I’m told that it is normal for ash trees to have brittle branches and picking up after them is a common past time. I do it a lot.
Thought then goes to the tree house I should build in that tree. It would be an awesome place to sit and contemplate. It should be maybe three or four levels with a perch at the very top of the tree where I could look out over the whole neighborhood. But then I have the pool and it sounds like a lot of dangerous work, branches prone to snap off and the like.
Of course you can’t float around in the pool without contemplating the weed cleanup that is now pressing at the back of the half-acre lot. You can see it better from on top of four feet of water. I pulled some of these monster three-foot weeds with root balls the size of trees, and pulled a muscle in my back yet again, so further weed cleanup is on a back burner. There is a mountainous pile of these dead weeds hidden behind a large evergreen tree. I contemplate it though while I sip on the cocktail and float, getting a tan the likes I have never seen on my lily-white torso. I notice I am sporting a 6-pack, but I keep it under a protective layer. It’s really more like a 24-pack probably.
Contemplation illogically turns to current events, and I struggle with the thrice divorced clerk who refuses to issue a marriage license to gay couples, who now sits in a county jail in contempt of court. Most of the comments you see on “Facebook” seem to side with the clerk who cites religious beliefs for her refusal to comply with the Supreme Court decision, which was made, by the way, without sufficient study of the current constitutional definitions it appears. “In determining the meaning of any Act of Congress, or of any ruling, regulation, or interpretation of the various administrative bureaus and agencies of the United States, the word “marriage” means only a legal union between one man and one woman as husband and wife, and the word “spouse” refers only to a person of the opposite sex who is a husband or a wife.” I’m not a constitutional scholar, but I think they’re going to have to amend that definition.
In the end, I guess it’s really about the separation of church and state. If you can’t do your government job because of your religious beliefs, you have to quit your government job.
I’m sure the clerk’s bible is similar to mine in that divorce is not allowed either. Didn’t stop her though, so I think we’re really calling the kettle black. As usual, we quote the bible when it suits our purpose, and we rarely find arguments to the contrary in our religious beliefs. Only our detractors do that. (I just realized I admitted to going on “Facebook” and I’m not sure that’s something I want to admit. Comments on this topic alone go into the tens of thousands. I wish we had something better to do.)
My opinion, and I clearly know what its worth, is that they just needed to change the name to “Civil Union” and not mess around with a word like “Marriage” which has always been understood to be between a man and a woman, whatever those identities might be. As a famous comedienne once said, and I’m paraphrasing here, the only reason you get married anyway is give up half of everything you own. A civil union would accomplish the same thing.
So you probably don’t want to ask me if I’m on board with gay “marriage.” I was born in the 50s and grew up in Wyoming; enough said. I really haven’t changed my mind; I just chose to keep the opinion to myself. When I was growing up, two gay teachers lived across the street from us. We didn’t call them “gay,” of course, “gay” was what you felt at Christmas. But they were the reason I was moved out of Linden School and subjected to catholic school hell for the next four years. It was all because my mother didn’t want me to be taught by the gay male fifth grade teacher across the street. It wasn’t like I really understood why, back in the day, but floating around the pool, sipping a cocktail, it becomes clear.
In case you were wondering why I had time to sit at the computer this morning and write this; it’s going to rain today, and I don’t really feel like installing that new front door right now. I better get going though; it’s not going to install itself. (You can see I’ve discovered the semi-colon. I have no idea of the proper use of the semi-colon, but I like it.)