Monday Musings.

Why  is it that the people with the "means" get things that they want but don't take care of?  This came so clearly to mind this weekend when I went to a Kentucky Derby Party.  The hosts of the party have a lovely home with a magnificent view and the perfect set up for a party of this 'magnitude'.  The mint juleps were superb.  There was a big screen television (oh horrors), an nicely diverse group of people.  But I ended up getting caught up with the livestock.  Surprise?  No, not at all.  We all know that I would rather hang out with the four-footed folks.  But these are two lovely horses who are in a smaaaaall area.  No one rides them.  No one pays more attention to them other than to toss some hay in their direction.  The hostess' son, PJP (he goes by initials, whatever they are), made a loud and grand show of intending to go up and feed the horses.  I offered to help.  Grandiose thanks.  I waited for a half hour and he didn't show.  So three of us went up to feed them.  Here were two lovely geldings (Arabians, I think) in a very small area, surrounded by acres of trails and wooded land.  They have never left their small area.  I doubt if they get any attention at all, save for twice a day feedings.  We pitched in and fed and watered them.  But, really.  Is this enough for horses?  I think not.  I would classify it as neglect.  I was in tears all the way home and it has been eating at me ever since.

Let's switch gears before I get apoplectic.  On the way there, I passed our middle/high/school and realized it was Prom Night.  That led me to spend the next few hours trying to remember my senior prom date's name.  I remembered this about him:  he was my first and only blind date (not for the prom, but that's how I met him), he was so drop-dead gorgeous that, when I first set nervous eyes on him parking his car in front of our house, I was sure he was headed across the street.  He had curly black hair, dimples in both cheeks and chin, blue eyes, perfect white teeth.  My mother was so smitten, she would blush every time he arrived.  Even my father - sentinel, guardian of daughters and house, was hooked.  His name was Jim.  He was older than I (which was a Big Deal in high school), he didn't attend my school (ditto), he had his own car and it was sporty (SUCH a Big Deal), and ... he could dance!  Holy Mackerel.  He was a fixture at our Saturday night dinner/BBQs - my dad grilled hamburgers and my mom made homemade French fries (which never quite kept up with our endless forays into the kitchen).  He was old enough to have a beer with my dad - which elevated him to new heights in our family.  Unfortunately, it was a tough time for young men (ANY men) and he was drafted and sent to Vietnam.  After his tour, he came back a fundamentally changed young man, and not for the better.

Sigh.  So apparently our local prom-goers celebrate by screeching tires and tossing McDonald trash out of their car windows.  I filled almost a full large trash bag with fast food crap.

And I was wondering about the lack of attention to detail that seems to crop up on a regular basis, no matter what the business or industry.  On my commute in to work today, I was sitting a a traffic light, looking around and my eye was caught by the panel truck next to me.  Actually, it was the word "Hummer" that caught my eye - it is one of those words that can incense me almost immediately.  It is the worst example of the auto industry, one of the foremost examples of what is and continues to lead this country in the wrong direction.  Ahem.  Anyhoo, all around the truck were painted the cars that this business serviced:  Hummer, Ford, Chevrolet, Pontaics.  Yes, that's right.  P.O.N.T.A.I.C.S.  And it was misspelled six times on the truck.  I rest my case.