Humbuggers all around

Is there a secret to life? Is there a purpose to life?

July 26 2022 sunset from Friendly St in Eugene

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The House by the Side of The Road
by Sam Walter Foss

There are hermit souls that live withdrawn
In the peace of their self-content;
There are souls, like stars, that dwell apart,
In a fellowless firmament;
There are pioneer souls that blaze their paths
Where highways never ran;—
But let me live by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.

Let me live in a house by the side of the road,
Where the race of men go by—
The men who are good and the men who are bad,
As good and as bad as I.
I would not sit in the scorner’s seat,
Or hurl the cynic’s ban;—
Let me live in a house by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.

I see from my house by the side of the road,
By the side of the highway of life,
The men who press with the ardor of hope,
The men who are faint with the strife.
But I turn not away from their smiles nor their tears—
Both parts of an infinite plan;—
Let me live in my house by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.

I know there are brook-gladdened meadows ahead
And mountains of wearisome height;
That the road passes on through the long afternoon
And stretches away to the night.
But still I rejoice when the travelers rejoice,
And weep with the strangers that moan,
Nor live in my house by the side of the road
Like a man who dwells alone.

Let me live in my house by the side of the road
Where the race of men go by—
They are good, they are bad, they are weak, they are strong,
Wise, foolish— so am I.
Then why should I sit in the scorner’s seat
Or hurl the cynic’s ban?—
Let me live in my house by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.

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It makes more sense to post that than the long angry, frustrated rant I just wrote and deleted.

That was loaded with anger at our slumlord. About his lies, his three price increases in 9 months, the lawn unmowed for 25 days, the knee injury I suffered 3 days ago while sleeping, the plant sale this weekend that drew zero customers, my inability to post signs because the car battery chose now to die and the knee too painful to walk to both ends of the street, the temporary return of a cash flow problem, my sense that my writing skills have declined and I'm merely pushing words that no longer please me, and just that feeling of being overwhelmed with no answers at all.

So I do what I always do, plug away. Swallow my anger, my pride, my superficial optimism, my friend to man determination and just have to suck it up all over again.

I'm a friend because it's all I'm really certain of that it's important to be. But the secret? The purpose of life?

Ah, you seek the sage within me, the collective wisdom of 69 years as an alien on this planet?

It's lonely. And over too quickly yet not quickly enough.

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There’s so much to write about in current events but since my knee injury, I just can’t get focused. Daily duties are slowed to a crawl and it limits my time to write. I try to do for everyone I can but when I need a hand, there just are none. I know how to push through it and will. I’ve been alone most of my life and have had to juggle and make do throughout.

But no, this isn’t a pity party, I’m not seeking thoughts and prayers and well wishes. It’s an apology for this newsletter being delayed. And for it being of questionable value: there’s far more amusing, entertaining or educational stuff to read.

I’ll be back on my horse soon enough though I don’t have a horse nor do I want to ride one. It’s just late Sunday night on an August evening, my plans for the newsletter got derailed but I’m sure there’s someone you know, closer to where you live that occasionally would love to have you be that friend by the side of the road.

Maybe that’ll do till the next newsletter. Just be friends.

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