11,041 vagabonds plus:
I am the scarecrow
Just a-whiling a-way the hours...
When I go to the window I barely have to move to scare the huge black birds away from the feeder. It's too easy, like shifting my weight from one foot to the other. It could be the glittering reflection off the scarecrow's glasses that frightens them away. Yet, the delicate gray and brown quilt-feathered sparrows the size of my little finger remain courageous, and dig in wholeheartedly into the black sunflower seeds, shells flying out the sides of their mighty beaks like wood shavings, oblivious and paying no attention to the disheveled man behind the glass curtain.
The microwave dings (in the same key as the opening note of 'ding-dong the witch is dead', by golly!), and I shall now replace some of my lost stuffing with sirloin burger soup. A small grouping of crows are inching their way to the feeder again.
I'm ok, you're a nut
Catchy title to a self-help book yet written, and contemplating a chapter I could include. Probably along the lines of a realization that you have no control over how other people behave and not allowing it to upset your apple cart.
I'm thinking of a century when I used to manage, and some of the extraordinary bizarre interviews. They say the best way to interview is to keep quiet and that will allow 'them' to reveal who they really are. Like the interviewee that got all confused at the point when he must've known he was in no manner qualified, and started answering questions by immitating Elvis.
He finished (finally!) by asking if I was to accidentally hire him, when would he start. I told him I would hire him if a piano fell on my head causing me to accidentally dial the number on his application.
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