Oh Well . . .

On TVs Good Morning Tucson the lovely lady anchors made mention of the fellow called Jaws who is known in the area for winning almost every eating contest he enters. This time he consumed 47 burritos filled with beans, cheese, and Greek Chili... but I can't remember the time it took for him to do that. Good Grief! At my age, I can no longer eat even one of those tasty but terribly spicy treats.

. . .

Every morning the first thing I do after my computer boots up is to visit Rensselaer Adventures to see how my old hometown is faring, and to find out what's new in Northwest Indiana. Today there were several photos taken last Saturday of the Little Cousin Jasper parade. To my horror, I discovered that there had been no horses in this year's parade. What's this world coming to? As far back as I can remember there were always horses in every parade in 'Renssel-tucky' -- ridden by avid horsemen : Lee Kiger, Whitey Williams, the Mingear boys, and the Jasper County Sheriff's Posse.

Oh well . . .

And, by the way, the Little Cousin Jasper Festival was named in honor of a poem by James Whitcomb Riley (a famous Indiana poet) which goes something like this...


LITTLE COUSIN JASPER

Little Cousin Jasper, he
Don't live in this town, like me, --
He lives 'way to Rensselaer,
An' ist comes to visit here.

He says 'at our court-house square
Ain't nigh big as thcirn is there!
He says their town's big as four
Er five towns like this, an' morer.

He says ef his folks moved here
He'd cry to leave Rensselaer
'Cause they's prairie there, an' lakes,
An' wile-ducks an' rattlesnakes!

Yes, little Jasper's Pa
Shoots most things you ever saw.
Wunst he shot a deer, one day,
'At swummed off an' got away.

Little Cousin Jasper went
An' camped out wunst in a tent
Wiv his Pa, an' belt his gun
While he kilt a turrapun.

An' when his Ma heerd o' that,
An' more things his Pa's bin at,
She savs, "Yes, he'll git shot
Fore he's man-grown, like as not!"

An' they's mussrats there, an' minks,
An' di-dippers, an' chee-winks,
Yes, 'n' cal'mus-root you chew
All up an' 't 'on't pizen you!

An', in town's a flag-pole there
Highest one 'at's anywhere
In this world! rite in the street
Where the big mass-meetin's meet.

Yes, 'n' Jasper he says they
Got a brass band there, an' play
On it, an' march up an' down
An' all over round the town!

Wisht our town ain't like it is!
Wisht it's ist as big as his!
Wisht 'at his folks they'd move here,
An' we'd move to Rensselaer.

James Whitcomb Riley

October 7, 1849 -- July 22, 1916

. . .

That's all I have today...
More'n enough... for me.