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Cats understand the good life

Halloween 2008, a half-foot of snow on the ground melts under a terrifically warm, sunny, 55-degree cloudless blue sky. Kids will sweat in their costumes as they parade through town, it's that warm. The mothers of the kids will squeal with delight, they'll dub this day a most beautiful Indian Summer Halloween. But shouldn't it be dubbed a most beautiful Native American Summer Halloween?

Up next for some of the mamas will be the day after Thanksgiving, waiting in an early morning line (I welcome those of you from New York to use, "on" when referring to the line and the wait), busting and elbowing past less fit mamas, finding better bargains, on already bargain goods, at bargain stores. What a bargain. And they call this day, Black Friday. How could you not be, in this day and age, calling it, African American Friday?

While I'm thinking about political correctness, I want now, in case I get busy in the upcoming months and forget, to wish you all a very Merry Christmas. And let's all us Vermonters pray it's an old fashioned Caucasian one.

Ta hang with politically correctness. What I wish I could do, is live my life just plain old, correct.

I mess up on so many things that to list them would put me ten thousand words beyond my appointed five hundred.

But here now, watching my cat stay within sun lit patches on the floor, gleefully cleaning every nook of any cranny on her little body, I realize to emulate her life would be making a strong first step in trying to live correct.

Why can't I be, more like my cat,

she lies in the sun, to wash this or that,

I don't bend like she does, there'd be places I'd miss,

but don't worry I'm clean, on the places you'd kiss,

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