The Rev Rambles

I continue to be enthralled  by the daily newspaper reports about calls recieved by the Bozeman Police Department — such as –  “A woman got out of her car to apoligize to the man she had cut off at an intersection. He took down her license and almost ran over her foot as he left.”  — “People were gathering around a tree where a bear was hanging out on Aspen Drive at 12:30 a.m.”  –  “A large number of people were following a bear as it went in and out of garages on Half Moon Court at 9:30 p.m.” – A caller on North Montana Avenue reported that someone had been playing loud music all day and had recently switched to playing a trumpet and a tuba loudly.  –  A woman complained that her neighbor’s light was shining in her kitchen window. She asked that the dispatcher send the “tall , dark-haired, nice” officer to investigate.

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I very seldom re-watch a movie I have already seen — but there are a few exceptions. I simply can’t refuse to watch either of the Godfather movies, at any time of the day or night. I’ve seen the damned things so often I whisper the dialogue before the actors. The same goes for “Patton.” I love to watch George C. Scott actually become Patton right before my eyes.  I’m also fascinated by the verbal exchanges between Samuel L. Jackson and John Travolta in “Pulp Fiction.” And, try as I may, I just can’t resist being hooked every time “Sleepless in Seattle” or “You’ve got Mail” come on. Not just because I like to watch Hanks at work, but a large portion of my heart is owned by Meg Ryan. To think that she actually lived here in Livingston while she was married to Dennis Quaid. It’s a good thing she left town before I got here or her shoes would have been soggy from my drool.  Both movies have those goofy “feel-good” endings that leave my beloved Current Wife sitting there with tears bigger than horse turds flowing down her face. Every time she complains about me watching “Godfather” again and again, I just shout three words at her, “Anne! Green Gables!” and she quiets down nicely.

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As we approach our 50th wedding anniversary I am still puzzled by how different my CW and I are in so many ways. I  laugh my ass off at Woody Allen, Mel Brooks and the Three Stooges, while Betsey watches them without cracking a smile, let alone a loud laugh. We are both avid readers, and love having books in our hands most of the time, but seldom do we read a book that would be enjoyed by the other. I devour history and biography, and she munches on fiction. She’s happy anytime she can find a good fantasy/mystery story — especially if it involves an English dragon.   She absolutely loves puttering in a garden, and I’d rather have a nosebleed. She can spend happy hours on the phone, whereas I seldom say more than ”Fine. You? Great. See ya.” I like meat and potatoes, with a little corn now and then, and she likes to cook up dishes containing creatures and objects I never heard of. But her cooking has kept me on the right side of the grass for nearly a half-century, so I’m not bitching. She won’t watch anything on TV that contains violence, and I love to watch John Wayne or Clint Eastwood kill thirty-two bad guys with just five or six bullets. She is the brains behind our computer operation. She understands the damned-fool thing. I have barely learned how to turn it on without setting something on fire.  But she loves me and I love her, so it has worked out well.

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FIGHT FORTH