Grasshopper Soup: Click on love every day
February 14, 2012
TAHOE/TRUCKEE and#8212; Valentineand#8217;s Day is tomorrow because I am writing this the other day, seventeen seconds faster than the information you got on your plastic fantastic, outdated, multi-app, socially awkward, lagging behind, handy dandy friend counter and enterprise expander fully equipped with privacy invading camera, gossip multiplier and useless information gatherer, just like the new one you get will be a few months after you buy it. But you can be my valentine anyway.
Love doesnand#8217;t grow on starry blue eyes, or only blossom in the Spring. One thing is for sure and#8212; not everyone found it yesterday on Valentineand#8217;s Day. Or is it today? Love requires giving, trust and honesty. Maybe thatand#8217;s why love is so rare in the world today.
Yesterday, and today, was the political news that everybody was talking about before it happened and is still trying to figure out what happened now that it happened, if that is really what happened the way they thought it would happen. Thatand#8217;s my analysis of the Republican presidential nominee race and media coverage still going on five or six scandals later, and after a bunch of things were said that nobody could believe anyone would say, even though itand#8217;s OK for people to say things in this country. Too many of us are running around like chickens with their heads cut off squawking, and#8220;Did you hear what she said?and#8221; and#8220;Can you believe what he said?and#8221; and#8220;The nerve of him for saying that!and#8221;
No wonder John Prine wrote the song, and#8220;Blow Up Your TV.and#8221; Actually, he called it and#8220;Spanish Pipe Dream.and#8221; I call it Blow Up Your TV because thatand#8217;s what the topless waitress, who had something up her sleeve, told the soldier who came in to her restaurant. They fall in love, blow up their TV, throw away the papers, have a bunch of children, feed them on peaches until they all find Jesus on their own and live happily ever after.
Speaking of love, Valentineand#8217;s Day is today if you are reading this when it was first posted on the Sierra Sun website. Technically, Grasshopper Soup appears twice a week; once on the website on Tuesday, and once in the paper on Wednesday. I donand#8217;t know who reads it when, so all I can say to those of you who read this column online on Tuesday is, and#8220;Happy Valentineand#8217;s Day tomorrow,and#8221; because Iand#8217;m not writing it today. I think this is yesterday, but I could be wrong.
Itand#8217;s always today where I am. I hope it is where you are too; a day full of love. When the modern telecommunication age fulfills its promise and brings the world together in peace and love, even though weand#8217;re all on different apps on different days, let me know.
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Old Man Winter needs to update his apps. That was a nice frosting of snow on the cake Monday morning, but the old man must be using a dial-up connection, or he doesnand#8217;t love a big dump the way he did when he was younger.
It doesnand#8217;t matter what day you fall in love on, or if and when more snow falls, there are still plenty of good runs on the mountain, awaiting your first kiss. Make some turns for me while youand#8217;re at it, or an entire run on my behalf. It may be all I get.
We know the dilemma all too well. You work so much to make money you have no time to ski or take a date to a good show. When youand#8217;re not working you have all the time in the world to see a show, ski, or take your valentine to Hawaii, but no money to do it. Itand#8217;s a catch-22. If you are not familiar with catch-22, Google it, and youand#8217;ll only be about forty years late getting the message. But you wonand#8217;t be alone.
With thousands of years of information about love at our fingertips, some people still donand#8217;t get the message.
Bob Sweigert is a Sierra Sun columnist, published poet, former college instructor and ski instructor. He has a B.A. and an M.A.T. from Gonzaga University. He has lived at Lake Tahoe for 30 years.