* For the 40 years I've been in Omaha, Cascio's Steak House has always offered a simple but delicious beef stew as one of its luncheon specials. It has been an obvious hit for decades. So why yesterday did the menu suddenly offer as the restaurant specials only BBQ ribs and beef stroganoff? Has Barack Obama's election brought change to everything we once treasured?* How ironic is it that while women decry being treated as mere sex objects, so many draw specific attention to their posteriors by wearing clothing with words boldly printed on their bottoms? And, as you well know, many of those emblazoned words have the most striking sexual connotations.
* Why is it that several of the people who tell me (in great detail and excited tones) about the latest Hollywood film they went to see (or make it a TV program or a sporting event or a pop concert down at the city auditorium) consider it "pretentious" of me if I make the most cursory remark about attending the symphony or reading a novel that isn't about vampires or crazed killers?
* It's always disconcerting to hear that a business in your neighborhood has been robbed but this -- our suburban Baker's grocery store held up by armed thugs twice in two weeks? Yipes.
* Why is it that women of all ages, all sizes, all skill levels can look so feminine, so graceful and so downright charming when they're dancing? I first noticed this a few years back at my high school's 35th class reunion. The ladies got up and did some line dancing to a few numbers. Their flowing movement, sense of rhythm, and buoyant happiness were wonderful. I saw the same thing last week when the administrative staff at my Mom's nursing home came out dressed out in 1950's outfits and danced to the oldies sang by Terry Grable. They danced several numbers in the middle of the room -- by themselves, with each other, with residents -- and they demonstrated the same enjoyment, beauty and charm I had witnessed by the Bear Creek gals a few years ago. Keep dancing, ladies.
* Is it the dominion mandate that my Presbyterian friends talk about that makes me feel so gratified and delighted when I finish mowing my lawn? I'll stand on the deck afterward with a lemonade or a soda in my hand, carefully appreciating the beauty of the green grass (pleasantly bordered by our various bushes, columbines, daisies, etc.) and feel much like Ben Cartwright might have in looking over the Ponderosa.
* Why is it that my Mom who is steadily losing her strength, her memory and even her rational judgment (among other things, she suffers frontal lobe dementia) is the one to show me what I've lost; namely, the ability to be awed at the beauty, significance, and sheer wonderment of the birds playing outside her window? (Thank you, Mom, for continuing to teach your son. In this case, you're teaching him to take time to appreciate the intricate miracles that constantly occur all around us.)
