The End of the Week

This week started of with a day of golf, and went down hill from there.  There are days when being a paper-pusher is easy, and then there are days when it’s not.  What I would like right now is a quiet house, on the top of a hill, overlooking a lake, with a fully stocked bar, and a cellar full of money.  I would like to tell Generals to pack sand, and take a hike.  I would like to return to a state where I only have to worry about me, occasionally empty the trash, and not worry when my wife is locked inside the mall because the stores closed before she had run out of money.

I would like to look out from my porch and watch hawks soaring over a large field, hear the rumble of thunder in the distance, feel the chill of a summer day as the storm passes near by, and walk back into the house as I grab a drink on my way to lay on the money in the basement.

I would like to wake up tomorrow surrounded with nothing, a warm fire removing the winter chill, as snow piles on the hillsides and keeps anyone from driving up the driveway to my cellar where I am drinking while laying on my money with a large screen television showing scenes of summer.

It would be a perfect weekend if I could sit looking at the Great Smoky Mountains and hearing the low throaty growl of a mountain lion.  I would walk around the house with my in big bunny slippers while someone made me a big breakfast and hot steaming coffee, with maybe just a touch of Irish…

After I’ve schlepped around for a while I would dress and go out into the cool mountain air and load my golf clubs into the Corvette and drive over to my private country club where my caddie awaits.

Maybe I would head over to an airport where my glider sits.  I would jump in and fly for a hundred miles up the Great Smokey’s feeling the freedom of the air.  The controls are light and balanced in my hands, the air is a quiet rush past the thin plexiglas canopy of my sailplane as I climb into one thermal and glide down to the next.

Then as I start my dazzling approach into the airport I hear “pockata, pockata, pockata”