By Mark Faris “The Coast Bard”
As many already have noticed, time on Earth doesn’t always proceed in the desired fashion. Indeed, bumps, ruts, snarling, snapping wolverines, lightning bolts and the occasional steaming pile patiently await as we pedal our way along life’s challenging path.
Just the other day, for example, an acquaintance residing in the hinterlands of central Florida watched his backyard, and freshly lined badminton court, dissolve into a yawning, sucking sinkhole. And this, right after learning his dog, Tex, a three-legged pug with short fuse, needed back surgery.
There is no shortage of head-shaking as we hobble through our appointed rounds. But often head-shaking just isn’t enough to assuage the cringing double-crosses that beset existence.
The soothing sting of a Bullard’s dry gin martini doesn’t always do the trick, either.
Nor does a heavy session of electroshock therapy. A Fred Astaire/Ginger Rogers film bender. Or apple pancakes with lemon honey (although that one does come close).
But when all else fails, just when the sky seems most bleak and hope a distant, diminishing glimmer, always — always — there are hats.
Not just any hats.