There are no shortcuts in the grand scheme of life

Lyrics by Supertramp:

”So, you think you’re a Romeo

Playing a part in a picture show

Well, take the long way home

Take the long way home

’Cause you’re the joke of the neighborhood

Why should you care if you’re feeling’ good?

Well, take the long way home

Take the long way home

There are times when you feet you’re part of the scenery

All the greenery is comin’ down, boy

And then your wife seems to think you’re part of the furniture

Oh, it’s peculiar, she used to be so nice

When lonely days turn to lonely nights

You take a trip to the city lights

And take the long way home

Take the long way home

When you’re up on the stage , it’s so unbelievaeable

Oh, unforgettable, how they adore you

But then your wife seems to think you’re losing your sanity

Oh, calamity, is there no way out?

Does it feel that your life has become a catastrophe?

Oh, it has to be, for you to grow, boy

OH IT HAS TO BE! FOR YOU TO GROW, BOY**..???

When you look through the years and see what you could have been.

Oh, what you might have been

If you would have more time

So when the day comes to settle down

Who’s to blame if you’re not around?

WHO’S TO BLAME IF YOU’RE NOT AROUND?**..???

You took the long way home

Long way home.”

Dating my self again. Sorry

Danced with myself. Yesterday.

Haven’t yet considered life. Tomorrow.

Who knows?

Spent many hours of my youth playing this banger over and over in my mind wondering whether and how taking the long way home is the “way to go” in life. Of life on the road over and over and over and over. Listened to the words over and over and over and over. Until the needle broke— the vinyl became scratched to overuse smithereens and the album was lost. Psssst. That is what they called ‘em in the olden days.

An album.

Hey kids. Stick with me on this—I promise you will learn a thing or two. May take longer than you are used to. But anything worth having is worth earning. Not just grabbing and taking. Tapping and waiting. Scrolling and trolling. Grab n’ go-ing…..

You know-The ole’ grab n’ go, takeaway burger—did you even remember chewing…because you were too busy scrolling your phone. Mindfulness baby. Boy. Oh Boy.

Life is like a broken record. There I said it. I said the word Boy. So sue me. I came from the generational time where the transitional time was not a “thing” to be bargained for, sold to the highest bidder, worked into a policy—words, actions, circumstances and outcomes mattered. To the boss of me, the boss of you and the Boss of everyone.

Once upon a time persons were held accountable. For their words, deeds, actions before their life turned upside down and into “dire” circumstances. The long way home normally meant learning right from wrong. From the get go. We learned Boy from Girl.. Cat and Dog. Black and White. You know, all that boring “yesterday” kind of stuff.

Today’s world of “anything goes” is not reality. The scheme has taken on a new definition. And it ain’t good. We did you youngsters all a dis-service by placing those menacing gadgets into your hands and I will be one to say “I am sorry”. I am sorry we failed to teach you good manners before placing the menacing messenger right into the palm of your immature hands, allowing mini monsters the opportunity to fester on.

Manners are a sensitive awareness of the feelings of others.

Let’s talk about the message, messaging. Today’s world in messaging. Just because your life is at your fingertips, (bitc*hin) for sure, I’m fairly certain doesn’t or shouldn’t allow you the entitlemental attitudes fast becoming the norm. You gotta practice, rehearse your way up to and on the stage of life. And God willing, if you gain success. Great!

Boring. I know. Real Work. Yes. Yucky. For sure. Where-is-my-latte’-anyway-I-hope the-driver-has-not-crashed-and- spilled-it-kinda-short-cut. On his way to me, me, me. While I sit and and do my ever important scrolling. Looking for my jam.

Yesterday’s kick a** music. Rock ‘n roll and all that stuff. At the time we only used the word “Bitc*in” to describe an awesome song. A song destined to hit the airwaves so we could wait patiently for the next time it played onto the radio. If it played a couple times a day, three maybe, we were lucky.

Total and complete access at your fingertips to play at a moment’s notice is teaching you lack of patience. Not the art of waiting your turn. The good stuff. Hard work. Earning a pay check. Saving your money for the night of your life for the band of your life.( Or so you think at the time) Which is normal behavior. In a normal world. It taught the opposite of instant gratification. And yes it was gratifying.

If we had a job to earn the money to see the band play the song LIVE, in concert, we may have just died and gone to heaven. No tomorrow. Just the now. Bitc*h-in.

Reality hit us the next day, oh with the paper route, the shift at the gas station, the shift on the phone. But for tonite, we were a member of the bitc*in band. We had arrived.

Nothin like the “bitc*hin” of now. In fact. The opposite. Or the transitory, or the whatever it is. Transitory is not a real word. Is not a real thing.

When words like the eloquence of the songs of yesteryear- finding the long way home—begins to parallel—life—side by side. Represent the now. It is time to worry.

A lot.

As in. “How did we get here?” To this point. To “this”. The this that seems to circle round and round and round with no ending while certain “A” team members are allowed to hop off the bus and on the plane, have a convo on the tarmac, and are whisked off on a plane of enviable destinations.

A broken record.

What awaits them at the end is not guaranteed to be better or worse than where there are now. NO body knows—not even the pilot can talk about what he is flying into. Hopefully not a hurried attempt to get the “A” lister to somewhere faster than or before the hopeful crossing into the land of opportunity gets here or there. While the rest of us down here are tapping and waiting and scrolling and rolling and grabbing and go-ing.

Sorry we ever picked up the menacing gadget phone with buttons in the first place.

Silence is sorrow’s slave (SA). And silence is sorrow’s salve. (SA)

Yep.

We do not need a catastrophe for a boy to grow. Yes. I said it again. Boy. In less sensitive local and global times that used to be perfectly normal.

Boy.

Girl

Dog.

Cat.

Black.

White.

You get the point. The insinuation was nothing more, nothing less. Any person was or was not a member of the band, team, gang, group. It is what it is. Was what it was.

But times have changes. The naysayers have taken up rent in our collective minds—gotten into the airwaves of our heads. And our heads are in a constant state of buzz And you need to know.

This is not normal. What is crossing your screens is not reality.What you hear is not always true.

The bigger question of the song:

”Whose to blame when you are not around?”

BINGO.

Who is, who will be?

Who will step up for you?

In dire times even defend you.

Who really has your back?

Trust me. Not your phone.

But. If you are lucky,

A good person