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Show Spl Moving Finger "The moving jinqer writes, and having writ Moves on: nor all your p'mty nor wit Shall lure it hack to cancel half a line. Nor all your tears wash out a word of it." , 'Omar Khayyam w w m Looks like Tuesday again, and the Moving Finger still isn't moving. mov-ing. Next guy that asks me When-ya When-ya gonna be inyer new house? is going to get a poke in the nose. As any man who has ever waited for his wife to get ready for a party knows, it's the finishing touches that take time. When a man has showered, shaved, and put on his clothes, he's ready to go out; but when a woman has bathed, dressed, and is ready to put on her face, she's just getting started. Houses are the same way. And anyway, I'm getting a bit touchy on the subject; so let's just forget about it, huh? When the Moving Finger moves, you'll all know about it, and no mistake. You don't give a darn? Well, of all the nerve. There goes my ego... Anyway, last week guess what happened? I got hit by Drew Pearson! Honest, I did; he hit me right on the left rear fender. It was 1cy I mean the road was and he was going too fast and I didn't signal in time funny how that happens to so many people and he hit me. Think what lovely love-ly publicity it woufd have been: "Big City Columnist Strikes Small Town Child", maybe. Or "Washington "Washing-ton Merry Go Round Brakes Down". But no it wasn't THE Drew Pearson, dammit. Isn't that just my luck? This one lives in Orem. But I still think it was quite a coincidence. Gosh I,m tired. I went to the square dance at the Brookside school last Saturday night, (No, Junior, at square dance is NOT strictly for squares) and I am still a little stiff in the joints. While it is true that the cure for that is to stay out of the joints, - - - I and I know it's an old gag, but I still can't resist it, I can't think of a better way to get creaky i knees than to romp through a , couple of reels. Vic Frandsen and his charming wife, Mary, are right . in the groove on the old-time dances, even though they're both mere youngsters as square-dancers go, and they graciously assisted us green-horns in the gentle art of allemanding-left and the do-si-do. Bunch of us have been trying all winter to learn a few dances, but could find no place in town to practice. It seems the Brookside P.T.A. an up-and-coming group if ever I saw one are trying to raise money for playground equipment equip-ment for the school, and have hit on the idea of an informal dance every couple of weeks, for parents of Brookside pupils and their friends. We had a whale of a time, at great loss of dignity and minimum loss of money, and we can hardly wait for the next one, when we hope to be less clumsy. At any rate, it would be impossible impos-sible to be more so; the only dance we really did well was the Hokey Pokey. This is an ice-breaker that never fails, and my interpretation of it is said to be well worth seeing, see-ing, so come join the fun and get the kids some swings. (Editor's Note: WHO says your interpretation interpreta-tion is worth seeing?) Child's note: I DO; and I ought to know. They're my hips. Speaking of teachers we're glad to see that the seemingly permanent position of superintendent superinten-dent of the Nebo School District is not really that way. We were beginning to think that it was going to be another term like F.D.R.'s which, would terminante only in death or old age retirement; retire-ment; and we certainly wouldn't care for either of those to overtake over-take Mr. Barnett. But one of the strongholds in our democracy is the distribution of power, so we're glad to give Mr. Brockbank a term. Good luch to both men, and best wishes. Now that we mention it, there seems to be a lot of songs in the above-mentioned distribution of power. For instance: Now that the President has deigned to use the Taft-Hartley law on Lewis's coal miners, it seems that the law may have no teeth in it, as we have long heard and suspected. But should I fail to file, before the Ides of March, my income Tax report God help me! Despite the fact that last year I asked special permission to pay the income and keep the tax, and this year will be worse, I must fill in the form; there are teeth in THAT law, brother. Yet the effect of the coal strike on the nation is disastrous, dis-astrous, while the effect of my income tax on the same nation would be as a grain of sand on the Sahara. What's the answer? Anybody know? And while I am engaged in the favorite national indoor and outdoor sport of finding fault with the government, and a healthy sport it is, too, and no holds barred may I ask how many of you kiddies want the hydrogen bomb? Nobody else will' ask you, so I will. Yeah, I know -that the govermnent has to decide things. But isn't there any limit? When it comes to production of weapons for big-sale mass murder, in time of apparent peace, or at least in time of unapparent war, it seems to me the people should have some say. A lot of Americans Ameri-cans try hard to be Christians, in spite of singing commercials and Canasta. For Pete's sake, Mr. Truman, we're taxpayers ain't we got any right? G'Bye, now. L. C. |