August, 2010:  Once a week I take the two trash bins to the curb for pickup.  I am happy that we
have this service, because too much trash piling up around the house is depressing.  Much of the
stuff we routinely toss would be prize possessions in some parts of the world (sturdy plastic bottles,
glass bottles, boxes, and plastic bags).  They say that these items are "recycled", but I have trouble
believing that.  Considering the volume of the "stuff" picked up each week, it would take a large
army of persons to properly sort, catalogue and store the throw-aways.
The City of Denton used to have a landfill outside the city limits, where there was a lot of open land.  
We somehow lost that one - not sure how or why.  Now we have one inside the city limits that is
surrounded by development.  I don't think it will fill up before I take my last breath, but I wonder where
my grandchildren will be putting all of the stuff that they throw away.
Whenever I see our two trash bins out for pick-up, it reminds me of the horrible destruction of the
twin towers in New York City.  I know what you are thinking:  Pinson has lost it.  No - my thoughts
about this do not linger beyond seeing the two containers, and I am happy that I have these to
remind me of this tragedy.  It was a cowardly act of war, and we can never forget that.  Remarkably,
it did not cause the national chaos and instability that the perpetrators had hoped for.  The
American people are strong - in spite of all weird stuff that goes on in our society.
I often wonder who takes the time to read this column - but, as with the trash bins, my thoughts do
not dwell there.  Sometimes I wonder why I am driven to make these entries - but, again, it is a
question that I do not ponder very often.  If you enjoy writing, the act of doing that is its own reward.  
Of course there is always the chance that my grandchildren my read this someday, while they are
trying to figure out what to do with their trash.

August, 1979:  We took the kids through Longhorn Cavern recently.  The guide explained that
portions of the cave had been used at various times for an Indian council room, a saltpeter mine, a
speakeasy, a revival meeting, and, yes, a hideout for the outlaw Sam Bass.  I'm beginning to think
that there are more secret places where Sam stayed than there are beds where George
Washington slept.  Our tour concluded with a power failure and subsequent exit by flashlight that
was a delight to all of us kids.
While in Kerrville a resident brought us up to date on current terminology.  We all know that folks in
Dallas are "Dallasites", and Paris has its "Parisians" (and perhaps a few "Parisites").  In Kerrville
one might expect to encounter "Kerrvillians", but our information has it that in an effort to keep up
with societal trends the population is now known as "Kerrverts".
Ever since I passed the stage of puberty (which took a long time) I have had negative thoughts
about large automobiles.  My attitude may have something to do with the fact that I have never been
able to afford one of these monsters; however, I still consider them gaudy, unnecessary, and in this
era of fuel shortages (1979), downright wasteful.  The people whom I admire the most in our society
are the ones who can easily afford to pay cash for this sort of luxury but have chosen to live without it.

RHYME FOR OUR TIME:

Get you a Cadillac, Jack, canary yellow or bowling ball black,
before the day they take you away in a fancy box in the back.

Order you a Rolls Royce, Joyce, silver grey or royal blue,
then try to forget all the other good things that thirty thousand dollars can do.

Buy you a limousine, Gene, Playboy pink or Kermit green.
You can write it off as a business expense and use it for trips in between.

"If you've got it, flaunt it," that's what the ads all say.
Big and wasteful is beautiful.  You see it every day.

Ignore the needy, greedy.  You don't have to look back.
Buy and drive while you're still alive.  Get you a Cadillac, Jack.