Jingle Jog

A few days ago, my sister invited my oldest brother and me to join her this morning at the Jingle Jog in Pandora, Ohio.  It sounded like a plan to me, except for one thing.  She predicted a temperature of 17 degrees (F) at the 9:30 start.  She may have been right, but a stiff breeze sank the real feel much lower.

"Who cares?" says Virginia.  "You guys are plain nuts anyway."

I guess she's right, carrying us back to an old theme.  Half the world, or more, probably always thinks the other half is crazy, so when we start talking about things we don't have to do, even more think we're off our rockers.  In this case, we're talking about a short road race, with a cop car in the lead, another following, and 50 or 60 people in between, covered with layers of high-tech fibers.  Although nothing was unusual, other than the temps and occasional snow drifts, most people would prefer to stay home and watch the nincompoops through glazed windows.

"Totally useless," says Virginia.

Some day I'm going to define that term, "useless," and rant about the usefulness of uselessness.  Not now.  We, three, crossed the finish line holding hands, after 25 minutes of conversation and no interruptions by text messages, phone calls, television sidebars, or page-turning.  Probably not useless.