They say that confession is good for the soul, or something to that effect, so here I go on the road to redemption.  My feckless pursuit of an undefined goal has eluded me for lo these eight decades—as my top speed wanes away I regret that I’ve steadily lost ground to Father Time and Mother Nature.

Hence Barrow, a grizzled old rancher who dwelt upon a Rhode Island expanse of ranch to the north side of Odessa explained things to me once upon a time.  “Nothing is for sure, excepting the fact that nothing is for sure,” was the gist of his philosophy.

He reflected on his early days in Ector County and recalled his youth and aspirations in a time of long ago and far away.  “Back when I was in my prime I was pretty much of a man,” he stated, and modestly recalled the old days and survival tactics that saw him through tough times and tribulations.  Then, in a profound declaration he stated that he was no longer the man he once was.

“Looking back over the years,” he stated, “I ain’t near the man I used to be.”  After a pause he added, “As a matter of fact I never was the man I used to be!”  That statement got me to thinking, which I practice on rare occasions, but it ain’t habit forming.

“All men lead a life of quiet desperation” was the way some old soothsayer put it.

“Sacre bleu” I said to myself—that’s the story of my life.  And most likely—yours too.  That’s the way I am and if you haven’t travelled a smoother route it was a rough old go.

I had a day job for better than thirty years, but my ambitions never achieved to the lofty heights I yearned for.  There are higher callings than a real estate hustler, and at one juncture or another I gave a lot of them a shot, but never was actually satisfied.

The life of a nomadic artist did not satisfy me once I grew weary of the hassle that always accrues unto that ilk, and the getting ready for a show, doing the show and being separated from my own bed became less and less palatable with my collection of birth date anniversaries.

“I want to be an author!” I stated to my good wife Margaret.

“Why?” she asked with scant interest.  “Why don’t you slow down and just enjoy living?”  I didn’t have an answer.

She and I created a magazine in 1994, and she was the only one of us who could type, so naturally she did the preponderance of the actual work and I took the credit.  A bi-monthly magazine was not burden enough, so we established a weekly paper in 1995.  The magazine was The Messenger and the newspaper was The Monitor but in a fit of pique I sold both enterprises in 2000.  The publishing business joined back yard swimming pools, motorcycles and rag top convertibles on the list of things that I quit like a good habit.

Back in 1994 I put together a vanity publication of my columns in a little book, and titled it “I Got no REASON TO LIE”, and at that point I became an addict to the creation of classic literature.  My sixth will be available within the month.

Naturally, it’s the pick of the litter and is a product of the POD (Print On Demand) variety, titled “Frankly Speaking…of Texas in 1940 & one”.

It’s worth waiting for—mainly because there is no other option.

Bon Appétit.

Let me hear from you.

My phone number is 254-893-5063.

My postal address is 333 W. Ayers, De Leon TX 76444.

You can e-mail me at Charles@CharlesChupp.com.

By Charles Chupp, Copyright ©2008 Charles Chupp