Once upon a time there was a little story about Dinty Moore stew:
The older I get the more I start to appreciate some of the guy-guy things in my life. It's not a He-Man Woman Hater thing at all. It's all about those times you're able to just sit and watch a game, or have a beer, or go fishing, or go for a ride, or go for a run, or go camping and do all of the above (well, except we play, not watch games).
The fellows I am lucky enough to hang out with are diverse enough that we hardly ever see eye to eye on anything. This makes for lively conversation over several brews, Dr. Jacks or anything else we feel like concocting at the moment.
No matter what it might be, crawdad fishing, sitting around the campfire, drivin' on up to the outhouse, throwing around the baseball, or rafting down the river, the spirits are flowing and the mouths are moving. Whether the brains remain clear enough to follow all the arguements and threads isn't necessarily the point.
The hills and the river and the trees hear us and understand better than we do most times.
The music - while only battery powered, and not often a capella - is what we have collectively listened to growing up. Rarely is anything "new" brought along. If there is anything we can usually come to agreement on, it is the music.
I haven't much more to say at this point other than, if you're reading this and come back, you're sure to read more about The Dinty Moore in the future. "Can August come fast enough?" is often the question ...
