Thursday Th(ink)s - June 4, 2026

Here it is. Thursday. It’s the late afternoon of the week and I am in the late afternoon of my life. And because I’ve lived one or two hot minutes, I have much to consider.

Thanks for joining me to think alongside my ink…

Because we’re in the last third of our lives, and presumedly, no longer in such a hurry, Hubs and I permit ourselves a little rabbit-tracking over our 6 a.m. espresso.

After the usual gazette—where we review each other’s calendars—we let the silence hang. That’s one of the gifts of living with someone for 43 years. Silence no longer requires explanation.

Then:

Hubs: “You know, he wasn’t my first Champion.”

Me: “Really?”

Hubs: “But the first one was just as good.”

A second swallow of Colombian full-city-roast espresso.

Me: “No one’s as good as Jesus.”

Silence. Warm cups in our hands.

Hubs: “The first Champion masticated...”

Me: “You said masticated, right?”

Hubs: “What else would I have said?”

Another sip.

Me: “Nothing. Of course.”

Hubs: “The first one was a David with the strength of Goliath.”

Me: “So... Jesus?”

He gave a John Wayne nod toward the counter where his 1974 Champion Juicer sat, recently rescued from retirement in the shed.

Hubs: “Look at him. What a thing of beauty.”

Me: For sure. I’d hire him as the birthday party stripper...

Hubs: What?

Me: Well, never start a story at 6 a.m. with the word “masticate” as its central theme.

Sip.

Hubs: Point taken.

Second cups of espresso were made after I shoved aside the 25-pound bag of carrots, the 15 pounds of loose apples, the village-sized bag of kale, and the reminder note that read:

Thursday. Meet the produce manager at _____ who has set aside 30 pounds of beets, 20 pounds of celery, and a box of ginger.”

Yes, the ol’ Champion Juicer has sling-shotted his way back into the kitchen. Sandwiches can be made in the living room, on a TV tray. Champion now reigns as King of Placement.

Last night, for supper, I had carrot-apple juice. For breakfast, carrot-apple juice. For lunch, I lobbied to add kale to the carrots and apples. For Happy Hour, I had... gin and tonic. I mean, even a Champion needs to retire to his corner for an afternoon nap. And I was more than ready for this 52-year-old Champion to show his age and give me a respite.

These Thursday years are full of throwbacks. Marry a California fellow born in the early 50’s and you’ll know that you acquired a Champion.

Oh, and by the way, he’s not unlike my Danish Bedstemor (Grandmother), who also owned a Champion. She was built like a tank, powered by a motor that never quit, and lived in a house with a distinctly organic fragrance.

Feel free to visit and tell me if I’ve become more like my Bedstemor than merely my tank-ish genetics. Has my house acquired an odiferous aroma of… organic substances?

On second thought, I’d rather you masticate any criticism of my odiferous home. Or my tank-ish body. Some words deserve to be pulverised before they’re spoken.

Chew and spit. Chew and spit.

I do love a good Champion story, though. And I love living with a fella who keeps providing me with stories. Dude. You began our day with the word: “masticating.” You continue to be this Storytellers ‘gift that keeps on… chomping.’

(There’s a pithy devotional in here somewhere. I’ll leave it for you to masticate.)

Big Brains: “But the toaster was quite satisfied with itself, thank you. Though it knew from magazines that there were toasters who could toast four slices at a time, it didn't think that the master, who lived alone and seemed to have few friends, would have wanted a toaster of such institutional proportions. With toast, it's quality that matters, not quantity.” ― Thomas M. Disch, The Brave Little Toaster

Old Souls:“ To be fully seen by somebody, then, and be loved anyhow - this is a human offering that can border on miraculous.” ― Elizabeth Gilbert

The Ancient of Days: “The Lord God said, ‘It is not good for the man to be alone. I will make a helper suitable for him.’” Genesis 2:18

Norma Jean:
Some words deserve to be pulverized before they're spoken.

Thursday Chat: It may be that our words need a little pulverizing before they exit our mouths. I don’t know. Maybe. What do you think?