J.D.’s Columns

Talking Turkey   My mind has developed a tendency to pop out of gear. High mileage, lack of maintenance, and indiscriminate use of aftermarket additives have undoubtedly contributed to the clunky condition of my mental transmission. There needn't be a heavy load on the system, like trying to determine whether the breast end or the tush end of the battery goes against the little spring for this sudden shift to neutral, this clanking and grinding and over-revolution of engine, to occur. Nope, it can, and will, happen just about anywhere at anytime. Take a few days ago. A shopping cart and I were wobbling down an over-waxed aisle through the meat morgue in a grocery store in Milton-Freewater, Oregon, when a red Magic Marker sign introduced me to the concept of “Turkey Ham” and my clutch began to slip. My legs stopped shuffling, my vision blurred, and there in the middle of the Temple of Bratwurst, I watched, projected on my own special monitor, the scene of Betsy Ross, in her understa...