We all have things that get under our skin. The older I get, the thinner my epidermis becomes. When I feel irritated by these behaviors of others or temporal things, I try to remember one of my many self-talk mantras: “Control the controllable…let it go!”

I am of the age where the new-fangled smartphones, shopping apps, and inventions of brighter minds baffle me. I know I am not alone. My son often gets frustrated with me when I stumble with the Google search engine or maps on my phone. At work, I struggle daily with email settings or the 2-step authentication thing-a-ma-jig that the IT guys want me to use. Thank goodness for the barely post-adolescent therapists around me who rush to my side like the proverbial “knight in shining armor” to rescue me. I eventually accomplish what I am assigned, but not without some silent cuss words and consternation.

Straight across the street from my boyhood and current home is a modest, not especially large, two-story home. It sits in a fairly large yard with giant trees that cast such a persistent shadow on the roadway that the snow is reluctant to melt and often turns to ice. There used to be a robust garden in the back half of the property. Next to the garden was a chicken coop whose residents were my alarm clock, as my bedroom window faced the house I am describing. It was the abode of Mr. and Mrs. Jensen. He worked for the local post office as a mail carrier. Their home had to be older than ours because it was already in existence in 1965 when my dad built our home.

Friends have asked me where I get the ideas or thoughts for my columns. Inspiration comes in various forms. Spontaneous memories are the primary source, followed by current events or experiences. This week, the inspiration came from reading a fellow columnist and friend’s words about the forks in the road he has experienced in life. He made mention in his column about the legendary blues guitarist Robert Johnson selling his soul to the devil in order to play the guitar better than anyone else on earth. This legendary tale is alluded to in one of my favorite movies, Oh Brother Where Art Thou. A great cinematic work, with an outstanding soundtrack, that reminds me of my second West Virginia home.