O.K., I have a confession.  In my desire to write with wit and depth I regularly go for quite a bit longer than ten minutes.  Maybe I should change it to

thirty minute musings which take  two minutes to read

Or maybe what is true is that it would take others only ten minutes to muse conclusively what it takes me thirty minutes to arrive at.

Forgiven?

Thanks.  I feel much better now.

I’ll just keep the title if that is o.k.  It is kind of African of me anyway.  Why just the other day when Tucker and I headed up the mountain to take our jump we couldn’t find a taxi cab.  So we just began walking up the road.  I thought, well, it shouldn’t take too long.  Then, after five minutes I saw someone coming down and I asked this woman how long it would take to get to the top.  She, who was not wearing a watch, volunteered that 30 minutes would be sufficient for the journey.  Tucker and I began marching briskly and only about 30 percent of the way up and thirty minutes later did I realize the gross error that I had made.  Blessedly two motorcycle taxis showed up just after my confessing this miscalculation to Tucker and him forgiving me.  They hauled us to the top for a mere dollar each and we flew.

So, I guess in an African sort of way ten minutes can be anywhere from five to fifty.

There I go, self-justification at its best.