Going Home

Jim could hear the train blasting as the locomotive made its way down the tracks along the river towards the eastern plains of Colorado as he drank his morning coffee and looked out over the valley and foothills where first nation American Indian redskins once hunted, fished, camped, and roamed with no thought in their heads of the coming invasion of the white man bringing along with him his technology, culture, weapons, laws, and money.

Jim's mother had just passed on to her reward the month before and he had freshly come in to quite a sum of money.   His father was a doctor who with Jim's mother by his side had amassed quite a fotune in the small western town.  His older brother and his younger brother had done the same, the former living in Colorado Springs about forty-five minutes to the north, and the latter living in Penrose about 15 miles due east.

At 59 years of age Jim was not on his first rodeo.  His lone nephew son of his younger brother could tell you some things about rodeo but maybe not so much about money.  The subject of money had necessarily been at the forefront of Jim's mind from long before he could remember.  Perhaps even since the first earth age when he lived as a spiritual being before satan rebelled and tried to take the mercy seat.

The spirit of satan roamed the earth even now as Jim took another sip of the hot Walmart Great Value fresh ground coffee that he had just made in the Walmart Great Value coffee pot that he had just picked up at the big box store only two miles down from his mother's house for $5.78.  He thought to himself, Sam Walton could tell you a thing or two about money.