Mottos and Music

Hi.

Hope you’re well.

Been a while.  But that’s OK.  Better to bother you too little than too much.  Guess there are a couple of reasons why I haven’t blogged all that much recently. 

Discovered the wit of a master twitterer whose tweets are sweet, Badbanana.  My guess is you and I could not buy a better team of writers to come up with the stuff he commonly posts.

I was also – how shall I put this? – reminded by a non-friend at work to be cautious of what I post on this blog, Facebook and Twitter.  Perhaps my facial expression told him/her to go to hell, even if the words went unsaid.

Maybe it’s because I’m getting old [currently listening to Pandora’s “Robin Bullock” channel: Crossing The Causeway / Icehouse by Wagtail], but I am less inclined to whine about the vicious vicissitudes of my various kith and kin.

Although I hate to admit it, there’s really nothing much to write about.  Call it humility, I dunno.  Just that I don’t perceive pondering my life is of any more value than pondering your own.  Y’know?

However, not being one who opts for quietness when there’s a chance to open my mouth … I’ll take a crack at another blog forthwith.

[Travis by Myer/Fleck/Marshall]

Words to Live By

OK.  So something interesting did happen.  I won’t guess when because I’m always wrong, but it was within the past couple of weeks.

(stumped as to how to tell you this, sorry)

Had a spat with a family member.  (Imagine THAT?)  Had a few words.  In spite of how well “things” had been previously, this particular person said I’d never see her or her family again.  Again.

Felt bad that it didn’t hurt me as much as all the other times the same sentence was pronounced.  Any number of reasons why.  You get hardened or you die is one.  Not crazy enough to believe it’s all my fault is another.  A biggie is at my age it’s better not to beg people to stay in your life if that’s not what they want.  We’re all going to let go of everybody else sooner or later, no need to drag people along if they’d prefer to be elsewhere.

(No, I do not mean you should walk out on the creep/creepette you think you married.  Vows mean something.  Or they should.)

Thought about taking steps to cut a few of the ties/courtesies that I had extended; short- and long-term.  God told me not to return evil for evil or insult for insult – not that I am innocent of perpetrating my share of evil and/or insults, mind you.

But fights must/should stop somewhere.

**

I’m 61.  I write.  I think.  I ponder. 

God is a large part of my life, especially in trials.

While struggling with how to respond, even indirectly, I knew I would do no evil. 

God also made it clear that I should not return any perceived evil – to anyone, ever.

Then it all came together.  My motto.  My personal creed.  A combination of God’s Word and the ancient (?) motto of my family’s clan.

“Do no evil.  Return no evil.  Fear no evil.” 

Can’t tell you how much those simple words mean to me.  So many bumps in life can be smoothed by adhering to them.

Have you words that you choose/attempt to live by? 

If not, I’ll share mine with you.

***

Latest Badbanana tweet: “Stop judging. We’re all just sixty million dollars, thirty porn stars, and one ton of crack away from being Charlie Sheen.”

Latest news headline: “Diaper absorbent used to try to plug nuke leak.”

NOW do you see why I don’t believe my stuff can capture your eyes and heart as well as stuff from other writers?

[Bagmati Flood Medley by Tara Linhardt]

[Between Earth and Sky by Robin Bullock]

***

[Police Dog Blues by Etta James]

Did I tell you I killed my TV?  Fabulous decision.

Not that I wanted to, really.  Just awoke to the realization my cable company wanted me to work several weeks a year just to pay them.  Seriously.  Do you pay them $100/month?  Figure out how much that is before taxes annually and divide your hourly wage into the amount.  Then, shoot your TV.

I listen to WAY more music than before.  (Hence the notations in this blog, for example.)  [Take These Hands by Paul Johnson]  If you enjoy acoustic guitar, be brave and listen to one or two online.

***

The Difference Between God and My Motorcycle Mechanic

The Bike is in the shop.  Gonna cost hundreds of dollars.  Life isn’t the same without it.  But I’ll survive, even if The Bike doesn’t.  [Lady’s Fantasy by Dan Crary]

Gonna take at least nine days for diagnosis, surgery and maintenance.

God created the universe in a week, including His day off.

There’s no other bike I’d rather have.  Not like I crave a Harley or a Goldwing or a sportbike, although I wouldn’t shrug off a Kawasaki Concours.

Thought about going up to the mountains in the car today to find a spot to write … somewhere amidst nature … away from incivility’s din … a secluded, protected place where I could be alone with you. 

Stayed home.  Writing on the deck.  Savoring the sounds of the birds and the breeze.  Watching two chameleons romp and frolic in a genetic dance stunningly similar to match-dot-comers on a first date.

***

That’s another change in my life.  Signed up for match.com.

Came up with a cute online name.

Wrote a clever bio.

Posted a couple of as-flattering-as-can-be pictures of myself.

Found out I had to *pay* to be on the site.

Never followed through.

What would I do with a woman?  Seriously.

I don’t have time to mow my lawn.

My work schedule changes weekly.  I don’t get home until 10 pm some nights.  I work weekends and holidays, and one weekend a month I care for my dad.

Not to mention that I am broke.

**

Oh.  Reminds me.

Took an 18% pay cut recently when I transferred to a position at work that is humanly possible to accomplish.  Needed to make the switch for multiple reasons – among them health, sanity, and my predilection to eating, wearing clothes and living indoors.

Told God, “OK.  My pay – less than half of what we made a few years ago and not enough to pay the bills – just went down by 18%.  Let’s see You get us out of *this* mess.”

God (who is kinder than you) pulled off one of His marvelously simple solutions.  After filing my taxes this year, I noticed that I wasn’t claiming any deductions on my W-4.  Changed the deduction from zero to one.  Yup.  That did it. 

You don’t think that was God, right?  If not, that’s the difference between my life/faith and yours.  God finds ways.  Even ones that would seem obvious to others.

*

Like the time I was in divorce court with one friend at my side for moral support.  My earthly adversary had a pride of benevolent lions at her side.  The proceedings only went that far because she would not recant her charge that I treated her cruelly.  I had accepted all other terms to the divorce, including returning the candles in our refrigerator that were on the list of items she wanted back.

Divorce me.  Reject me.  Hate me.  But if you lie about me, I will confront you.

So we’re in court. 

I was outgunned, outsmarted and out of hope.

I felt doomed.

Then the presiding judge said the judge who was scheduled to be the presiding judge couldn’t be there.  The replacement judge said there wasn’t enough time to fart around behind closed doors, so all the arguments would take place in open court – in front of everybody.  No hidden crap.  I’d have the opportunity to defend myself in public.

Wasn’t five minutes later I had a notarized statement that the charges were dropped.  (Yes, I can provide you with a copy.)

[Butterfly by Aureole Trio]

*

God doesn’t need to use identical weapons to win a fight.  Therefore, neither do Christians.  In my opinion, Christians don’t even have to have faith to believe it will be done, nor do they have to offer suggestions about how God should do this or that, aka "prayer."

All it requires is the willingness to ask God for deliverance and the patience to watch it happen – without screwing it all up by trying to fix it yourself.

Do no evil.  Return no evil.  Fear no evil.

***

The way to have hope for the future is to reflect on God’s kindness in the past.

***

Been giving some thought to writing about my earlier days.  Where I was.  How I got there.  Who I got there with.  Where I went next and who I met when I arrived.

Maybe next time, OK?

Blessings.

[Her Scattered Gold by Robin Williamson]

Robear

My Birthday, 2011

Hi.

Hope you are well.

Believe it or not, I’m on my back deck.  In the sun.  Just about 75 degrees, light breeze.  Most everybody’s idea of a perfect day.

Gonna hop on The Bike and meet my Princesses later for dinner.

***

Things Change

Still learning not to get all freaked out because it *seems* something crappy might happen.

Yesterday, for example.

Was subpoenaed to testify at my former boss’s unemployment appeal.  At least it was by phone.

Cannot/will not/should not reveal too much.  You never know what will wind up on the Internet, y’know?

Dreaded yesterday.  Up a lot the night before.  Killer farts and tummy turmoil.  Hardly slept.  Stayed home from work and mended myself.

Never got the call from/about the hearing.

Life’s like that.

Today is the 40^th anniversary of my 21^st birthday and I’m still not bright enough to not worry about what *might* happen.

My point?  Learn from my mistakes.

Or end up as stupid as me.

Your choice.

***

Little League

Saw one of the [I detest references to luck] most fortunate kids in America on the way to work this morning.

He was wearing a spotless baseball uniform.  My guess is he was on his way to practice.  The Player was getting into a truck with a man.

These days aren’t like when I grew up.  Back then, it’d be a no-brainer that the guy was his dad.  Now?  Unlikely, I guess.

So many fractured/blended/skronked families.

But I’ll pretend he’s from a peaceful, loving intact family, if you will.

At the very least this kid is fortunate to have a man in his life.  That’s cool.

Women make great mothers.  So do some men.

Men make great fathers.  No mother can be a great father, imho.

Takes a man to raise a man.  Takes a mother to raise a lady.

Takes God to heal us when people fail us.

***

What I’ve Learned

Simple.  I’ve learned that God is gracious, loving and merciful.

God is WAY nicer than you think.

Love that verse repeated so often in the Old Testament by so many key figures:

“The Lord is compassionate and gracious; slow to anger and abounding in lovingkindness.”

I’m learning to trust what I know is the truth.

Too bad it’s still hard.

Learn from my mistakes.

Or repeat them.

Your choice.

***

Kids

Love them.

Don’t let them define your existence.  The deal is they’re supposed to grow up and grow away.  If you do your job as a parent, they’re not supposed to need you.

If you’re fortunate, they might want you; but adults need to not need their parents too much.  Appreciate?  Sure.  Love?  Sure.  Stay close?  Sure.

But healthy kids grow up and grow away.

imho

When I married a woman with two kids at home, my pastor told me to not get upset if the kids told me they hated me.  Said even his kids said that to him … as mine have to me … and as yours probably have to you.

Kids get to be kids.  Parents expect kids to be more mature than they are themselves.

How stupid is that?

The best you can expect is for five-year-olds to act like five-year-olds.  Same goes for kids seven, nine and 17. 

Be nice to your kids.  God might bless you by allowing you to hold their kids someday.  It’s worth it all.

What have I learned about kids?

Spend more time finding something they do right than bitching about what they do wrong.

Take it or leave it.

The difference between being on the lookout for faults and rewarding good behavior isn’t a mind game or psychobabble.

Ask *any* grandparent.

***

Work

What have I learned about work?

Let’s start with: get a job.

Even if it’s a crummy job.

Working is good for you.

Even if you don’t get a lot of money, praise, benefits, satisfaction.

Learn from everyone.  Be kind. 

If you are a Christian, you know the verse about doing your work with all your heart, as unto God.

That’s why members of the Shaker sect have the chairs they made on display in the Smithsonian.  Their work was an act of worship.  They took it seriously.

What have I learned?

Do a good job, even if you have a crummy job.

It will enhance your character and [insert the astute observations of superior writers here].

My mother was right.  She made me get a paper route when I was a kid.

No way to describe that job to young people today.  Like describing the smell of mimeograph paper to tekkies.

Lemme take a stab at it anyway.

In the town where I grew up (Rochester, NY) there were two daily newspapers.  Families paid 35 cents per week to have the evening paper delivered to their homes; the morning paper was probably 50 cents a week because folks also got the Sunday paper.

Every afternoon I went straight home from school.  Waited for my papers to be delivered hot off the presses.  Then I put the daily inserts (if there were any) into each paper.  Once that was done, I carried 60 0r 70 papers in my canvas shoulder bag, rolling them into tubes that I could throw with some precision onto the steps of my customers in my extended neighborhood.

There was no excuse for late deliveries if it rained, snowed or whatever.  If the paper got wet, I had to replace it at my own expense.  If a paper ended up in the bushes, my customers complained and I got in trouble for poor service.

If the paper blew away in a hurricane, I had to go back out and deliver another one.

Then once a week I had to collect payment from my customers.  Most were great.  Some were lying snakes who either didn’t pay, lied about having already paid or tried to squeak out of giving me the money for services/goods delivered.

Had to outrun dogs, put some papers inside back doors/side doors/front doors under this or behind that.  My customers had their papers delivered their way.

On time.

When I was unable to do my “route” it was up to me to find a substitute.  Someone who did exactly what I was told had to be done.  And I personally paid my replacements to put papers right where they were supposed to go … on time.

And I was rich.  Richer than ever.

Probably made $12-15/week when a Coke was a nickel or a dime.  Lucky Strike cigarettes were 20 cents, I remember that.

Been working ever since.

What have I learned?

Didn’t want to go to work today.  If I called in sick, I could have used a sick day and been paid.  Didn’t.

Went to work.  My boss said, “What are you doing here?  Are you on the schedule?”  Five minutes later I had the day off with her blessing.

And I retained my self-respect and dignity.

God did that, imho.

What else have I learned about work?

Show up.  Do your best.  If you don’t like your job, get a better one.

But earn your pay.

Be honest.  Don’t lie to your employer and *never* lie for them.

And be thankful you have a job.

**

Worked for one company for 15 years before being fired one day.

After that, 100 more people were ignominiously blown out.

Earlier this month another 50 or so were “let go.”

Fewer than 20 people remain.

Glad I departed before God did.

**

What have I learned?

How long you have your job is partially up to you, but mostly up to God.

You can find another one, usually.  Even a crummy one ... until something better comes along.

***

Priorities

What have I learned about priorities?

That even on a perfect day on your back deck, when you would rather write than anything else, do NOT blow the opportunity to spend time with your beloved child and grandchildren.

So, I’m off.

***

God is good.

Even if no one else is.

The God you might not believe in will accept you whenever you’re ready.

Waste your life in the meantime or not.

Your choice.

Choose wisely
.

God’s ways are flawless.

If not pain-free.

Accept His love.

That’s my advice.

Take it or leave.

May God bless your life and mine in this coming year.

Gotta go.

Wanna go.

Blessings.

At Least It Ends with a Song

Saturday, February 5, 2011

Don’t ask me where I am.

OK.  You can ask. 

But I don’t really know.

Sitting in a restaurant that’s closed.  (A nice lady said it was OK.)

Got here after I was turned away from Amicalola Falls State Park because I didn’t have $5 to pee.  Seriously.  You can’t even drive in to use the facilities without paying.  Drove back toward Dahlonega.  Took a side road to a side road; turned off the road, went up the hill and took another road. 

Now you know where I am.

It’s called “lost.”

**

Went to a funeral this morning.

Young lady, 23.

I hardly knew her.

Extended family of one of my daughters.

Let’s just use the word “tragic."

Saw both my girls at the funeral. 

Both my grandsons.  The Princess, too.

When the service was over and we were all making our way to a true meal of fellowship, it hit me that – for the first time – all my grandchildren were in one place, and I was there.

In a resplendent display of my “It’s all about me” attitude, I commandeered everyone long enough to get pictures of myself with my grandchildren. 

Simply thrilling.

For me, anyway.  Annoying for everyone else who actually understood why we all gathered together.

Got the pictures. 

Love them.

Love my family. 

Although I continue to place my needs above theirs at such times.

***

The Musician and The Artist

Met them last night.

Nice folks.

They live in an RV and travel the country.

With their dog.

Meandering around America probably isn’t on your bucket list, but it IS mine.

That’s what I’d love to do for a year or two. 

Maybe more, depending upon the companionship. 

Or lack thereof.

Didn’t hear the musician play or sing.

Heard him bark at his babe, though.

Makes me angry to hear men sound the way I did for so long.

I mean, what’s the matter with these people?

Why can’t they be better than me?

sheesh

I am so old that I don’t give a rip ...

how well you sing.

how many songs you’ve written

how many chords you know

or if you can do that annoying machine-gun doodley-doo thing trumpeters do to show off.

Wanna be significant to me?

Be nice to your lady.

**

No man would last 30 days as a woman.

We’d strangle the first person who crossed us during what Melinda’s mother used to call “The Curse.”

And we’d never wear high-heeled shoes, pantyhose, skirts in the winter, keep our legs crossed, not fart in public, or wax anything.

Natural childbirth?  Ha!  Men can hardly survive occasional hemorrhoids.  The birthrate would be zero within days.

If men ever had to switch roles with women, we would *never* pretend that other men were funny, smart, charming, attractive or worth putting up with.  And the first guy who grabbed us would awake, as the French would say, “sans winkie.”

If a man ever rudely told another man to get up and make him a sandwich, grab him a beer, change the channel, rub his neck and then shut up because the game is back on there would be no discussion.  Only gunfire.  And there wouldn’t be a jury anywhere that would convict the shooter.  He’d probably get free ammo for a month from Little Bill’s Patriotic Guns & Bait Shop.

***

The Half-Life of Love

Maybe women get scammed by men who put on SUCH a good show in the beginning. 

Opening doors.  Gifts.  Dinners out. 

Actual kissing.  Holding hands RIGHT IN PUBLIC.

Gargling, flossing, wearing drawers without skid marks.

Helping in the kitchen. 

Smiling.  Listening. 

Being sweet.  And nice.

How many women LONG to have their significant others speak to them the way their “lovers” speak to unknown waitresses?  (And if a man *doesn’t* speak to waitresses kindly, what hope do you think YOU have, ladies?)

I actually believe an observant person can tell how long couples have been together by watching how they deal with one another.  Yes, maybe it’s abandoning performance-based acceptance or they simply settle into habits they’re fine with.  What do I know?

Love fades sometimes.

But this recent study from Stony Brook University says love can last.

***

Becca

(Sorry I put this off until the end.

Just. Don’t. Want. To. Deal. With. It.)

I love how nothing is wasted in nature.

Walk through a forest or spend hours gazing out my windows into The Dancing Deer Forest.  Try to find anything that doesn’t contribute to the Grand Scheme. 

Everything works together in God’s creation.

Even death and decay have a place.

I want to believe that nothing is wasted in our lives.

*

Been thinking about this since I heard about Becca’s death. 

At 23.

She had an army of people to do battle on her behalf. 

To come alongside or to fight for her when she didn’t have the strength herself.

Joey the Wise says, “Most of our wounds are self-inflicted.”

If I understand correctly, Becca didn’t protect herself from harm.

Enough, anyway.

And not even an army can protect us from ourselves when we yield to invaders.

*

Becca’s life wasn’t wasted, it seems to me.

Bet there were 200 people there today to celebrate her life.  To support her parents and family.  To mourn.  To confront the evils that entice all of our children … and to renew our vows to do what we can to protect them from what seems so attractive ... at first.

Becca’s life matters, without regard to how or how quickly it ended.

It always will.

***

Meredith

Made me think of Meredith, a woman I never met … who changed my life.  Seems like I’ve always known her and the others who were affected by her life.

Meredith was a victim of a maniac. 

Her life ended needlessly on a frigid January day in 2008. 

Meredith’s death was a tragedy. 

But it wasn’t a waste.  A serial killer was stopped, for example.

Meredith’s life and death inspired many people to work for the safety of those who love the woods.  We will not allow her passing to snuff out her memory.

That’s the purpose of Right to Hike.  You’re welcome to join us.

**

Becca and Meredith matter.

They are gone.

They will not be forgotten.

We will protect their memory.

We will do what we can to protect others … from themselves and from strangers.

**

We will all die someday.

Who will celebrate our lives?

Why will they celebrate our lives?

Why will our lives matter?

Why will our passing matter?

How will others be better off because of our existence?

**

I’ve never been to a funeral where anyone was eulogized for their wealth or beauty.  When we speak of the lives of others … we relate tales of sacrifice and giving.  Remembrances of our love for them and their love for others.

Ever read the poem “Nobility” by Alice Carey?  I love this excerpt:

“True worth is in being, not seeming,

In doing, each day that goes by,

Some little good--not in dreaming

Of great things to do by and by.

For whatever men say in their blindness,

And spite of the fancies of youth,

There's nothing so kingly as kindness,

And nothing so royal as truth.”

I am learning to revere kindness. 

Might even begin to practice it.  Someday.

**

We cannot undo our failures.

We cannot make others forgive us.

**

The past is the past.

The future is the issue now.

As a Christian, I have the example of Christ, a pattern to follow.

And I can draw upon God’s strength to accomplish His will.

I have hope that God can even use our failures for His glory.

***

Had many lean years.

Spiritual droughts.

Many wars and battles.

***

I’ve learned that our days here are indefinite. 

Transient.  Temporary.

Able to be wasted.  Able to be meaningless.

And I’ve learned that it is never too late to inspire others.

As Becca and Meredith did.

***

I believe that the more we become like Christ, by the strength of God, the greater our chance of impacting others ... now and forever.

So, when I go, don’t cry for me.

Just download All My Tears, by Julie Miller and sing it once in a while.

And remember me well.

Please.

In spite of my faults, sins and failures.

If you go first, I’ll do the same for you.

I promise.

:~)

Yesterday's Ladies and Recent Men

Hi.

Hope you are well.


**

Yesterday's Ladies

Miss Medium

So, shoot me.  I find women more interesting than men.  Especially at the moment of a friendship's conception.

Pitched at Wally World yesterday.
Met a lady.

(Yeah, I know.  You've heard this tune before, right?)

Medium height.  Medium build.  Medium aged.  Medium looks.
Medium-ish brown hair.  Medium-ish casual clothes.

The kind of person that is everywhere all the time. 
Unnoticed.
Except by inept, inefficient, Death of a Salesman look-alike guys like me.

Said hello.  Professionally.

She sparked in return.
Nothing flirtatious.  Just that response I get from women who have brothers and/or a father they're close to.  [See previous blogs for irrefutable proof of my theory.]

Hit on her.  Professionally. 
No sale.

She smiled and we laughed about how ridiculous it is of me to ask people to instantly fork over [insert dollar amount here] for a product/service that is not the kind of thing that incites people to instantly fork over [insert dollar amount here].

She didn't have any more money than me.  And *I* certainly cannot afford to pay for what I am expected to induce others to purchase.

But I digress...

Told her I understood.
She understood that I understood.
She got a little closer and said one of her four children is autistic.

Told her I was sorry.
She told me her young, unmarried daughter just had a baby.

I kinda got happy at that news because kids are great.
She told me the infant has

(ready?)

spina bifida.

sheesh

Told her nobody has any clue how tough some people have it.
She told me that anybody who complains about his/her life should come and spend a week at her house.


Dear God,

Thank you for my good health.  Thank you for the good health of all my children and grandchildren.  Thank you ... that we all have roofs over our heads; for loved ones; the knowledge that You love us and will care for us; and that you will give us whatever it takes to survive -- even if that means such storms as that lady endures.

Amen


***

The Lady I Lied To (aka "Sneezy")

Taller than Miss Medium.  Not extra large.  Model-ish, but not too fancy.

Like, not at all like the woman -- pretty as can be -- that I saw lurking around a jewelry counter not too long ago. 

**
Took a long time to learn, but I now know that men should *never* introduce themselves to women after 10 PM in bars; on street corners at any hour; and never EVER at jewelry counters.  I mean, where's THAT gonna go? 
sheesh
**

But I digress...

Hit on her.  Professionally.

She said the magic words, "Oh, I already have one, thanks!"

Scrunched up my face and said, "Got a cold, dear?"

She tilted her head, scrunched up her lips, did that thing with her shoulders, squinted her eyes and said, "Yeah ... how could you tell?"

Hey.  I'm not exactly Sherlock Dang Holmes.  But when a woman's voice sounds like the character in The Princess Bride saying "MAWW-AGE.  Maww-age ith whad bwings uth togeddah..." I figure she's got a cold.

Bingo!
(Didn't have the heart to tell her that her nose was running.)

**
Did you know that hostage negotiators are told to acknowledge the hostager's anger right away?  Evidently, lots of wackos just need someone to understand that they're angry about some unresolved grievance ... and they want someone to help them resolve the issue.
**

She melted when I told her I was sorry she wasn't feeling well.

Not like a desperate woman who desperately needed another desperate person to bond in some relationship based upon mutual desperation.
(If you catch my drift.)

Pleasant words bring healing.  That's all.

She was so responsive that I said, "You have brothers, right?"

BIG (snotty) nod.  Followed by a big sniff.

Close to your dad?

BIGGER (snotty) nod.  Followed by a bigger sniff.

She told me her dad called her about five times that day and how kind that was of him to care.

Asked her if she *really* didn't mind that he called so much.

Gave me that turn-your-head-to-the-side, scrunch-up-your-cheek, sideways, "are you a weirdo?" glance.

"Of course not!"

I embarked on a soliloquy about how healthy it is for women to be close to their fathers ... and to have brothers ... and to "get" that guys love by caring for the women in their lives ... and that the alternative creates (imho) twenty-something girls who marry Hugh Hefner.

Told her I have two daughters and how I love to call them ... just to hear their voices.  And how I call them if I hear of tornado warnings or loonies on the loose or *whatever* I believe a father needs to protect his daughters from.

She said they must really love that about me.

Told her they did.

But God will forgive me for lying.

Right?

I mean, He will.  Right?
How could I tell her the truth?

Openness and honesty might be the title of this blog, but you don't actually think that's the way I live, do you?

You big dope.


***


Recent Men

Guys can be just as nice as women.

OK.  That's another lie.
Lemme begin again.

Guys ... 

let's see

Guys ...

guys, uh...

Aw, hell.  We're typically insensitive louts who believe farting is an art form.

Right?

Right!

And I know some GREAT guys.


***


The Manly Man


Went to a Christmas party.

Lovely girly hostess. 
(Who used to work in the tire department at a really big retailer.)

House was decorated like a magazine.


OK.  It was TOO decorated. 

I mean, do you REALLY have to have every square inch slathered in holiday goop to remind yourself and others it's Christmas?  I mean, leave room for a plate.  Please. You should only go all Griswold outside, where the serious bling belongs.

The tree was Biltmore House beautiful.

Perfect upside-down toy-top shape.  An angel (or something, I forget) at the tippy-top of the tree.  (Probably took elaborate scaffolding or the accomplishment of the mystical art of hovering-in-space to place it there.)

A ribbon perfectly swirled from top to bottom, better than 'that obsessive lady who is famous for such things and who went to jail' could do.

Artsy, no-duplicate ornaments were perfectly placed on the tree.
The perfect amount of that sparkly stringy stuff.
The perfect amount of really cool blinking and non-blinking lights gave it the perfect glow.

Stood by it with the hostess' husband. 
A manly man.

We were both looking at the tree. 
Quietly.
Lost in our own reflections on the holy holiday.

Told him I thought the tree was beautiful.

He looked my way for about 1...2...3... moments.
Looked back at the tree.

Looked back at me for another 3-count.

Looks me in the eye

and says

(hoping I wasn't gonna burst into tears)

"It's fake."

(He silently added "stupid," I just know he did.)
Hence my predilection for conversing with the ladies.


***


The Dirty Dude

I did have a meaningful chat with a guy yesterday.

Told him about borrowing my friend's Jeep and going for a drive in the woods. 

[Loving Dylan's song playing on Pandora: Kingsport Town.  Here are the lyrics.]

My buddy and I sang, in two-part harmony, of the exquisite joys of getting a Jeep filthy.

We shared the intimacy of trying to get a Jeep stuck in the mud ... or better yet ... in the middle of a swift creek.

When we came to the awkward realization that we were bonding, we cussed, scratched our (individual) private parts, spit, and -- before we parted -- hit each other as hard as we could.

We promised we'd meet up again and beat the other at [insert manly sport or activity here] and drink until we puked.

Yup.  Doesn't get any better than that.

With guys anyway.

Last Year's News ... This Year's Views

Hi.

Hope you are well.

Haven't blogged in a long time. Perhaps you've noticed. Probably not.

That's OK.
Please remember the rules: I need to write, but you don't need to read it.

***

Was Gonna Write About

The Left-Handed Lady

Met her while hawking my wares.

Nice lady. Kinda sauntered up to where I was. Didn't see her come into the room where I was pitching.

We chatted.
Mother. Couple of kids.

Noticed that she was left-handed. I think that's kinda cool, personally. Probably a real pain to BE left-handed, but I find such differences appealing.

Told her that I thought her handwriting was pretty good, as she filled out a form for me.

She said she wasn't always a leftie. Grew up right-handed.

Thought that was interesting. I've heard of people who were forced/coerced into being right-handed, even if their primary proclivity was left-handedness.

Asked her.

Said she'd had a stroke.

This was a pretty lady. Petite-ish. Didn't look handicapped at all.

Said she had to learn to talk all over again.
Said she had to learn to walk all over again.
Said she had to learn to write all over again ... but her right hand was too skronked to use it to write.
So she adapted.

As she left, I could see that her gait was skronked.

Wondered how people recover from stuff like that.
And thanked God for her inspiration.


The Grungy Couple

Met them while I was pitching.

No, that's wrong. Never really met them. Just watched them as they walked down a long parking lot into a Wally World.

She was gross. Not unattractive, but her hair looked worse than if she lived in the woods. (Trust me, I know.) Fifty-cent flip-flops. Dirty, baggy, oversized sweat pants. Mismatched top.

He didn't appear to be quite as homeless. T-shirt he'd been wearing for a day or two. Goofy-huge basketball shorts.  Needed a shower. But oddly enough, he didn't look as if he lived under a bridge.

They went directly to the rest rooms.
Came out.
Met up.
Bought a couple of things.
Walked out.
Up the parking lot ... to ... I wondered where.
Watched.

Thought of my car with 300,000 miles on it and felt rich by comparison.

Wondered which of the broken-down cars they were going to drive away in. Watched as they approached a car.
Opened the rear door. Took something out.
And kept walking. Wasn't surprised, really.

Until they walked in front of the car, toward the front of one of those really fancy Greyhound bus-type recreational vehicles. You've seen them. Kinda grey and brownish with swoopy decals on them? Expensive looking.

Yup. They walked right into the RV.

And drove off.
Towing a car that didn't have anywhere NEAR 300,000 miles on it.

Campers? Travellers? Going from one home to the other?
In a vee-hickle worth more than my home.

I am the world's worst judge of people.


The Creepy Guy at Wally World

Watched as a very creepy guy walked into a Wally World. Foreigner. Not that that's bad, mind you. Nicole Kidman is a foreigner too.

The guy just looked like a nomadic weirdo ... the sort of person you'd see on the news wanted for some international crime.

The pitchee next to me looked him in the eye as he walked toward us. Now *she* had a strange look on her face.
Guilty-ish.

Then she nodded at The Creep and said hello.

Floored me.

As he walked away she said, "Isn't that terrible?"

Yup, I *totally* knew what she meant. Sort of.

Then she said, "He's my doctor ... and I forgot his name."

I am the world's worst judger of people.


Buggy Woman

Saw a lady in Wally World.
(Yes, I spend a lot of time there.)

Had a kid in her buggy.

(Dear Yankees, deal with it. I've learned to call shopping carts "buggies." Yes ... I mean ... no, it doesn't make sense to me either.)

Kid seemed quiet and content.
Lady seemed quiet and pleasantly reserved.

Watched as they strode out the door, down the lane in the parking lot toward their car.

Lady puts her left foot on the rear rail of the buggy and gives a bunch of quick pushes with her right foot ... and SAILS down the lane.

Slows down and gives herself a few more foot flicks and SAILS the rest of the way. Couldn't hear her, but I *knew* she was giggling.

I want a woman like that.


***

The Dearly Departed

Went to a funeral.
Loved one passed away in her sleep.
Don's beloved wife.
Saw a bunch of old friends and colleagues.

Brusque lady blew by me.
I made a lame attempt at a courteous remark.
Zee-row response.
But she wasn't there to see me.
At all.
Just a caring mourner with her focus on the family left behind.
Motivated by love and a caring heart.

Left her alone to mourn.
Didn't see her afterward.

She will now be known as "The Lady Formerly Known as My Favorite Wife."

More distant than a stranger.

Did me a world of good.
Needed that to happen.
Not a problem.
Seriously.

We were there to care for others, not one another.

Seven years apart doesn't bring people closer.
And memories can be far more fond than what reality is/was.

Fare thee well.
To both of the dearly departed.
You were loved.

Happy trails.
Adieu.
Adios.


***


New Year's Day 2011

As I apply my ineptitude at judging people to prognosticate what's before me in 2011, I think:

* I won't be in my house by the end of the year. That's OK. I've lived on sofas, in the woods, in apartments and small homes. I do not need nine rooms to exist.

* I won't be without a date for the next New Year's Eve. Not that it was so awful or lonely not being with someone special this year. It's simply that "mourning has broken." Might even snag a kiss this year.

* I won't be driving Donna the Honda, probably. Got 320k miles on it now. Not gonna last forever. But I'm thankful for it. An amazing gift from God.

* I will be OK, no matter what, because houses, jobs, dates and cars cannot fill the void in our souls. Life is good. God is great.

* I'm looking forward to meeting my next grandchild in June, by God's grace. Praying for him/her and for my daughter.

* I'm looking forward to riding The Bike across the Cherohala Skyway again.

* I'm looking forward to fishing with Don.
* I'm looking forward to spending time with my daughters and my dad.
* I'm looking forward to attending my church.
* I'm looking forward to learning more about God's love and provision.

* I'm hoping I'll learn something about how to judge people correctly.
* I'm hoping I'll finally learn something about how to be judged by people correctly.

Time will tell.

At the very least, the Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.
That's all that really matters.

Bring on 2011!