C'mon. Sit With Me

C'mon.  Sit
With me with
Your mondogynormous
Yellow bird mug
To the rim
With coffee.
The couch is
Sturdy and strong
To support the both
Of us. Curl your
Legs underneath
And lean into
Me.  Ooops.  You
Made me spill.
I don't care.
It wil dry.

A smile creases
My crinkled face
As I sit with
My own too big
To be legal mug
Full of flavored
Caffeine.  The addiction
Is in the need
As much as the
Substance.  We
Sip simultaneously,
The same slurping sound.
We look at each other
And laugh.
"Quick! Make a wish,"
You laugh more
Than say.
I close my eyes
And wish.

Release...

One of the best songs ever written.  I always cry tears of joy when I hear this song performed well.  Thank you, Herr Beethoven:  Ode To Joy

The Desperation Bracket...

I wrote abut my experiences the second time around with online dating.  I mentioned having to tell people that I did not care to meet with them again.  This is hard for me as I hate to hurt feelings in that way.  I've steeled myself for the task.

A tangent I was going to talk about but either forgot or...yeah, I forgot, was the age factor and how desperation works into it.  What i've noticed so far is that you are far more likely to get a response from someone who is between the ages of 55 and 63.  For lack of a better phrase, I call this the Desperation Bracket.

My observation, and I'm an amateur at this, is that the older people get, the more they understand that time is running out for them in the dating world.  Sure, people fall in love at 70 and still marry and it's cute and always makes the paper.  But time is running out.

As we end our days on the planet, our need for social companionship does not diminish.  In fact, it may increase.  There are plenty of people who are fine by themselves and carry on. Their partner has probably passed on and within a year or so, they will join them.  It happened to my grandparents.  After Grandpa passed, Grandma called me all the time.  She was lonely after being with the same man for 63 years.  Now he was dead and she was living in her house alone.  She told me how lonely she was.  I thought after finishing college, I might find a teaching job in her town.  I did, actually, but it was only  half time position.  I needed full-time.

Grandma did see me graduate but passed soon after.  She died of a broken heart.

A lot of the profiles I read always say they are happy with the way their life is but would be better shared.  I agree.  I think it is in our DNA to have a companion.  Our brains are wired that way.  Of course, we can rewire our brains with consistent thoughts (think meditation) or some mantra that gets us through the day.  In the end, though, we were meant to be with someone.

The Desperation Bracket makes attempt after attempt to find someone they can feel safe with, comfortable with, someone they can love.  Some may never get there.  Yet, they still try.  Try they must until death or they just give up.

Giving up is not an option for me.  I am relatively young, in the middle of the Desperation Bracket, I am not ugly.  I am slender, strong (finally) and still have a job and a house.  I am an honest person and laugh and make others laugh.  I am exuberant, energetic (I mowed the lawn yesterday) and know who I am and what I want/need.  I am confident.  My shrink says that a man my age does not stay single long.  From my experience, that seems to be true.

When I tell someone that I am not interested in them the way they are interested in me, I feel badly as I know I'm putting that person back into the jungle of online dating.  I'm not sticking around just so someone can be happy and I end up miserable.

It is very important to stay monogamous.  Actually, I think it is better referred to as celibacy.  Whatever, keep yourself strong so that when someone comes around that delights you, you have something special to share with them.  Yes, sexual tension rears its head and we start looking for a short-term mate.  The tension can be released by fucking one of your dates, even if they are not a date.  Then what? Keep each other on the line for the next time?  It works for some people.  It's never worked for me although when travelling as a musician, I had plenty of meaningless sexual encounters.  Some of them I remember.  How rude is that?

I had one correspondent tell me she hadn't been with a man for three years.  Now that's monogamy although maybe to the extreme.  Still, I will not meet this person.  She is in the Desperation Bracket.  My profile photos show the honesty in my face.  That is what I have been told by every correspondent when I asked why they chose to correspond with me.  I'm flattered but think you should base a choice on more than just a photograph.  Wait a minute...that's how it starts.  If the photo doesn't do much for you, I guarantee a real life meet up will be disappointing.  It is my experience that people look much better in their photos than in real life.  That's ok.  It works that way with me, too.

The physical attraction of the profile photos gets you interested enough to read the profile.  From there, if you make contact, you just have to see how it goes.

Some of the people I correspond with have been online for a few years.  I fear some of these people will never connect with someone and will grow old alone.  I have to be realistic about my part in all of this.

Online dating is a self-centered activity.  You look for someone you think you might be compatible with and go from there.  If you are in the Desperation Bracket, you are online all the time.

The dreariness of winter is gone and my heart is filled with love and hope.  Desperation is gone.  I have time, not a lot but some.  I am enjoying my life now.  Still, I need that intimate social interaction with a member of the female species.  The lines on my face are getting deeper.  I'm not getting younger.  None of us is.

Some Things Are Hard for Me to Believe

Gonzaga did not make it to the Sweet Sixteen, but they have before.  And will again.  This is the only time of year I consciously choose to watch televised sports.  I like to follow GU only because it is my alma mater.  John Stockton graduated from GU the year before I got there.  There were wall sized posters of him in the gym.  They may yet be there.  I watched him on tv as he watched his son from the stands.  He had been there before.  John Stockton was back in SLC not as a player on the Utah Jazz, but as a father of a son who was playing for his alma mater.  It became obvious to me about 3 minutes out that there was no hope for a comeback from Gonzaga. They lost and it is just as well.  I don't have a lot of free time these days and if GU had won, they would still be going and so would I.  I wish they could have hung in there.

It's fine that they lost.  In order to watch the game on someplace other than my computer, I asked my friend Michelle if she was watching the game.  She has Dish TV with a million and two channels.  I figured she would have it.  Yes, was the answer.  She had an app on her phone that told her where and when the game was to be played and on what channel.  It was almost halftime before she could find the game. Then, once she located it, she wanted to know how she got there and promptly turned off the game as she explored the various button options, combo button options, etc., but when I pleaded with her to put the game back on, she could not find it.  I offered to try and find it but she would not give me the remote.  Not that she wouldn't, she is ADD also and needed to figure out how she did what she did.  I understood but wanted to watch the game.  I said a few things like, "You just had it..." but pretty much just let it go.  I understood what she was doing and why.  She told me she was going to start taking Adderall for her ADD.  I thought that was a good idea.  She could certainly stand to lose some weight for the sake of her health.

She finds the game.  Thank you.  At half time, we had taco soup with tortillas and sour cream.  I told a joke to the 6 year-old boy, and the eight-year-old girl, and with her own cell phone.  It went like this:  "Knock, knock.  'Who's there?' "Dwayne.' 'Dwayne who?' 'Dwayne da bathtub, I'm dwowning.'"  Evidently, they had never heard it before and were laughing and laughing.  Even their mom laughed.  Here I was feeling kind of stupid because the only joke I could remember was a really old one.  But they were laughing and swore they had never heard it before.  Talk about a generation gap.

Dinner ended when the ballgame started up again.  My hostess, actually, I invited myself, was watching the game, texting, and playing Word Play on her phone.  Anytime I said something to her, I was interrupting something.  I didn't get angry but felt ignored but that was fine as I just wanted to watch the game.  When she started cheering when the opponents made a basket,  I thought she flipped.  She had.  She was cheering because she thought Gonzaga was making the baskets.  I reminded here, even with my minute knowledge of the game, that the teams switch baskets at the end of the half.  We were well into the second half.

I curled my legs under my butt and sat in the leather chair watching the game.  Gonzaga lost, I offered to help with dishes, and then got the hell out of there.  I did get to talk to the kids about their dad.  He's a pilot who's route is between Pittsburg and Cancun.  They showed me a photo of him.

I don't go back and reread these posts but I know that I mentioned that I had put myself back in the online dating business.  I am somewhat overwhelmed by the response and have dutifully tried to keep up with the emails.  There is something in me, a part of my persona maybe, that feels an obligation to respond but some have to be let go and not responded to.  The caliber of intelligent response has been more than I expected.  I've met with two so far.  One is a fabric artist and is in the same frame of mind as I am about my art right now.  It just seems as if there are other forces at work keeping us from getting into the studio and getting some work done.  Her work is of extreme high quality and sells for thousands.  She has published a book and exhibited nationwide. she has writer's bloc, so to speak.  I realized, from corresponding with her, that I was keeping myself out of the studio.  The non working kiln was an excuse I used to not work.  Once I went to Seattle and got a new controller for my kiln, (and installed it without getting electrocuted) I made myself go in and throw some pots.  I wanted to do it.  Hell, I used to throw every day.  Now, I hadn't thrown in a month.  My first pots flopped as I was rusty and wasn't yet zoned in to where I was.  But I was throwing again.  I made it over the fence.

She emailed me for a week, telling me about her efforts to make art and read to her elder mother. I guessed I missed a day and she emailed me and just came out and asked me if there was a romantic interest on my part because there was on hers and her friend suggested she just come out and ask me.  She did.

I try to be black and white about things.  Innuendo, inference, suggestion...c'mon, just say what you have to say kind of guy.  I have the character flaw of expecting that out of every one else.  It does not go that way.

So, I was black and white about it.  I had been very careful all along to not write anything or make any statements indicating any sort of fondness or growing fondness.  I relayed that to her in the responding email I sent.  I apologized if I had done so as that it was never my intention.  She wrote back and thanked me for clearing that up.  I will probably never her from her again.

There are a lot of people in my life that fit in that category.  For example, my good friend Dirk, who I played in a band with and lived with while he attended Eastern Oregon University as a music major.  He played guitar in the band but you could throw anything at him and he could play it.  His main instrument is trombone.  I always hope I get to see him again.

I met with another correspondent Friday night in Ellensburg.  A state university is located there along with a plethora of single female college professors.  I met with one of the department heads.  She looked exactly like her photos, which was not good.  I came into this with a good, free and open mind and would have fun.  The drive is an hour each way but the scenery is gorgeous and there is eternal sky with poofy clouds.

We met at a wine bar and she had ordered a bottle of wine.  I was late, as normal, and laughed as I asked, "Am I late?"  Since she was the only person in the place sitting by themselves who looked like her photographs, I sat down.  We shook hands but eye contact was sporadic as I worked my brain to settle in and talk and have a good time.  At least we were both intelligent enough to carry on an meaningful conversation.  She told me about her ex, about her three kids at home.  Keep in mind she is 56.  The conversation ended up being focused on our errant daughters.  Her daughter is in the ninth grade.  My daughter is in Italy!!!! and having the time of her life and she knows it.  This is going to be one changed in the right direction kid.  I'm sure there will be some let down once she gets back but, if she sticks to her plan, she will be in college this fall.  She wants to stay with me when she gets back.  Hmmm...we'll see.  There will be no car here for her to drive.

So, the professor emailed me Saturday to tell me what a great time she had, did I make it back ok? She stated she wanted to meet again.  My response will be the same.  This time there was absolutely no intention of any sort of romantic connection.  I knew going into it there wouldn't be.  I accepted an invitation and did well.  I was polite, funny, serious when needed.  We killed a bottle of wine that night and talked for three hours but for me it was a grand opportunity to talk to someone at a higher level of cognition but not so smart that we lost our place.  Like I said, we mostly talked about our daughters.

I had planned to meet yet another correspondent this coming weekend.  It just so happens that my oldest daughter is coming to town and wants to see me.  That preempts everything.  My darling, sweet daughter will be here to make me laugh.

When I was online earlier, I got lucky and met somebody who set the standard for any who come after.  My desire is to stay with the standard. The standard is part of me.  I take it with me. I want to touch her again.

And You Love Me, too...

You know you do.  Give me a call. I want nothing but your love.

Down With Disease!

DownWith Disease and all other illnesses.  My ex wife came over the other day after texting me asking me if I was home.  I didn't see the text or ignored it or wasn't aware...she showed up in my driveway as i was moving stuff from one building to the house.  She's a great person and a good friend but we are lovers no more.  She had mail for me and I for her.  I was hungry from moving everything from one building to another and asked her if she would like to go grab a bite to eat.  We went to a Mexican restaurant down the street, one we took the family to.  So we are eating and laughing, being friends with a past.  We got to talking about the Phish concert she and I attended at The Gorge Amphitheater in George, WA.  We laughed at a certain event.  At Phish concerts EVERYONE is stoned.  Except we weren't.  Everybody else was and they were smoking all around us.  People were so stoned they were crawling on the ground.  My ex, a Mormon, had not been exposed to anything like it before.  During the intermission she said to me, "I am so hungry, I can't believe it.  We just ate dinner before coming.  Why am I so hungry?"  Well, me, former stoner at the time, told her to look around.  What is everybody doing?  They are all smoking weed.  You are breathing second hand smoke.  She was fucking stoned!  So stoned that we had to leave the concert to go back into Wenatchee to get her fed.  That was almost ten years ago and we were laughing at it again last week.  She told the story and seems to be very amused by it.  Of course, no religious guilt could be attributed as the smoke was second hand and she was naive about the whole thing.  I don't think it occurred to her that people would be stoned.  It wasn't part of her world.

So, my friend Michelle fed me last night.  Evidently, not only am I a starving artist but a starving bachelor, too.  We were goofing around with my profile on an online dating sight, trying hard to accurately depict me. It seemed as if everything we thought of would sabotage any chance of meeting up with anyone. Some of the phrases we came up with made us laugh so hard I fell on the floor and she started crying.  We howled at the comedy we were producing.  I think we came up with "Only the Weird Need Apply."  "I think I have a twisted sense of humor and so does my doppelganger."  It was if if I were writing a parody profile to not get any response.  I held fast and tried to be s truthful as possible.  Most profiles are so generic, it as if they are generated by formulas.  And they all say the same fucking thing.  Everybody likes the outdoors, camping, hunting, fishing, opera, hockey.  Because they are dating sites, you are allowed to be so bold as to describe what you see an ideal mate.  That's what we did.  It's succinct, to the point and there can be no missing the gist of my message.  Honestly, when I get to a point in a long, rambling profile, I quit reading, move on.

I get wacky emails from some people.  I think the dating sites are becoming the play field of scammers although any segment of being online is open to that.  Any way to get information out of you.  I've not gotten any that ask for personal info like bank accts #'s but I think one was getting close.  Good thing I was using my scum catcher email address.  I wonder who on the faee of the Earth has the most email accounts?  Yahoo, Google, Hotmail, Juno, hundreds of free email sites to be had for nothing more than information whether honest or made up.  The problem would be keeping up with them.  Kind of like lying...once you start...but I have three email accounts.  I have one with yahoo as I needed a Yahoo ID to get a Flckr account.  I never use the Yahoo account because they always get hacked.  Like it or not, for the near, maybe far, future, it's a Google world.  They are good and secure, my biggest concern.  Of course, there is no absolute anonymity on the internet.  Information once entered, not matter a bank card # or a photo of you at a party never really goes away.  Somewhere you now somebody is downloading everything they can get their hands on.  It never goes away.  It can make you uneasy but what the fuck?  What are I hiding?  Of course, I don't want anyone getting their hands on financial info of mine and I am concerned with identity fraud.

I am cautious with the responses I receive.  There are all kinds of red flags; people who want to go offline right away, people who want to call right away.  It's kind of icky sometimes.  Still, it's the only game in town for Americans and citizens of the world.

The best part of it for me is that I can never assume anything.  I am black and white.  Yes or no.  It's more comfortable for me to be like that.  Less tension.  Unless you run into people that don't operate in that manner.  It takes a while to get to know people, usually via email.  Innuendo is not easily translated.  You have to ask direct questions that cut to the chase.  Direct and honest.

Not assuming leaves everything open, everything possible.  Even if some things are so obvious if they bit you you couldn't say ow.  Never assume.  Always ask.  Saves a lot of trouble on down the line.

Phish is coming to the best place in the world to see any concert, The Gorge Amphitheater in George, WA.  I have seen many concerts there and never a bad one.  Phish, Steve Miller Band, Joe Cocker, Ringo Starr's All Star Band, Coldplay, Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers, all fantastic concerts outdoors in fantastic weather.  Being in the middle of the state, it draws from both metropolitan areas in Washington, Spokane and Seattle.  People from all over the world will travel there to see a certain band at that venue.  I think for at least the last ten years, The Dave Matthews Band has played three nights in a row during the Labor Day weekend.  Fantastic.

Phish will be here the 26th and 27th of July.  I'm buying two two-day passes.  I dont want to go alone.

Hello to all you Germans.  This is not gasoline.

Oh! Now I Get it...

I was a road warrior.  I travelled light; two duffel bags of clothes and a drumset with cases.  It was all I needed.  That and a place to play and a band to play in.  I was ready to go at a moment's notice.  Really, I'm too old for that now.  But I have realized something about it and how it exemplified who I was and who I still am.

I made a promise, vow, whatever, to myself when I first told myself that I was going to be a paid drummer, for hire to any band.  I would not get romantically involved seriously with a female.  Males either.  I didn't want anything to hinder my stairway to fame and fortune.  I figured there would be plenty of time for that nce the money started rolling in and our recordings were selling and we didn't have to be on the road all the time.

Ha ha...of course, unless your are stupidly lucky, getting to that point takes hard work and focus, two atributes I was trying to avoid.  I was supposed to have fun, meet really interesting people and live my life as if I were to die the next day.  Looking back, I was really lucky to keep waking up everyday.  In fact, I probably slept through a day or two...

I was successful in keeping my promise to myself.  I waited until I was 34 to marry the first time.  Problem is, the relationship was about me.  No, the relationship was about us in spite of me.  I was still doing my thing.  I was going to school.  sure, I would get a job and support a family but I decided to go to school and nobody had anything to say about it.

I realized the other night that I am still the same way.  I drug a second family along with me as I pursued my creative genius in either clay or drumming.  I bought equipment, instruments, stuff at the expense of my family. It was all for me.

Even today, I think about what I want to do, not what others want to do.  You pay a price for this drive, this creativity that won't leave you alone.  You end up being alone.  That's too much of a price for me to pay at this juncture in my life.  There is much more to do before...

The change is coming.  I can feel it.  It is slow and steady but the hoofbeats are unmistakable.

Make A Mighty Fine Time

Weed   and      wine
     make   a mighty
fine    time   no
weep      no   moan
    just   give   the
  dog         the    dog

       a    bone

even     if there            is

no                      no dog.



Take time and
put
it
in
a    boat
and let     it   sail
past  woven  Iranian

t a p e s t r i e s
         of
b r i l l i a n t

      i n t e r w e a v i n g s

O f
          w o o l s     s p u n       f r o m

a n i m a l s     with    h o o v e s

             and  breath  that smelled like a P a l i s a d e s
G r a s s l a n d s ground and stored
in one

G i a n t          Silo      more of a         S T E N C H
of vegetation resignation

T h a n the wafting    o d o r    of     F E E D L O T

                        manure      P I L E S.






What you see is         what
You   get.   It   can  be  t   h   e    only
course    O F     a  c  t  i  o  n

H
 o
  n
   e
    s
     t
      y
  I
s
  t
   h
    e
   o
  n
 l
y
  P
   o
    l
     i
       c
        y

Yes,  I've  tried before.  I am here to tell you it does not work.  One falsehood produces another and that one to yet another until all conversation has been jumbled into a situation of distrust which

                                 Q     U     I     T     E

                                                H     O     N     E     S     T     L     Y

sucks     the

               e   n   e   r   g   y      o   u   t     o  f     e  v  e  r  y  t  h  i  n  g      w   i   t   h   i   n     a

FIFTY MILE DIAMETER  OF YOU.
   and where was i when all of this came about???

On the pier watching the band with a baby
dancing inside happy for the song summer
song summer summer song.

L O N G
               B R O W N
                                  H A I R
                                                 W A V Y
                                                                 S H O U L D E R S
KISS ME SHOULDERS AND I DID
YOURS

L   i   p   s,  thin    l  i  p  s

          WET

luscious as a ripe peach

iNSIDe tongue job

      NO     TOO    MUCH
                                          OH SORRY
What is Happening to What
It Was     IS    ONLY
What is happening to what
it      IS.











Habemus papem

We have A Pope

Even though I am no longer a practicing Catholic, I am the product of very excellent Jesuit education.  I am very proud and glad that Pope francis is the first Jesuit to hold the post.  Maybe real change can happen.

Kumbaya, My Lord, Kumbaya...

Online Dating is the hit phenomena of baby boomers.  It has sort of a "meat market" flair to it but everyone who has a profile on an online dating site is there by choice.  There are certainly lots of photos to look at.  Also, the profile, a summary of your traits and likes and dislikes, becomes much more important as this is where you tell the world what you are like, or as you perceive yourself, and what you are looking for in a partner, be it a quick hookup or a long term relationship.  In a hectic, technological world, it is a hot commodity.

Some sites boast at having the most match ups or the most marriages, or the most whatever.  It's all about marketing yourself for a relationship.  Does anybody actually bump into somebody else say, in the grocery store, in the milk aisle, and ask them out?  I don't think we trust each other enough anymore for that.  One of the upsides to online dating is that the choice is yours to contact someone or not.

Most communication with online daters starts via email through the site.  Back and forth go the messages and questions.  Since most sites charge for essential services, such as reading an email someone sent you, a subscription is necessary, even for "free" sites.  They will lead you down the path and then hold up their hand and say, "No further without paying."  Is it worth it?  It depends, I suppose.

It is a billion dollar industry.  Online dating sites make their money through advertising and subscriptions.  Some site use the Meyers-Briggs personality test to align future lovers.  Other sites, such as eHarmony, use questions either generated by the prospective dater or questions the site has come up with.  It seems rather artificial to me, kind of like standardized testing in schools.  Not one size fits all.

I did online dating for a while.  I had success until the relationship became troubled.  I went offline for the relationship.  We both agreed it would be best.  We visited and I fell in love.  Too bad for me.

The most interesting aspect of online dating for me was the progression of the relationship.  Traditionally, there is a strong chemical reaction between people and they may end up fucking each other, think it is a great foundation to a relationship and, after a while, find they are not so interested in fucking all the time but have not developed the personal skills with their partner to maintain the relationship.

Online dating is the opposite.  Yes, the photos make you look and then you read the profile.  To contact someone, you send an email through the service.  This goes on as long as it takes until you decide to Skype of meet somewhere.  The advantage is that you have developed a talking relationship.  Sex, if there is any, takes place after all the talking is done.  In my book, a relationship would have a better chance at sustaining itself if approached in this matter.  Many people are friends before lovers.  I like it that way.

Some people have sex with their dates thinking that is the way to solidify the relationship.  As for me, I can't do it.  I have to be monogamous. Which means I don't get laid.  That's ok.  I just want to make sure that I know the person I am making love to.  And there's only been one in the last couple of years.  Sigh, I miss her but am happy to hold off until I can feel comfortable with someone again.  I am completely disease free and want to stay that way.  So, I wait.  And wait.  What's the hurry?  None, really, but at 60, I know my time is short and I want my time to count.  It all takes time.  Time to get to know someone, time to love them, time to enjoy their company, time to make up your mind.

Dating doesn't seem like it is ever simple.  If we are fickle or have had a bad experience or two with the opposite sex during dating, it may be difficult to trust enough to have a decent relationship.  Many profiles on dating sites ask for someone "without any baggage."  Baggage comes with every thing.  We all have experiences that shape ou perspective and how we react to perceived wrongdoings.  Consider, though, how this colors your perception of your prospective dates.  If you have been hurt or taken for a ride by someone you met online, or not, this will certainly bend how you look at profiles and photos.

As for me, online dating is an option.  It is one that is taken slowly and only part of the actuality of finding someone to date and possible develop a relationship with.  But it is not the end all of dating.  Yes, it is convenient and profitable for those who own the sites.  There's still a part of me that want to meet someone in a more natural setting, like a bookstore.

Time Has Come...

Time.  Or timing.  We all think about time although it is possibly something our brain concocted so it could either remember something or look forward to something.  Plausible, I suppose.  More important is timing; when things happen, or don't.  I took a trip to Seattle again today to swap my bad digital kiln controller for new, better digital control.  It was pretty cool.  They took me in the back and showed me where they make the kilns.  I walked through the door that said "Employees Only."  I've been going there for 21 years and I have always wanted to do that.  Once I tried but didn't get very far before someone noticed me.  "Hey!  What are you doing?  You're not supposed to be back here!"  I used my standard get out of jail free phrase, "I'm looking for the restroom."

Downtown Seattle from Seattle Pottery Supply parking lot

I was supposed to go over a week ago Thursday but couldn't make it due to work restrictions.  Today, I had made the necessary arrangements with work and took off about noon.  As usual, I took a wrong turn and it ended up taking longer to arrive at my destination than it should have.  I was there about 3:10PM.

I walked in with my dysfunctional digital controller in a box, walked to the counter where an employee was working with a customer.  She was grim-faced, as usual, so I said, "Hi, Smiley."  She let a grin slip, asked me what I wanted.  I held up the box.  She called back to the warehouse, announcing me by name.  Wow!  She knows my name!  I felt pretty good about that.

The kiln person came to the front and escorted me to the back where the magic happens.  He spent a long time explaining the wiring on the controller, how it might be different than the wiring on the old controller and expected me to remember it all.  "Do you have graphics?" I asked.  He looked at me and I thought I saw him shake his head.

As I was leaving, Kim, the lovely young person who works there, came out and we started to chat.  The kiln person brought the new controller out to me.  They both told me how much they enjoyed my sense of humor.  I told them I was the mystery shopper for all the pottery stores in Washington State and being funny was a trick I used so I could tell their boss they were goofing around on company time.  They laughed at that.  So did I.  I crack myself up.

I-90 East with the Veteran's Hospital on Beacon Hill

Usually, I try to find something to do while I'm in Seattle.  I try to make it to the International District for real Vietnamese food, or downtown to the Dragonfish for their Holy Garlic Chicken.  Today, though, since the weather was good, and I was by myself, I felt I should get back and maybe have time to install the new equipment.  So, I hit I-90 East.  It was smooth sailing.  I stopped at the top of Snoqualmie Pass to use the facilities and headed back onto the freeway and toward Ellensburg, home of Central Washington University.  I was sleepy but at 5:30PM was thinking it's too late for caffeine.  I stopped and got gas and gauged my exhaustion factor.  I'd better get some caffeine.  Stopped at Starbucks, pulled out the iPad, ordered a White Chocolate Latte, and sat down to read email and drink coffee.  I received a phone call, talked for a bit, and continued to read email.  I get lots of email.  A lot of it is junk to me and I don't know why I just don't give up and unsubscribe from those pesky emails from Home Depot.  I was hoping to meet a friend but they had dinner plans.  I finished my coffee and hit the road.  When I went into Starbucks, it was still sunny outside.  When I left, night had fallen.

I don't mind driving at night although my night vision is near blindness.  It is an hour from Ellensburg to Wenatchee.  There are two routes you can take.  One is US 97 that goes up and over Blewett Pass.  The other is to stay on I-90 until George.  That's right, there is a town named George, Washington.  Believe it or not, there are a fair number of millionaires living there.  It is a faming community but the farms are REALLY big.  I remember playing at a party next to a swimming pool at a farmhouse back in the late 70's.  The guy had a landing strip out front so his buddies could fly in to visit.  It was his daughter's birthday and she wanted a live rock band.  We were it.

Since I live on the east side of the Columbia River, I always take the route to George.  Sometimes I'll stop and have cherry pie at Martha's Inn.  That's right again.  Martha's Inn in George, Washington.  They cook the world's biggest cherry pie every Fourth of July.  I had a piece once.  Tasted just like cherry pie.

Since it was dark and I was in no hurry, I decided to drive the speed limit.  Good thing.  From Ellensburg, I-90 goes about 10 miles downhill to the Vantage Bridge across the Columbia.  There is a hairpin corner which dictates about 50mph in driving speed.  Then there is a hill as you climb away from the river and back onto the Columbia Plateau.  I was playing passing tag with an old Toyota pickup who would slow down going uphill and speed up on the flat.  As we were coming up the hill from the river, he was behind me.

As we crested the hill, there were brake lights everywhere.  Traffic was stopped.  I was doing 70mph.  I swerved into the left lane and hit the brakes.  So did the guy in the Toyota but not fast enough.  He bumped me.  I pulled over, he pulled over.  Semis were passing inches away from us as we gave each other contact info.  We both stood looking down the freeway to see why traffic was stopped.  It was Armageddon.  It was the end of the earth.  It was cars on fire, an engine laying in the middle of the road and about ten cars either in the median or up the hill off the freeway.  People were laying in the road.  There were no police or ambulances.  It was unfuckingbelievable.  I have never seen anything like it.  People thought we were involved in the accident, which looked to be a chain reaction.  Too many cars bunched together on the freeway, going too fast.  It was death.  I smelled it.

The State Patrol arrived.  One of them came over to us and asked if we were part of the conflagration (my words, not his.)  No, I replied, he just bumped me and we are exchanging info. Good, said the cop, when you get done, just jam on out of here.  I looked down the freeway and saw trafic cones and flares and a roadblock.  They closed the freeway.  They don't do that unless there is a fatality.  Oh my God, I thought as I was driving down the middle of the freeway.  There were literally a dozen people laying or sitting on the side of the road.  One car had no front end.  I had just driven around it.  I could hear and feel glass and plastic and who knows what else crunching under my tires.  I just wanted to get away but kept looking at either side of the freeway.  There was luggage, blankets, clothes, car parts all over the place.  It was a minefield.  It was horrible.

I did not think about it driving home.  I couldn't.  I counted five ambulances heading toward the scene of the accident.  Family trips disrupted by possible death.  People going somewhere that would not arrive.  I could not think about it and drive.  I drove.

I made it home.  I started shaking.  Then I started crying.  I thought that if I had been a minute faster, I would have been involved.  I thought about all the people I saw on the side of the road.  All of the plastic crap parts of cars in the road.  I thought that if the guy behind me had hit me hard enough, it would have sent me into the back end of a horse trailer.  Me, in my little plastic car.  Tears rolled down my face.

Yes, I am glad it wasn't me.  But it was SOMEBODY.  I still can't shake it.  I'm sad and scared. Alone.  That's what got me started on thinking about time and timing.  I guess you could say it's all in the timing.

I don't want to drive anymore.

Whistling...

I received an email today from one close to my heart who reminded me of her initial image of me coming down a set of escalators and whistling.  I smiled as I recalled the image and the beautiful person waiting for me at the bottom of the escalator.  It set me off on a tangent about my whistling.  I have always whistled.  I even used to be able to do the one where you put your fingers in your mouth and let 'er rip.  I haven't done that one successfully in years.  I'll bet if I practice it will come back.

Why whistle?  I've often wondered myself.  It seems to be such a natural thing to do.  I love music and I sing, too.  Whistling for me is more effective than singing.  As long as I can remember, whenever I am going someplace or am somewhere and I'm whistling, somebody always says, "There goes a happy guy!"

In general, yes, I am happy or, at least, content.  And, I suppose, whistling is the result.  I don't remember when I first started whistling seriously.  Is that an oxymoron?  I remember my dad whistling.  All the time.  For him, probably a coping mechanism.  I mean, six kids...that's what I remember.  Dad whistling.  I don't think I ever saw Grandpa whistle.  Grandpa would grunt a lot, though.

I remember hearing a recording, when I was young, of a whistler.  It was cool.  I don't know if we owned the vinyl or I just happened to hear it on the radio.  I remember it was a recording and thinking to myself, "They did a whole recording session of a guy whistling."  A harmonica band was one thing. A recording of a guy whistling was a new ballgame.  I started whistling more.

Now, I whistle every day.  I can whistle whole songs, lead guitar parts to rock anthems, I even get the string bending in, I whistle.

Some people take it very seriously.  This is a totally contained musical instrument.  Something that every one carries with them.  I used to carry a harmonica with me in my front shirt pocket.  Once in a while I would pull it out and give it a blow.  I have a step-brother in-law who plays real harmonica.  He has even written a book about harmonica players.  I've read it and found very few typos.  I haven't seen him since my dad died.  Looks like like he's doing ok.  The harmonica is something you put in front of your whistle.  It adds depth, for sure.  Whistling is pretty high frequency.  I wonder if you could shatter glass with a whistle?

Birds whistle but it doesn't come from their lips.  Because they have no lips.  So, is it a whistle?  No, in my opinion, it is chirping.  Birds vocalize.  They don't whistle.  If your world is built around the notion that birds whistle, I'm sorry, they don't.  Really, I'm sorry.  It's the truth.

I was very glad to be reminded of the image of me coming down the escalator, whistling.  That was a very good day in my life.  It makes me warm to think about it.  I like whistling and can burst into it at a moment's thought of a song that pops into my head.

Whistling is a happy activity and it makes people happy, too.  Thanks, wonderful person, for the great memory you made me remember today.

Ooooppps...

Yesterday's post was filled with html flubs.  I don't know how it happened or it wouldn't have happened.  Good thing I still remember a bit of my html programming.  I looked at the code on the page and took out all the stuff that didn't belong there.  Now it's done but so is the damage.  If you are reading this, go back and read yesterday's post.  Now, the act you've all been waiting for...Cheryl Crow!

LDR not LDS...

Long Distance Relationship.  With the technology available to us at any given time, not the least of which is online dating, a long distance relationship is more prevalent these days than ever before.  A surfer dude in California can meet and talk to a lovely cheesehead from Wisconsin.  They email each other and move on to calling on the phone and even video visit with each other through Skype of Face Time or whatever works.  It's entirely plausible and possible.  Maybe you can arrange to meet in person.  After meeting in person, you decide you have something and want to pursue it.  Never mind the 1500 miles between you and the cost of airfare.  You visit each other and things go really well.  You decide to see each other again, maybe at Christmas or during one or the other's extended break from work or vacation.  Your time together is magic.  You fall in love, you make promises.  You think your relationship is strong.  You communicate everyday.  You do fun activities together while apart, like maybe watch a football game on tv, she in Wisconsin, you in California, all the while texting each other with commentary during the game.  It's fun and keeps you connected.

That is the important part: staying connected.  Every day.  Several times a day, if possible.  Once you stop staying in regular contact, say goodbye.  It won't work.  Many people swear by LDR's and say it makes them love their partner even more.  I don't know how that works.  Humans are social animals in need of contact, touch, feeling each other.  Good intentions and favorable accolades to each other over Skype or the phone don't hold up as well as being able to touch your partner.  The months, the miles between visits can seem like forever.  It might as well be forever.

Many couples are forced into LDR's by circumstance, say one has to move for a new job. The other partner is expected to join them.  When?  It is important to set up a time frame.  That closes the distance and makes the waiting tolerable.  There is a plan.  I think this works if the couple is married with that "'till death do us part" bit.  More of a commitment.  Many military couples are thrown into this situation.  A year and a half may pass without physical contact.  A strong determination to stay together is needed as well as a plan on how often contact is made.  In my book, contact should be made as often as possible.  As mentioned, staying connected is the only way it will work.

Talk about your future together.  Even if it's bullshit.  It helps keep the relationship positive and full of hope.  These are two other essential factors in LDR's.  Make plans for the time you can be together.  Tell each other what you will do to them/with them when you get together. Talk dirty to each other.  Whatever you can do to keep it alive.  Take my word, if you don't nurture your LDR, it will wither, the leaves will fall off, and it will die.  What could have been a very good thing will become a very dead thing.  Emptiness and loneliness will ensue.

Skype everyday.  If you are both serious about making it work, you have to see each other even if you can't touch each other.  It's important and, I think, the best way to stay connected.  Naked Skype!

In my opinion, LDR's are the hardest relationships to make work.  Or maybe it's just me.

Long Distance Relationship Statistics infographic

I have been in a few LDR's.  The last one was with a person I met online.  She lived 1300 miles away.  There were problems from the start.  Trust was a huge issue.  I had misrepresented myself online as being divorced while still legally married.  Even though I hadn't lived with my ex in two years, what I wrote in my profile and what was reality were not on par.  I did not want to deceive anyone and was asked how long I had been divorced.  It never occurred to me to lie.  "Oh, two years," would have been an answer somebody might give but, I didn't even think of it.  I explained I was still married but only technically.  I know myself and my friends who know me would understand.  I had to stay married long enough for a house refinance to go through.  No way the bank would let me refinance the house on my salary.  I had to stay married almost a year longer than planned.  That's just the way the refinance turned out.  I understand how someone who has only spoken to me on the phone would be upset about being misled. We worked through that piece of the puzzle and another trust issue that came after that.  I was invited for Christmas and drove down to be with her.  It was wonderful and we fell in love.  Too soon, I had to leave.  The romance picked up after that with texting and Skyping all over the place.  I sent her flowers, she sent me chocolate covered potato chips and a book of love poems.  It was wonderful.  We stayed connected, very happy to hear each other's voice at the other end of the phone line.  We started to make plans. Of course there were problems inherent in the relationship as there are in any LDR's.  Although we met online, she was looking forward to imminent retirement.  As far as I could tell, she had no plans other than to spend two months in Mexico.  We both agreed it would be tough but made plans to talk, text, and Skype each other.  We were happy in the relationship until she left for Mexico.  The relationship changed drastically.  I heard very little from her.  Gone were the affirmations of love, the hope of being together soon, the planning, the connection.  I have written asking for an explanation or at least a decision one way or the other as to whether we are a couple or not.  We did affirm monogamy to each other.  That was before she left.  I am still and will remain monogamous until I have reason not to be.  I have no idea if that is still ok with her.  We didn't stay connected.  As you can see from the statistics listed above, if an LDR is going to go down in flames, it usually happens four to five months into the relationship.  Guess how long we were into our relationship?  Yup, four or five months.  Also, the average distance LDR's lived from each other is listed at 125 miles.  To me, that's nothing, a two hour drive.  It's a weekend together very often. How much work do you put into an LDR?  As much as you want or need to.  Remember, it takes two to Tango.  If it seems like you are doing all the heavy lifting, maybe you are.  If you been to see your love and they haven't even mentioned coming to see you, there is a problem.  Even if there is equity in effort, decisions have to be made.  Who is going to move?  Someone has to if the relationship is to progress.  This is where I am old fashioned, I guess.  I like to be in close physical proximity to my partner.  Away time to visit friends, relatives, or just to go off with friends is all part of it.  The knowledge that your partner will be back home, that your partner lives with you or very close to you, is important.  Not knowing when you can see each other again produces a lonely anxiety that can make matters bad.  Not being able to connect is the worst feeling.  Yes, I'm still in love.  Once your heart goes there, it doesn't want to come back.  Not being connected hurts every day.  She did write once to tell me her feelings for me hadn't changed but she couldn't give what I wanted and understood if I needed to move on.  I don't need to "move on."  I need to move forward.  I"m not getting younger.

That isn't the first LDR I've been in.  When I was a young buck, traveling around the West playing in bands, I had girlfriends back home.  As I got older, I was prone to stay involved for longer and longer periods of time.  One of the last few times I was on the road, I had a beautiful, college educated blond girlfriend from the San Francisco area.  We met in a small college town in NE Oregon.  While I was travelling across Canada and Montana and Wyoming, I would call everyday.  International calls are very expensive.  This was back in the day of land lines and long distance charges.  I'm not very good at doing lonely and met another woman in Wyoming who happened to be from Minnesota.  She had split from her husband and after meeting me and dating me for three weeks, decided to go back home to Minnesota.  So, now I was making a lot more long distance phone calls, still calling the girlfriend from SF and calling the girl from Minnesota.  The girl from Minnesota was planning on coming back to Oregon with me.  I was too drunk to maintain a responsible relationship and she had two kids that looked like they could use a new set of parents.  Too many miles between us and then the connection died. I went back to Oregon about the time the girlfriend from SF came back to college.  I told her all about my time with Miss Minnesota.  She was pissed mightily for a while but understood that I didn't handle lonely well and she was gone and Miss Minnesota was there.  I think in the end, she was glad that Miss Minnesota kept me occupied. The girlfriend from SF graduated and left town.  I put her on a train to Boise.  I think she finally got married and lives in Utah now. With today's instant access technology, the world is becoming smaller and smaller with each passing day.  It is feasible to woo and be wooed online, anywhere in the world.  Although just a friendly exchange, I have communicated with a woman from China. She is a pharmacist, both of Chinese and Western medicine and manages the pharmacy she works at.  How else would I ever in my life find out about this person if not online.  LDR's present many surmountable problems if both parties are willing to put in the time.  I guess you have to ask yourself, "Is it worth it?"  LDR's are filled with loneliness, longing, and long periods apart.  You must stay busy while waiting.  I am no good at waiting although I am getting much better.  The decision is whether the waiting is worthwhile or is it just a matter of four or five months before it blows up.  You'll never know unless you go for it.  If it feels good, feels alright, what have you got to lose?  Your heartstrings?  Shit, I've lost those so many times, I can't count them anymore.  Or remember most of them.  None of them had a plan.  We were just together until we weren't.  At my age now, though, I'm still looking for that something special, that spark of life.  I know who I am, what I desire, where I want to end up.  I'm going for it, even if it is another LDR.  I'll be better prepared this time.

Here's some good advice.

I Cheat at Meditating...

I have tried meditating several times throughout my life.  Never seem to have much luck with it.  Six years ago I was diagnosed with ADD.  Several events in my life were said to be a result of my diagnosis; going to jail a couple of times, relationships, accidents, stuff like that.  Nobody ever said anything positive about being ADD.  Maybe someone should do a study on the positive aspects of ADD, like being able to multitask like a motherfucker.

It helps explain all my fruitless experiments with meditation.  Everything printed about meditation indicates the need for a "still" mind.  The purpose is to quiet the mind and be mindful of the moment.  Nothing else exists, just the timelessness of the now.  Then a certain enlightenment creeps up on you and you smile that beatific smile of a knowledgeable Buddhist.

As much as I've tried, that has never been my experience.  My mind is busy.  I have thoughts that compete for attention.  "Me next!  Me next!" says the food thought.  There is all of this mental detritus floating in and amongst the valid thoughts competing for attention.  The detritus is mixed in with the enormity of the other thoughts.  It's kind of like making tea and your tea bag bursts open.  You have all the tea leaves floating around in the tea and no matter how meticulous you are about trying to get the leaves out, you never get them all out.  Detritus.  Left over thoughts.  Thoughts from a conversation, a discussion, an argument, a promise, or a song heard weeks ago.  It's all in there.

The formal thoughts, legitimate thoughts, if you will, are still there.  They haven't been fragmented into leftover thoughts yet, although it's high time some of them were.  In the way of some sort of visual explanation, my thoughts are like floating platforms with me jumping from one to the other day after day, minute by minute.  Picture a dark room with no discernable ceiling.  Floating platforms of dry, layered clay float about, some larger with more layers, most smaller, fill the room with just enough space between them to keep them from bumping in to each other.  I am standing on one of the larger platforms.  That platform is a thought I am having as long as I'm standing on that platform.  Should I get it into my head that there is something I need on another platform, I start hopping platforms to get to it.  I'll be damn lucky if I get there.  Every time I step on a platform on my way to the platform I think I need to be on, I am filled with that platform's thoughts.  Which are now my thoughts.  In fact, all the platforms are my thoughts and seem to do ok on their own but as soon as I step on one of the platforms, my mind is adrift in the thought of that platform.  I may never make it to the platform I had originally set out for.

Meditation is meant to let the mind go and experience a platform of bliss.  That's why I cheat at meditation.  I can't keep a straight thought going sitting still.  I have done walking meditation, running meditation, drinking meditation, weed meditation.  Even weed meditation is a wash.  My thoughts become colors.  My platforms glow fluorescent green.  They bump into each other and I get paranoid.  After bumping into each other, the platforms push off from each other and then I am stuck on one platform and that platform is usually sleep.  I do not recommend weed for meditation.  Hell, I can't even recommend meditation.  It doesn't work for me.  I keep jumping from one platform to the next, thinking the thoughts of each platform on my way to another thought on another platform.

I get it.  I know.  If I train my mind, I can do it.  Stop jumping from platform to platform.  Make the platforms come together and join.  After all, they exist in the same human brain: mine.  What would be so difficult in getting them to come together?  That is the question.  Every time I sit down to meditate about it...yeah, it starts all over again.

Just stay busy.

Stephane Grapelli

Stephane Grapelli is my all time favorite violinist.  He made a name for himself playing with Django Reinhardt in"Quintette du Hot Club de France ."  This was a while ago, back in the thirties. This style of music became known as "Gypsy jazz."  Its carefree playing of the melody line showed that improvisation would shine more than sheet music could ever hope to.  The music was about virtuosity and not a stiff rendition of a song read from sheet music.  Some, including myself, think that this was the beginning of the appreciation of the jam session, where there was structure with the rhythm and bass line but plenty of room for instrumental improvisation.  Standard blues structure with a twelve bar turn around and then turn the players loose.  American jazz evolved from this.  Listen to Stephane.  Smooth, delicate, fast. Delectable.  Goes down smooth and easy.

I became a fan of Stephane's in the early 80's.  I was living in Northeast Oregon, working in a band, later to have my own band there, and working during the day.  I worked a lot. Maybe that's what saved me from becoming a crushing alcoholic. I also had to get up and go to work.  After playing until 2AM, not sleeping until 6AM, then being at work by 8AM, my body screamed for sleep and mercy.  Since my job involved travel, I slept whenever I wasn't driving.  Yeah, that's right, when I wasn't driving.  I was expected to pull my weight and drive once in a while.  If I was lucky, I remembered to save some coke from the night before and do a line or two before work.  Then I could drive.  And work.  Even talk.

I got laid off from my day job for a few months.  I began listening to the college FM station in town.  What a load of crap, I thought.  I went to the college.  I went upstairs from the library to the radio station itself.  I asked to see the station manager.  I asked him what I had to do to be a DJ.  He said you have to take the Broadcasting Class.  I signed up the next day.  I had no experience.  By the time that stint was through, I had won an award as best dj and was the most requested voice over for sponsor spots.  Since it was public radio, commercials weren't allowed but sponsorships were.  I heard my spots were still on the air four years after I left town.

After a few classes, I was on the radio.  The classes helped familiarize me with the control board, the switches, and the turntables.  The one thing I had not considered was the music.  I had talked to a dj about the music and he said he brought his own albums from home.  Yeah, I could do that.  Thing is, once I got to the radio station to work, I discovered they had a three thousand long-playing vinyl library.  My eyes popped wide open.  I was a kid in a candy store with all the money I needed.  That's how I discovered Grappelli, thumbing through the vinyl.  I think because the album title had "Boogie" in it, I decided to try and find something to play off the album, "Brandenburg Boogie," with Elena Duran and Laurie Holloway and Stephan.  Even Wikipedia does not list this album in Stephane's discography.  It is difficult to find and I got my copy off of eBay many years ago.  It is now a collector's item.  Lucky me.

It opened me up.  I wasn't ready to give up my hard ass drinking and rocking but this was a different music for me and I knew instantly that this guy knew what he was doing with the violin. He was talking with it, whispering, screaming, laughing, singing with his violin.  There was no sheet music.  His heart led his fingers up and down the fretboard as his bow left its mark on the violin's strings.  It was not like anything I'd been exposed to. It flowed like air through a window.

Pandora

The time at the radio station was pure learning.  I learned how to make awkward transitions work.  I once went from a Police song to the bluegrass hit, Rocky Top, and made it worked.  It was mentioned when I received my award.  To me, it's like putting together a soundtrack, a soundtrack for daily living.  Kind of like Pandora is now. Pandora is theoretically "intuitive," that is, it predicts what music you might like to hear.  It uses some sort of code to figure it out.  If a song comes on that you like, just rush to whatever device Pandora is coming from and hit the like button and Pandora remembers.  Weird.

I have a Wilco station on Pandora.  I watched a documentary on them called, "I am Trying To Break Your Heart."  It is about them recording "Yankee Hotel Foxtrot," a breakthrough album for them. My favorite songs off of the recording are "Kamera," "Heavy Metal Drummer," and "Jesus etc."  Hell, they were even introduced by this guy at Farm Aid.  Look!  There's Beck playing lead guitar!

Let us end this type fest with this.

Book Explosion

Have you ever walked in your front door, took a look around and thought to yourself, "My God! It looks as if a bookmobile exploded here!"  Those were the exact thoughts I had when I walked in my front door this evening.  Books every which a way.  I remembered.  I was moving all my stuff out of the other building, including my two bookshelves, one of which's contents were on the living room floor.  There was still another bookshelf, one with pottery and ceramic books of all kinds, out in the second building.  It had not been packed.  It would probably take most of the day.

The ct is outside for the night.  Might get some rest.

Genetic Meanderings

Once I wondered why I looked the way I did.  Genetically speaking.  I looked at the crooked nose of my paternal grandfather and thought I saw my own nose only to be told Grandad had broken his nose in a boxing match.  He was Golden Gloves.  Still, I imagined my nose to be similar enough to his to notice a family resemblance.  By the time I was his age at this time, I would have broken my nose a time or two.  To further my point, I have a daughter by my first wife who is the spitting image of her mother, except for the nose.  It is my nose on her face.  I'm sure that's why she won't talk to me.  Genetics.  Are we predisposed by our DNA?  What about that ear lobe thing?  The one where if you have ear lobes that hang free from your skull it means something but I can't remember what.  It's a crapshoot.  I think soon enough, the world population will be genetically intermingled, much more so than now.  I think with technology and p2p video the separate cultures of the world will become more exposed to outside cultures worldwide and they, on the other hand, will be able to do the same.  This is a good thing.  I think the more we know about each other, the better able to get along, negotiate treaties, whatever, have more fun and understanding of our purpose...

Ok, and I have a dimple in the middle of my chin.  I have sawed off whiskers in it.  Where did it come from?  What chromosome forgot to fill in that space on my chin?  If it is supposed to be there, does it have purpose?  Since its always been there, I suppose it holds my skin to my chin, like an upholstery button.

I have my grandfather's liver spot on my right hand.  The lay person wouldn't notice it but I do.  In a certain bare light bulb light, I can see it.  It gets bigger but not darker.  My hairline is the same as my grandfather.  My dad had hair until he went into chemo for lung cancer.  He took after his mother's side of the family.

One thing I wonder about is my hairless right shin.  There isn't any hair for about six inches long and two inches wide down my leg.  I never really noticed on any other family member.  Most of them are women.  My leg is scarred and hairless.  For years I thought it was because I had rubbed all the follicles off my leg with a bass drum pedal.  It hasn't grown back, so I'm not sure.  I'm full of hypotheses. I wonder if I look as angular to other people as I do to myself?  Angularity.  I don't think I've ever typed that word before.  Probably never again.

I'm a genetic mop bucket.  I'm a genetic moist towelette. I'm a genetic scrubbing bubble.  I'm a genetic dollar bill.  With change. I'm genetically predisposed to listening to the wind.  I'm genetically programmed to see in 3D 24/7, with no loss in battery life.  I'm genetically sealed for your protection.  I'm genetically sanitized.  I'm genetically genetic, by predisposed geneticism. It can't be helped.  It's genetic.

Today was regular.  Sort of a one size fits all day.  Busy.  Constructive.  Rested.  Productive.  Moving a library.  Takes time. Too many books.  One building to the next.  To be useful. To be consulted.  To add to the grand feeling of the house.  Soon, it will all be done for the time being.  A house this old needs constant upkeep.  You either like it, learn to like it, or get out.  Since discovering wood floors, I have an added personal interest in this house.  Still, it wouldn't take much to nudge me out of here. The house has personality.  Any old house will.  Certain smells, creaks and cracks, echoes.  If you are in a house long enough, you get to know where each and every one of them is and how to avoid them.  Sometimes I feel that I will get moved in just in time to move out again.  I shall see.

I rented "Argo" from iTunes last night.  Very good movie but how did it win Best Picture over "Lincoln?"  There wasn't half the acting in Argo as in Lincoln and the setting of Lincoln was painstakingly real.  Argo did a good time piece for the 80's.  Maybe it's the historian in me.  Wait!  They were both history movies!  Ding ding what do I win?  I should probably stop typing now.

As Straight as a Bent Arrow...

Walking outside for the first time today, my senses were bombarded by Spring and sweet smells.  T-shirt and jeans, walking in the dirt driveway, gravel crunching as my steps carry me forward toward the black mailbox to see if someone mailed me a check for any amount at all.  I received a check for $8.83 the other day as part of a settlement with Visa/Mastercard.  Seems if you used your card between certain dates, there was some sort of kerfuffle and somebody sued which became a class action suit and I did not opt out to sue on my own so they sent me a check.  I'm sure the process of producing the check, printing the check, and mailing the check all cost more than the check was worth.  I wonder if anybody got a bigger check?  The lawyers of course.  (I still tremble at how close I came to going to law school.  My evil first wife just about had me talked into it.  Once we were divorced and she remarried, she tried to get her next husband to go to law school.  He went as far as taking the LSAT.  They are still married and he is still a wheat farmer and she is a wheat farmer's wife with a catering business.)

I have yet to spy a robin but I hear the birds in the trees singing their tweets. (Birds can't tweet using cell phones as they have no opposing thumbs.  They don't call them bird brains for nothing.)  The environs are still gray and the green of Spring is just beneath the surface, waiting to jump out of the ground and shock the shit out of everybody.  "Hey!  Spring just popped up!  Yay!  We're saved!"

The bamboo is spreading horizontally heading toward the driveway and creating an organic break from the road.  Like a growing fence.

It is March.  Time to start on the second bedroom and do the floors.  Thankfully, this room is smaller.  There is a plumbed sink and vanity in the room.  It has to come out.  The story I heard is that someone's mother had that room and, even though, the bathroom is next door, had a sink and vanity installed.  I don't know why.  Out it goes.

I think that, in addition to making clay pots when I am done teaching school, I should like to be an antiques book dealer.  There's no money in either endeavor but maybe enough to stay afloat, preferably on an air mattress.  :)  Plenty to do and I'm the guy to do it.  I am me and dang glad of it.  Would that we could all say the same.