"Only a night from old to new," the old hag cackled.
"Sleep tonight and the morning sun will wash over your sins."
"Not a chance in hell," I smiled. "Some sins are not washable."
A thoughtful frown surrounded her wart. She lit her corn cob pipe and took a deep suck on some nasty smelling concoction.
"Damn," I winced. "If anything could wash my sins away the smell of that crap would surely do it. What the hell are you smoking?"
"Peyote, mixed with some cedar bark," she smiled. "And, yes it does seem to make my sins disappear. At least it makes them go someplace that I don't worry about. Wanna puff?"
"Maybe a slug of whiskey or something. Something real strong."
"I got a jug made by old Joe about five years ago. I use it when ever I get the grippe. I don't know if it helps but after a swig or two I could care less."
I took the jug and a big swallow. It damned near set my throat on fire and oh sweet Jesus, when it hit the bottom of my gut I was sure I was burning in hell.
When I caught my breath, I gasped, "Hells fire, lady, I should have smoked the pipe."
"No sonny boy," she cackled. "You chose the right potion. This peyote and cedar bark ain't for boys. It would really send you on a trip to hell"
I went to her sink and drank straight from the spigot.
The water slapped me in the face.
"Come on son," the preacher said. "It's time."
I sat up. Water was dripping from my face. My unfinsished meal was staring at me. I shook my head and decided that they had drugged me to make it easier.
What the hell, what would I be able to do? Beg like a coward?
No, let them kill me and get it over.
As I walked to the chanber I thought about the dream. Or, was it a dream?
Maybe the old hag was my first meeting with the devil.
Maybe the fire in my throat and gut was just a taste of what was coming.
Maybe the smell was my flesh frying in the chair.
One thing was for sure, the old hag had been right when she said,
"Only a night from old to new."
Happy New Year Keith (Carry on Tuesdays)
THE CHANDSHO MANIFESTO
Chandsho was a mistake but as in all mistakes of creation the creators glory in their ability to create.
Chandsho was created when an over exuberant writer played around with a macho verificator. They were both very happy with the conceiving of Chandsho.
There was absolutely no reason for Chandsho to have been created. The creation could have been avoided with a little fore thought.
The creation of Chandsho was immediately a pain in the creator's over active mind. The creator had no idea what to do with Chandsho and the macho verificator had disappeared immediately after the seed was planted.
Once the creator continued with the folly of her creation she had to feed and nurture it. However, she did not have the time or the ability to take proper care of her creation. Chandsho would be left to muddle through life without the proper nourishment and guidance.
The creator did not realize that once an entity like Chandsho was created, it could not be legally destroyed or partially destroyed or even quietly disposed of except by the creator. Also, once created an entity of Chandsho's nature could in theory exist for eternity even if it were destroyed.
After much thought and personal prayer the creator decided to abort Chandsho. She decided that aborting the child would be the best for everyone concerned. She could quietly have the child disappear and no one would be the wiser. After all, only she and the verificator knew that the child existed and the verificator was not available to object. It would be easy. A simple slash and the child would not exist.
That is exactly what she did. She aborted Chandsho.
When the verificator returned to visit their creation, his child was gone. "Who would do such a thing," he asked the powers that governed their world.
"Chandsho's creator," they replied. "She can do anything she wants to with her creations."
The verificator was angry and went to the powers with a Manifesto that he called the "Chandsho Manifesto".
It was a simple manifesto as manifestos go. It read:
"NO BLOG CAN BE ABORTED WITHOUT THE APPROVAL OF WORD VERIFICATION"
Dear Santa
Dear Santa
I feel rather foolish writing to you. You see I am seventy-one years old. About the time I turned eight I decided that you were a fat old fake. I became to old to believe in Santa. You were just some myth made up to fool stupid little kids.
Then I grew up and raised my kids and you took on a different meaning. Yes, you were fake but I realised the joy that just the thought of you brought to little children and God knows that we need to create all the joy that we can.
In my Old Grizz years I have had the opportunity to represent you and play your part at different schools and not only did it bring joy to the hearts of kids, it bought joy to my heart.
Now, I am writing to apologize. Now I know that you are real You are the joy in millions of children's hearts.
What could more real than that?
written for Carry on Tuesday - Merry Christmas Keith
I feel rather foolish writing to you. You see I am seventy-one years old. About the time I turned eight I decided that you were a fat old fake. I became to old to believe in Santa. You were just some myth made up to fool stupid little kids.
Then I grew up and raised my kids and you took on a different meaning. Yes, you were fake but I realised the joy that just the thought of you brought to little children and God knows that we need to create all the joy that we can.
In my Old Grizz years I have had the opportunity to represent you and play your part at different schools and not only did it bring joy to the hearts of kids, it bought joy to my heart.
Now, I am writing to apologize. Now I know that you are real You are the joy in millions of children's hearts.
What could more real than that?
written for Carry on Tuesday - Merry Christmas Keith
the window
The worst storm of the winter was blowing across the prairie. The snow had been falling all day and a thirty mile an hour wind was rocking the train. As we watched the empty street, a lone man in an overcoat approached the train.
He was hunched down inside his coat trying to keep warm. It was impossible to tell his age. He walked slow and careful to avoid slipping on the slick street.
I wondered why he would be walking the street in this storm? Did he have a purpose? Was he homeless looking for shelter?
The old man across from me echoed my thoughts. "Damn, I'm cold just looking at him," he continued.
The young man sitting next to the old man lit a cigarette, inhaled deeply and blew the smoke across the open train compartment and into my face..
Damn, I thought. How did I get stuck with a smoker? I hate smoke. I hate smokers. They are all so god damned inconsiderate. I just knew inside of his mind there was a great big fricking grin as the smoke drifted into my eyes and my lungs. If I had any guts I would throw him out of here. But, I didn't have any guts. I kept my mouth shut.
"Maybe he's the grim reaper," the smoker said
The old lady sitting next to me wasn't afraid to speak her mind . That's why I love old people. They have no qualms of saying exactly what was on their minds.
"Do you have to smoke that filthy thing in here?" she said.
"Fuck you," the smoker snarled. "There is no law against smoking so I'll smoke any god damned place I feel like it.
"Find another compartment," the old lady said. She was completely calm. She never raised her voice. I admired her ability to state her belief in such a calm manner. I knew that if I were able to summon the courage to say something I would scream at him.
He took another deep drag on the cigarette and blew the smoke directly at the old lady. This time a grin did appear on his face. His eyes were cold and I thought that maybe HE was the grim reaper.
With the grin still smeared all over his face he said, "and you are going to do what?" The smoke curled from his mouth and he actually laughed.
"Nothing," the old man said. "She is not going to do anything. But I am"
"Just what do you think you can do old man?" the smoker said.
The old man pulled a small snubbed nose revolver from his pocket.
The smile faded from the smoker's face. "Hold on old man," he sniveled. "I'll put the damn smoke out."
The train began to move.
"That won't be necessary," the old man said. "You can take your cigarette with you."
"OK," the smoker retreated. "I'll find another compartment."
"No," the old man said. "You are going to get off the train."
"Jesus," the smoker said. "The train is moving."
"That's correct," the old man smiled. "You had better hurry before it gets going any faster."
The old man pointed towards the door with his gun. The smoker got up and left. The old man followed.
As they left, the man from the street entered.
"Is this seat taken,? he asked.
"No." the old lady smiled. "Sit down."
"I almost missed the train." the new face said. "It's damn cold out there. I pity anybody stuck outside in this storm."
posted for Thursday Tales and Sunday Scribblings
Limits
Limits...we all have them...
physical...mental...moral...ethical..speed.
I said all but there is one group of people that does not seem to have limits...Politicians.
There seems to be no limit on the stupidity of politicians. Everyone reading this blog will instantly think of some blundering law that their government has passed and enforced. I do not care what country you are from. Right now you have one of those boondoggles floating around in your head.
My favorite here in dumb old US of A is the plastic boondoggle. Many years ago the cry of tree huggers was heard all across the land.
"Save the trees", they preached.
The politicians found a cause.
"Save the trees", they stumped.
The trees were saved but only to be burned in greater numbers because laws were passed banning the cleaning of forests.
But the real damage is the plastic that replaced the trees. Plastic now befouls our planet.
Everything we own is made of plastic. We all know it. We all see it and yet it continues.
And now another travesty is about to occur as President Obama prepares to sign into law an act that will ban Jellybeans from the school lunch program . However the law will approve of skittles.
Now what the hell is that all about. Wasn't it President Reagan that love Jellybeans?
Is this some kind of political payback?
Do they think the Jellybean people are going to stand still for this? We could be in for some kind of civil war with everyone throwing Jellybeans and Skittles at each other and then pausing to eat the ammunition.
If you think we have a fat nation now...just wait.
Americans have a history of defying stupid laws. I can see it now. A million child march heading for Washington eating Jellybeans for breakfast, lunch and dinner.
How did I get from limits to this?
Maybe there is not limit to my idiocity.
written for Sunday Scribblings
physical...mental...moral...ethical..speed.
I said all but there is one group of people that does not seem to have limits...Politicians.
There seems to be no limit on the stupidity of politicians. Everyone reading this blog will instantly think of some blundering law that their government has passed and enforced. I do not care what country you are from. Right now you have one of those boondoggles floating around in your head.
My favorite here in dumb old US of A is the plastic boondoggle. Many years ago the cry of tree huggers was heard all across the land.
"Save the trees", they preached.
The politicians found a cause.
"Save the trees", they stumped.
The trees were saved but only to be burned in greater numbers because laws were passed banning the cleaning of forests.
But the real damage is the plastic that replaced the trees. Plastic now befouls our planet.
Everything we own is made of plastic. We all know it. We all see it and yet it continues.
And now another travesty is about to occur as President Obama prepares to sign into law an act that will ban Jellybeans from the school lunch program . However the law will approve of skittles.
Now what the hell is that all about. Wasn't it President Reagan that love Jellybeans?
Is this some kind of political payback?
Do they think the Jellybean people are going to stand still for this? We could be in for some kind of civil war with everyone throwing Jellybeans and Skittles at each other and then pausing to eat the ammunition.
If you think we have a fat nation now...just wait.
Americans have a history of defying stupid laws. I can see it now. A million child march heading for Washington eating Jellybeans for breakfast, lunch and dinner.
How did I get from limits to this?
Maybe there is not limit to my idiocity.
written for Sunday Scribblings
Breath Taking
Her love swept over me like a Tsunami. The force rolled my heart into my throat but it was not a feeling of rapture. She was suffocating me, smothering me like a doting mother. No, it was worse than a mother. It was, like I said, like a Tsunami. My mind was rolling and tumbling across a floor of sickening jealousy.
I raised my hands to her in protest. I begged her. Hear me. Hear my plea. I cannot live like this. But she refused to listen. No, not her. She was still stuck in the puberty of love. She was glued to me. She threatened me with death.. my death...her death...our death.
"Fine," I said. "I would rather die now than die a slow suffication. I need room. We need room. We cannot continue to live this way. I need to work. You need to have a life. I need more than just you."
Tears fell on the gun. She waved it at me. It wavered and then she turned it to her heart. I"m sorry. she cried. "I'm drowning in my need to be with you."
I dove for the gun. It exploded.
written for Carry on Tuesday
I raised my hands to her in protest. I begged her. Hear me. Hear my plea. I cannot live like this. But she refused to listen. No, not her. She was still stuck in the puberty of love. She was glued to me. She threatened me with death.. my death...her death...our death.
"Fine," I said. "I would rather die now than die a slow suffication. I need room. We need room. We cannot continue to live this way. I need to work. You need to have a life. I need more than just you."
Tears fell on the gun. She waved it at me. It wavered and then she turned it to her heart. I"m sorry. she cried. "I'm drowning in my need to be with you."
I dove for the gun. It exploded.
written for Carry on Tuesday
It's never been smooooooth
According to Shakespeare and Keith, "the course of true love never did run smooth." And according to Old Grizz, they are right. I guess Shakespeare said if first but I doubt if he thought it first. In fact I would bet that Adam was the first or it could have been Eve. But it's for sure that one or the other thought it or said it or maybe they both turned to each other (after God had tossed them from the garden) and said, "how do you like them apples?"
"Yesterday we had it made and now look at us."
Eve probably turned to Adam and said, "Now look what you have done. You had better go find a job."
Adam, with a look of amazement, probably replied with, "Me? You were the one that that took a bite from the apple."
Eve, "It wasn't my fault, that stupid whitesnake tricked me."
Adam, "There you go, setting a precedent for all of our future generations."
Eve, " What do you mean, setting a precedent?'
Adam, "Now whitesnakes will be despised for ever."
Eve. "Serves him right, he caused this whole mess."
Adam, "How about making some lunch?"
Eve, "Why me? Why don't you make it?"
Adam, "I need to make the beer."
Super great granpa Old Grizz while lazing in the sun, "Well the whole world is going to pot now."
Mrs. super great grandma Old Grizz, "Get off your fat butt and go get some berries for dinner."
Super great granpa "Old Grizz. "I'm making beer."
posted for Keith's COT
"Yesterday we had it made and now look at us."
Eve probably turned to Adam and said, "Now look what you have done. You had better go find a job."
Adam, with a look of amazement, probably replied with, "Me? You were the one that that took a bite from the apple."
Eve, "It wasn't my fault, that stupid whitesnake tricked me."
Adam, "There you go, setting a precedent for all of our future generations."
Eve, " What do you mean, setting a precedent?'
Adam, "Now whitesnakes will be despised for ever."
Eve. "Serves him right, he caused this whole mess."
Adam, "How about making some lunch?"
Eve, "Why me? Why don't you make it?"
Adam, "I need to make the beer."
Super great granpa Old Grizz while lazing in the sun, "Well the whole world is going to pot now."
Mrs. super great grandma Old Grizz, "Get off your fat butt and go get some berries for dinner."
Super great granpa "Old Grizz. "I'm making beer."
posted for Keith's COT
Guidance
Guidance is just another word for advice and although we all say we could use a little guidance, no one wants advice. When we hear the word "advice" something inside of our heads pushes the off button.
We, as in bloggers we, should make an effort to expunge the word "advice" and use only the word "guidance".
Instead of saying, "let me give you a little piece of advice," we should say something like. "let me offer you some guidance." "Guidance" has a heavenly sound to it but "advice" sounds like it is coming from parents that have no idea what they are talking about.
So here is my advice to you. Do not give advice, give guidance...er ah..
I'm sorry..Let me offer you some guidance...do not give advice.
We, as in bloggers we, should make an effort to expunge the word "advice" and use only the word "guidance".
Instead of saying, "let me give you a little piece of advice," we should say something like. "let me offer you some guidance." "Guidance" has a heavenly sound to it but "advice" sounds like it is coming from parents that have no idea what they are talking about.
So here is my advice to you. Do not give advice, give guidance...er ah..
I'm sorry..Let me offer you some guidance...do not give advice.
A walk in the rain
I stood on the corner, my shoulders hunched down inside the thin jacket I was wearing. There was a slight breeze coming across the bay and a misty rain clinging to my glasses.
I wiped my nose with the sleeve of my jacket and sneezed. Normally I enjoy a soft cool breeze coming off the bay, especially when it brings a soft rain with it. The rain and the breeze clean the city of its smog and grime.
But today I was miserable and the cool wet air didn’t feel all that great. I was headed for the corner store to get some cold medicine and then I was going to bundle up in front of my fire place and read “War and Peace” “War and Peace’ is my favorite book. I have owned the damned book for fifteen years and I have never finished chapter one. I read it strictly for putting myself to sleep.
I walked into Johnnie’s Grocery and right into the barrel of some kind of hand gun. I am not a person that cares for guns so I had no idea what was pointing at me. All I could see was a big black hole that looked like a cannon to me.
The guy on the other end of the hole was small and nervous. He had a hood that covered all of his head and most of his face. He could have been white, black, Mexican, or Chinese for all I knew. I didn’t want to stare at him. I have no idea why but I guess I thought he would shoot me if I did. He didn’t say anything but pointed to the rear of the store where two other patrons were. I walked back to where they stood.
Johnny was at his open register. The robber made some kind of motion with his gun and Johnny handed him a fist full of cash. He turned and looked at us and motioned to the floor with his gun. Johnny and the other two patrons got on the floor. Like a fool I just stood and looked at him. He pointed his gun at me and then he heard a siren. He looked at the door and then back at me and then turned and ran out into the rain.
About thirty seconds later a police car pulled up in front and two of the cities finest came in. Johnny had triggered his silent alarm.
Instead of a warm blanket and a fire place, I had a cold police station to spend the afternoon in. I spent two hours explaining that I could not give them anything but a general size discription.
I got back to my apartment at four and poured myself a nice big glass of Bailey’s and snuggled down in front of the fireplace with “War and peace”.
I was asleep by four-thirty.
written for "thursdays tales" Prompt taken from a post on "My white Window" - ~Don't threaten me with Love, baby. Let's just go walking in the Rain.~
 |
| from "My White Sindow" |
I wiped my nose with the sleeve of my jacket and sneezed. Normally I enjoy a soft cool breeze coming off the bay, especially when it brings a soft rain with it. The rain and the breeze clean the city of its smog and grime.
But today I was miserable and the cool wet air didn’t feel all that great. I was headed for the corner store to get some cold medicine and then I was going to bundle up in front of my fire place and read “War and Peace” “War and Peace’ is my favorite book. I have owned the damned book for fifteen years and I have never finished chapter one. I read it strictly for putting myself to sleep.
I walked into Johnnie’s Grocery and right into the barrel of some kind of hand gun. I am not a person that cares for guns so I had no idea what was pointing at me. All I could see was a big black hole that looked like a cannon to me.
The guy on the other end of the hole was small and nervous. He had a hood that covered all of his head and most of his face. He could have been white, black, Mexican, or Chinese for all I knew. I didn’t want to stare at him. I have no idea why but I guess I thought he would shoot me if I did. He didn’t say anything but pointed to the rear of the store where two other patrons were. I walked back to where they stood.
Johnny was at his open register. The robber made some kind of motion with his gun and Johnny handed him a fist full of cash. He turned and looked at us and motioned to the floor with his gun. Johnny and the other two patrons got on the floor. Like a fool I just stood and looked at him. He pointed his gun at me and then he heard a siren. He looked at the door and then back at me and then turned and ran out into the rain.
About thirty seconds later a police car pulled up in front and two of the cities finest came in. Johnny had triggered his silent alarm.
Instead of a warm blanket and a fire place, I had a cold police station to spend the afternoon in. I spent two hours explaining that I could not give them anything but a general size discription.
I got back to my apartment at four and poured myself a nice big glass of Bailey’s and snuggled down in front of the fireplace with “War and peace”.
I was asleep by four-thirty.
written for "thursdays tales" Prompt taken from a post on "My white Window" - ~Don't threaten me with Love, baby. Let's just go walking in the Rain.~
hidden heart
My heart was split in two and
no antidote could be found
I put the hurt behind my heart
and forgot that my heart
was not there
I walked through life
unaware that my heart
was not there
Then a ray of hope
found the hurt behind my heart
a light began to heal my silent soul
The love and kindness
of an angel provide the cure
for the loneliness in my heart
She provided the antidote
that healed my shattered heart
and removed the hurt within my soul
no antidote could be found
I put the hurt behind my heart
and forgot that my heart
was not there
I walked through life
unaware that my heart
was not there
Then a ray of hope
found the hurt behind my heart
a light began to heal my silent soul
The love and kindness
of an angel provide the cure
for the loneliness in my heart
She provided the antidote
that healed my shattered heart
and removed the hurt within my soul
the arrival
The seed of my being traveled across
the universe before the age of dawn.
It waited patiently
as the planet regurgitated its soul
to make room for the seed of man to arrive
and test the depth of his soul.
My seed waited as the seed before me
made their mark in the soil at my feet
and in the air that I now breathe.
My turn is now and my soul is
stirring the dirt and the air of
those that came before me.
When I am done
my soul will shoot
back across the universe
like a rocketship with no fire.
My seed will continue as I continued.
We will be ready
for what is here or beyond the stars.
the universe before the age of dawn.
It waited patiently
as the planet regurgitated its soul
to make room for the seed of man to arrive
and test the depth of his soul.
My seed waited as the seed before me
made their mark in the soil at my feet
and in the air that I now breathe.
My turn is now and my soul is
stirring the dirt and the air of
those that came before me.
When I am done
my soul will shoot
back across the universe
like a rocketship with no fire.
My seed will continue as I continued.
We will be ready
for what is here or beyond the stars.
goodbye john
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| Gravestone by geewizard |
He warned me that he would haunt me if I didn't come to visit him but I never expected him to haunt me using the world of blogging. I know he is peeking through the grass waiting for me to visit him.
I told him I would drop by now and then with a joke or two and maybe some news about his wife and son but I have not been true to my word.
It's not really my fault. I haven't heard a new joke in ages. His wife has already remarried and his son has been arrested on drug charges. Now you tell me how I am supposed to cheer him up with old jokes and bad news.
So John old pal, old buddy, you just keep peeping through the daisies watching for me. I'll drop by when I hear some new jokes but you will have to wait until your wife and I get back from our honeymoon.
 |
| Thursday Tales |
This story posted for Thursday Tales
burning leaves
Well there you have it...a new word...schmoomy... the feeling of gloom on stormy day.
A word that describes what one one feels when trying to write a book or even a teeny weeny paragraph and all you are able to do is look out the window and wish you were just a falling leaf with none of the wishes in life.
Or maybe even better a leaf caught in a howling gale being blown somewhere far far away and hoping to land in the class of a Faulkner or a Hemingway and find out if they ever felt schmoomy.
Or maybe to be caught in a whispering breeze to be wafted gently and lovingly into the arms of someone who cared.
But as you watch the leaf is raked into a pile and set afire. Your thoughts are brightened. Maybe your words are a leaf and you strike a match only to burn your fingers.
You turn to your desk and take a pen or strike the keys in hope that what words you write will live to burn a mind or two and not end up in a pile of smoldering leaves.
A word that describes what one one feels when trying to write a book or even a teeny weeny paragraph and all you are able to do is look out the window and wish you were just a falling leaf with none of the wishes in life.
Or maybe even better a leaf caught in a howling gale being blown somewhere far far away and hoping to land in the class of a Faulkner or a Hemingway and find out if they ever felt schmoomy.
Or maybe to be caught in a whispering breeze to be wafted gently and lovingly into the arms of someone who cared.
But as you watch the leaf is raked into a pile and set afire. Your thoughts are brightened. Maybe your words are a leaf and you strike a match only to burn your fingers.
You turn to your desk and take a pen or strike the keys in hope that what words you write will live to burn a mind or two and not end up in a pile of smoldering leaves.
Friction
Friction..So many places to go, so many words to write...
Mechanical...no, too mundane and educational..who cares about the mechanics heat and friction.
Work Place ...All sorts of friction flying around on the job. Body masses moving up and down the ladders of success and failure, rubbing against each other causing envy and hate.
Political...can't go there ...after this last campaign, I cannot stand any politicians...from either party
more places of friction...the sexes...school...social...family
Family... that's what I am going to rant about...at least after last nights small family birthday party.
I have been blessed or damned by a son that is successful in the field of computerese.
I have also been blessed or damned by a son-in-law the is a successful inhalation medical technician. Wow..that's mouth full.
I have also been blessed because these two young men "know everything". They know everything about every subject. The problem is their knowledge always clashes and they are always discussing (arguing) one issue or another.
Last night they were "discussing" how an Internet music program works. The program has something to do with creating a personal music file of songs that each individual likes. I left the room before they had determined a winner.
Does anyone out there know the name of that program?
Mechanical...no, too mundane and educational..who cares about the mechanics heat and friction.
Work Place ...All sorts of friction flying around on the job. Body masses moving up and down the ladders of success and failure, rubbing against each other causing envy and hate.
Political...can't go there ...after this last campaign, I cannot stand any politicians...from either party
more places of friction...the sexes...school...social...family
Family... that's what I am going to rant about...at least after last nights small family birthday party.
I have been blessed or damned by a son that is successful in the field of computerese.
I have also been blessed or damned by a son-in-law the is a successful inhalation medical technician. Wow..that's mouth full.
I have also been blessed because these two young men "know everything". They know everything about every subject. The problem is their knowledge always clashes and they are always discussing (arguing) one issue or another.
Last night they were "discussing" how an Internet music program works. The program has something to do with creating a personal music file of songs that each individual likes. I left the room before they had determined a winner.
Does anyone out there know the name of that program?
The promise
A girl, warm and cozy
one that required no promise
A girl sweet and nice
one that needed no vine
A girl sexy and loving
one that wanted me for me
A girl with the spirit of youth
one that did not sufffocate a love
I found that girl
so wild and free
but I broke the promise
that I made to me
I would not fall in love
with such a girl as she
and yet I did
and her spirit has never set me free
Posted for Cary on Tuesday...have a nice holiday Keith
true love is forever
They met when young
Their love shy and innocent
They married and lived as one
Their love hot and complete
They raised their children
Their love warm and quiet
They grew old as one
Their love knowing and silent
Octogenarians they were
Their love in their souls
They are the few to know
True love
Intense
Well, I have never wanted to tell this story because I am sure it will never be believed.
But I am here to tell you that what you are about to read is absolutely true.
It is not a long story but most good stories just happen and they happen very quickly. If you are unlucky enough to witness such a story you will convince yourself that it wasn't true.
This story is true and you are the first people I have ever told it to.
I was camping by myself in the Utah Canyon Country between Zion National Park and Bryce Canyon. My fire was small and I was sitting close so I could use the flames of the fire to see the book I was reading. I had hiked 15 miles that day so it wasn't surprising that I nodded off. I am not sure how long I dozed but when I woke up there was an old Indian sitting across the fire. I jumped in surprise.
"Do not be afraid." he said. His voice was deep and powerful. His tone calmed me and I immediately felt at ease.
I wasn't scared but I couldn't find words to say. I just stared at him across the fire and the longer I looked at him the more he appeared not to be real. I shook my head and blinked but he didn't disappear. I finally found my voice but all I could think of to say was, "Who are you?"
He said, "I am your great grandfather. I am here to warn you that you are in danger."
"What danger?" I asked.
"Those clouds, over there above the mountain, are dropping a lot of rain. Very soon a wall of water will come. You must move."
Then he just faded into the night. I cannot honestly say whether he walked away or faded a way. I was watching the clouds over the mountain and remembering the warnings I had received from my father about flash floods.
I didn't even take time to put out the fire. I grabbed my things and headed for higher ground. As I took off I could hear the roar of the water and I began to run. I reached the higher ground just as the water roared by.
A spirit? My great grandfather? True? Maybe...Maybe not, but the flash flood happened and something or someone woke me up and told me to run.
But I am here to tell you that what you are about to read is absolutely true.
It is not a long story but most good stories just happen and they happen very quickly. If you are unlucky enough to witness such a story you will convince yourself that it wasn't true.
This story is true and you are the first people I have ever told it to.
I was camping by myself in the Utah Canyon Country between Zion National Park and Bryce Canyon. My fire was small and I was sitting close so I could use the flames of the fire to see the book I was reading. I had hiked 15 miles that day so it wasn't surprising that I nodded off. I am not sure how long I dozed but when I woke up there was an old Indian sitting across the fire. I jumped in surprise.
"Do not be afraid." he said. His voice was deep and powerful. His tone calmed me and I immediately felt at ease.
I wasn't scared but I couldn't find words to say. I just stared at him across the fire and the longer I looked at him the more he appeared not to be real. I shook my head and blinked but he didn't disappear. I finally found my voice but all I could think of to say was, "Who are you?"
He said, "I am your great grandfather. I am here to warn you that you are in danger."
"What danger?" I asked.
"Those clouds, over there above the mountain, are dropping a lot of rain. Very soon a wall of water will come. You must move."
Then he just faded into the night. I cannot honestly say whether he walked away or faded a way. I was watching the clouds over the mountain and remembering the warnings I had received from my father about flash floods.
I didn't even take time to put out the fire. I grabbed my things and headed for higher ground. As I took off I could hear the roar of the water and I began to run. I reached the higher ground just as the water roared by.
A spirit? My great grandfather? True? Maybe...Maybe not, but the flash flood happened and something or someone woke me up and told me to run.
I can dream...or can I?
Last night I dreamt I was young again. Oh what a wonderful dream it was.
Naturally all wonderful dreams for a man of my age include a pretty young girl.
Now, don't get upset because it wasn't a dream about an old goat with a cute young thing. No sirree, I was young again and agile and spry and good looking.
Maybe good looking is a little white lie but what the hey, it was my dream.
The girl was exactly what a man would dream about and exactly what a man shouldn't dream about. She was everything that would make every pore in a man's body sweat.
The scene was perfect..a Hawaiian sunset beach with a cool breeze.
Then she came into my arms and our lips met and it was the worst kiss I have ever had.
I woke up with my little black Schnauzer licking My face...Yuk
Naturally all wonderful dreams for a man of my age include a pretty young girl.
Now, don't get upset because it wasn't a dream about an old goat with a cute young thing. No sirree, I was young again and agile and spry and good looking.
Maybe good looking is a little white lie but what the hey, it was my dream.
The girl was exactly what a man would dream about and exactly what a man shouldn't dream about. She was everything that would make every pore in a man's body sweat.
The scene was perfect..a Hawaiian sunset beach with a cool breeze.
Then she came into my arms and our lips met and it was the worst kiss I have ever had.
I woke up with my little black Schnauzer licking My face...Yuk
curiouser and curiouser and curiouser
Now where did I hear that before? Or did I hear it before? I am curious to know, so of course I will google curiouser etc., etc., ...hold on, I'll be back in a second...There, I'm back. Now that didn't take to long, did it?
Guess what? I could find no reference to curiouser and curiouser and curiouser. Only curiouser and curiouser. There are a lot of references to two curiousers but no references to three curiousers
So now I am curious to know if I, "Old Grizz", can actually get credit for coining the phrase..."An old hungry bear gets curiouser and curiouser and curiouser the closer he comes to the smell of food."
And remember, Curiosity killed the cat, not the bear.
Guess what? I could find no reference to curiouser and curiouser and curiouser. Only curiouser and curiouser. There are a lot of references to two curiousers but no references to three curiousers
So now I am curious to know if I, "Old Grizz", can actually get credit for coining the phrase..."An old hungry bear gets curiouser and curiouser and curiouser the closer he comes to the smell of food."
And remember, Curiosity killed the cat, not the bear.
Who me...die?
Absolutely....and I have no idea what will be thought of me. Oh I know the family will make me more than I am or was, that is only natural. All the bad things are forgiven and the good things multiplied by 10 the first year and then who knows. Some of my relatives that I personally know were hanged for horse stealing are now Saints in control of various parts of heaven. Hell, my aunt told me her uncle (one of the horse thieves) on her husbands side has the harp concession in the Baptist section of heaven.
But for me, if I die or when I die, think this of me...I am happy with who and what I am...I have no regrets..except maybe never getting to Australia to meet Linda May, oldegg and Rinkly Rhimes, or New Zealand to have a beer with White Snake and his lively woman or even to cross the pond and have a pint with Keith.
So, If I should die, please one and all, raise a glass to me of whatever you use to toast with and know that I have enjoyed your blogs and your comments.
But for me, if I die or when I die, think this of me...I am happy with who and what I am...I have no regrets..except maybe never getting to Australia to meet Linda May, oldegg and Rinkly Rhimes, or New Zealand to have a beer with White Snake and his lively woman or even to cross the pond and have a pint with Keith.
So, If I should die, please one and all, raise a glass to me of whatever you use to toast with and know that I have enjoyed your blogs and your comments.
Harvest
Somewhere, someplace in a time from the past, a wise person (probably female) said, "Your mind is a field of dreams. If the dreams are bad the harvest will be bad. If the dreams are good and honorable, the harvest will be good and honorable. The harvest of your future will be your dreams of today. Dream high and harvest a life of honor."
That could have come from Rumplestillskin's wife, Dimples or maybe it's something Momma Bear told me.
That could have come from Rumplestillskin's wife, Dimples or maybe it's something Momma Bear told me.
learning curve
Look, if there’s one thing I’ve learned,
it's
that I have not learned one thing!
ah, well
learning is a
curious thing
you think
you have learned
but everything changes
then
what we think
is not
what we think
I think
or
did it
change again?
A Great Man
This week the world is remembering John Lennon's birthday.
Keith honored him on Carry on Tuesday with the theme of "Beautiful Boy".
Sunday Scribblings' discussion is on "Essentials".
I posted a poem on my blog Burned Toast and Coffee indicating my thoughts on John Lennon.
Youth
Keith honored him on Carry on Tuesday with the theme of "Beautiful Boy".
Sunday Scribblings' discussion is on "Essentials".
I posted a poem on my blog Burned Toast and Coffee indicating my thoughts on John Lennon.
Youth
so young and innocent,
I give my life to you
please absolve me
beautiful boy
I was there once
but lost it
and my other son
will you be him
also
SS states "In writing and in life, the secret is sometimes in what you leave out. I believe one of the "essentials" in John Lennon's life was the loss of his first son, Julian
John Lennon gave up or put on hold his singing career and became a "househusband" to raise his son, Sean. In the past and in another world lived a first son, Julian.
Life and career interfered with his relationship with Julian.
It is not easy for a man to lose a relationship with a son. It is not easy for a man do deal with relationships with ex-wives.
My poem is a belief that John Lennon loved both sons but was only able to raise Sean and gave up a career to have a son. I also believe that if his life has not been cut short he would have found and reconciled with Julian.
Great men do those things.
Flashback - When I was nine
I was introduced to death when I was just a boy by my two year old neighbor, Timmy. Timmy was a strapping tow head toddler with lots of curiosity. I am sure Timmy never intended for me to see death at the age of nine. I can still remember Timmy running around his back yard, his blue eyes sparkling in the sun. He would laugh and giggle with his dad in chase, pretending not to catch him and then grabbing him up with a big tickle and a rub on his chubby belly with whiskered chin. No daddy, no Timmy would giggle and then ask for more.
Then one hot summer day when Timmy's dad was away Timmy could not be found. We all looked and yelled and checked all the neighbor's yards and houses. Have you seen Timmy? Timmy's missing everyone would say and another neighbor helped to look that day. Timmy's dad came home and the police were called and they all searched all over again.
Timmy's dad was scared and Timmy's mom was frantic and then someone, I can't remember who, found little Timmy Roebuck floating in the irrigation ditch behind my home. I was there when they pulled him out all wet and blue. The ambulance came and they tried to make him breathe and then my mom was crying and said. "Timmy is dead". I didn't understand death and I wasn't sure what it meant but I cried too. Timmy's gone to live with God they said.
They put Timmy's tiny body in a tiny casket in the house next to mine. My mom asked me if I wanted to say goodbye to Timmy and I was afraid to say no. We walked next door hand in hand. Timmy's dad was stern and Timmy's mom was crying.
My mom walked across the room to say goodbye but I was afraid to follow because I did not know what I would see. My mom said, "Come on and say goodbye."
Timmy's dad said, "Yes please, Timmy would like that."
I edged across the hard wood floor and I shut my eyes and did not want to look but my mom said, "Open your eyes and say goodbye, it will be alright." I opened my eyes and looked at Timmy. He lay quiet and he looked peaceful and he looked alright. I did not know what to say so I stared at him and then reached to feel his hair. It was blond and soft and felt alright so I put my hand on his chubby cheek to feel his skin.
But Timmy's cheek wasn't soft and warm and didn't feel alright.
It was cold and hard and felt like stone. Timmy startled my fingers and etched my mind when he introduced me to the stone cold feel of death when I was only nine.
Then one hot summer day when Timmy's dad was away Timmy could not be found. We all looked and yelled and checked all the neighbor's yards and houses. Have you seen Timmy? Timmy's missing everyone would say and another neighbor helped to look that day. Timmy's dad came home and the police were called and they all searched all over again.
Timmy's dad was scared and Timmy's mom was frantic and then someone, I can't remember who, found little Timmy Roebuck floating in the irrigation ditch behind my home. I was there when they pulled him out all wet and blue. The ambulance came and they tried to make him breathe and then my mom was crying and said. "Timmy is dead". I didn't understand death and I wasn't sure what it meant but I cried too. Timmy's gone to live with God they said.
They put Timmy's tiny body in a tiny casket in the house next to mine. My mom asked me if I wanted to say goodbye to Timmy and I was afraid to say no. We walked next door hand in hand. Timmy's dad was stern and Timmy's mom was crying.
My mom walked across the room to say goodbye but I was afraid to follow because I did not know what I would see. My mom said, "Come on and say goodbye."
Timmy's dad said, "Yes please, Timmy would like that."
I edged across the hard wood floor and I shut my eyes and did not want to look but my mom said, "Open your eyes and say goodbye, it will be alright." I opened my eyes and looked at Timmy. He lay quiet and he looked peaceful and he looked alright. I did not know what to say so I stared at him and then reached to feel his hair. It was blond and soft and felt alright so I put my hand on his chubby cheek to feel his skin.
But Timmy's cheek wasn't soft and warm and didn't feel alright.
It was cold and hard and felt like stone. Timmy startled my fingers and etched my mind when he introduced me to the stone cold feel of death when I was only nine.
the treatment
I was feeling a little ill so I went to the emergency room at the local hospital. They decided "feeling a little ill" wasn't an emergency so they stuck me in the back of the waiting room to wait until my "little illness" became a "big illness".
I don't remember how long I waited for my illness to become terminal but I am sure it was more than an hour or two or maybe three but more than likely ten or twelve. I know I missed my breakfast and most likely my lunch but it didn't matter because I was being used as a volunteer in a medical experiment. One nurse or another, some male and some female, would peer through their little window to see if I was still alive and I am sure they were hoping I wasn't.
Finally, when I was sure my "little illness" had incubated itself into a "big illness" using the proof that I just thrown up all over their nice new furniture, I approached the sacred little window and inquired when my turn was?
"We are very busy", I was told. Your need to wait because your illness is still not important enough to us. "Go back and sit in your vomit."
I decided the treatment I received was not worth waiting for a treatment I may never receive and left leaving my last nights dinner all over their waiting room furniture.
I don't remember how long I waited for my illness to become terminal but I am sure it was more than an hour or two or maybe three but more than likely ten or twelve. I know I missed my breakfast and most likely my lunch but it didn't matter because I was being used as a volunteer in a medical experiment. One nurse or another, some male and some female, would peer through their little window to see if I was still alive and I am sure they were hoping I wasn't.
Finally, when I was sure my "little illness" had incubated itself into a "big illness" using the proof that I just thrown up all over their nice new furniture, I approached the sacred little window and inquired when my turn was?
"We are very busy", I was told. Your need to wait because your illness is still not important enough to us. "Go back and sit in your vomit."
I decided the treatment I received was not worth waiting for a treatment I may never receive and left leaving my last nights dinner all over their waiting room furniture.
the bus stop
The other day I was waiting at a bus stop. I wasn't waiting for the bus. I just wanted to see what it felt like to wait for a bus.
It is no different than waiting for anything else. As the bus's scheduled arrival time neared the younger waiters began to get fidgety and nervous. They paced and walked into the street trying to help the bus to get there faster. The older people just sat and patiently waited.
The bus came and went, leaving me and a dirty old pan handler waiting on the bench.
He looked at me and said, "I don't have any money to help you out but if I did I would."
I gave him a five and walked back into my world.
It is no different than waiting for anything else. As the bus's scheduled arrival time neared the younger waiters began to get fidgety and nervous. They paced and walked into the street trying to help the bus to get there faster. The older people just sat and patiently waited.
The bus came and went, leaving me and a dirty old pan handler waiting on the bench.
He looked at me and said, "I don't have any money to help you out but if I did I would."
I gave him a five and walked back into my world.
Faith (again)
When I read and commented on Anthony North on "Greed" I said I agreed with him about business greed but that I also thought that indiviual people are also greedy.
In my blog on "Faith", I said faith for me is faith in my fellow human beings to do the right thing.
On personal level of one to one people behave with honor and do the right things.
However, when they get layered by the desire to make a living they will look the other way. For exmple anyone working for a phone company will give the pitch because that is what they need to do keep their jobs.
Also in a blog by "K" (Khaalidah) she explains fasting for "Ramadan" and ties it into "Faith". I thank her very much for that post because any honest discussion of "Allah" and the Muslim religion is a blessing to those in the Christian world. We all need to learn and understand our fellows human beings.
This week I received my weekly poem from
"POETRY CHAIKHANA". Sacred Poetry from Around the World
"A chaikhana is a teahouse along the legendary Silk Road pilgrimage and trading route linking China to the Middle East and Europe. It is a place of rest along the journey, a place to shake off the dust of the road, to sip tea, and to gather together to sing songs of the Divine..."
Poetry Chainhana is a great site. The poets from the past have inspired me on many occasions. It is like Rumi came to read a special poem just for me.
This week's poem is on fasting enlightens us on the virtues of fasting. I think "K" may understand "faith" better than most.
Fasting
By Mevlana Jelaluddin Rumi
(1207 - 1273)
English version by Coleman Barks
In my blog on "Faith", I said faith for me is faith in my fellow human beings to do the right thing.
On personal level of one to one people behave with honor and do the right things.
However, when they get layered by the desire to make a living they will look the other way. For exmple anyone working for a phone company will give the pitch because that is what they need to do keep their jobs.
Also in a blog by "K" (Khaalidah) she explains fasting for "Ramadan" and ties it into "Faith". I thank her very much for that post because any honest discussion of "Allah" and the Muslim religion is a blessing to those in the Christian world. We all need to learn and understand our fellows human beings.
This week I received my weekly poem from
"POETRY CHAIKHANA". Sacred Poetry from Around the World
"A chaikhana is a teahouse along the legendary Silk Road pilgrimage and trading route linking China to the Middle East and Europe. It is a place of rest along the journey, a place to shake off the dust of the road, to sip tea, and to gather together to sing songs of the Divine..."
Poetry Chainhana is a great site. The poets from the past have inspired me on many occasions. It is like Rumi came to read a special poem just for me.
This week's poem is on fasting enlightens us on the virtues of fasting. I think "K" may understand "faith" better than most.
Fasting
By Mevlana Jelaluddin Rumi
(1207 - 1273)
English version by Coleman Barks
"There's hidden sweetness in the stomach's emptiness.
We are lutes, no more, no less. If the soundbox
is stuffed full of anything, no music.
If the brain and belly are burning clean
with fasting, every moment a new song comes out of the fire.
The fog clears, and new energy makes you
run up the steps in front of you.
Be emptier and cry like reed instruments cry.
Emptier, write secrets with the reed pen.
When you're full of food and drink, Satan sits
where your spirit should, an ugly metal statue
in place of the Kaaba. When you fast,
good habits gather like friends who want to help.
Fasting is Solomon's ring. Don't give it
to some illusion and lose your power,
but even if you have, if you've lost all will and control,
they come back when you fast, like soldiers appearing
out of the ground, pennants flying above them.
A table descends to your tents,
Jesus' table.
Expect to see it, when you fast, this table
spread with other food, better than the broth of cabbages."
Faith
Faith is a word with many meanings and connotations. It means different things to different people.
I like to use the word as it applies to people and my relationship to others. I say faith is a belief in people. Faith is trusting in people. I have faith in my fellow human beings. I believe that given the opportunity to do a good and honorable thing, all people will do it. Even those that society has beaten into the ground will rise up and help someone else when needed.
Yes, for me faith is very simple.
Faith is trust in my fellow human beings.
for an additional post of faith and fasting please read my post "Faith Again"
I like to use the word as it applies to people and my relationship to others. I say faith is a belief in people. Faith is trusting in people. I have faith in my fellow human beings. I believe that given the opportunity to do a good and honorable thing, all people will do it. Even those that society has beaten into the ground will rise up and help someone else when needed.
Yes, for me faith is very simple.
Faith is trust in my fellow human beings.
for an additional post of faith and fasting please read my post "Faith Again"
I get a weakly blast in my email from a site called "Zen Habits". When I signed up I thought that Zen would be good for my soul. However, like a lot of other things I sign up for, I very rarely read it. I call it "Zen for my soul". It's not that I do not need it, because I do. I just find every reason in the world to avoid looking into my Zen Soul.
However, today I read a guest writer and his mountain theory.
How to Summit Life’s Everyday Mountain (Scott Dihsmore)
“The man who moves a mountain begins by carrying away small stones.” ~Confucius
....Last week I sat on top of Mt. Shasta, a 14,179 foot mountain in Northern California. It was my first real summit and I was proud. Getting there took me through two days of snow, ice and below-freezing camping conditions, using crampons, an ice axe, and more layers than I thought I owned.
......I began to realize the lessons required to reach the top and make it back down safely. As it turns out, the most important rules are just as relevant in the snow as they are in conquering our everyday challenges.
When was the last time you reached a mountain summit, whether outdoors or in life?
He is comparing reaching a summit in life to climbing a mountain. I think what caught my eye was the statement about sitting on the mountain top. That brought a part of my own life to memory. I sat on a mountain top once but it wasn't Mt.Shasta. It was a small mountain in the Cedar Breaks area of Southern Utah and it was only a half mile hike from the road. However, I hiked my mountain and let it all hang out. I climbed my mountain in the nude. I sat on my mountain top in the nude. I heard my echo yelling back at me in the nude.
Scott gives the following advice for mountain climbing and life:
Pack light...I certainly did that.
Take one step at a time...you try to take two steps at one time and you'll fall on your butt, nude or not.
Don’t go at it alone...disagree here...not to excited about a lot of people seeing me in the nude.
Listen to the experts...actually I wasn't to interested in hearing about other people hiking in the nude.
Slow down...well duh, you cannot walk fast over sharp rocks with bare feet.
Look back and take in the view...check for Forest Rangers while your at it.
Save some energy for the trip down...now there is some good advice. No one wants to spend the night nude and on top of a mountain. (at least I don't)
Getting to the top is optional...I don't think so...why would I want to walk around a forest in the nude and not claim victory over a dumb mountain.
Getting down is mandatory...double duh...if you cannot get down, don't climb the tree.
Failure is a part of the process...OK, get out of the car, take you clothes off, shiver for a couple seconds, put your clothes back on and wait for a warmer day.
“It is not the mountains we conquer but ourselves.” ~Sir Edmund Hillary
I absolutely agree Sir Hillary.
Running around in the trees and rocks is awesome and to stand nude above a canyon and listen to your echo screaming the call of the wild in the nude is an experience few will ever experience.
Eat your heart out Scott.
However, today I read a guest writer and his mountain theory.
How to Summit Life’s Everyday Mountain (Scott Dihsmore)
“The man who moves a mountain begins by carrying away small stones.” ~Confucius
....Last week I sat on top of Mt. Shasta, a 14,179 foot mountain in Northern California. It was my first real summit and I was proud. Getting there took me through two days of snow, ice and below-freezing camping conditions, using crampons, an ice axe, and more layers than I thought I owned.
......I began to realize the lessons required to reach the top and make it back down safely. As it turns out, the most important rules are just as relevant in the snow as they are in conquering our everyday challenges.
When was the last time you reached a mountain summit, whether outdoors or in life?
He is comparing reaching a summit in life to climbing a mountain. I think what caught my eye was the statement about sitting on the mountain top. That brought a part of my own life to memory. I sat on a mountain top once but it wasn't Mt.Shasta. It was a small mountain in the Cedar Breaks area of Southern Utah and it was only a half mile hike from the road. However, I hiked my mountain and let it all hang out. I climbed my mountain in the nude. I sat on my mountain top in the nude. I heard my echo yelling back at me in the nude.
Scott gives the following advice for mountain climbing and life:
Pack light...I certainly did that.
Take one step at a time...you try to take two steps at one time and you'll fall on your butt, nude or not.
Don’t go at it alone...disagree here...not to excited about a lot of people seeing me in the nude.
Listen to the experts...actually I wasn't to interested in hearing about other people hiking in the nude.
Slow down...well duh, you cannot walk fast over sharp rocks with bare feet.
Look back and take in the view...check for Forest Rangers while your at it.
Save some energy for the trip down...now there is some good advice. No one wants to spend the night nude and on top of a mountain. (at least I don't)
Getting to the top is optional...I don't think so...why would I want to walk around a forest in the nude and not claim victory over a dumb mountain.
Getting down is mandatory...double duh...if you cannot get down, don't climb the tree.
Failure is a part of the process...OK, get out of the car, take you clothes off, shiver for a couple seconds, put your clothes back on and wait for a warmer day.
“It is not the mountains we conquer but ourselves.” ~Sir Edmund Hillary
I absolutely agree Sir Hillary.
Running around in the trees and rocks is awesome and to stand nude above a canyon and listen to your echo screaming the call of the wild in the nude is an experience few will ever experience.
Eat your heart out Scott.
half a book
I am half done with three books and one life time. My goal is to get all the way done with my life time and as for the books...who knows. It is really great to tell one and all that I am writing a book and when I say I am writing three books they are really impressed. Now if I were to finish one or two or maybe all three books then I would have to see if anyone would publish them.
That is what creates my problem. If they are finished and no one will publish them I would have to tell people that they are only half done because to tell the truth would make me look like a bad writer. (which I am)
Therefore my solution is to say my books are only half done but I am working on them. I think that comes from my grandmother who used to say "half a book is better than none." (whatever that means)
That is what creates my problem. If they are finished and no one will publish them I would have to tell people that they are only half done because to tell the truth would make me look like a bad writer. (which I am)
Therefore my solution is to say my books are only half done but I am working on them. I think that comes from my grandmother who used to say "half a book is better than none." (whatever that means)
Thank you
Thank you, thank you....wow, I'm..ah..so nervous...I don't know what to say...ah....
This award means a lot to me. I am ...ah...truly..honored...but..I..don't deserve all of the ah...credit. I..want to..ah..thank my..ah..high school instructor for..ah...teaching me the basics of ..oh..I am..so nervous...ah..the basics..of cooking. Ah..having my ahh..."Egg on Toast"...oh dear...what am...I..trying to..ah..say?..ah..yes......recipe chosen as..ah "diet plate of the year"...is....oh dear..is a great..ah...honor..thank you
 |
| Egg on Toast 135 calories
to those that strugled through my acceptance speech..
ah..thank you very much
|
the letter
the letter is gone
no one
cares anymore
email and twit
or texting and facebook
have replaced it
maybe its good
maybe its bad
I will never be sure
but I don't twit nor text nor face
I'm still hoping a letter
will show up at my place
will show up at my place
source
from whence it all began
an explosion creating
an expanding universe
like the seed of man
exploding in the womb
creating yet anther universe
within the life of woman
is our universe really just
celestial sperms racing to
penitrate a celestial seed
in the ovary of space
and we only
the ions of the atoms
of eternal creation
if so
will the creation be
made of green cheese
lightning & God
First the lightning and then count, one thousand one, one thousand two, one thousand three and on. One second for every one onethousand. One mile from the lightning for every second. Ten seconds until the sound of thunder and its's ten miles away. First the lightning and hope to God there is a least one second until the thunder. If not, first the lightning, then the thunder and then we acquire a fox hole desire for the grace of God.
Linda May
I guess the thing to do here is nominate a mother, a child or maybe a famous person that has done something awesome. Any nomination of this type would be great and wonderful. We can all think of someone to fulfill the criteria. We can think of that perfect someone we have met or know or have seen on TV but I would like to nominate someone I have never met.
I nominate Linda May from Australia. She subtitles her blog "what is in my heart and head" and that is what she writes. There are no "airs" and no "pretensions". She writes what she feels and what she sees. I always leave her blog feeling good about the world and the people in it. Thank you Linda May for being the salt of the earth. You are a person I would like to call "friend".
I nominate Linda May from Australia. She subtitles her blog "what is in my heart and head" and that is what she writes. There are no "airs" and no "pretensions". She writes what she feels and what she sees. I always leave her blog feeling good about the world and the people in it. Thank you Linda May for being the salt of the earth. You are a person I would like to call "friend".
If I should die
"If I should die think only this of me"......
that in you I found love
a place to hide my heart
a place to store my poems
should you find my soul asleep
open your heart
my love is there
my poetry is for you lips
when you look to the wind
listen with your heart
my love for you will speak from the clouds
because it if forever burned upon eternity
me
if you would care
to look into the depths
of me
please takes some notes
and tell me
what you see
I get confused
trying to see
what is really me
yesterday and beyond
I thought I was
what I was
and now
looking into the glass
was is not there
but someone
different looks
at me
I hope it it
the person
I've always strived to be
naner...naner...naner...I am smarter than you
I understand that liberals are more intelligent than conservatives.
At least that is what some liberals are touting. (Thom Hartmann, KTLK, 1150 L.A.)
His claim is that the latest study show lib's I.Q average 105 vs. conserv's I.Q. average 95 or some such drivel.
Word from the underground is that our new ruling party is going follow the path of Nazi Germany and create a new race of Super Liberals.
Conservatives will not be allowed to procreate.
Those that want to help father the new Race of "ugly Americans" can apply on line at
"we are smarter than you.org.uhg.bs".
Have your I.Q. credentials ready.
Writer's observation.....those that think they are smarter than you always want to tell you how to live and what you can and cannot do. I prefer the dumb ass that lets me choose those things by myself.
At least that is what some liberals are touting. (Thom Hartmann, KTLK, 1150 L.A.)
His claim is that the latest study show lib's I.Q average 105 vs. conserv's I.Q. average 95 or some such drivel.
Word from the underground is that our new ruling party is going follow the path of Nazi Germany and create a new race of Super Liberals.
Conservatives will not be allowed to procreate.
Those that want to help father the new Race of "ugly Americans" can apply on line at
"we are smarter than you.org.uhg.bs".
Have your I.Q. credentials ready.
Writer's observation.....those that think they are smarter than you always want to tell you how to live and what you can and cannot do. I prefer the dumb ass that lets me choose those things by myself.
yenta...yenta...yenta
"If you really want to hear about it".....ask Donnetta. My God that lady has more dirt hidden under her mind than God removed from the Grand Canyon. She knows everything about everybody. Why it was just yesterday that she was telling me about Harry and Martha. Seems like Harry's wife and Martha's husband are the only ones in town that do not know what Harry and Martha have been up to. And speaking of that, did you know the Jenny's daughter Harrietta is with child? Dam sure I'm right. I heard it from Millie when I was getting my hair done. No, it wasn't that ugly little Smith boy. It was Julie's boy Stephen. The real truth is that he spiked her punch and violated her when she passed out. At least that's the story that Jenny is telling but I happen to know the real real truth..........
swapping places
My oh my, being able to swap with someone has a lot of mystical thoughts and ideas attached. But one must beware of a trip fraught with perils. One day when I was a much youger man and full of lust I swapped a pretty young thing for one with a more buxom bust. I thought my pleasures would grow with the size of her bust but her mouth was more than capable of dampening my lust. So listen to me before you make the swap. What you already have and what you already are may just be one hell of a lot better than wishing on a star.
perfect until further notice
surely you jest when you say
"nobody's perfect"
there has to be
a man...a woman
a person maybe two
who fill that slot
I was sure I would find
the one who said that I'm not
somewhere over a hill
but that was not to be
those that say
I'm not perfect
have disappeared
or maybe they're behind a tree
so I will always be perfect
Until they show
and prove to me
that I'm not
the perfect person
I profess to be
"nobody's perfect"
there has to be
a man...a woman
a person maybe two
who fill that slot
I was sure I would find
the one who said that I'm not
somewhere over a hill
but that was not to be
those that say
I'm not perfect
have disappeared
or maybe they're behind a tree
so I will always be perfect
Until they show
and prove to me
that I'm not
the perfect person
I profess to be
birth
There are many different types of births. Last night I witnessed a different type of birth. It was the birth or maybe the rebirth of people both young and old that had not been able to complete their high school education. I witnessed the graduation ceremony of extended education students. People from their early 20's to their mid 6o's graduating from high school. For me it was an awesome experience to see these people being "reborn" to a new life by getting their high school degrees. They have a new chance at life and the desire to better themselves. Good for them. I hope they all go on to get their college degrees. It takes guts to go back and start over. My hearty congratulations to all 1000 of them.
memory & ads
The prompt for S.S. last week was a poem about getting old and gray. Of course I posted some wiseacre comment about not being a hero and then proceded to other posts to read what they came up with and then comment. There are two reasons for reading and commenting on other posts. One is that I am truly interested on how others interpret the prompt. The second and maybe the most important is that I hope that others will read and comment on what I have to say. Some do and some do not. I undertand tht it takes a lot of time to read and comment so I am very happy if just a few respond. I do not always have the time to respond to those that stop by my blog.
But commenting is not what I want to talk about. It is the verification and waiting for the writer to allow the comment to be viewed. That is where the old and gray comes in. I can not remeber if I have commented so sometimes I comment 2 or 3 times which can be a little embarrasing.
My next problem is the ads. I know all the blogs have some type of ad in hopes of making some money. I have ads on my blog. The ads that make me mad are the ones that come up when you are trying to post some nice words. I just went to one blog and had to watch a short video before I could comment. I shouldn't have waited to comment but I did. Then I was going to say something nasty, but I didn't. However, that will be the last time I will wait to respond. I will just put the site on my "not worth it list".
I really do like to read and respond to what has been written but like I said, that takes time and I do not think you are being fair if I have to wait for ads to load add long songs to load before I can read your blog. I am only interested in your words.
Is there anyone else out there with the same issues? Chime in and let me know. Am I the only nay-sayer?
PS - is there anyone out there that would be interested in having constructive crital responses as a good thing. I would like for once to have someone tell me I could improve if.....or just maybe diagree with what I have to say.
But commenting is not what I want to talk about. It is the verification and waiting for the writer to allow the comment to be viewed. That is where the old and gray comes in. I can not remeber if I have commented so sometimes I comment 2 or 3 times which can be a little embarrasing.
My next problem is the ads. I know all the blogs have some type of ad in hopes of making some money. I have ads on my blog. The ads that make me mad are the ones that come up when you are trying to post some nice words. I just went to one blog and had to watch a short video before I could comment. I shouldn't have waited to comment but I did. Then I was going to say something nasty, but I didn't. However, that will be the last time I will wait to respond. I will just put the site on my "not worth it list".
I really do like to read and respond to what has been written but like I said, that takes time and I do not think you are being fair if I have to wait for ads to load add long songs to load before I can read your blog. I am only interested in your words.
Is there anyone else out there with the same issues? Chime in and let me know. Am I the only nay-sayer?
PS - is there anyone out there that would be interested in having constructive crital responses as a good thing. I would like for once to have someone tell me I could improve if.....or just maybe diagree with what I have to say.
Little Timmy Rhobuch
I was seven or eight or maybe nine, I really can’t remember, it’s been such a long time. Timmy’s gone I heard them say. We can’t find him anywhere.
The neighbors searched as neighbors do and the police came as they always do but Timmy was gone and we were scared.
My dad found Timmy, blue and quiet, among the tangled weeds of the water ditch. Everyone was sorry and cried for Little Timmy Rhobuch and Timmy’s dad and mom wept tears that troubled my mind.
I went to see his tiny body in his tiny coffin in his house next to mine. I saw his sweet chubby face that could not smile and his curly blond hair that could not move and I had to touch and I had to feel.
So, I laid my hand upon his face and did not find a child of two, only a face of stone.
I was seven or eight or maybe nine when little Timmy Rhobuch's chubby face of stone startled my hand and etched my mind.
gsbatty
Follow the story of 'Himshee', the mind taker
why's everybody picking on me?
"When you are old and grey
and full of sleep”
is what he said
to blog upon.
I said. "why pick on me?
and full of sleep”
is what he said
to blog upon.
I said. "why pick on me?
Even though the furnace is
growing old
and getting cold
the embers still glow
with plenty of show
and even if
I do sleep a lot
growing old
and getting cold
the embers still glow
with plenty of show
and even if
I do sleep a lot
I still have plenty of words
hidden somewhere
under my cot
my hero
when the time requires
that a super person be near
I always wiggle and squirm
and recoil in fear
I know I am not the man
that they will want to call
because the world needs
real heros to save the day
and I just do not have the nerve
or the will
so if it's a hero you want
call someone else
and send me the bill
why poetry
poetry
is
the words of another
expressing
the feelings we live
but uable
to express ourselves
gsbatty
an old wooden fence
I sat on an old wooden fence and got a sliver or two but I was never sure from where they came. Maybe it was when I fell to the left or maybe it was when I fell to the right. Or maybe it was when I climbed back on that the slivers jabbed me in the behind.
I tried to stay upon the fence but a voice from the right and a voice from the left with words that were filled with cherry pies and promises and lies would knock me off again.
I fell again and got back on that old wooded fence wondering where their honesty had gone. And then a thought came over me. They are only after my vote with their lies and cherry pies.
I needed to climb back upon that old wooden fence again.
I tried to stay upon the fence but a voice from the right and a voice from the left with words that were filled with cherry pies and promises and lies would knock me off again.
I fell again and got back on that old wooded fence wondering where their honesty had gone. And then a thought came over me. They are only after my vote with their lies and cherry pies.
I needed to climb back upon that old wooden fence again.
butterfly message
When I was six or seven or maybe eight I was with my dad on the patio and we had just ate when an orange and gold and black butterfly came gliding by. He sat his wings and tiny feet upon my knee as if he were there just to visit me.
I started to shoo him off but dad held my hand and said, "don't". "He is a messenger sent from God." "A messenger from God." I replied? "Why would God send a messenger to me?"
"Maybe he needs your help," my dad replied.
"How can I help God," I asked?
"I do not know, that is between you and God," my dad replied. "The next time you talk to him, just ask"
I never asked.
I wonder what God wanted?
confucius say
I gave my German Schnauzer,
"Lo-Jack", a "Chinese Fortune Cookie"
but I forgot to take the "fortune" out.
Now whenever I give him
the command "speak.
He tells me a "Confucius" proverb
in German
I do not understand German
egg face
eggs for breakfast
anyone
cooked anyway you like
stop your blog
have a cup of whatever
and wipe the egg off your face
but not me
I intend to rub it in
care to join me
anyone
egg face
eggs for breakfast
anyone
cooked anyway you like
stop your blog
have a cup of whatever
and wipe the egg off your face
but not me
I intend to rub it in
care to join me
anyone
ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ
Old Grizz is hibernating in his writers cave attempting to be a serious writer. I will devote what ever time I have to "Burned Toast and Coffee". Drop in from time to time and say hello. I will hello you back.
Courage
I wrote
and I felt
I felt courage
courage
has always been there
courage
is always there.
why didn’t I feel courage before?
why couldn’t I feel courage before?
courage has nudged me for decades
I was afraid to nudge courage back
courage would not go away
courage haunted me
I knew not what courage was
courage was in a place I cared not look
courage was in a place I dared not look
I never thought to look for courage
through my pen
through my grit
through my gut
I never dared to look for courage
through my pen,
through my grit
through my gut
Not until
I wrote and I wrote and I wrote
about
the things that are
the things that aren’t
about
the things that may
the things that might
that
courage was felt
courage spoke to me
with
words from a raining cloud.
courage spoke to me
with
words from sizzling lightning
burning across the sky
blazing a path
that I was afraid to walk.
my written words
dripping blood and ink
awakened
my mind,
my eyes,
my heart
my soul.
courage spoke to me
and now
I have
the strength
to walk the path
of sizzling lightning.
I am
not afraid
of falling any more.
only the young
Only the young have such moments
moments of discovery
the touch of her skin
the beat of her heart
the breath of her life
the joy of first love
once the moments have passed
the wonder can only live
in your mind
when you are young
enjoy
her touch
her heart beat
her breath
your first love
cheerish those moments
they will only come once
Me.....cook?
cook the dinner
for how many?
really..32?
important for you?
lets see
2 loaves of bread
1 pound of chedder please
butter
frying pan
lots of heat
the only thing
I can cook
is
grilled cheese
3 dot life
train...girl...boy...
groans...tears...sorrow
moving...longing...waving...
whistle...movement...sadness
back...meet...promise
farewells...necessary...again
hearts...change...break
why...how...who
groans...tears...hate
what changed
in her heart
to break his
Little ole me, A joy?
"Well, well, well, I do declare," the Southern Rose blushed. "Little ole fragile me, a joy forever. Can you imagine that?"
"Not you, little miss bighead," the grouchy old thorn growled. "He was talking to the pretty lady. He doesn’t even know you exist."
"Well, Mr. pointy head", the Southern Rose said, "Miss Lottie just said how beautiful I was and how much she loved such a beautiful rose".
"Oh for Pete’s sake you might as well be a blond rose for all the sense that makes." the old thorn snorted. "Do you know what forever means?" "You'll be dried up and gone and I'll still be here"
"Under your belief I'm a thing of beauty, because I'll be here when you’re gone and you will have no idea if I'm forever or not," the nasty thorn chortled.
"Well," the Southern Rose came back, "you may be here forever but you certainly aren't a thing of beauty."
"Oh Beau, Miss Lottie said, "Will you pick that beautiful Southern Rose for me? I will cherish its beauty forever."
"Well if that's not the damndest thing I ever heard," said the jealous old thorn.
"Well, well, well, I do declare, the Southern Rose blushed. ”Little ole fragile me, a joy forever. Can you imagine that?"
for Carry on Tuesday
"Not you, little miss bighead," the grouchy old thorn growled. "He was talking to the pretty lady. He doesn’t even know you exist."
"Well, Mr. pointy head", the Southern Rose said, "Miss Lottie just said how beautiful I was and how much she loved such a beautiful rose".
"Oh for Pete’s sake you might as well be a blond rose for all the sense that makes." the old thorn snorted. "Do you know what forever means?" "You'll be dried up and gone and I'll still be here"
"Under your belief I'm a thing of beauty, because I'll be here when you’re gone and you will have no idea if I'm forever or not," the nasty thorn chortled.
"Well," the Southern Rose came back, "you may be here forever but you certainly aren't a thing of beauty."
"Oh Beau, Miss Lottie said, "Will you pick that beautiful Southern Rose for me? I will cherish its beauty forever."
"Well if that's not the damndest thing I ever heard," said the jealous old thorn.
"Well, well, well, I do declare, the Southern Rose blushed. ”Little ole fragile me, a joy forever. Can you imagine that?"
for Carry on Tuesday
Tongue Biting
I bit my tongue to keep from speaking. However, when I do something like biting my tongue, sometimes I go beyond the think mode. When someone says “I bit my tongue” it usually means that they held back a comment. They did not make their comment because they did not want to offend someone else’s beliefs, thoughts, ideas, religious convictions, or political views.
I always think that is a stupid thing to do but I do it all the time. Why start an argument, I say to myself. The issue or the point isn’t worth an argument or a response. What really crawls in my craw is that I not only keep ”mum”, a lot of the time I agree even if I do not agree. I am not sure why. Maybe it is to keep the peace or maybe I am not really sure of my position. Maybe I am leery that I’ll have to explain my reason for disagreeing.
On the occasion that I am speaking of I really did bite my tongue. On this occasion I was discussing politics with my bother-in-law. I am somewhat conservative but he is off the deep end downright stupid conservative. He believes whatever flies around the internet. I believe most of what flies around the net is miss-statements if not out and out lies but he is sure it is the “gospel”.
We were “discussing” at a family gathering. I was getting hot and he was getting hotter and I started to express my views in a strong tone when Nancy, my wife, said, “Stan”. I stopped and I bit my tongue.
Really, I physically bit my tongue. I bit it with the teeth in my own mouth. I put my tongue between my teeth and I chewed or chomped. I must have thought it was a piece of steak of something.
When I was young my first and now my ex and also deceased mother-in-law fed me cow’s tongue one night. I didn’t care for it. It had the texture of liver and the taste of “gamey” meat. Gamey meat comes from animals that have run a lot before they were killed. Their blood is ripe in the muscle and it comes out in the taste of the meat when it is cooked.
My tongue didn’t taste like steak or cow tongue or any other meat that I have eaten. It tasted like blood. The only good thing that came out of having a cut, swollen tongue is that it convinced me that I never want to be a vampire.
I always think that is a stupid thing to do but I do it all the time. Why start an argument, I say to myself. The issue or the point isn’t worth an argument or a response. What really crawls in my craw is that I not only keep ”mum”, a lot of the time I agree even if I do not agree. I am not sure why. Maybe it is to keep the peace or maybe I am not really sure of my position. Maybe I am leery that I’ll have to explain my reason for disagreeing.
On the occasion that I am speaking of I really did bite my tongue. On this occasion I was discussing politics with my bother-in-law. I am somewhat conservative but he is off the deep end downright stupid conservative. He believes whatever flies around the internet. I believe most of what flies around the net is miss-statements if not out and out lies but he is sure it is the “gospel”.
We were “discussing” at a family gathering. I was getting hot and he was getting hotter and I started to express my views in a strong tone when Nancy, my wife, said, “Stan”. I stopped and I bit my tongue.
Really, I physically bit my tongue. I bit it with the teeth in my own mouth. I put my tongue between my teeth and I chewed or chomped. I must have thought it was a piece of steak of something.
When I was young my first and now my ex and also deceased mother-in-law fed me cow’s tongue one night. I didn’t care for it. It had the texture of liver and the taste of “gamey” meat. Gamey meat comes from animals that have run a lot before they were killed. Their blood is ripe in the muscle and it comes out in the taste of the meat when it is cooked.
My tongue didn’t taste like steak or cow tongue or any other meat that I have eaten. It tasted like blood. The only good thing that came out of having a cut, swollen tongue is that it convinced me that I never want to be a vampire.
deadline
The word "deadline" was first used in a journalistic sense around 1920 and most people assumed it meant that "if you missed your time line the editer might kill you."
But the word really goes back to "Andersonville", a civil war prison of hell ran by the Confederate Army. The "deadline" was a line 19 feet from the stockade wall and any prisoner crossing that line was assumed to be escaping and was shot on the spot. The conditions were bad at Andersonville. I found the following quote.
July 9, 1864, Sgt. David Kennedy of the 9th Ohio Cavalry wrote in his diary;
"Wuld that I was an artist & had the material to paint this camp & all its horors or the tounge of some eloquent Statesman and had the privleage of expresing my mind to our hon. rulers at Washington, I should gloery to describe this hell on earth where it takes 7 of its ocupiants to make a shadow."
A "deadline" at Andersonville seems to have a much deadlier meaning than a journalistic "deadline".
It seems that over the years not too much has changed. Journalists still think their "deadlines" are more important than a soldiers "deadline". Maybe that is true if they are war correspondents. Sometimes their "deadlines" are the same as a soldiers
If I am ever in the position that requires getting something written on time I am going to call it my "lifeline". Afterall, a timeline requirement should mean I will get paid for it.
posted for "Sunday Scribblings"
But the word really goes back to "Andersonville", a civil war prison of hell ran by the Confederate Army. The "deadline" was a line 19 feet from the stockade wall and any prisoner crossing that line was assumed to be escaping and was shot on the spot. The conditions were bad at Andersonville. I found the following quote.
July 9, 1864, Sgt. David Kennedy of the 9th Ohio Cavalry wrote in his diary;
"Wuld that I was an artist & had the material to paint this camp & all its horors or the tounge of some eloquent Statesman and had the privleage of expresing my mind to our hon. rulers at Washington, I should gloery to describe this hell on earth where it takes 7 of its ocupiants to make a shadow."
A "deadline" at Andersonville seems to have a much deadlier meaning than a journalistic "deadline".
It seems that over the years not too much has changed. Journalists still think their "deadlines" are more important than a soldiers "deadline". Maybe that is true if they are war correspondents. Sometimes their "deadlines" are the same as a soldiers
If I am ever in the position that requires getting something written on time I am going to call it my "lifeline". Afterall, a timeline requirement should mean I will get paid for it.
posted for "Sunday Scribblings"
how long....
Low long is long? I have been staring at the ceiling for what seems like hours. How long? I don't have a clue. The ceiling has taken my mind. It's one of those holey plaster board types with water stains. I see cob webs from the corner of my eye but the water stains make me ignore the cob webs. They are not important. It is important to keep focused on the stains. They seemed to tell me that my life depends on my looking at those damned stains. I stare until they start to attack me. I become woozy. They are choking me, draining the life out of me.
"Has he awoke yet?" "No, he's still in coma. It's probably better. With his injuries and the way we have had to pin his head to that board he is better off sleeping. He won't be albe to move his head for at least 6 months." I just gave him another shot of morphine.
for Carry on Tuesdays
"Has he awoke yet?" "No, he's still in coma. It's probably better. With his injuries and the way we have had to pin his head to that board he is better off sleeping. He won't be albe to move his head for at least 6 months." I just gave him another shot of morphine.
for Carry on Tuesdays
Grizz’s Rib
It began Sunday evening when I was trying to write something for my journaling class. I had chosen to write about the clash between the feminine and masculine issues in my mental makeup. I could not write anything that I was happy with. I worked until 2 am and finally gave up. The next morning I was late in getting up. While I was showering I started writing the article in my mind. I usually take a five minute shower but on that morning it lasted forty-five minutes while my mind wrote and edited.
I left the shower, dried off and went into the bedroom to dress. My wife asked me if I left any hot water and of course my reply was that there was plenty of hot water. Her answer was a mild threat which I of course ignored. It was something like "if my shower is cold, I'll get even". My mistake was not listening. My failure was that I did not believe her.
The next morning I was enjoying a nice hot relaxing shower. I noticed a shadowy form in a blue flannel night gown entering the bath room. My mind did not trigger any alarm. I had failed to listen to her threat and made the mistake of not being alert. My hot relaxing shower was interrupted with the full force of Niagara Falls coming down on my head and body. Oh oh oh, damn that's cold I groaned and the shadowy flanneled night gown giggled and laughed with glee. I told you I would get even she chirped. That glass of water came right from the refrigerator. .
My "Rib" won again
For Carry on Tuesday
My mentor
Mentoring comes from the soul
only the special
can teach those that need
they come from a special place
they give their knowledge
they give their skill
they give their hearts
so
you and I
can learn and grow
so
you and I
can be better
so
to my special mentor
from the bottom of my heart
I thank you
joys of love
We are each the love of someone’s life
and
the life of someone's love
and
the life of someone's love
our love embraces our lover
our lover embraces our love
we are surrounded by the love of others
a mother's love
a father's love
a God's love
If the ties of these loves are broken
our souls turn to stone
our hearts to tears
our tears to rust
our lover embraces our love
we are surrounded by the love of others
a mother's love
a father's love
a God's love
If the ties of these loves are broken
our souls turn to stone
our hearts to tears
our tears to rust
carry on Tuesdays
Alchemy
Little known to the world of walking bipeds there is a magic bear named Bartolome who lives in the forest of the black troll. Bartolome has the power to grant eternal life but only does so for creatures of the forest. Bartolome usually saves his powers for those of his own kind.
However, on one cold rainy spring day a Grizzly old hunter dressed in a bears coat and smelling like an bear himself crawled into the cave of Bartolome and whispered in a low grunting voice that he was about to die. "Bartolome," he said. ""Will you grant me eternal life?" Bartolome being half asleep and cold did not recognize the the old hunter as being a human. "What do you have for me?", Bartolome said. The old hunter was quick to reply, "I will provide you fish and berries for the next year." Well thought the old Bear, that's not a bad deal. "OK", Bartolome replied, "but for a year of fish and berries I will only give you a year of life". The old hunter thought that after he fed Bartolome for a year they would be good friends and he would get his eternal life. "OK, the hunter replied. "It's a deal."
Bartolome told the old hunter to take his clothes off. "Why?" asked the hunter. "For my power to work you must be as you entered the world", replied Bartolome. When the hunter was naked Bartolome realized that the hunter had tricked him. Bartolome was furious. "You tricked me", he roared. "But the animal world is not devious like you humans" he bellowed. "I will hold up my end of the bargain." "You will have your one year of guaranteed life." "But if you miss one day of fish and berries you will die instantly", Bartolome warned.
Bartolome opened his pouch of magic stones and selected a green and and a blue one. When he struck them together a flash of golden light surrounded the old hunter. Then Bartolome selected a black and white stone. When he struck the black and the white stone together the power of the earth mixed with the golden light and as one they entered the old hunters body. "There", said Bartolome. "you have your one year of life." "But, beware, my power is only good as far as your health is concerned". I cannot guarantee you a safe passage in life."
"Now", said Bartolome. "While you get dressed I will go to the stream for water." After the old bear left the cave the old hunter began to eye the old bear's magic pouch. If I can steal those stones he thought, I can give myself eternal life and I won't need that stupid old bear. He put his hand inside the pouch to steal the stones and found one other item in the bag. That item was a large Diamond Back rattle snake that Bartolome used in his magic incantations.
The smoke of burning venom when mixed with the color of the clashing stones was the final touch of magic that gave eternal life. The poison of the venom when injected into his hand was the final touch that gave the old hunter eternal death.
The Alchemist came to turn
my heart of iron
into a heart of gold
but God stepped in
and turned my heart
to love
written for Sunday scribblings
sing along with me
A song is but a little thing........And yet what joy it is to sing!
Oh how awesome these words are to me
a song is my soul
a song is my being
music is everything
music is like
a tree
the roots of life
for me
oh how I wish
I
could sing
I croak and croon
and
ribbit like a frog
or howl
in the shower
like
a dog
baying at
the
moon
I
never falter
I
never quit
oh
how lucky
your are
you do not
have to listen
to
a croaky old voice
that can never be
silenced
a croaky old voice
that can never be
silenced
written for and dedicated to Kieth at Carry on Tuesday
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