This will be a brief entry. Though there will still be plenty of gold in here for it to be just incredibly profound. Perhaps, even having some worth, of some kind or other.
I am sitting in the living room of my cousin (one of three cousin's I grew up with in my idyllic Tuscaloosa childhood of those magical 1980's...and, wow, some the 70's too).
Keith, the eldest of the three 'Redmans' or, 'Redman boys' or 'Nellie's boys', (the older brother of Don and Mark) has been hosting Thanksgiving dinner the lat few years. Open house, as my grandmother--herself a central figure in those Rockwellian days of yesteryear--says.
It is a beautiful moment.
Sure, I am bloated. Too full to move, and frankly disgusted with the gluttony I have demonstrated (and that this nation has made this holiday about.)
Of course, I am tired. We have covered many miles today. And I have many miles left before I...ah, you get the point.
Though I am surrounded by beautiful people. I refer to our beautiful faces and bodies, sure, though really...well, this is my family. I have seen much of my family today, in different parts of the state. Its been bliss.
And though I must admit, I have really struggled to blog this...searching, and fighting for a new password, and all sorts of junk.
But I just had to share. Its a special day and I have known such joy and contentment. Therefore...I'm bringin' bloggin' back!
What these few minutes lack in substance and profundity, they carry a life's worth--at least a year's worth--food, music, food, more food, good cheer (and all the ways one may know cheer) and family. It's worth a lot. Certainly worth this digital space taken up, and this new password I fought tooth and nail. I just had to blog it.
Peace to you all, and rooooooooooooll Tide, roll!!!!!!
Thursday, November 25, 2010
Thursday, December 31, 2009
6 Minutes Dougie Fresh, You're On!
Well, that flashback to the glory days of hip hop are used to describe my post. I have to create various and sundry challenges for the writing discipline, because, well, I want to become a writer!
I'm doing the 6-minute challenge. I have 4 minutes left!
I overheard a (actual) writer on NPR, saying, "whatever you do, do not 'not write'" or something to that effect.
So I am trying to write. A lot. Maybe I should say 'often' because I'm just not going to get that much written in 6, make that 2, minutes. At least I am writing again, and I will be writing more.
Your gift, gratis, from me!
Late Christmas gift? Sure. New Year's blessing? Mos def!
THough I will end it with a friendly 'hello'. Wait, make that a friendly, 'aloha'.
Cause I gotta say buh-bye too. Six minutes are gone!
~pax~
MMS
I'm doing the 6-minute challenge. I have 4 minutes left!
I overheard a (actual) writer on NPR, saying, "whatever you do, do not 'not write'" or something to that effect.
So I am trying to write. A lot. Maybe I should say 'often' because I'm just not going to get that much written in 6, make that 2, minutes. At least I am writing again, and I will be writing more.
Your gift, gratis, from me!
Late Christmas gift? Sure. New Year's blessing? Mos def!
THough I will end it with a friendly 'hello'. Wait, make that a friendly, 'aloha'.
Cause I gotta say buh-bye too. Six minutes are gone!
~pax~
MMS
Monday, September 7, 2009
The Stormy Calm Before the Calming Storm
So here I am, a roarin' back!!! Back for the attack!!! Well, perhaps more like tomorrow I am back.
You see, today is Labor Day. A day to do anything and everything other than real work.
Though I cannot look at this--writing--as work. It has become so very mch more than that to me. Its an interest, a passion, a pursuit: all of these thigns, mos def!
And it is slowly, but surely, becoming a lifestyle. It is something I love.
This brings me to two of my very favorite quotes. The first has to do with that 'work' thing. Something I belive in, support, and try to do well. And its somethign I often find mysefl avoiding like the proverbial plague!
The quote in question is, "do what you love and you'll never work a day in your life". Well, its something like that. And, its from someone like me. I think this way too, and its exactly what I am seeking with, for, and through my life. My life's work is to not work. Well, it is to do something, make something, say something, paint something (whether through words, music, electricity, wood, or even, say, paint?). My goal is to leave my mark on the world, on history and humanity. Though the goal is to devote my life to it, work as hard as I can in doing it, and never having it be work, per se.
A labor of love, if you will.
Now, the question is, what exactly is this? What is that true calling? What is my vocation to be?
I preach. I feel called to preach. I feel I do this well. Though there are so many parts of the preaching lofe that are NOT me. So much to ministry that is not minstry. I tmakes one wonder about being in ministry! And sometimes Christians make it so hard to find Jesus and help the gospel live in the world. Though I believe in nothing, if not sharing Christ's gospel--the true, biblical gospel, not some 'church culture of the 20th century' tradition of a meeting and eating club. I have to keep at this one--Jesus doesnt seem to let me stop! And that's cool with me.
I am a musician. At least, I hope I am. I play guitar, I have for a long time. Though the key is to go from being 'one who plays guitar' to 'guitarist' and then from 'guitarist' to 'musician'. And then, the ultimate transition is to go from 'musician' to 'artist'. Here's to that!
Then there is writing...you know how I feel about writing. At least, if you read the first paragraph, you know how I feel about writing. I want to find some way to bring writing into a predominant part of my life. Work? Well, maybe more like one of those "things I do".
I love animals and work hard to take care of as many as I possibly can. I'd do just about anything to have a shot at becoming a navy chaplain--or any other branch, for that matter. I love cooking and I cook very well, if I do say so myself. I actually enjoy doing electrical work, and--believe it or not-- I'm good at that! I could really see myself pitching for the Atlanta Braves and they can always use another good relief pitcher. Hey, as far as that goes, I love smoking and drinking and ordering in restaurants! (Not really, well, not all of those. Not anymore, at least). Point is, there is so very much I could see myself doing. Things I would hope to do--and I do hope to do them. I hope to do them well, and maybe make it a life's work. Maybe all of them.
To help narrow it down a tad bit, I use one other quote. I discovered this up in Harlan County, Kentucky. Not exactly where I would expect to find a real key to my future, but hey--you take what you can get!
It has become a guiding principle in my life, and I find the more closely I am to this ideal, the better things are.
"Don't ask 'what does the world need?', ask 'what makes me come alive?'. Because, what the world needs is people that have come alive".
Here's to that!
Have a day of rest and relaxation. Chilax a bit, if you will. Though tomorrow, I am getting down to business. I never been so serious about getting serious. And I aim to be hard at it--trying to devote my life to spending every free moment, using every gift I have, to make this world a better place. And in so doing, never work another day of my life!
happy Labor Day amigos!
MMS~
You see, today is Labor Day. A day to do anything and everything other than real work.
Though I cannot look at this--writing--as work. It has become so very mch more than that to me. Its an interest, a passion, a pursuit: all of these thigns, mos def!
And it is slowly, but surely, becoming a lifestyle. It is something I love.
This brings me to two of my very favorite quotes. The first has to do with that 'work' thing. Something I belive in, support, and try to do well. And its somethign I often find mysefl avoiding like the proverbial plague!
The quote in question is, "do what you love and you'll never work a day in your life". Well, its something like that. And, its from someone like me. I think this way too, and its exactly what I am seeking with, for, and through my life. My life's work is to not work. Well, it is to do something, make something, say something, paint something (whether through words, music, electricity, wood, or even, say, paint?). My goal is to leave my mark on the world, on history and humanity. Though the goal is to devote my life to it, work as hard as I can in doing it, and never having it be work, per se.
A labor of love, if you will.
Now, the question is, what exactly is this? What is that true calling? What is my vocation to be?
I preach. I feel called to preach. I feel I do this well. Though there are so many parts of the preaching lofe that are NOT me. So much to ministry that is not minstry. I tmakes one wonder about being in ministry! And sometimes Christians make it so hard to find Jesus and help the gospel live in the world. Though I believe in nothing, if not sharing Christ's gospel--the true, biblical gospel, not some 'church culture of the 20th century' tradition of a meeting and eating club. I have to keep at this one--Jesus doesnt seem to let me stop! And that's cool with me.
I am a musician. At least, I hope I am. I play guitar, I have for a long time. Though the key is to go from being 'one who plays guitar' to 'guitarist' and then from 'guitarist' to 'musician'. And then, the ultimate transition is to go from 'musician' to 'artist'. Here's to that!
Then there is writing...you know how I feel about writing. At least, if you read the first paragraph, you know how I feel about writing. I want to find some way to bring writing into a predominant part of my life. Work? Well, maybe more like one of those "things I do".
I love animals and work hard to take care of as many as I possibly can. I'd do just about anything to have a shot at becoming a navy chaplain--or any other branch, for that matter. I love cooking and I cook very well, if I do say so myself. I actually enjoy doing electrical work, and--believe it or not-- I'm good at that! I could really see myself pitching for the Atlanta Braves and they can always use another good relief pitcher. Hey, as far as that goes, I love smoking and drinking and ordering in restaurants! (Not really, well, not all of those. Not anymore, at least). Point is, there is so very much I could see myself doing. Things I would hope to do--and I do hope to do them. I hope to do them well, and maybe make it a life's work. Maybe all of them.
To help narrow it down a tad bit, I use one other quote. I discovered this up in Harlan County, Kentucky. Not exactly where I would expect to find a real key to my future, but hey--you take what you can get!
It has become a guiding principle in my life, and I find the more closely I am to this ideal, the better things are.
"Don't ask 'what does the world need?', ask 'what makes me come alive?'. Because, what the world needs is people that have come alive".
Here's to that!
Have a day of rest and relaxation. Chilax a bit, if you will. Though tomorrow, I am getting down to business. I never been so serious about getting serious. And I aim to be hard at it--trying to devote my life to spending every free moment, using every gift I have, to make this world a better place. And in so doing, never work another day of my life!
happy Labor Day amigos!
MMS~
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Me and General MacArthur
To the masses--the scores and scores of readers, to my dear friends, to complete and wayfaring strangers:
Hello there! Yes, it's me, the long-lost bloggist.
Though I first let you down. I am sorry to say that you will not have too much to read. Take a second. Compose yourself. I let you down gently.
It's not all that bad. Maybe it's more like all-good? You see, I will be back to feed your literary and intellectual hunger once again. "An enigmatic union of esoteric thought"*. It's just a matter of time.
I am using the remaining days of (unofficial) summer, that is, the days leading up to Labor Day, to rest, work, think, compose my self, and compose...myself~
The return is tentatively scheduled for the Tuesday, Wednesday, or Thursday after Labor Day, whatever date that is. I know, I know. I do this a lot. Though hey, I love me some national holidays! There are such excellent opportunities to regain strength, regather steam. And they are a professional procrastinators dream! Hey, it's just my way.
I am seriously pondering adding a bit of new--to me--technology to my repertoire. I have avoided Facebook and other 'social networking' sites and groups and web-based communities like the plague. No, not entirely because I'm an adult (I borrowed that joke from Entourage, one of my very favorites. And I don't entirely agree with the joke). I just get lazy with some techno-trends. Some I stay away from just because others are go so completely ape-sh#t over them. I tend to do this with over watched, over-hyped, and over-discussed t.v. shows. Por ejemplo, I have never watched an episode of American Idol, Survivor, The Apprentice or any other piece of reality-based garbage. I'm sure that makes a powerful statement and completely shifts the balance of power on the world.
I routinely stay 2-5 years behind most everyone else with new stuff. Unless it's musical in nature. Or, unless I can afford it.
Though the dear and beautiful Mary Ann seems fairly interested in Facebook. It seems to be the least dork of the choices out there. I know several other very cool people that are Facebook enthusiasts. And some of them are even over the age of 30! ( I still think that people under 30 completely cringe when the over-30's break into those domains, though it's becoming more and more tolerated.) They go with the millions of others that are completely uncool with Facebook, the dreaded Myspace and any others that are fly by night, day, week, or year. And Twitter, well, Twitter seems to be fairly blog-friendly in nature. I suppose that's like the main goal of it, actually. And so that just may be a perfect compliment to this here 'Artesian well' of written-word brilliance. Put that with the coming storm--make that the coming Storm (a Blackberry at long last!!!) and we may just have a full-on artistic and technological revolution and renaissance. We shall see.
In any event, I shall return.**
best,
Mateo~
ps-for the theologically-minded, spiritually-pulled, homeletically-curious, or those who just like to read, speculate, pontificate, or argue, please don't forget about my more ecclesially-oriented blog, www.bum-cat.blogspot.com! there will be an update or to added to that sooner than later. pax~
*borrowed form the most brilliant Dream Theater, and their song, A Rite of Passage
**borrowed from the famous declaration of one General Douglas MacArthur:
"The President of the United States ordered me to break through the Japanese lines and proceed from Corregidor to Australia for the purpose, as I understand it, of organizing the American offensive against Japan, a primary objective of which is the relief of the Philippines. I came through and I shall return."
Hello there! Yes, it's me, the long-lost bloggist.
Though I first let you down. I am sorry to say that you will not have too much to read. Take a second. Compose yourself. I let you down gently.
It's not all that bad. Maybe it's more like all-good? You see, I will be back to feed your literary and intellectual hunger once again. "An enigmatic union of esoteric thought"*. It's just a matter of time.
I am using the remaining days of (unofficial) summer, that is, the days leading up to Labor Day, to rest, work, think, compose my self, and compose...myself~
The return is tentatively scheduled for the Tuesday, Wednesday, or Thursday after Labor Day, whatever date that is. I know, I know. I do this a lot. Though hey, I love me some national holidays! There are such excellent opportunities to regain strength, regather steam. And they are a professional procrastinators dream! Hey, it's just my way.
I am seriously pondering adding a bit of new--to me--technology to my repertoire. I have avoided Facebook and other 'social networking' sites and groups and web-based communities like the plague. No, not entirely because I'm an adult (I borrowed that joke from Entourage, one of my very favorites. And I don't entirely agree with the joke). I just get lazy with some techno-trends. Some I stay away from just because others are go so completely ape-sh#t over them. I tend to do this with over watched, over-hyped, and over-discussed t.v. shows. Por ejemplo, I have never watched an episode of American Idol, Survivor, The Apprentice or any other piece of reality-based garbage. I'm sure that makes a powerful statement and completely shifts the balance of power on the world.
I routinely stay 2-5 years behind most everyone else with new stuff. Unless it's musical in nature. Or, unless I can afford it.
Though the dear and beautiful Mary Ann seems fairly interested in Facebook. It seems to be the least dork of the choices out there. I know several other very cool people that are Facebook enthusiasts. And some of them are even over the age of 30! ( I still think that people under 30 completely cringe when the over-30's break into those domains, though it's becoming more and more tolerated.) They go with the millions of others that are completely uncool with Facebook, the dreaded Myspace and any others that are fly by night, day, week, or year. And Twitter, well, Twitter seems to be fairly blog-friendly in nature. I suppose that's like the main goal of it, actually. And so that just may be a perfect compliment to this here 'Artesian well' of written-word brilliance. Put that with the coming storm--make that the coming Storm (a Blackberry at long last!!!) and we may just have a full-on artistic and technological revolution and renaissance. We shall see.
In any event, I shall return.**
best,
Mateo~
ps-for the theologically-minded, spiritually-pulled, homeletically-curious, or those who just like to read, speculate, pontificate, or argue, please don't forget about my more ecclesially-oriented blog, www.bum-cat.blogspot.com! there will be an update or to added to that sooner than later. pax~
*borrowed form the most brilliant Dream Theater, and their song, A Rite of Passage
**borrowed from the famous declaration of one General Douglas MacArthur:
"The President of the United States ordered me to break through the Japanese lines and proceed from Corregidor to Australia for the purpose, as I understand it, of organizing the American offensive against Japan, a primary objective of which is the relief of the Philippines. I came through and I shall return."
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
The Process
hi there. good Wednesday to you, good people. the morning is fine, the latte is smooth, though stout! life is good and off to a good start today.
I am increasingly drawn to this craft. writing. what makes writing good? what writing do we want to read? how does one write? why?
this here blog was created, and is, hopefully, created often with the intent of exploring these questions and quests. ah, to write and be read. or, simply, to write. the process.
the last thing I want this arena for the great craft to be is a sort of electronic journal. an e-diary. well, one doesn't necessarily need blog or other electronic medium or space to keep a daily journal (that's what Moleskin's are for!)
and why write a personal journal or diary to share with the world? I mean, some folks do it--its their cup of tea. anyway, others are much better at that than I.
but let's face it, if it was the inner-most, or most-mundane, dia rhetorical thoughts of a celebrity...it would be a hit.
with the occasional inner-voice gone outer (the classic "inny" v "outty" debate), the occasional self-musing, or the oft over used parenthetical phrase (of which I am quite fond [obviously!]), notwithstanding, this place must be another thing. it will be something different. I hope.
to that end, I will keep write. writers write, and I want to be a writer. my last teacher of Christian Thought--that's a particular class, not a lifelong devotion of connecting with Jesus--was Brooks Holifiled. I know, he sounds like either a kind of shoe or child or the latest wife of the great champ Evander! (Evander is Holyfield) He is neither. A is a good teacher. He was a very difficult teacher for me, and thus, a good teacher. In this case, though=good. That's not always true. But for me, and him, it was true. HE was a good teacher because I learned some things.
Well, I learned one thing that I know of, and it's about writing! So, God bless Brooks Holifield.
In his class Brooks stressed the importance of writing for those past-present-future practitioners of the Christian faith. (btw, it is not a true Christian faith if it is not practiced. theoretical theology never saved the world). He told us what, ihho, writing is.
Writing is re-writing.
It took me a little while to fully grasp that. But I am still starting to get it. It you simply go with the first thing that jumps in your head, its not writing--it's journeying. It's a stream of consciousness. It's a diary.
Those are certainly forms of writing, though not the kind of writing I am after here. I want to create a body of work that is good. Good work is important.
While we may not think work is necessarily pleasant, unless you are a work-a-holic, I think it can be. If you love your work. Business should rarely, if ever, mix with pleasure less the two become confused with the other.
I love this kind of work, and would so love for writing to be my work. I already employ writing in my work in many ways. That's a real gift from God. And so, I will write. And re-write. And write.
An important element of which to be aware with these musings is the particular process I use for this particular medium. I tend to arrive at the 'publish post' button-pushing-time somewhere between 'editing ' and 'finished'. That would mean there's been some re-writing done, and that there is plenty more re-writing left to do!
One could say that my 'publish post' button needs replacing much more frequently than my 'save as draft' button. And one would be correct in so saying.
The reader's of The Digital Moleskine will typically see something like a 3rd draft with each first version. And then, over time, the post will be progressively more and more re-written. Re-fined. Re-al.
Many, many things bring this about. Occasionally I will lie awake at night fretting the possibility of glaring typo's (imagine the embarrassment of trying to text 'I forgot' with a misplaced 'r' for a 'g'!) or other mistakes and errors. Occasionally the notion to add, delete, correct, clarify, qualify, or otherwise alter and change something from the first stab.
Point being, pretty much all the time, it's a work in progress. Though hang in there with me, won't you? It is my joy to try and offer you something of worth over time. It is my hope that this little blog o' mine be worth your time.
I aim to provide some good work, good reading, good stuff. I aim to not only write, but re-write and re-fine and give you something that you can re-gurgitate. Not make you re-gurgitate, mind you. Though something you can and will want to remember. And maybe, pass it on. And maybe, re-spond.
Be well, do good work, and keep in touch.*®
M~
P.S.--that tag line is some one's good work. It's Garrison Keillor, from The Writer's Almanac.
That show is some great work. Do check it out: writersalmanac.publicradio.org
I am increasingly drawn to this craft. writing. what makes writing good? what writing do we want to read? how does one write? why?
this here blog was created, and is, hopefully, created often with the intent of exploring these questions and quests. ah, to write and be read. or, simply, to write. the process.
the last thing I want this arena for the great craft to be is a sort of electronic journal. an e-diary. well, one doesn't necessarily need blog or other electronic medium or space to keep a daily journal (that's what Moleskin's are for!)
and why write a personal journal or diary to share with the world? I mean, some folks do it--its their cup of tea. anyway, others are much better at that than I.
but let's face it, if it was the inner-most, or most-mundane, dia rhetorical thoughts of a celebrity...it would be a hit.
with the occasional inner-voice gone outer (the classic "inny" v "outty" debate), the occasional self-musing, or the oft over used parenthetical phrase (of which I am quite fond [obviously!]), notwithstanding, this place must be another thing. it will be something different. I hope.
to that end, I will keep write. writers write, and I want to be a writer. my last teacher of Christian Thought--that's a particular class, not a lifelong devotion of connecting with Jesus--was Brooks Holifiled. I know, he sounds like either a kind of shoe or child or the latest wife of the great champ Evander! (Evander is Holyfield) He is neither. A is a good teacher. He was a very difficult teacher for me, and thus, a good teacher. In this case, though=good. That's not always true. But for me, and him, it was true. HE was a good teacher because I learned some things.
Well, I learned one thing that I know of, and it's about writing! So, God bless Brooks Holifield.
In his class Brooks stressed the importance of writing for those past-present-future practitioners of the Christian faith. (btw, it is not a true Christian faith if it is not practiced. theoretical theology never saved the world). He told us what, ihho, writing is.
Writing is re-writing.
It took me a little while to fully grasp that. But I am still starting to get it. It you simply go with the first thing that jumps in your head, its not writing--it's journeying. It's a stream of consciousness. It's a diary.
Those are certainly forms of writing, though not the kind of writing I am after here. I want to create a body of work that is good. Good work is important.
While we may not think work is necessarily pleasant, unless you are a work-a-holic, I think it can be. If you love your work. Business should rarely, if ever, mix with pleasure less the two become confused with the other.
I love this kind of work, and would so love for writing to be my work. I already employ writing in my work in many ways. That's a real gift from God. And so, I will write. And re-write. And write.
An important element of which to be aware with these musings is the particular process I use for this particular medium. I tend to arrive at the 'publish post' button-pushing-time somewhere between 'editing ' and 'finished'. That would mean there's been some re-writing done, and that there is plenty more re-writing left to do!
One could say that my 'publish post' button needs replacing much more frequently than my 'save as draft' button. And one would be correct in so saying.
The reader's of The Digital Moleskine will typically see something like a 3rd draft with each first version. And then, over time, the post will be progressively more and more re-written. Re-fined. Re-al.
Many, many things bring this about. Occasionally I will lie awake at night fretting the possibility of glaring typo's (imagine the embarrassment of trying to text 'I forgot' with a misplaced 'r' for a 'g'!) or other mistakes and errors. Occasionally the notion to add, delete, correct, clarify, qualify, or otherwise alter and change something from the first stab.
Point being, pretty much all the time, it's a work in progress. Though hang in there with me, won't you? It is my joy to try and offer you something of worth over time. It is my hope that this little blog o' mine be worth your time.
I aim to provide some good work, good reading, good stuff. I aim to not only write, but re-write and re-fine and give you something that you can re-gurgitate. Not make you re-gurgitate, mind you. Though something you can and will want to remember. And maybe, pass it on. And maybe, re-spond.
Be well, do good work, and keep in touch.*®
M~
P.S.--that tag line is some one's good work. It's Garrison Keillor, from The Writer's Almanac.
That show is some great work. Do check it out: writersalmanac.publicradio.org
Sunday, July 5, 2009
Part II
Yo, ho, ho and ahoy mateys!
"I'm back, baby!" (Bender, Futurama)
Typically, I see alligators on t.v. I have seen some at the zoo, of course. And to tell the truth, my folks tell of a wild adventure down through the Florida Everglades when I was a wee tot. Though, I rarely--actually, I have never--seen an alligator at the donut shop! Great minds think alike, I suppose. This Florida gator is just the latest addition to the cast of characters and incredible moments that I have experienced in these past three days.
We must start by saying how very fortunate--how truly blessed beyond any proper appreciation--I am that I was born in these here Unites States of America. And to the Republic, I give thanks to God. I am proud to be an American. I kind of hate that song, no offense to Lee Greenwood, but hey...
What I really hope is that this sense of pride I feel never turn to arrogance. That my patriotism never see nationalism. And may I always be painfully aware that the only thing I did to deserve such freedom is to be born inside the lines. Well, I suppose I did dabble with the United States Air Force for a brief time...
Though as my wife and I stood at The Hangout, a faily new, well, hang out in Gulf Shores, and watched a bang-up fireworks display, I realized how good we have it. And one should always remember that there are just as many, if not many more, that do not have it so good. And more than likely, those that have it good usually benifit from those that dont have it so good. Every action, equal and opposite reaction and so on, and so forth. Those that dont have it so good? Well, they were born outside the lines. Funny ole' world.
But its this nation's birthday that got us down here. Well, thats what gave MA a less than common off day, which gave us a nice little push down the highway. The 4th of July holiday is an extraordinary time. And its a meaningful moment to soak it all in. Reflect. Celebrate. Eat.
In the next day or so, you will be reading about my new love and appreciation of all things Jimmy Buffett. There is much to tell of how we ambulated round the streets of Gulf Shores, seeing the sights, eating the shrimp, and swimming with the fishes.
THough the best part, which means its really, really, good, is the sights and sounds of children in the time and place. There was a little crying (I think resulting from a live band's full sonic assault and repeated droppings of the F-Bomb). There was some bossing around, and some bullying (brothers and sisters will be brothers and sisters). But best of all, was just the chatter of wonder and the laughter of youth and summer and sand and sea. It took me back, a long, good, way.
I had a great life goring up, with a better-than-great family. From our first trip in the Everglades, to our next, last trip (for this trip) to the beach today, its still a good life.
I'm ready, excited, and committed to start really living it. Take a huge bite of that peach that is life and let those juices drip from my chinny-chin-chin. Bt first, I have to go save Mary Ann from that ole' donut loving reptile. Perhaps I'll name him "Homer". TTFN.
ciao,
M~
"I'm back, baby!" (Bender, Futurama)
Typically, I see alligators on t.v. I have seen some at the zoo, of course. And to tell the truth, my folks tell of a wild adventure down through the Florida Everglades when I was a wee tot. Though, I rarely--actually, I have never--seen an alligator at the donut shop! Great minds think alike, I suppose. This Florida gator is just the latest addition to the cast of characters and incredible moments that I have experienced in these past three days.
We must start by saying how very fortunate--how truly blessed beyond any proper appreciation--I am that I was born in these here Unites States of America. And to the Republic, I give thanks to God. I am proud to be an American. I kind of hate that song, no offense to Lee Greenwood, but hey...
What I really hope is that this sense of pride I feel never turn to arrogance. That my patriotism never see nationalism. And may I always be painfully aware that the only thing I did to deserve such freedom is to be born inside the lines. Well, I suppose I did dabble with the United States Air Force for a brief time...
Though as my wife and I stood at The Hangout, a faily new, well, hang out in Gulf Shores, and watched a bang-up fireworks display, I realized how good we have it. And one should always remember that there are just as many, if not many more, that do not have it so good. And more than likely, those that have it good usually benifit from those that dont have it so good. Every action, equal and opposite reaction and so on, and so forth. Those that dont have it so good? Well, they were born outside the lines. Funny ole' world.
But its this nation's birthday that got us down here. Well, thats what gave MA a less than common off day, which gave us a nice little push down the highway. The 4th of July holiday is an extraordinary time. And its a meaningful moment to soak it all in. Reflect. Celebrate. Eat.
In the next day or so, you will be reading about my new love and appreciation of all things Jimmy Buffett. There is much to tell of how we ambulated round the streets of Gulf Shores, seeing the sights, eating the shrimp, and swimming with the fishes.
THough the best part, which means its really, really, good, is the sights and sounds of children in the time and place. There was a little crying (I think resulting from a live band's full sonic assault and repeated droppings of the F-Bomb). There was some bossing around, and some bullying (brothers and sisters will be brothers and sisters). But best of all, was just the chatter of wonder and the laughter of youth and summer and sand and sea. It took me back, a long, good, way.
I had a great life goring up, with a better-than-great family. From our first trip in the Everglades, to our next, last trip (for this trip) to the beach today, its still a good life.
I'm ready, excited, and committed to start really living it. Take a huge bite of that peach that is life and let those juices drip from my chinny-chin-chin. Bt first, I have to go save Mary Ann from that ole' donut loving reptile. Perhaps I'll name him "Homer". TTFN.
ciao,
M~
Saturday, July 4, 2009
The Pirate, the Sea, and Luca Brazzie
Face front, true believers!
Yes, it is true. I am back! And this time...of, its all been said before. Just know that I am back, and I am ready to write. And write I will. And, later it will be. You see, I am square in the middle of a wonderful adventure. And its sharply dinnertime in this particular wonderful adventure. My bride of 13 plus years (the fare Mary Ann, of course) and I have yet to dine. And dine we will! More than that, we will sup together on this fine day--it is a fine day, the 4th of July, a fine day, indeed--with some fresh catch. Tuna I am thinking. Of course, the obligatory fresh shrimp, probably some crab--legs or claws--taters, maybe some maters, corn, and the rest...well, leave that to your imagination.
This entry is a quick one. Check that. This is a rushes entry. I have so much to tell, and yet MA is actually ready ahead of schedule! So, the opportunity, as the day, must be seized!
I will be back, although it may be, technically, July 5th. But in an effort to show my readership (hopefully more than the triumvirate of "me, myself, and I") that I mean business, and pleasure, with my new commitment to write...I am back, as promised. And its Independence Day.
Happy Independence Day. Come back. There is much to tell. Read. Celebrate. Live.
See you soon.
M~
Yes, it is true. I am back! And this time...of, its all been said before. Just know that I am back, and I am ready to write. And write I will. And, later it will be. You see, I am square in the middle of a wonderful adventure. And its sharply dinnertime in this particular wonderful adventure. My bride of 13 plus years (the fare Mary Ann, of course) and I have yet to dine. And dine we will! More than that, we will sup together on this fine day--it is a fine day, the 4th of July, a fine day, indeed--with some fresh catch. Tuna I am thinking. Of course, the obligatory fresh shrimp, probably some crab--legs or claws--taters, maybe some maters, corn, and the rest...well, leave that to your imagination.
This entry is a quick one. Check that. This is a rushes entry. I have so much to tell, and yet MA is actually ready ahead of schedule! So, the opportunity, as the day, must be seized!
I will be back, although it may be, technically, July 5th. But in an effort to show my readership (hopefully more than the triumvirate of "me, myself, and I") that I mean business, and pleasure, with my new commitment to write...I am back, as promised. And its Independence Day.
Happy Independence Day. Come back. There is much to tell. Read. Celebrate. Live.
See you soon.
M~
Monday, May 25, 2009
Never Forget
On this fine day, I plan to kick back, relax, and enjoy life--a life made possible, not entirely, but, in large part by some folks who have died. They died for me, and they died for you. Particularly if one is a citizen of the United States, one should feel a great debt of gratitude to the American soldier. and very much as well the United States marine, the sailor, the air men and the officers of each.
Memorial remembers, and honors those many men and women who gave their life while fighting enemies of the United States, foreign and domestic and those that threaten our constitution. That's Memorial Day. Now it is a fine thing to remember all servicemen and servicewomen, though the day belongs to those who have died. As in the saygin, "all gave some, some gave all". Let's never forget what they did, and why they did it.
It is a pet peeve, probably nothing more, that people tend to mix and match and confuse their holidays. We make so many things a holiday without giving the ture weight and reverence to what the very term means: holy day.
Holy means set apart, and there are some days that a worth setting apart. Memorial Day is one such day. So is Veteran's Day, to be sure but the two are not the same. Please...learn the difference, share what you have learned, kick back, relax, and remember.
Peace be with you.
epilogue--yes, you are correct. I'm back baby!!! I've been gone way too long I know. Though I will be slipping back from obscurity into regularity more and more throughout the summer. I will be away for a few more days yet, though I'll see you soon. In fact, I'll see you on the solstice!
Memorial remembers, and honors those many men and women who gave their life while fighting enemies of the United States, foreign and domestic and those that threaten our constitution. That's Memorial Day. Now it is a fine thing to remember all servicemen and servicewomen, though the day belongs to those who have died. As in the saygin, "all gave some, some gave all". Let's never forget what they did, and why they did it.
It is a pet peeve, probably nothing more, that people tend to mix and match and confuse their holidays. We make so many things a holiday without giving the ture weight and reverence to what the very term means: holy day.
Holy means set apart, and there are some days that a worth setting apart. Memorial Day is one such day. So is Veteran's Day, to be sure but the two are not the same. Please...learn the difference, share what you have learned, kick back, relax, and remember.
Peace be with you.
epilogue--yes, you are correct. I'm back baby!!! I've been gone way too long I know. Though I will be slipping back from obscurity into regularity more and more throughout the summer. I will be away for a few more days yet, though I'll see you soon. In fact, I'll see you on the solstice!
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Cause I'm the Taxman
Yeah baby! The Beatles and the IRS! On tour and coming to a lap-top near you! Or me!
Today, all day and all night, folks will be scrambling to get those tax returns post-marked with a 4-15 date. It's the yearly bedlam that so many of us forget about until this very day. Some, tragically, remember this date the day after today! Sounds like someone I know...real well.
I have learned my lessons, and learned them well. I don't need the stress...there's plenty of other sources for that. I file for my extension early!
So may I suggest that as people are crashing the servers and o.s.'s with exchanges of spreadsheets, e-files, emails to their accountants (I just so happen to have the best in the world, Miss Linda Bynum--she keeps me straight) that you add just a little bit of aural magic to this otherwise calamity of a day. And since John, Paul, George and Ringo had it figured out so well, may as well listen to them, no? This song, Taxman* opens Revolver. Folks, Revolver is an album--a serious album. This masterpiece from The Beatles, released August 5, 1966, is brilliance and soul: the potential source for a terabyte of blog, a library of books and a lifetime of blissful listening.
Since you are no doubt busy this day, I shan't keep you any longer.
Keeping with my commitment, sort of, to stay regular, current, and disciplined with my writing--blog writing at least--I had to get a quickee in on this monumental day...oh behave!
I just blogged to say I love you.
See you next time and get those taxes in! as ridiculous, unfair, unbalanced and oppressive as our tax system is, you must do it or there will be big trouble. Trust me...I'll be climbing up hill for the next few years. Though I will make it to that hilltop. Thanks again Linda! Thanks again everybody!
Peace to you amigos~
Mateo, Tax Payer Reluctant
*For more info on this incredible song and landmark album, you may search your local library...or check this link. You may need to tweak it a bit, though its cool. Out.
http://www.songfacts.com/detail.php?id=101
Today, all day and all night, folks will be scrambling to get those tax returns post-marked with a 4-15 date. It's the yearly bedlam that so many of us forget about until this very day. Some, tragically, remember this date the day after today! Sounds like someone I know...real well.
I have learned my lessons, and learned them well. I don't need the stress...there's plenty of other sources for that. I file for my extension early!
So may I suggest that as people are crashing the servers and o.s.'s with exchanges of spreadsheets, e-files, emails to their accountants (I just so happen to have the best in the world, Miss Linda Bynum--she keeps me straight) that you add just a little bit of aural magic to this otherwise calamity of a day. And since John, Paul, George and Ringo had it figured out so well, may as well listen to them, no? This song, Taxman* opens Revolver. Folks, Revolver is an album--a serious album. This masterpiece from The Beatles, released August 5, 1966, is brilliance and soul: the potential source for a terabyte of blog, a library of books and a lifetime of blissful listening.
Since you are no doubt busy this day, I shan't keep you any longer.
Keeping with my commitment, sort of, to stay regular, current, and disciplined with my writing--blog writing at least--I had to get a quickee in on this monumental day...oh behave!
I just blogged to say I love you.
See you next time and get those taxes in! as ridiculous, unfair, unbalanced and oppressive as our tax system is, you must do it or there will be big trouble. Trust me...I'll be climbing up hill for the next few years. Though I will make it to that hilltop. Thanks again Linda! Thanks again everybody!
Peace to you amigos~
Mateo, Tax Payer Reluctant
*For more info on this incredible song and landmark album, you may search your local library...or check this link. You may need to tweak it a bit, though its cool. Out.
http://www.songfacts.com/detail.php?id=101
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Me and Slim Shady
Well hello dear readership! Guess who's back! Back again! Yes, there's your Slim Shady/Eminem reference. It's likely the only one you'll see here.
Still, it fits. I have been gone, and gone too long. Now that statement reminds me of a wonderfully classic KISS song! No, not God Gave Rock n Roll To You, classic as that is. In it's own way. I mean the song 100, 000 Years. The first few lines perfectly fit, expletive included...
And now, on with the show da*n@t!!!. Say...that reminds me of a song on Motley Crue's first album...ah, enough already!
I am here, today, primarily, to say that I, the consummate bloggist, am back! The blog is back at least. I am still asleep for all practical purposes. And so, for every thing non-practical here goes. I want to announce my return, and a return to regular submissions on this here weblog of mine. I'm gonna let it shine! Sound like a song?
We all have songs, songs that describe nearly every situation this ole' life can throw our way. So today, know this: my song says that I am back and back with a vengeance--screaming for vengeance! (Judas Priest). And this time its personal. I'm all amped up. (Mom, that means 'excited'). Oh, how it feels like the first time. Foreigner. Good Foreigner, as in from the first, self-titled release back in 19 and 77.
Though my gift is my blog, and this one's for you!
Wow-w0w-we-wow! What a nice little hybrid between Reginald Dwight* and Budweiser. We continue...
I had hoped to come roaring back on Saint Patrick's Day. You know, because, like most people I know, I believe to have all that Irish blood coursing through my veins. Though I actually do! Maybe. I think. It's mostly a hunch. Many claim that my red hair is the proof of my Irish heritage. Though some claim that my hair is not red at all! Genomes and genealogies notwithstanding, I didn't make the 3-17-09 promise. I told myself that I would, and then I didn't. That's not procrastination, that's an early April Fool's on me. Got me!
Sad to say, today is a mixed bag of emotion. You see folks, though this is my triumphant return, over the course of composing this little piece I have decided to retire from the writing game. I frankly, unbelievably, have too much to do. This will be my last piece of blog.
And that it your little gift for this special, foolish, first day in April! Too much to do??? Please...
Actually, I do have a lot on my plate right now. Except breakfast, and I need some!
I will be reading, and writing, and teaching, and preaching, and sharing as much as I possibly can read, write, teach, preach, and share. My hope is to be as regular as a prune-eatin' puppy! I refer to my submissions. Submissions here, that is. My blog, that is.
So now friends, as the end draws near, until the next time as we continue to share our adventures in all words written, I leave you with best regards...and the chorus from the aforementioned Motley Crue masterpiece, On With the Show...
"on with the show, goin' on with the show,
come on baby, no, no, no!!!
ooh my, my, my,
my, my, my"
Genius. Pure. Genius. Now wipe those tear-stained eyes as you sit back in utter awe, inspired by that sublime work of art, and have a beautiful day. Write to you soon.
au revoir~
Matthew
*You may best recognize Reginald Dwight as Sir Elton Hercules John. Or something else even.
Next week..."A Thousand Words on Black Sabbath" or "The Pomposity of Ordering a 'Usual' at the Coffee Shoppe".
Still, it fits. I have been gone, and gone too long. Now that statement reminds me of a wonderfully classic KISS song! No, not God Gave Rock n Roll To You, classic as that is. In it's own way. I mean the song 100, 000 Years. The first few lines perfectly fit, expletive included...
And now, on with the show da*n@t!!!. Say...that reminds me of a song on Motley Crue's first album...ah, enough already!
I am here, today, primarily, to say that I, the consummate bloggist, am back! The blog is back at least. I am still asleep for all practical purposes. And so, for every thing non-practical here goes. I want to announce my return, and a return to regular submissions on this here weblog of mine. I'm gonna let it shine! Sound like a song?
We all have songs, songs that describe nearly every situation this ole' life can throw our way. So today, know this: my song says that I am back and back with a vengeance--screaming for vengeance! (Judas Priest). And this time its personal. I'm all amped up. (Mom, that means 'excited'). Oh, how it feels like the first time. Foreigner. Good Foreigner, as in from the first, self-titled release back in 19 and 77.
Though my gift is my blog, and this one's for you!
Wow-w0w-we-wow! What a nice little hybrid between Reginald Dwight* and Budweiser. We continue...
I had hoped to come roaring back on Saint Patrick's Day. You know, because, like most people I know, I believe to have all that Irish blood coursing through my veins. Though I actually do! Maybe. I think. It's mostly a hunch. Many claim that my red hair is the proof of my Irish heritage. Though some claim that my hair is not red at all! Genomes and genealogies notwithstanding, I didn't make the 3-17-09 promise. I told myself that I would, and then I didn't. That's not procrastination, that's an early April Fool's on me. Got me!
Sad to say, today is a mixed bag of emotion. You see folks, though this is my triumphant return, over the course of composing this little piece I have decided to retire from the writing game. I frankly, unbelievably, have too much to do. This will be my last piece of blog.
And that it your little gift for this special, foolish, first day in April! Too much to do??? Please...
Actually, I do have a lot on my plate right now. Except breakfast, and I need some!
I will be reading, and writing, and teaching, and preaching, and sharing as much as I possibly can read, write, teach, preach, and share. My hope is to be as regular as a prune-eatin' puppy! I refer to my submissions. Submissions here, that is. My blog, that is.
So now friends, as the end draws near, until the next time as we continue to share our adventures in all words written, I leave you with best regards...and the chorus from the aforementioned Motley Crue masterpiece, On With the Show...
"on with the show, goin' on with the show,
come on baby, no, no, no!!!
ooh my, my, my,
my, my, my"
Genius. Pure. Genius. Now wipe those tear-stained eyes as you sit back in utter awe, inspired by that sublime work of art, and have a beautiful day. Write to you soon.
au revoir~
Matthew
*You may best recognize Reginald Dwight as Sir Elton Hercules John. Or something else even.
Next week..."A Thousand Words on Black Sabbath" or "The Pomposity of Ordering a 'Usual' at the Coffee Shoppe".
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
A New Day Dawned?
I hope everyone had the chance to watch our President's inauguration yesterday. And before any of you start, with all your "he ain't my president, I didn't vote for him!" and all the regular delusional denials, yes, he is your president. Just as W and all the Bushes, the lot of them, was your president and mine. Just as Clinton was your president...and mine. I support them all, in my love of our nation though I believe 100% of none of what they say and little of what they do! their too human I guess. Though we have one president. One at a time, that is.
And while radio hosts (yes, I fell off the wagon and listened to Rick n Bubba today, for a short while) are tending to focus on the trivial points of the speeches and music and appearances that they can hopefully turn from molehill to mountain, there was a lot more going on.
If you let your differences win the day, then I have sorrow for you. You missed something spectacular, and something that we may not see much in our future. Truth be told, I haven't seen it much in the past either.
I am not referring to the historical nature of B-rok being our first African-American (well, one-half so) president.
I am referring to the awesome sense of oneness, hope, promise, and truth I am beginning to feel. I sensed it in the presidential election, especially in the enthusiasm among the youngest, freshest, newest voters. I say it and heard it and straight-up felt it yesterday it the inauguration. I grooved on that there vibe (that sounds like Lowry)
I was a little annoyed at HBO's "We Are One" special with the 2000 most popular actors, writers, poets, directors, and singers, singers, and more singers. Mostly because the have shown it 203 times this past week.
U2 was awesome! The Boss was there, singing "This Land is Your Land, This Land is My Land" with, it looked like, the feller that wrote it. What could be better?
Crank up your what if machine and dream with me: what if we celebrated the new beginnings and potential of every president in like fashion. If we're going to live as one, then let's live as one! I could then stomach HBO's programming schema a bit better.
We must celebrate dissent! And we can start by allowing it. And then, we work it. Our differences can and should be out strength. There's a reason we all have different d.n.a. and it ain't just to find out if you are the true killer! (Just ask O.J. ...because he is still looking for the true killers. The man's committed, what can I say?)
back to the point...
People are starting to believe in America again. And you know what, it's Americans that are starting to believe in America again. It's not just because of who we put in the office of president, the lofty-titled "leader of the free world". It's more a feeling, a sense, a vibe.
For too long, too many people haven't cared about what others feel. Not what others think. Who cares about that? But what is it that we feel, and sense, and yes, even think collectively? That's what matters. And while I cannot put my finger on it just yet, I am feeling something new and good, feeling it down to my bones. And that's great right now, because my bones are cold!
It is remarkably good that the race battle lines has been beaten back, just a little bit more. And I am glad. I just love how it must be crawling all over Obama's detractors; even those who are among my closest friends from greater Mount Olive, Alabama: bastion of ground-breaking, intelligent, progressive thought, education and equality.
Its sad to say I was reminded just this weekend how alive and well those racial epithet remain. I can not tell f this is in spite of or because of our new accomplishments in showing just a hint of tolerance and equality. Though it matters not. Barack Hussein Obama is our president. A new day has dawned.
I am not a Democrat, nor even really the dreaded 'liberal'. Its funny and pathetic how people have come to hear and use that word as a insult. People use it to infer that one is crazy, or stupid. The word means 'generous'. Look it up. It's called a dictionary. And the fact that some professing Christians on the right say, and believe, that it is not possible for one to be a professing Christian and a Dem-o. Get real people. Watch out little iMac, my temperature's a risin'!
Though I am certainly not a Republican either, or the nearly as insulting 'conservative'. I would, however vote for 'Raw-hide Ronnie Reagan' 100 times in a row...though only if we stayed in the 80's. The Gipper did his part. That word originally meant 'careful'. It's not a bad word either.
In Massachusetts, I would be seen as some sort of "Evangelical, Religious Right Ultra -Conservative". For the record, from the past sentence, I would only use the word "right" to describe me currently, and not on the political line. Right as in just, I hope. I'm more into faith than religion, and I'm fine with my bosses in the religious establishment knowing that. I think they may already.
And in, say, Alabama, I would be described as a "tree hugging environmental-nut-job, crazy liberal that should move to California!" Environmental? Yes! Crazy? You betcha! California? Nah, more like Seattle. I don't know, you may prefer carbon dioxide to clean oxygen. I don't. You may want the polar ice caps to melt. I don't. Call me crazy--never mind, we already have!
I try to be a balanced person who seeks, works, and prays for the common good (or, as many people today call it, inaccurately, 'socialist'). I mean the common good that comes from everyone respecting and caring and standing up for everyone else. I call myself a 'card carrying moderate' who tried to think through one issue at a time, and live to destroy generalizations, stereotypes, and straight-ticket party voting! I am Wesleyan in my theology, or what I believe of and about God. That's a middle position, as in taking the best, most reasonable and rational from both poles. United Methodists are not Evangelical, in the sense of the term that people not involved in the Christian faith use it: like a political group. United Methodists are main-line Protestants. John Wesley practiced, and I try to practice, the 'via media'. Look that up. It's not in the dictionary.
This often makes me moderate or, centrist in my political stance. This often drives others crazy. The majority dismisses it as a cop-out, or an easy way out. Well, I am leery of cops and the middle is anything but easy. Just try it.
Well friendly readers, this latest entry seems to have shifted more to what I feel and believe and try to do. And that's...o.k. This has happened only because I am nothing short of inspired by the events or the last twenty-four to forty eight hours. The new day has dawned, and I have presented to you my new manifesto; the preface at least. I believe this to my core. This new truth can be self-evident, the best kind of truth. Let's not waste it, mmm-kay? Let's get at it! Today, we have our best shot in a long, long, time at becoming one world. Get it on.
For the record, I think Slash is just as African American as Obama. Though I am not expecting Slash to make a presidential run. I'd just settle for a new 'presidentially rocking' Guns n Roses album with the original line-up!
And by the way, if you still believe he (Obama or Slash) is Arabic or Muslim, and by the way, again, the two are not mutually inclusive, I have some beach property in...actually, I don't know what to do with you. I don't know what to say to you. Then again, if you believe these Muslim-captured White House conspiracies, you don't care much for truth and probably haven't read this far. I will pray for and with you, for and with me, for and with the Prez, and for and with the world. So, again get it on!
And while radio hosts (yes, I fell off the wagon and listened to Rick n Bubba today, for a short while) are tending to focus on the trivial points of the speeches and music and appearances that they can hopefully turn from molehill to mountain, there was a lot more going on.
If you let your differences win the day, then I have sorrow for you. You missed something spectacular, and something that we may not see much in our future. Truth be told, I haven't seen it much in the past either.
I am not referring to the historical nature of B-rok being our first African-American (well, one-half so) president.
I am referring to the awesome sense of oneness, hope, promise, and truth I am beginning to feel. I sensed it in the presidential election, especially in the enthusiasm among the youngest, freshest, newest voters. I say it and heard it and straight-up felt it yesterday it the inauguration. I grooved on that there vibe (that sounds like Lowry)
I was a little annoyed at HBO's "We Are One" special with the 2000 most popular actors, writers, poets, directors, and singers, singers, and more singers. Mostly because the have shown it 203 times this past week.
U2 was awesome! The Boss was there, singing "This Land is Your Land, This Land is My Land" with, it looked like, the feller that wrote it. What could be better?
Crank up your what if machine and dream with me: what if we celebrated the new beginnings and potential of every president in like fashion. If we're going to live as one, then let's live as one! I could then stomach HBO's programming schema a bit better.
We must celebrate dissent! And we can start by allowing it. And then, we work it. Our differences can and should be out strength. There's a reason we all have different d.n.a. and it ain't just to find out if you are the true killer! (Just ask O.J. ...because he is still looking for the true killers. The man's committed, what can I say?)
back to the point...
People are starting to believe in America again. And you know what, it's Americans that are starting to believe in America again. It's not just because of who we put in the office of president, the lofty-titled "leader of the free world". It's more a feeling, a sense, a vibe.
For too long, too many people haven't cared about what others feel. Not what others think. Who cares about that? But what is it that we feel, and sense, and yes, even think collectively? That's what matters. And while I cannot put my finger on it just yet, I am feeling something new and good, feeling it down to my bones. And that's great right now, because my bones are cold!
It is remarkably good that the race battle lines has been beaten back, just a little bit more. And I am glad. I just love how it must be crawling all over Obama's detractors; even those who are among my closest friends from greater Mount Olive, Alabama: bastion of ground-breaking, intelligent, progressive thought, education and equality.
Its sad to say I was reminded just this weekend how alive and well those racial epithet remain. I can not tell f this is in spite of or because of our new accomplishments in showing just a hint of tolerance and equality. Though it matters not. Barack Hussein Obama is our president. A new day has dawned.
I am not a Democrat, nor even really the dreaded 'liberal'. Its funny and pathetic how people have come to hear and use that word as a insult. People use it to infer that one is crazy, or stupid. The word means 'generous'. Look it up. It's called a dictionary. And the fact that some professing Christians on the right say, and believe, that it is not possible for one to be a professing Christian and a Dem-o. Get real people. Watch out little iMac, my temperature's a risin'!
Though I am certainly not a Republican either, or the nearly as insulting 'conservative'. I would, however vote for 'Raw-hide Ronnie Reagan' 100 times in a row...though only if we stayed in the 80's. The Gipper did his part. That word originally meant 'careful'. It's not a bad word either.
In Massachusetts, I would be seen as some sort of "Evangelical, Religious Right Ultra -Conservative". For the record, from the past sentence, I would only use the word "right" to describe me currently, and not on the political line. Right as in just, I hope. I'm more into faith than religion, and I'm fine with my bosses in the religious establishment knowing that. I think they may already.
And in, say, Alabama, I would be described as a "tree hugging environmental-nut-job, crazy liberal that should move to California!" Environmental? Yes! Crazy? You betcha! California? Nah, more like Seattle. I don't know, you may prefer carbon dioxide to clean oxygen. I don't. You may want the polar ice caps to melt. I don't. Call me crazy--never mind, we already have!
I try to be a balanced person who seeks, works, and prays for the common good (or, as many people today call it, inaccurately, 'socialist'). I mean the common good that comes from everyone respecting and caring and standing up for everyone else. I call myself a 'card carrying moderate' who tried to think through one issue at a time, and live to destroy generalizations, stereotypes, and straight-ticket party voting! I am Wesleyan in my theology, or what I believe of and about God. That's a middle position, as in taking the best, most reasonable and rational from both poles. United Methodists are not Evangelical, in the sense of the term that people not involved in the Christian faith use it: like a political group. United Methodists are main-line Protestants. John Wesley practiced, and I try to practice, the 'via media'. Look that up. It's not in the dictionary.
This often makes me moderate or, centrist in my political stance. This often drives others crazy. The majority dismisses it as a cop-out, or an easy way out. Well, I am leery of cops and the middle is anything but easy. Just try it.
Well friendly readers, this latest entry seems to have shifted more to what I feel and believe and try to do. And that's...o.k. This has happened only because I am nothing short of inspired by the events or the last twenty-four to forty eight hours. The new day has dawned, and I have presented to you my new manifesto; the preface at least. I believe this to my core. This new truth can be self-evident, the best kind of truth. Let's not waste it, mmm-kay? Let's get at it! Today, we have our best shot in a long, long, time at becoming one world. Get it on.
For the record, I think Slash is just as African American as Obama. Though I am not expecting Slash to make a presidential run. I'd just settle for a new 'presidentially rocking' Guns n Roses album with the original line-up!
And by the way, if you still believe he (Obama or Slash) is Arabic or Muslim, and by the way, again, the two are not mutually inclusive, I have some beach property in...actually, I don't know what to do with you. I don't know what to say to you. Then again, if you believe these Muslim-captured White House conspiracies, you don't care much for truth and probably haven't read this far. I will pray for and with you, for and with me, for and with the Prez, and for and with the world. So, again get it on!
Friday, January 9, 2009
Farnsworth, We Hardly Knew Ye
Things are quiet around the Smith compound tonight. MA is asleep upstairs, the Golden Girls are with me submerged in my study. all of us, everything is...quiet.
and this is strange. of late, at least, this is strange.
no one hated silence, it seems, more than my little black friend, Farnsworth.
no, I'm not looking at skin-color again here. its fur color to which I refer.
Farnsworth was my little black puppy friend. he is gone to a new home. he has been gone for now one week. it has been a tough week.
the little guy ran in front of my car and into my life some 6 months ago. on Apple Grove Road, in the middle of nowhere, he jetted out from the mountainy roadside and got my attention, sure nuff!
my special little guy provided an additional, needed, male presence around the place. Trixie and Scarlett? both girls. of course, MA is all woman! and though one of our cats is technically 'male'...well, c'mon! its a cat! Little-Big-Man gave me another guy to pal around with and a man around the house when I was gone. one more vote for 'us guys'.
yes, that is quite lame. he is a dog, not a human. but I don't care. species be damned! I mean, you just had to know the pup and you'd understand.
Farnsworth kept my attention for the summer. and the fall. and I was, truth be told, hoping the rest of his little dog life. though it wouldnt have been fair to him, to Trixie and Scarlett or even to me and MA. it just wouldnt have been right. he needed a real home.
Trixie and Scarlett--two grown and nearly grown golden retreivers--keep us very busy. it takes a lot to care for dogs, that is, to care like one should care. we couldn't take on a third.
I believe I saved Farnsworth's life, and I believe he believed that.
and though I only brought him home to give him some water that day, I quickly loved Farnsworth enough to let him be ours until we found the right home. and we did. it was the right thing to do.
Zack, and seemingly very cool 8-year old young man, and his father Frank, and the mom of the family now have a new pet. a new family member, I hope (and bet!)
They had no dog, and they were looking. they were at the barber shop one day. I was at the same shop, the same day.
Frank and I later talked about coinsedence.
Frank said he doesnt like the word. I said I'm trying to rid it all-together. it was the right thing to do.
the little guy, 'strong like bull' though he be, came with us to Florida for the New Year celebration. it was great! MA's folks have a BIG back yard, fenced (well enough to trick Farnsworth, who is no dummy!). he ran to his and my heart was content. it was a beautiful sight. he barked at and chased the fireworks that ended 2008 and began 2009.
we strolled the beach together, just one day before he met his knew family.
for a season, I had a fearsome defender and constant companion: unusually smiling, many times peeing, always loving.
the term 'bitter sweet' it is pitiful excuse for the conflict of emotions this rough and tough, little , furry, black tornado has caused me. though a little painful, I'm glad to have them at the end of the day.
he is cared for, very well I hope and pray. and though Scarlett visibly looks for him, I have been able to hide it more. but I'm not as able to hide my tears for my friend who I may never see again, outside my memory and I pray, on God's Golden Shore. and I dont care about hiding the tears. its a good cry, in every sense. and I hope I always remember: it was the right thing to do.
adios amigo!
and goodnight to the rest of you.
MMS
and this is strange. of late, at least, this is strange.
no one hated silence, it seems, more than my little black friend, Farnsworth.
no, I'm not looking at skin-color again here. its fur color to which I refer.
Farnsworth was my little black puppy friend. he is gone to a new home. he has been gone for now one week. it has been a tough week.
the little guy ran in front of my car and into my life some 6 months ago. on Apple Grove Road, in the middle of nowhere, he jetted out from the mountainy roadside and got my attention, sure nuff!
my special little guy provided an additional, needed, male presence around the place. Trixie and Scarlett? both girls. of course, MA is all woman! and though one of our cats is technically 'male'...well, c'mon! its a cat! Little-Big-Man gave me another guy to pal around with and a man around the house when I was gone. one more vote for 'us guys'.
yes, that is quite lame. he is a dog, not a human. but I don't care. species be damned! I mean, you just had to know the pup and you'd understand.
Farnsworth kept my attention for the summer. and the fall. and I was, truth be told, hoping the rest of his little dog life. though it wouldnt have been fair to him, to Trixie and Scarlett or even to me and MA. it just wouldnt have been right. he needed a real home.
Trixie and Scarlett--two grown and nearly grown golden retreivers--keep us very busy. it takes a lot to care for dogs, that is, to care like one should care. we couldn't take on a third.
I believe I saved Farnsworth's life, and I believe he believed that.
and though I only brought him home to give him some water that day, I quickly loved Farnsworth enough to let him be ours until we found the right home. and we did. it was the right thing to do.
Zack, and seemingly very cool 8-year old young man, and his father Frank, and the mom of the family now have a new pet. a new family member, I hope (and bet!)
They had no dog, and they were looking. they were at the barber shop one day. I was at the same shop, the same day.
Frank and I later talked about coinsedence.
Frank said he doesnt like the word. I said I'm trying to rid it all-together. it was the right thing to do.
the little guy, 'strong like bull' though he be, came with us to Florida for the New Year celebration. it was great! MA's folks have a BIG back yard, fenced (well enough to trick Farnsworth, who is no dummy!). he ran to his and my heart was content. it was a beautiful sight. he barked at and chased the fireworks that ended 2008 and began 2009.
we strolled the beach together, just one day before he met his knew family.
for a season, I had a fearsome defender and constant companion: unusually smiling, many times peeing, always loving.
the term 'bitter sweet' it is pitiful excuse for the conflict of emotions this rough and tough, little , furry, black tornado has caused me. though a little painful, I'm glad to have them at the end of the day.
he is cared for, very well I hope and pray. and though Scarlett visibly looks for him, I have been able to hide it more. but I'm not as able to hide my tears for my friend who I may never see again, outside my memory and I pray, on God's Golden Shore. and I dont care about hiding the tears. its a good cry, in every sense. and I hope I always remember: it was the right thing to do.
adios amigo!
and goodnight to the rest of you.
MMS
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
The Christmas Eve Edition of T.D.M.
hello dear readers and non shoppers! by non shoppers, I simply mean if you are reading this, you are likely not out shopping. I am a writer, and a non-shopper, for mere minutes. I will even be traveling to the accursed Wal-Mart soon, though hopefully Target, a slightly lesser evil. Not for nothing, it is my true goal to stay away from Wal-Marts, or The Wal Marts, in 2009. And I exhort you dear reader-friend to the same!
this brings me to a nice little digression.
I have been working through a good book, The Wal Mart Effect. Actually MA commandeered it, as she will on occasion. And that's just fine. We love, we share our lives, may as well share books too. Her most recent hostile takeover of our shared reading is a very cool little piece entitled, Un-Christian. Catchy little title. Bothersome to many, though definitely accurate. I spotted it in our local B.A.M., or, Books-A-Million, and immediately saw the great need in working through it. I feel it may have already captured many of my developing theories, thoughts, and ideas on what's happening in the world, the world of the church, to the church, and, just as often, because of the church.
Though that is for a 2009 post. Along with, I promise, the completion of my little 'A Requiem for Yankee Stadium'--the best working title I have birthed to date to detail our grand journey to the Bronx.
Though for today, I give you a gift. My writing is not the gift, not yet. Hopefully, one day, it will be a gift to all who read it! Though it's a ways off from 'sublime status'. hint: another goal of 2009.
I witnessed something the other day. Last Friday, to be exact (now a couple of Friday's ago). Here comes the set-up.
Auburn University is my sworn enemy since birth. At least, as far as gridiron rivals go. Though recently, it has turned into a tolerated, even respected, arch-rival, now peacefully taken out of 'full enemy combatant' statues only because of the dear people and true friends I know who have matriculated, and other various activities, at that particular institution of higher learning. Well, Auburn has fallen on some tough times, as far as the foos-ball program goes. Football if you're anyone other than Bobby Booshea!
A firing, or two, depending on how you look at ole' Tubbs, a losing season, a sound "old-fashioned country ass-whoopin" to quote their ignoble hero/coach/statesman, one Pat Dye. Oh yes, I nearly forgot, said old-fashion event did come at the hands of my beloved University of Alabama Crimson Tide. It's been a tough fall for the ole' war-eagles. But they'll be back. I say this, again, out of the love and respect I have for my friends...and as an educated, true arch-rival in the SEC, I know this won't last for long.
During the hiring search for their next head football coach, the national sports-media eye fixed squarely upon the Plains. Not for the good, either.
Long story short, with the help of writers who live on controversy (so much so, they can manufacture it with mastery that rivals Mercedes-Benz. And they got a little help from one of their alums" one Charles Barkley. The controversy took a decidedly racial turn, as things always will, given the chance. The absolute finest of Alabamian tolerance, progressive thought, compassion and justice found it's way to the Paul Finebaum's radio show one fine Friday afternoon. Where else?
Now, if you look hard enough, you may find a trace amount of sarcasm and cynicism in that last paragraph. (check that--that should read "...you may find a trace amount of sarcasm and cynicism every thing I've every written...", but I digress)
Long-and-getting-longer-story-short, I heard a few callers that very nearly made me literally sick. At best, they made me angrier than I know is good for me and just as embarrassed to be from the south. That's sometimes a tough thing. For all our flaws and all the stigma of being a backwards, inbreeding wasteland, deserved and not deserved, there is great beauty in the south and I am proud to be born where I was born, from where I am from. Granted, many of my closest friends and family still say some things I almost literally cannot believe I'm hearing!
That day put me to the test. I have had enough of racism and prejudice. And even though I am aware of my own character flaws, even though I have been guilty and convicted of the same prejudice, racism, and throw in a dash of sexism, consumerism, capitalism, communism, alcoholism, name an ism, we are all guilty. The point is: I am trying. Hearing and heeding the call to follow Jesus requires one to travel light. You have to leave your isms behind, and never go back for them.
I had nearly hung my head in shame and given up on enlightenment, love and equality in my lifetime, racially speaking, at least.
And then I witnessed something. In the middle of Memorial Parkway in Huntsville, Alabama, one home of the strongest remaining bastions of racial disharmony, it happened.
My co-pilot--that is, my mommy--and I were turning the radio off, in disgust and utterly despairing of the human condition's seeming lack of progress in civil rights and racial equality. To top it all off, there was a car broke down right in the middle of the road! It was slowing already snail-like traffic and Christmas crowds. One more frustration. Or so I thought.
I then noticed the folks were at least doing something about it. It was their car, they should get it fixed and out of harm's way...and my way. Or so I thought.
I then noticed what seemed like a stranger jumping out of their car--in the middle of a major thoroughfare, mind you--to help their fellow man. Their fellow woman, actually. I couldn't have received a better sign of encouragement for humanity at that particular time in my life. Or so I thought.
Then another caring fellow had leaped from his car. Good will still exists. This couldn't have had a better ending. Or so I thought.
The finishing touch of this solid sign of human good had one more thing to reveal. As the car eased into Burger King parking lot and Huntsville's finest arrived on the seen, I saw the two strangers who had been simultaneously convicted to help another stranger. The looked at each other, and surely saw the differences that I noticed.
The difference in these two was striking. Not predominant, but a difference that made me think. They dressed in similar fashion. The general size was the same. They were both men, probably locals it seemed. The only real difference in the two strangers was the pigmentation of their skin: one dark, one light. A black dude, and white dude. Working, walking, serving, living together. Side by side, these two real people saw another real person in need, and they jumped in to help. Their differences weren't all that important to them at that time. And in my realization of their difference, I could see that they weren't all that different after all.
A glimmer of promise came breaking through at that instant and soothed my aching, cynical soul. Christmas time was getting good. And it was working. These two people just realized they were in fact more neighbors than strangers. And the showed the world this very good news. That day, they were Hunstville's finest. The Finebaum conversations were remembered, though mostly just as a reminder of occasional ignorance and how aged, inhumane, racist thought can one day be the only, actual minority.
I hope the wait, the build up, and the big deal I made of this little occurrence was worth it. It was a long way around though sometimes we need just that. That damp, muggy, December day, I was thankful I took the long way home. Had I not, I wouldn't have caught a glimpse of the true Way home: breaking into this world, one stalled car at a time.
Peace be with you. I pray that you Christmas was warm, happy and holy and that your new year--our new year--is one that brings us together more and more. We've so much to do together.
For an amazing journey of discovery or remembrance of the struggle we have been through and still work toward fixing, you simply must watch the HBO documentary Breaking the Huddle. And I have it tivo'ed if you want to see it. I'll watch it with you.
this brings me to a nice little digression.
I have been working through a good book, The Wal Mart Effect. Actually MA commandeered it, as she will on occasion. And that's just fine. We love, we share our lives, may as well share books too. Her most recent hostile takeover of our shared reading is a very cool little piece entitled, Un-Christian. Catchy little title. Bothersome to many, though definitely accurate. I spotted it in our local B.A.M., or, Books-A-Million, and immediately saw the great need in working through it. I feel it may have already captured many of my developing theories, thoughts, and ideas on what's happening in the world, the world of the church, to the church, and, just as often, because of the church.
Though that is for a 2009 post. Along with, I promise, the completion of my little 'A Requiem for Yankee Stadium'--the best working title I have birthed to date to detail our grand journey to the Bronx.
Though for today, I give you a gift. My writing is not the gift, not yet. Hopefully, one day, it will be a gift to all who read it! Though it's a ways off from 'sublime status'. hint: another goal of 2009.
I witnessed something the other day. Last Friday, to be exact (now a couple of Friday's ago). Here comes the set-up.
Auburn University is my sworn enemy since birth. At least, as far as gridiron rivals go. Though recently, it has turned into a tolerated, even respected, arch-rival, now peacefully taken out of 'full enemy combatant' statues only because of the dear people and true friends I know who have matriculated, and other various activities, at that particular institution of higher learning. Well, Auburn has fallen on some tough times, as far as the foos-ball program goes. Football if you're anyone other than Bobby Booshea!
A firing, or two, depending on how you look at ole' Tubbs, a losing season, a sound "old-fashioned country ass-whoopin" to quote their ignoble hero/coach/statesman, one Pat Dye. Oh yes, I nearly forgot, said old-fashion event did come at the hands of my beloved University of Alabama Crimson Tide. It's been a tough fall for the ole' war-eagles. But they'll be back. I say this, again, out of the love and respect I have for my friends...and as an educated, true arch-rival in the SEC, I know this won't last for long.
During the hiring search for their next head football coach, the national sports-media eye fixed squarely upon the Plains. Not for the good, either.
Long story short, with the help of writers who live on controversy (so much so, they can manufacture it with mastery that rivals Mercedes-Benz. And they got a little help from one of their alums" one Charles Barkley. The controversy took a decidedly racial turn, as things always will, given the chance. The absolute finest of Alabamian tolerance, progressive thought, compassion and justice found it's way to the Paul Finebaum's radio show one fine Friday afternoon. Where else?
Now, if you look hard enough, you may find a trace amount of sarcasm and cynicism in that last paragraph. (check that--that should read "...you may find a trace amount of sarcasm and cynicism every thing I've every written...", but I digress)
Long-and-getting-longer-story-short, I heard a few callers that very nearly made me literally sick. At best, they made me angrier than I know is good for me and just as embarrassed to be from the south. That's sometimes a tough thing. For all our flaws and all the stigma of being a backwards, inbreeding wasteland, deserved and not deserved, there is great beauty in the south and I am proud to be born where I was born, from where I am from. Granted, many of my closest friends and family still say some things I almost literally cannot believe I'm hearing!
That day put me to the test. I have had enough of racism and prejudice. And even though I am aware of my own character flaws, even though I have been guilty and convicted of the same prejudice, racism, and throw in a dash of sexism, consumerism, capitalism, communism, alcoholism, name an ism, we are all guilty. The point is: I am trying. Hearing and heeding the call to follow Jesus requires one to travel light. You have to leave your isms behind, and never go back for them.
I had nearly hung my head in shame and given up on enlightenment, love and equality in my lifetime, racially speaking, at least.
And then I witnessed something. In the middle of Memorial Parkway in Huntsville, Alabama, one home of the strongest remaining bastions of racial disharmony, it happened.
My co-pilot--that is, my mommy--and I were turning the radio off, in disgust and utterly despairing of the human condition's seeming lack of progress in civil rights and racial equality. To top it all off, there was a car broke down right in the middle of the road! It was slowing already snail-like traffic and Christmas crowds. One more frustration. Or so I thought.
I then noticed the folks were at least doing something about it. It was their car, they should get it fixed and out of harm's way...and my way. Or so I thought.
I then noticed what seemed like a stranger jumping out of their car--in the middle of a major thoroughfare, mind you--to help their fellow man. Their fellow woman, actually. I couldn't have received a better sign of encouragement for humanity at that particular time in my life. Or so I thought.
Then another caring fellow had leaped from his car. Good will still exists. This couldn't have had a better ending. Or so I thought.
The finishing touch of this solid sign of human good had one more thing to reveal. As the car eased into Burger King parking lot and Huntsville's finest arrived on the seen, I saw the two strangers who had been simultaneously convicted to help another stranger. The looked at each other, and surely saw the differences that I noticed.
The difference in these two was striking. Not predominant, but a difference that made me think. They dressed in similar fashion. The general size was the same. They were both men, probably locals it seemed. The only real difference in the two strangers was the pigmentation of their skin: one dark, one light. A black dude, and white dude. Working, walking, serving, living together. Side by side, these two real people saw another real person in need, and they jumped in to help. Their differences weren't all that important to them at that time. And in my realization of their difference, I could see that they weren't all that different after all.
A glimmer of promise came breaking through at that instant and soothed my aching, cynical soul. Christmas time was getting good. And it was working. These two people just realized they were in fact more neighbors than strangers. And the showed the world this very good news. That day, they were Hunstville's finest. The Finebaum conversations were remembered, though mostly just as a reminder of occasional ignorance and how aged, inhumane, racist thought can one day be the only, actual minority.
I hope the wait, the build up, and the big deal I made of this little occurrence was worth it. It was a long way around though sometimes we need just that. That damp, muggy, December day, I was thankful I took the long way home. Had I not, I wouldn't have caught a glimpse of the true Way home: breaking into this world, one stalled car at a time.
Peace be with you. I pray that you Christmas was warm, happy and holy and that your new year--our new year--is one that brings us together more and more. We've so much to do together.
For an amazing journey of discovery or remembrance of the struggle we have been through and still work toward fixing, you simply must watch the HBO documentary Breaking the Huddle. And I have it tivo'ed if you want to see it. I'll watch it with you.
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
You Tell Em' Steve!
If you recall, if you have read, a few blogs back, I mentioned that I was working through, rather joyously, Steve Martin's autobiography. Well, I actually finished it, a rare triumph for me these days. In it he recalled two of his best jokes, jokes that I actually remembered from my childhood even. The first one hit a nerve, or rather resonated, inspired, something...here is goes. "A fella came up to me in a club and said, "Do you mind if I smoke?". Steve replied, "Of course not, do you mind if I fart?"
I tried to go buy some cereal and some milk the other day. Yes, these days I am really pushing the culinary envelope: will it be Capn' Crunch today, and which of the three types should I pursue? (further, shouldn't he have been promoted to the rank of admiral by now?). Back to the quest! I tried to find my cereal and its accoutrements, so I traveled to every store in my little town. Both of them had two things in common. They each had a poor selection of damaged goods...literally, and each cashier/register check-out area had a happy worker surrounded by a cloud of smoke, a big ash-tray full of stale and stinking cigarette butts, and a seemingly forgotten, burning, cigarette! Now I am all for people's rights, even to kill themselves with cigarettes. I, in fact, worked toward that lofty goal for many years though , saints be praised, I have been free from the dreaded things for years now. Though I do find it completely ridiculous that someone should be subjected to second, third, fourth or even 23rd hand smoke if they don't want to be so subjected! And I find myself growing increasingly intolerant of this. I hope I'm not falling, or regressing, into curmudgeonism
When I see or even know of a parent or other adult smoking near, anywhere near, a child, this simple, country, preacher's blood starts-a-boilin'! If I see a child in a car with a smoking smoker, I go nuclear (officially back to correct pronunciation in 32 or so days). If the windows of the car are shut, detonation is imminent! And anyone with child, as in with child, who smokes is as stupid as stupid is...and does. Stupid is as stupid does. It is what it is.
A restaurant, for example, should be free from smoke, completely, as should other public places. And folks, that means the doorways too! What's the real point of a smoke-free joint (no, that's not oxymoronic) if one is breathing and saturated with smoke on the way in, and on the way out? And for the love of God and cancer-free lungs, a 'smoking' and 'non-smoking' section DOES NOT WORK!!! Smoke drifts. It is smoke! I should certainly hope, and I remain optomistic, that the post office or banks or shops of my little berg don't have the constant guard of the eternal Winston 100 flame! It's not 1956, after all. Nor is it my grandmother's kitchen any year before 1995. Well, that may just be the problem. Some places and people advance through time, and some refuse to. I would say though, to those fighting the good fight against the future, "save your strength". The future will win. We'll even be happy to have you in the present.
This is not a p.s.a. against smoking: teen, pregnant, or otherwise. And I know that I should be much more patient and forgiving, in every aspect of my life. Though I am human. I am prone to get pissed, on occasion, and I have that right. So do you. I simply felt that it is what I should write about this week. Fittingly enough, I needed to vent.
Of course, I think folks should forever be allowed to keep cigarettes burning in every good bar in God's green earth for all eternity. Not just for Humphrey Bogart-esque, tres cool, cinematic, effect either.
There is just something about smoking and drinking--together. They go together like you know, peas and carrots, The Crimson Tide and winning, even Bogart and Bacall! (Feel free to substitute Bergman for Bacall). Today is Keith Richards birthday by the way. And while I would simultaneously love and hate to be his dentist (a great amount of business, though a nasty business I would imagine it to be!), or his 'falsies' cleaner, Keith even gives Bogey himself a run for the money when it comes to being cool with a stogey. Sir Keith has nearly turned his fag (the British colloquialism for cigarettes...what did you think I meant?) into a musical instrument!
If this seems hypocritical, well, so be it. I used to smoke. I saw the absurdity of it, not to mention I smelled and breathed the absurdity of it, and I stopped. It's plain common sense.
I stopped. Cold. Turkey. I stopped cold turkey years ago. I want you to stop. And while I want you to stop, because I care about you and others, not because of the incredible irritation, I would nearly fight for your right to smoke if you want to...so long as it doesn't infect me or anyone else. Let your cries of hypocrite ring out! I'll hear them with cleaner lungs and better smelling clothes. Forgive me--everybody's got to have somebody to look down on. (I think that was Kristofferson?) But please know, I don't look down on smokers. Not at all. I just hate that nasty smoke coming of their cigarettes. (Kristofferson did recently say something I love. He quipped, "God bless America. And God bless the others outside our borders." He prefaced that by saying "God bless Obama". Even in 2008, that kind of talk is nothing short of revolutionary. Rock on K-rok!)
Smoking and drinking were the great tandem love of my life for many years. MA gave me a new love, back some 15 or so years ago. And thanks to the incredible regenerative spirit of our bodies, I have new lungs. Though yes, I enjoyed a libation or two while imbibing Carolina's finest back in 'the day'. And when I say I enjoyed it, I mean to tell you, I enjoyed it bud! I enjoyed these peccadillos bigger, better, harder, faster, louder, longer than most people ever will, and probably more than you would believe! I don' say this to boast, it's certainly nothing to boast about. In fact, it was an awful sight and downright shameful. Though it ain't the end of the world either. We live, we learn. The key is to make sure we do both as best we can. Anyway, God regularly thrives on changing people's lives and dwells in the impossible. Marlboro and Budweiser notwithstanding, God has done the impossible and changed my life. And I am the better for it.
Ahhh, the glory days. Long gone the days of rousing, carousing, smoking and drinking. Long gone are the hangovers--saints be praised...again! Though what is it I actually do these days? Oh yes. O Capn', my Capn'! Cereal and milk. Milk and cereal. Well, we all have our vices.
Ahoy mateys!
MMS~
(Back to 'Tales From New York City" next week. And to hold your interest over, here's the other funny from Steve, the long-crowned (by me) king of funny...
Early in The Jerk (Universal, 1979), our antagonist, Navin Johnson, is found hitch-hiking his way to St Louis. And though he is mere miles from his house, a 'fer piece' from St Louis, he gets a potential hitch -hiker picker-upper. The generous fella, taking notice of Navin's sign, pulls over and asks him, "St. Louis?". Dear Navin looks back with the curiosity and confusion of a little, lost puppy and replies, "no. Navin Johnson." adieu.
I tried to go buy some cereal and some milk the other day. Yes, these days I am really pushing the culinary envelope: will it be Capn' Crunch today, and which of the three types should I pursue? (further, shouldn't he have been promoted to the rank of admiral by now?). Back to the quest! I tried to find my cereal and its accoutrements, so I traveled to every store in my little town. Both of them had two things in common. They each had a poor selection of damaged goods...literally, and each cashier/register check-out area had a happy worker surrounded by a cloud of smoke, a big ash-tray full of stale and stinking cigarette butts, and a seemingly forgotten, burning, cigarette! Now I am all for people's rights, even to kill themselves with cigarettes. I, in fact, worked toward that lofty goal for many years though , saints be praised, I have been free from the dreaded things for years now. Though I do find it completely ridiculous that someone should be subjected to second, third, fourth or even 23rd hand smoke if they don't want to be so subjected! And I find myself growing increasingly intolerant of this. I hope I'm not falling, or regressing, into curmudgeonism
When I see or even know of a parent or other adult smoking near, anywhere near, a child, this simple, country, preacher's blood starts-a-boilin'! If I see a child in a car with a smoking smoker, I go nuclear (officially back to correct pronunciation in 32 or so days). If the windows of the car are shut, detonation is imminent! And anyone with child, as in with child, who smokes is as stupid as stupid is...and does. Stupid is as stupid does. It is what it is.
A restaurant, for example, should be free from smoke, completely, as should other public places. And folks, that means the doorways too! What's the real point of a smoke-free joint (no, that's not oxymoronic) if one is breathing and saturated with smoke on the way in, and on the way out? And for the love of God and cancer-free lungs, a 'smoking' and 'non-smoking' section DOES NOT WORK!!! Smoke drifts. It is smoke! I should certainly hope, and I remain optomistic, that the post office or banks or shops of my little berg don't have the constant guard of the eternal Winston 100 flame! It's not 1956, after all. Nor is it my grandmother's kitchen any year before 1995. Well, that may just be the problem. Some places and people advance through time, and some refuse to. I would say though, to those fighting the good fight against the future, "save your strength". The future will win. We'll even be happy to have you in the present.
This is not a p.s.a. against smoking: teen, pregnant, or otherwise. And I know that I should be much more patient and forgiving, in every aspect of my life. Though I am human. I am prone to get pissed, on occasion, and I have that right. So do you. I simply felt that it is what I should write about this week. Fittingly enough, I needed to vent.
Of course, I think folks should forever be allowed to keep cigarettes burning in every good bar in God's green earth for all eternity. Not just for Humphrey Bogart-esque, tres cool, cinematic, effect either.
There is just something about smoking and drinking--together. They go together like you know, peas and carrots, The Crimson Tide and winning, even Bogart and Bacall! (Feel free to substitute Bergman for Bacall). Today is Keith Richards birthday by the way. And while I would simultaneously love and hate to be his dentist (a great amount of business, though a nasty business I would imagine it to be!), or his 'falsies' cleaner, Keith even gives Bogey himself a run for the money when it comes to being cool with a stogey. Sir Keith has nearly turned his fag (the British colloquialism for cigarettes...what did you think I meant?) into a musical instrument!
If this seems hypocritical, well, so be it. I used to smoke. I saw the absurdity of it, not to mention I smelled and breathed the absurdity of it, and I stopped. It's plain common sense.
I stopped. Cold. Turkey. I stopped cold turkey years ago. I want you to stop. And while I want you to stop, because I care about you and others, not because of the incredible irritation, I would nearly fight for your right to smoke if you want to...so long as it doesn't infect me or anyone else. Let your cries of hypocrite ring out! I'll hear them with cleaner lungs and better smelling clothes. Forgive me--everybody's got to have somebody to look down on. (I think that was Kristofferson?) But please know, I don't look down on smokers. Not at all. I just hate that nasty smoke coming of their cigarettes. (Kristofferson did recently say something I love. He quipped, "God bless America. And God bless the others outside our borders." He prefaced that by saying "God bless Obama". Even in 2008, that kind of talk is nothing short of revolutionary. Rock on K-rok!)
Smoking and drinking were the great tandem love of my life for many years. MA gave me a new love, back some 15 or so years ago. And thanks to the incredible regenerative spirit of our bodies, I have new lungs. Though yes, I enjoyed a libation or two while imbibing Carolina's finest back in 'the day'. And when I say I enjoyed it, I mean to tell you, I enjoyed it bud! I enjoyed these peccadillos bigger, better, harder, faster, louder, longer than most people ever will, and probably more than you would believe! I don' say this to boast, it's certainly nothing to boast about. In fact, it was an awful sight and downright shameful. Though it ain't the end of the world either. We live, we learn. The key is to make sure we do both as best we can. Anyway, God regularly thrives on changing people's lives and dwells in the impossible. Marlboro and Budweiser notwithstanding, God has done the impossible and changed my life. And I am the better for it.
Ahhh, the glory days. Long gone the days of rousing, carousing, smoking and drinking. Long gone are the hangovers--saints be praised...again! Though what is it I actually do these days? Oh yes. O Capn', my Capn'! Cereal and milk. Milk and cereal. Well, we all have our vices.
Ahoy mateys!
MMS~
(Back to 'Tales From New York City" next week. And to hold your interest over, here's the other funny from Steve, the long-crowned (by me) king of funny...
Early in The Jerk (Universal, 1979), our antagonist, Navin Johnson, is found hitch-hiking his way to St Louis. And though he is mere miles from his house, a 'fer piece' from St Louis, he gets a potential hitch -hiker picker-upper. The generous fella, taking notice of Navin's sign, pulls over and asks him, "St. Louis?". Dear Navin looks back with the curiosity and confusion of a little, lost puppy and replies, "no. Navin Johnson." adieu.
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
The Non-Greek Delta
I should clarify my closing statement from Monday's entry. (I sure seem to write a lot of clarifications...almost as common as my parenthetical addendums!) Though with the rampant popularity of the cinematic masterpiece Sydney White, I fear some may be confused with our 'Delta house' reference to be of a fraternal, or 'sororital' (to quote Amanda Bynes magnificant portrayal of the film's namesake, Sydney White) nature. Our 'Delta journey' had nothing to do with (1) revenging nerds (though MA may debate that one) (2) John Belushi, togas, coming on and shouting, or any such 'Flounder' sagas (too bad, that would have been a great, Greek, week) or (3) my cousin Keith and his historic tales of indian parties, rival frat maylees, and th never-bathing Smilin' Jim Burkoff...
all that, yes, all that, to say MA and I woke up on September 18--EARLY--and hopped in our Honda Civic to away to our dearest Atlanta, home and hub of Delta Airlines.
We were up and at em' about 3a. Now folks, that's a tough one for me. I bet its tough for anyone who regularly falls asleep on couches drifting in and out of HBO infected dreams until, say, 3a! Not to mention that sleeping on a night before such an excursion seemed comparably impossible to getting that 'good night's sleep' before Christmas. And I don't care how old you have let yourself get, that one's tough to do!
This vaca for my beautiful bride and me was like Christmas in September, to quote any number of retail giants. Plainly and simply, I was stoked. Stoked to the max, brah!
It was obviously still pitch-black-night in Baileyton, and in said Baileyton, pitch-black-night yields one of the most breathtaking of canvases for starlit nights in all ruraldom! In fact, that's one of the things I love most about our little hamlet. Cool, crisp, nights of brightly lit star-scapes and fresh, fresh air. They are a gift.
Back to our quest...
Mom (Ann) rose with us, as is her tendency. We squared away our pups, got them one last eat/poop and pee/stroll cycle--what a life, btw--and they were then set. I was confident that we could enjoy New York and arrive back with no problems of poop or pee, whatever. Oh, how naive we can be my friends! To foreshadow just a bit, think 'apocalyptic destruction'. And stinky to boot. Though I urge you to not let this prophetic vision sway the great joy that was, and is, and is to come, from this tres' chic metropolis. We were on our way! After we turned around, that is. I forgot something, I just can't remember what it was that I forgot. Maybe, probably, my wallet? And so we headed toward Guntersberg. All of this took place on a 'below e' gas tank. It is my way, though MA strongly rather it weren't. We made it. We made it to Guntersvegas, we made it to Anniston, we made it to Georgia, then Atlanta, and then, finally, to the Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport. It was a great trip over, though it did take a little while. It took a few turns, and a few turn-arounds, though we made it. And, now hold on to your hats...we were made it there early.
We parked in a discount long term lot, which was not a problem, so long as one doesnt mind walking to the terminals and concourses and such from Alabama. We, being from Alabama, didn't.
I have been to this airport--one of the biggest airports in the world--many times. I have taken Mom as she set off to Fortress Europa, or China, or Egypt. I have dropped youth groups en route to Jamaica (when I also dropped their luggage trailer off the van, as I drove 'round 285!), and I have even flown out of there on my way to San Antonio, heading to Lackland Air Force base...but that's another story, for another time.
In any event, this airport is BIG folks! Bigger than I remembered, expected, or even hoped for. I figure, if your going to fly, fly big. BIg planes, big airports, you know, big TIME! Well, again, the drive to the Atlanta airport was very pleasant. If you have never driven east into the rising sun, you must do so at your first available opportunity. There are plenty of places to shop, browse, peruse, sip, chomp, sit, talk, and yes, wait. It's so cool, the airport is bigger and more modern than most cities in Alabama! Bigger than most cities in the south, actually. I loved it.
Just what is it about airports, anyway? Is it just me? There's this wonderfully grandiose sensation I get when in, even around, an airport. They make us feel small, in the grand schema, and as I have states previously, I think that's good. Perhaps it is that in the same way that the journey of 1000 miles begins with a single step, many good journeys to many far away exotic locales usually begins with some airport, somewhere. There are so many great films , and I do not mean Airplane, more like James Bond, even Vince, E, Turtle, Ari, and Johnny Drama! Premadonnas though they may be. Many great pieces of literature, art, even music. Por ejemplo:
Leavin' home, out on the road
I've been down before
Ridin' along in this big ol' jet plane
I've been thinkin' about my home
But my love light seems so far away
And I feel like it's all been done
Somebody's tryin' to make me stay
You know I've got to be movin' on
Goodbye to all my friends at home
Goodbye to people I've trusted
I've got to go out and make my way
I might get rich you know I might get busted
But my heart keeps calling me backwards
As I get on the 707
Ridin' high I got tears in my eyes
You know you got to go through hell
Before you get to heaven
Touchin' down in New England town
Feel the heat comin' down
I've got to keep on keepin' on
You know the big wheel keeps on spinnin' around
And I'm goin' with some hesitation
You know that I can surely see
That I don't want to get caught up in any of that
Funky shit goin' down in the city
Oh, Oh big ol' jet airliner
Don't carry me too far away
Oh, Oh big ol' jet airliner
Cause it's here that I've got to stay
that was Sir Steve Miller, Jet Airliner. fight song for our dear Craig "Dr Burns" Burns.
anyway, airports:
Folks departing, arriving, or simply loitering around these places. International intrigue, white hot romance, news, newness, sadness, seeing the world, off to war, or I think best of all, coming home. Next time you find yourself in an airport, give it some thought. And let em know. For real.
We checked in, using the self check machines, with plenty of help from attendees. We grabbed some coffee, some newspapers, to feel important and maybe read. We grabbed some coffee, yes, again, of course. We nabbed a muffin of scone or something, blueberry I'm sure. MA and I found a nice couple of big chairs. We had earned our rest and we needed to store up as much rest as we could. I fired up the ole' trusty MacBook and figured I'd take care of my last couple of pre-procrastinated business and personal details. And poop! I couldn't get a signal!!! I can get that, or not get that, at home! No big deal, I just didnt go through all the registration hoopla, and I made my last few phone calls. Our dear church pillar, Margaret Jean was doing well and very excited for us! Mom was fine, and very excited for us too. Of course she was, she seems to get the vicarious benefits of our exciting life. The exciting parts of our life, at least. And, no poop. From the doggies, that is. Well, so far, that is...
Part next, "In the Air, In the Air, Come on One More Time Girl it Ain't Fair!", coming soon:
(don't worry, despite the Aerosmithian title, it's perfectly tame, clean, and wonderfully entertaining. see you soon!)
hasta pronto,
Mateo M Smith, Esquire
all that, yes, all that, to say MA and I woke up on September 18--EARLY--and hopped in our Honda Civic to away to our dearest Atlanta, home and hub of Delta Airlines.
We were up and at em' about 3a. Now folks, that's a tough one for me. I bet its tough for anyone who regularly falls asleep on couches drifting in and out of HBO infected dreams until, say, 3a! Not to mention that sleeping on a night before such an excursion seemed comparably impossible to getting that 'good night's sleep' before Christmas. And I don't care how old you have let yourself get, that one's tough to do!
This vaca for my beautiful bride and me was like Christmas in September, to quote any number of retail giants. Plainly and simply, I was stoked. Stoked to the max, brah!
It was obviously still pitch-black-night in Baileyton, and in said Baileyton, pitch-black-night yields one of the most breathtaking of canvases for starlit nights in all ruraldom! In fact, that's one of the things I love most about our little hamlet. Cool, crisp, nights of brightly lit star-scapes and fresh, fresh air. They are a gift.
Back to our quest...
Mom (Ann) rose with us, as is her tendency. We squared away our pups, got them one last eat/poop and pee/stroll cycle--what a life, btw--and they were then set. I was confident that we could enjoy New York and arrive back with no problems of poop or pee, whatever. Oh, how naive we can be my friends! To foreshadow just a bit, think 'apocalyptic destruction'. And stinky to boot. Though I urge you to not let this prophetic vision sway the great joy that was, and is, and is to come, from this tres' chic metropolis. We were on our way! After we turned around, that is. I forgot something, I just can't remember what it was that I forgot. Maybe, probably, my wallet? And so we headed toward Guntersberg. All of this took place on a 'below e' gas tank. It is my way, though MA strongly rather it weren't. We made it. We made it to Guntersvegas, we made it to Anniston, we made it to Georgia, then Atlanta, and then, finally, to the Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport. It was a great trip over, though it did take a little while. It took a few turns, and a few turn-arounds, though we made it. And, now hold on to your hats...we were made it there early.
We parked in a discount long term lot, which was not a problem, so long as one doesnt mind walking to the terminals and concourses and such from Alabama. We, being from Alabama, didn't.
I have been to this airport--one of the biggest airports in the world--many times. I have taken Mom as she set off to Fortress Europa, or China, or Egypt. I have dropped youth groups en route to Jamaica (when I also dropped their luggage trailer off the van, as I drove 'round 285!), and I have even flown out of there on my way to San Antonio, heading to Lackland Air Force base...but that's another story, for another time.
In any event, this airport is BIG folks! Bigger than I remembered, expected, or even hoped for. I figure, if your going to fly, fly big. BIg planes, big airports, you know, big TIME! Well, again, the drive to the Atlanta airport was very pleasant. If you have never driven east into the rising sun, you must do so at your first available opportunity. There are plenty of places to shop, browse, peruse, sip, chomp, sit, talk, and yes, wait. It's so cool, the airport is bigger and more modern than most cities in Alabama! Bigger than most cities in the south, actually. I loved it.
Just what is it about airports, anyway? Is it just me? There's this wonderfully grandiose sensation I get when in, even around, an airport. They make us feel small, in the grand schema, and as I have states previously, I think that's good. Perhaps it is that in the same way that the journey of 1000 miles begins with a single step, many good journeys to many far away exotic locales usually begins with some airport, somewhere. There are so many great films , and I do not mean Airplane, more like James Bond, even Vince, E, Turtle, Ari, and Johnny Drama! Premadonnas though they may be. Many great pieces of literature, art, even music. Por ejemplo:
Leavin' home, out on the road
I've been down before
Ridin' along in this big ol' jet plane
I've been thinkin' about my home
But my love light seems so far away
And I feel like it's all been done
Somebody's tryin' to make me stay
You know I've got to be movin' on
Goodbye to all my friends at home
Goodbye to people I've trusted
I've got to go out and make my way
I might get rich you know I might get busted
But my heart keeps calling me backwards
As I get on the 707
Ridin' high I got tears in my eyes
You know you got to go through hell
Before you get to heaven
Touchin' down in New England town
Feel the heat comin' down
I've got to keep on keepin' on
You know the big wheel keeps on spinnin' around
And I'm goin' with some hesitation
You know that I can surely see
That I don't want to get caught up in any of that
Funky shit goin' down in the city
Oh, Oh big ol' jet airliner
Don't carry me too far away
Oh, Oh big ol' jet airliner
Cause it's here that I've got to stay
that was Sir Steve Miller, Jet Airliner. fight song for our dear Craig "Dr Burns" Burns.
anyway, airports:
Folks departing, arriving, or simply loitering around these places. International intrigue, white hot romance, news, newness, sadness, seeing the world, off to war, or I think best of all, coming home. Next time you find yourself in an airport, give it some thought. And let em know. For real.
We checked in, using the self check machines, with plenty of help from attendees. We grabbed some coffee, some newspapers, to feel important and maybe read. We grabbed some coffee, yes, again, of course. We nabbed a muffin of scone or something, blueberry I'm sure. MA and I found a nice couple of big chairs. We had earned our rest and we needed to store up as much rest as we could. I fired up the ole' trusty MacBook and figured I'd take care of my last couple of pre-procrastinated business and personal details. And poop! I couldn't get a signal!!! I can get that, or not get that, at home! No big deal, I just didnt go through all the registration hoopla, and I made my last few phone calls. Our dear church pillar, Margaret Jean was doing well and very excited for us! Mom was fine, and very excited for us too. Of course she was, she seems to get the vicarious benefits of our exciting life. The exciting parts of our life, at least. And, no poop. From the doggies, that is. Well, so far, that is...
Part next, "In the Air, In the Air, Come on One More Time Girl it Ain't Fair!", coming soon:
(don't worry, despite the Aerosmithian title, it's perfectly tame, clean, and wonderfully entertaining. see you soon!)
hasta pronto,
Mateo M Smith, Esquire
Monday, December 1, 2008
I Left My Heart in San Fransisco, No Wait, I Mean New York
While many may have dreams of sugar plums dancing in their heads this time of year, I have something far less fruity...though every bit as sweet! Those purple passions coated with Domino jackets and dancing their Macarana's ain't got nothing on the city that never sleeps. Though New York is straight up working the pole in my R.E.M.-cycled world, nearly three months after the trip of a lifetime. Well, the trip of a lifetime so far. New York, New York, the city so cool you have to say it twice. You may know it as the Big Apple. Gotham. The capital city of the Empire State. New York is far and away the coolest place I have ever been...and I've been to Brookside, Alabama!
The strangest thing of all is that the genesis of this journey was born out of the desire to see the New York Yankees. Yes, the Yankees, a team I typically despise. Though a great pilgrimage to the baseball Mecca had to be made. I grew up glued to t.v.'s that seemed glued to Yankee Stadium. I remember the pennant series against the Royals in 1977 (or was it 76? That year is the cut-off. I can't remember a thing, other than replays, of baseball pre 1977). I do remember the Bucky Dent home-run, 1978, which still kills me! I remember, yes the Yankees putting the knife in my heart during the 1996 world series against my beloved Braves, though not before Andruw Jones JACKED his first two world series at bats! And all the Jeter inspired magic, that spread over to Brett Boone in what, 2002? 2003? And all those Yankess v Red Sox classics, not the least of which is the 2004 pennant series! Go Sox!
2008 would be the last year for 'The House That Costanza, I Mean Ruth, Built'!
You see, I had to go.
The strange thing is that MA didn't have to go. She knows what a baseball looks like, and what I sound like when Bobby Cox cranks up his left finger for mining as his right hand directs the collapse of game after game for my Atlanta Braves. She doesnt, or never has, lived, breathed, bled baseball. Though she knows I did...and do. She is something else. Something else.
My mom came down to house and dog sit, or actually, provide a warm body around those two things. Our neighbor Mia would come and tend to the dogs, and check up on the mother. Admittedly, Farnsworth would turn out to be a bit of a challenge. Who would have thought that! The church knew we would be away. They seemed unsure of why we wanted to go to New York, of all places, though they did try to embrace it. Everything was cool. Off we went.
Next time: Late to bed, early to rise, to Delta's house we go!
The strangest thing of all is that the genesis of this journey was born out of the desire to see the New York Yankees. Yes, the Yankees, a team I typically despise. Though a great pilgrimage to the baseball Mecca had to be made. I grew up glued to t.v.'s that seemed glued to Yankee Stadium. I remember the pennant series against the Royals in 1977 (or was it 76? That year is the cut-off. I can't remember a thing, other than replays, of baseball pre 1977). I do remember the Bucky Dent home-run, 1978, which still kills me! I remember, yes the Yankees putting the knife in my heart during the 1996 world series against my beloved Braves, though not before Andruw Jones JACKED his first two world series at bats! And all the Jeter inspired magic, that spread over to Brett Boone in what, 2002? 2003? And all those Yankess v Red Sox classics, not the least of which is the 2004 pennant series! Go Sox!
2008 would be the last year for 'The House That Costanza, I Mean Ruth, Built'!
You see, I had to go.
The strange thing is that MA didn't have to go. She knows what a baseball looks like, and what I sound like when Bobby Cox cranks up his left finger for mining as his right hand directs the collapse of game after game for my Atlanta Braves. She doesnt, or never has, lived, breathed, bled baseball. Though she knows I did...and do. She is something else. Something else.
My mom came down to house and dog sit, or actually, provide a warm body around those two things. Our neighbor Mia would come and tend to the dogs, and check up on the mother. Admittedly, Farnsworth would turn out to be a bit of a challenge. Who would have thought that! The church knew we would be away. They seemed unsure of why we wanted to go to New York, of all places, though they did try to embrace it. Everything was cool. Off we went.
Next time: Late to bed, early to rise, to Delta's house we go!
Saturday, November 29, 2008
Greetings to All
I wish to extend a holiday greeting to the vast and various readership out there! I did not have that perfect opportunity to get to my wooded sanctuary and write away! though I will, and after today and next week and as we move closer and closer to Christmas--the most wonderful time of the year, indeed--I will be giving more and more time to our shared, blogged, bond.
In that mean time, get out, be safe, see your family--tell your loved ones that you love them, and then show them--party with friends, laugh, shop (responsibly), and celebrate that its true...it's a wonderful life.
I will be happy to chronicle my Thanksgiving adventure with MA and Farnsworth and the fam, and soon get back to my promise: the journey to Yankee Stadium, and back!
peace to you all! real, warm, peace...
Mateo
In that mean time, get out, be safe, see your family--tell your loved ones that you love them, and then show them--party with friends, laugh, shop (responsibly), and celebrate that its true...it's a wonderful life.
I will be happy to chronicle my Thanksgiving adventure with MA and Farnsworth and the fam, and soon get back to my promise: the journey to Yankee Stadium, and back!
peace to you all! real, warm, peace...
Mateo
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
They Say It Happens To Every Guy At Some Point
I suppose it happens to women to, right? yes, of course, I am talking about writer's block. to what did you think I was referring?
I can't say with certainty that I have writer's block though I am at a bit of a standstill...
Though I still (though this time, sitting) contend that for a blog to be good, relevant, prolific, important, or even hint at any one of those descriptors, a blog has to be nothing if not consistent.
And that had been my greatest challenge thus far in this blogging endeavor. Perhaps it isn't even all that challenging, I have just failed ot update with the regularity everyone seeks. (which must also be the reason that even in a strained economy, the prune industry thrives. okay, now I am being parenthetically silly).
What is a challenge is to be consistent while being interesting. Maybe even interesting isn't the be-all-end-all. The death sentence for a blog or any written piece, or perhaps anything period, is to avoid the void of non-interest. I'd say a writer cannot be boring, though if boring is the only thing from which to escape, anyone could write--unless you are a middle schooler where your world is boring. At least, your vocabulary would be greatly limited to the word boring until you reach around the middle of your 9th grade year.
Note I haven't declared that this blog, or any blog, has t be or even can be consistently good, it just needs to be consistent. Consitently updated, fed, cared for, loved, talked to...you know, like a plant! Or even better, like a friendship.
And so, the forecast is pleasant for future blog pieces. I have an idea! Actually, I have several ideas--more than several. It's discipline I lack! Discipline, time, and a high speed internet connection are what's really missing in my bloggist life. I am not missing inspiration, it is all around. There is beautiful music everywhere! I am listening to Radio Paradise as I write today, and I guarantee that 'beautiful' is the word to describe the feelings and emotions that well up and gush forth from the most intelligent repitiore of eclectic sounds this morning--even with a hint of The Rolling Stones (Waiting On a Friend) all the way to Simon and Garfunkel (Bridge Over Troubled Water)! RP is typically much more ecletci than those two, but they'e just nice!
I am currently in the middle of, or at the beginning of, rather, 10 books. I have to do better at this, and I am narrowing on down. I have a spiritual classic, Reaching Out by Henri Nouwen, that I am determined to finish by Thanksgiving Day. The book is thick, and I do not mean in the sense of length. Though there is a great peace about it.
And I am engrossed in Born Standing Up, the autobiography--or biography of someone he once knew to hear the author tell it--of Steve Martin. I would have never suspected that 'The Jerk" could write with such emotion and eloquence. I should have, but I didn't. I have been inspired by Steve for, well, most of my life. I saw the aforementioned The Jerk at a very young age, and not a few times, with my parents and my aunt and cousins (the dearest people in my life then, and now. Now, the list is just a little bigger). Martin is a genius, not just of comedy, of art. Yes, Steve Martin is an artistic genius! I said it! I find him to be a bit of a kindred spirit. I hope to be, at least. Not only have I always appreciated his understated sense of comic time...ing, and really, everything about his canon of work, I am starting to embrace my inner--and outer--artist. Life is being better balanced as I do this. I am a guitarist, a lover, a student, a teacher of the instrument. And so, I embrace it. If I want to listen to Coltrane, I listen. If I want to work on my sight-reading for piano, I work. If I feel like playing guitar, I play. I little Gumpian in this sense, perhaps.
Though embracing the inner and outer artist is about letting yourself be inspired, and then letting your self inspire others through your art. Being an artist is about seeking beauty and sharing it. These are but two qualities that I feel an artist cultivates. There are so many more. I look forward to the journey, and I believe the search will uncover some creative gold-mines: both mine and the gold in others.
There is great beauty in the trees and on the ground through yesterday's leaves--tomorrow's mulch. The air bites with crisp, though loving, teeth. A love bite! People are starting to act like they know what time of year it is. And just what time of year is it? You tell me. Really. Tell me.
While this latest blog piece has contained its fair share of stream-of-consiousness style wander-rambling, it was born out of a newly rediscovered condition of wonderment, the practice of the blissful. Inspired by beauty. Blog by Matt.
For next time, I will practice a device that successful writers practice: ergonomic use of material. For example, I have noticed that many of the better preachers and writers out there will present a particular sermon or article or paper in a number of mediums and forums over a period of time. This is not 're-using', 're-cycling', and by no means is it being lazy--not coming up with something 'new' or 'fresh'. It is the wise, methodical, responsible practice of thematic development. So, for next time, I will do just that. You dear readers will get, at least the beginning of--the chronicling of our journey to New York City--the pilgrimage to baseball's high cathedral: Yankee Stadium. It's fresh a relevant, and modern, chic, important--all that good stuff--for the blog. And at the same time, it is something I have needed to do for some while! I can then be a good little travel writer! And if that isn't responsible reuse, I don't knwo what is!
And so, until we meet again, may your palette by filled with inspired beauty in a way you have never known!
standstill averted!
au revoir~
I can't say with certainty that I have writer's block though I am at a bit of a standstill...
Though I still (though this time, sitting) contend that for a blog to be good, relevant, prolific, important, or even hint at any one of those descriptors, a blog has to be nothing if not consistent.
And that had been my greatest challenge thus far in this blogging endeavor. Perhaps it isn't even all that challenging, I have just failed ot update with the regularity everyone seeks. (which must also be the reason that even in a strained economy, the prune industry thrives. okay, now I am being parenthetically silly).
What is a challenge is to be consistent while being interesting. Maybe even interesting isn't the be-all-end-all. The death sentence for a blog or any written piece, or perhaps anything period, is to avoid the void of non-interest. I'd say a writer cannot be boring, though if boring is the only thing from which to escape, anyone could write--unless you are a middle schooler where your world is boring. At least, your vocabulary would be greatly limited to the word boring until you reach around the middle of your 9th grade year.
Note I haven't declared that this blog, or any blog, has t be or even can be consistently good, it just needs to be consistent. Consitently updated, fed, cared for, loved, talked to...you know, like a plant! Or even better, like a friendship.
And so, the forecast is pleasant for future blog pieces. I have an idea! Actually, I have several ideas--more than several. It's discipline I lack! Discipline, time, and a high speed internet connection are what's really missing in my bloggist life. I am not missing inspiration, it is all around. There is beautiful music everywhere! I am listening to Radio Paradise as I write today, and I guarantee that 'beautiful' is the word to describe the feelings and emotions that well up and gush forth from the most intelligent repitiore of eclectic sounds this morning--even with a hint of The Rolling Stones (Waiting On a Friend) all the way to Simon and Garfunkel (Bridge Over Troubled Water)! RP is typically much more ecletci than those two, but they'e just nice!
I am currently in the middle of, or at the beginning of, rather, 10 books. I have to do better at this, and I am narrowing on down. I have a spiritual classic, Reaching Out by Henri Nouwen, that I am determined to finish by Thanksgiving Day. The book is thick, and I do not mean in the sense of length. Though there is a great peace about it.
And I am engrossed in Born Standing Up, the autobiography--or biography of someone he once knew to hear the author tell it--of Steve Martin. I would have never suspected that 'The Jerk" could write with such emotion and eloquence. I should have, but I didn't. I have been inspired by Steve for, well, most of my life. I saw the aforementioned The Jerk at a very young age, and not a few times, with my parents and my aunt and cousins (the dearest people in my life then, and now. Now, the list is just a little bigger). Martin is a genius, not just of comedy, of art. Yes, Steve Martin is an artistic genius! I said it! I find him to be a bit of a kindred spirit. I hope to be, at least. Not only have I always appreciated his understated sense of comic time...ing, and really, everything about his canon of work, I am starting to embrace my inner--and outer--artist. Life is being better balanced as I do this. I am a guitarist, a lover, a student, a teacher of the instrument. And so, I embrace it. If I want to listen to Coltrane, I listen. If I want to work on my sight-reading for piano, I work. If I feel like playing guitar, I play. I little Gumpian in this sense, perhaps.
Though embracing the inner and outer artist is about letting yourself be inspired, and then letting your self inspire others through your art. Being an artist is about seeking beauty and sharing it. These are but two qualities that I feel an artist cultivates. There are so many more. I look forward to the journey, and I believe the search will uncover some creative gold-mines: both mine and the gold in others.
There is great beauty in the trees and on the ground through yesterday's leaves--tomorrow's mulch. The air bites with crisp, though loving, teeth. A love bite! People are starting to act like they know what time of year it is. And just what time of year is it? You tell me. Really. Tell me.
While this latest blog piece has contained its fair share of stream-of-consiousness style wander-rambling, it was born out of a newly rediscovered condition of wonderment, the practice of the blissful. Inspired by beauty. Blog by Matt.
For next time, I will practice a device that successful writers practice: ergonomic use of material. For example, I have noticed that many of the better preachers and writers out there will present a particular sermon or article or paper in a number of mediums and forums over a period of time. This is not 're-using', 're-cycling', and by no means is it being lazy--not coming up with something 'new' or 'fresh'. It is the wise, methodical, responsible practice of thematic development. So, for next time, I will do just that. You dear readers will get, at least the beginning of--the chronicling of our journey to New York City--the pilgrimage to baseball's high cathedral: Yankee Stadium. It's fresh a relevant, and modern, chic, important--all that good stuff--for the blog. And at the same time, it is something I have needed to do for some while! I can then be a good little travel writer! And if that isn't responsible reuse, I don't knwo what is!
And so, until we meet again, may your palette by filled with inspired beauty in a way you have never known!
standstill averted!
au revoir~
Thursday, November 6, 2008
It Doesn't Cost Anything For an Ogre to Be Nice
It's true! It doesn't cost anyone anything to be nice. I learned that this morning. I should say, I started learning that again this morning and I plan to keep working on it.
As I drove toward Remote office #2, Moxie Java, this morning I tuned into NPR (National Public Radio). I needed a break from Kind of Blue, I wasn't in the mood for sports-just yet, and have vowed to NEVER again listen to Rick and Bubba. Ask me why sometime. I'd love to tell you. And so, thank God for NPR. It is very refreshing. It is the best news source around. It has some incredible shows on Saturdays--Click and Clack, Wait, Wait, to name two--real-deal jazz when you can catch it and all the classical music you can shake a timpani at! And they have ogres. That's right. NPR: Now with ogres!
In the middle of some fine piece from the classical period, if memory serves, Farnsworth and I heard the blasts of emergency test frequencies. Strange, sure. Though not nearly so strange as what followed.
I then heard several small, or young, children argueing...with an ogre. He is just about to aquiesse to agreement. The children wanted this big, mean, ogre to stop roaring all the time. Apparently, the ogre's roaring had become problematic. The big fella realized though, that he had a bargaining chip. He would indeed stop roaring if the children would simply stop their incessant argueing. He would promise to be nice to them if they would promise to be nice to each other. It was win-win. And it wouldn't cost one, red, cent!
I have no idea how this show blasted through NPR airwaves for the 2 minutes the tale took to tell. Though I figure that it, as does everything, happened for some good reason.
And so, when providence befalls you, or a ogres persuades you, take time to realize it might just be the day's gift.
The next time you feel tempted to argue, fuss, be critical, condescending, rude or hateful--or anything mean--remember what you might end up doing to my new big, nasty, stinky, new friend. The world has enough roaring ogres. Be an ogre that looks less like something from The Lord of the Rings, but looks more like something from The Last Supper.
Or, think of it this way: be nice to strangers...you never know when you may be entertaining an ogre.
Peace to you this day. And I mean it!
As I drove toward Remote office #2, Moxie Java, this morning I tuned into NPR (National Public Radio). I needed a break from Kind of Blue, I wasn't in the mood for sports-just yet, and have vowed to NEVER again listen to Rick and Bubba. Ask me why sometime. I'd love to tell you. And so, thank God for NPR. It is very refreshing. It is the best news source around. It has some incredible shows on Saturdays--Click and Clack, Wait, Wait, to name two--real-deal jazz when you can catch it and all the classical music you can shake a timpani at! And they have ogres. That's right. NPR: Now with ogres!
In the middle of some fine piece from the classical period, if memory serves, Farnsworth and I heard the blasts of emergency test frequencies. Strange, sure. Though not nearly so strange as what followed.
I then heard several small, or young, children argueing...with an ogre. He is just about to aquiesse to agreement. The children wanted this big, mean, ogre to stop roaring all the time. Apparently, the ogre's roaring had become problematic. The big fella realized though, that he had a bargaining chip. He would indeed stop roaring if the children would simply stop their incessant argueing. He would promise to be nice to them if they would promise to be nice to each other. It was win-win. And it wouldn't cost one, red, cent!
I have no idea how this show blasted through NPR airwaves for the 2 minutes the tale took to tell. Though I figure that it, as does everything, happened for some good reason.
And so, when providence befalls you, or a ogres persuades you, take time to realize it might just be the day's gift.
The next time you feel tempted to argue, fuss, be critical, condescending, rude or hateful--or anything mean--remember what you might end up doing to my new big, nasty, stinky, new friend. The world has enough roaring ogres. Be an ogre that looks less like something from The Lord of the Rings, but looks more like something from The Last Supper.
Or, think of it this way: be nice to strangers...you never know when you may be entertaining an ogre.
Peace to you this day. And I mean it!
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
Yes We Did!
It may seem that I am borrowing a wee bit directly from our new President-Elect. Well, I am, though I chose those three words as the title of this entry because it is what one of my best-good-friends just said. He texted the words, rather. My soul-brother is in, or on his way home from, Cincinnati. He was a poll observer, called into action by the Obama camp. Bob Bentely (jimbobbentley.blogspot.com) is an attorney. He is a compassionate attorney. He is a good attorney.
I first sent him the text saying, "Thanks Bob, we did it!". What we did, I still contend, was change the world. And you--yes YOU--did exactly that too, if you voted. The outcome doesnt pertain to what I am saying here. If you voted, you exercised your right to be a citizen in a democratic republic. That's power my friend! I am pleased with the outcome. I will not reveal for whom and for what I voted, by nature of my ordained...nature. 'Ordained professional status' my be a better way to say that. Though I do feel good about the democratic process, the whole dog-gone democratic experiment, actually.
Though we will just have to wait and see what the national/global/cultural/political/governmental implications will be. This will require a lot of trust. We will have to build a lot of faith. This will require us to lose a lot of anger, lose a lot of distrust and a lot fear. My fellow Americans and loyal varia-lecto readers world over, we will have to lose the hate in order for our nation and the world to come together. Come together, right now! And that can't be a bad thing. Whether or not your candidate won, the nation and the world--for the most part--is rejoicing. Perhaps the world is not rejoicing because of every decision or every elected candidate, though there is a good vibe world wide. And even if I don't agree with every decision made, and I don't, that's got to be a good thing.
Most of all, I sit back and remember the excitement of my mother yesterday when we set off for the polls, when she hopped out of the car--that's a joke, Mom doesnt 'hop' anywhere--and waddled on into the poll. When she had a stranger call me at Olde Towne Coffee to let me know she was ready to be picked up, I grinned. When she, at 69 years of age, was happy-crying and jumping up and down like a 3rd grader waiting for Santa Claus--that too is a joke, Mom doesnt exactly 'jump', ever--I wanted to jump and happy-cry with her. When I turned to see her reaction to 'O-Bomb's' speech, a speech that will [should] go down in history only to see her pull her eyelids open as if to say, "did I miss something?", I grinned from ear to shining ear. When she saw the headline today that reads "Yes he did", it brought back yesterday's joy and she said, "oh, I have to get that paper!" I looked at her and said, "yes, you do. Because yes he did. Yes we did. We all did. Yes, you did Mom!" I was proud of her. I am still proud of her, and I always will be. Mary Ann, and I, and Bob, and you...and Ann Smith, my mom, changed the world yesterday. And that's got to be a good thing.
I first sent him the text saying, "Thanks Bob, we did it!". What we did, I still contend, was change the world. And you--yes YOU--did exactly that too, if you voted. The outcome doesnt pertain to what I am saying here. If you voted, you exercised your right to be a citizen in a democratic republic. That's power my friend! I am pleased with the outcome. I will not reveal for whom and for what I voted, by nature of my ordained...nature. 'Ordained professional status' my be a better way to say that. Though I do feel good about the democratic process, the whole dog-gone democratic experiment, actually.
Though we will just have to wait and see what the national/global/cultural/political/governmental implications will be. This will require a lot of trust. We will have to build a lot of faith. This will require us to lose a lot of anger, lose a lot of distrust and a lot fear. My fellow Americans and loyal varia-lecto readers world over, we will have to lose the hate in order for our nation and the world to come together. Come together, right now! And that can't be a bad thing. Whether or not your candidate won, the nation and the world--for the most part--is rejoicing. Perhaps the world is not rejoicing because of every decision or every elected candidate, though there is a good vibe world wide. And even if I don't agree with every decision made, and I don't, that's got to be a good thing.
Most of all, I sit back and remember the excitement of my mother yesterday when we set off for the polls, when she hopped out of the car--that's a joke, Mom doesnt 'hop' anywhere--and waddled on into the poll. When she had a stranger call me at Olde Towne Coffee to let me know she was ready to be picked up, I grinned. When she, at 69 years of age, was happy-crying and jumping up and down like a 3rd grader waiting for Santa Claus--that too is a joke, Mom doesnt exactly 'jump', ever--I wanted to jump and happy-cry with her. When I turned to see her reaction to 'O-Bomb's' speech, a speech that will [should] go down in history only to see her pull her eyelids open as if to say, "did I miss something?", I grinned from ear to shining ear. When she saw the headline today that reads "Yes he did", it brought back yesterday's joy and she said, "oh, I have to get that paper!" I looked at her and said, "yes, you do. Because yes he did. Yes we did. We all did. Yes, you did Mom!" I was proud of her. I am still proud of her, and I always will be. Mary Ann, and I, and Bob, and you...and Ann Smith, my mom, changed the world yesterday. And that's got to be a good thing.
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