Friday Floodaku

It's been raining all week here in the music city. In fact, its been raining very hard. The beating drops drum up memories barely dimmed by the few days of sunshine and months of recovery that still continue to this day. Finally the sun came out today; but it is evident that the rain has already wrecked havoc on a city still reeling from earlier devastation. This Friday is dedicated to a flood haiku.

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Flood Memories
Flood-fresh wounds,
Bleed rich, the careless rain's disregard
of our delicatenesses.

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Stuck in the 80's!

Ok...you already know I listen to an iPOD to feed my creative monsters. Today I accidented upon this: Stuck in the 80's! Now I didnt think it would be that good; but it was pretty fun and really brought back some memories. I did like, maybe love the 80's! I can remember my brainwaves during that evolutionary point in my life....(smile, laugh, choke). Anyway, Napolean Dynamite would have been proud.

50 Ways To Know That You're Stuck In The 80's:
Written by: Paul Vecchione

30. You go to Pep-Boys trying to find a Flux-Capacitor for your new DeLorean.
31. Whenever you paint, you think to yourself, "Wax on, wax off, wax on, wax off".
32. You think that the word "come" in the song "Relax" is a synonym for "proceed".
33. You sometimes have a hard time sleeping because you're worried that Mr. Roper will find out that Jack isn't REALLY gay and kick him out of the apartment.
34. Nobody is impressed when you show them how well you can moonwalk.
35. One day, in a staff meeting, you turn to your boss with a quizzical look on your face and say," Whatcha talkin 'bout, Willis"?
36. Whenever you hear, "Flashdance", you must put a chair in the middle of the room, beat it, and have someone dump water on you. Your co-workers are getting tired of this.
37. You still have the birth certificate for your first Cabbage Patch Doll.
38. You can't figure out why nobody else sees the true talent of the "New Kids on the Block".
39. You've been trying to follow Skip Stephensons career since the end of "Real People" without much luck.
40. Whenever faced with a tough decision, you ask yourself, "What would Ferris do in this situation"
41. You still don't realize that Tic-Tac-Toe is a winless game.
42. You want hair just like Goose.
43. You use the phrase, "gag me with a spoon", at least three times per day.
44. You keep hoping that Twisted Sister will make a comeback.
45. You think the Pet Shop Boys are heterosexual.
46. You write a letter to the Gap asking them why they no longer sell parachute pants, because you really need a new pair.
47. You buy a Swatch.
48. You go to Subway and try to order a vegemite sandwich.
49. Your co-workers know to hide the fruit when you start walking around the building saying, "wakka-wakka-wakka"
50. You spend 3 hours on a Saturday night writing this list!!

...this is a great podcast to echo off the insides of your skull on a lonnnnggg day....
...now dont you want the rest....OK then here you go.

Ruminations of Readings

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Its a rather fascinating work. Many have noted and commented on its mysteries. It was a favorite of my late father-in-law's, Alfred Taylor Keil; of which, he could recite extensive stanzas without hesitation. Sometimes in the cool of the California day parked in chairs in front of the garage just as the sun winked from sight and ice cubes melted in our glasses tinted by his drink of choice, it would begin. Each time the words would flow like an ancient historian recanting how it all unfolded very mater-of-factly; no pauses, no hesitations.

A glance at this poem might get the "hungh?" reaction. Sometimes we take reality too seriously or our own perceptions to liteal. The truth hides between perception and reality. How else could such a poem have survived in the minds of men for so long. I was once asked what it meant and why did he like it so much; my response was watered down; such a question would not be briefly answered given the circumstances and its illuminations ability to tint the day. Al was a man of certain ideas. The Road Less Traveled; there lies the greater challenge to which only fortitude can atest. That was his other poem by Robert Frost. It was something we shared...an understanding of the power involved in choices, the irrelevance of feelings in the face of cold hard fact; the duty to dare. It was/is a notion that both my fathers share and I continue to hold true to by way of them both.



Even now, I can hear the ice cubes rattle as the elixer disappeared among the stanzas. I can still see his resolute posture as he would always conclude with "...at any rate..." That was his "phrase;" which I made him aware of several times by counting how often he used it in a single hour; he would always chuckle; unable to reply without using it again---which made us chuckle some more before retiring for the evening.

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The Rubaiyat
By Omar Khayyam; Written 1120 A.C.E.

I

---

Wake! For the Sun, who scatter'd into flight
The Stars before him from the Field of Night,
Drives Night along with them from Heav'n, and strikes
The Sultan's Turret with a Shaft of Light.

II

---

Before the phantom of False morning died,
Methought a Voice within the Tavern cried,
"When all the Temple is prepared within,
Why nods the drowsy Worshipper outside?"

III

---

And, as the Cock crew, those who stood before
The Tavern shouted--"Open then the Door!
You know how little while we have to stay,
And, once departed, may return no more."

IV

---

Now the New Year reviving old Desires,
The thoughtful Soul to Solitude retires,
Where the White Hand Of Moses on the Bough
Puts out, and Jesus from the Ground suspires.

V

---

Iram indeed is gone with all his Rose,
And Jamshyd's Sev'n-ring'd Cup where no one knows;
But still a Ruby kindles in the Vine,
And many a Garden by the Water blows,

VI

---

And David's lips are lockt; but in divine
High-piping Pehlevi, with "Wine! Wine! Wine!
Red Wine!"--the Nightingale cries to the Rose
That sallow cheek of hers t' incarnadine.

VII

---

Come, fill the Cup, and in the fire of Spring
Your Winter-garment of Repentance fling:
The Bird of Time bas but a little way
To flutter--and the Bird is on the Wing.

VIII

---

Whether at Naishapur or Babylon,
Whether the Cup with sweet or bitter run,
The Wine of Life keeps oozing drop by drop,
The Leaves of Life keep falling one by one.

IX

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Each Morn a thousand Roses brings, you say;
Yes, but where leaves the Rose of Yesterday?
And this first Summer month that brings the Rose
Shall take Jamshyd and Kaikobad away.

X

---

Well, let it take them! What have we to do
With Kaikobad the Great, or Kaikhosru?
Let Zal and Rustum bluster as they will,
Or Hatim call to Supper--heed not you

XI

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With me along the strip of Herbage strown
That just divides the desert from the sown,
Where name of Slave and Sultan is forgot--
And Peace to Mahmud on his golden Throne!

XII

---

A Book of Verses underneath the Bough,
A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread--and Thou
Beside me singing in the Wilderness--
Oh, Wilderness were Paradise enow!

XIII

---

Some for the Glories of This World; and some
Sigh for the Prophet's Paradise to come;
Ah, take the Cash, and let the Credit go,
Nor heed the rumble of a distant Drum!

XIV

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Look to the blowing Rose about us--"Lo,
Laughing," she says, "into the world I blow,
At once the silken tassel of my Purse
Tear, and its Treasure on the Garden throw."

XV

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And those who husbanded the Golden grain,
And those who flung it to the winds like Rain,
Alike to no such aureate Earth are turn'd
As, buried once, Men want dug up again.

XVI

---

The Worldly Hope men set their Hearts upon
Turns Ashes--or it prospers; and anon,
Like Snow upon the Desert's dusty Face,
Lighting a little hour or two--is gone.

XVII

---

Think, in this batter'd Caravanserai
Whose Portals are alternate Night and Day,
How Sultan after Sultan with his Pomp
Abode his destined Hour, and went his way.

XVIII

---

They say the Lion and the Lizard keep
The Courts where Jamshyd gloried and drank deep:
And Bahram, that great Hunter--the Wild Ass
Stamps o'er his Head, but cannot break his Sleep.

XIX

---

I sometimes think that never blows so red
The Rose as where some buried Caesar bled;
That every Hyacinth the Garden wears
Dropt in her Lap from some once lovely Head.

X

---

And this reviving Herb whose tender Green
Fledges the River-Lip on which we lean--
Ah, lean upon it lightly! for who knows
From what once lovely Lip it springs unseen!

XXI

---

Ah, my Belov'ed fill the Cup that clears
To-day Past Regrets and Future Fears:
To-morrow!--Why, To-morrow I may be
Myself with Yesterday's Sev'n Thousand Years.

XXII

---

For some we loved, the loveliest and the best
That from his Vintage rolling Time hath prest,
Have drunk their Cup a Round or two before,
And one by one crept silently to rest.

XXIII

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And we, that now make merry in the Room
They left, and Summer dresses in new bloom
Ourselves must we beneath the Couch of Earth
Descend--ourselves to make a Couch--for whom?

XXIV

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Ah, make the most of what we yet may spend,
Before we too into the Dust descend;
Dust into Dust, and under Dust to lie
Sans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer, and--sans End!

XXV

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Alike for those who for To-day prepare,
And those that after some To-morrow stare,
A Muezzin from the Tower of Darkness cries
"Fools! your Reward is neither Here nor There."

XXVI

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Why, all the Saints and Sages who discuss'd
Of the Two Worlds so wisely--they are thrust
Like foolish Prophets forth; their Words to Scorn
Are scatter'd, and their Mouths are stopt with Dust.

XXVII

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Myself when young did eagerly frequent
Doctor and Saint, and heard great argument
About it and about: but evermore
Came out by the same door where in I went.

XXVIII

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With them the seed of Wisdom did I sow,
And with mine own hand wrought to make it grow;
And this was all the Harvest that I reap'd--
"I came like Water, and like Wind I go."

XXIX

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Into this Universe, and Why not knowing
Nor Whence, like Water willy-nilly flowing;
And out of it, as Wind along the Waste,
I know not Whither, willy-nilly blowing.

XXX

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What, without asking, hither hurried Whence?
And, without asking, Whither hurried hence!
Oh, many a Cup of this forbidden Wine
Must drown the memory of that insolence!

XXXI

---

Up from Earth's Centre through the Seventh Gate
rose, and on the Throne of Saturn sate;
And many a Knot unravel'd by the Road;
But not the Master-knot of Human Fate.

XXXII

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There was the Door to which I found no Key;
There was the Veil through which I might not see:
Some little talk awhile of Me and Thee
There was--and then no more of Thee and Me.

XXXIII

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Earth could not answer; nor the Seas that mourn
In flowing Purple, of their Lord forlorn;
Nor rolling Heaven, with all his Signs reveal'd
And hidden by the sleeve of Night and Morn.

XXXIV

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Then of the Thee in Me works behind
The Veil, I lifted up my hands to find
A Lamp amid the Darkness; and I heard,
As from Without--"The Me Within Thee Blind!"

XXXV

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Then to the lip of this poor earthen Urn
I lean'd, the Secret of my Life to learn:
And Lip to Lip it murmur'd--"While you live
Drink!--for, once dead, you never shall return."

XXXVI

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I think the Vessel, that with fugitive
Articulation answer'd, once did live,
And drink; and Ah! the passive Lip I kiss'd,
How many Kisses might it take--and give!

XXXVII

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For I remember stopping by the way
To watch a Potter thumping his wet Clay:
And with its all-obliterated Tongue
It murmur'd--"Gently, Brother, gently, pray!"

XXXVIII

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And has not such a Story from of Old
Down Man's successive generations roll'd
Of such a clod of saturated Earth
Cast by the Maker into Human mould?

XXXIX

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And not a drop that from our Cups we throw
For Earth to drink of, but may steal below
To quench the fire of Anguish in some Eye
There hidden--far beneath, and long ago.

XL

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As then the Tulip for her morning sup
Of Heav'nly Vintage from the soil looks up,
Do you devoutly do the like, till Heav'n
To Earth invert you--like an empty Cup.

XLI

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Perplext no more with Human or Divine,
To-morrow's tangle to the winds resign,
And lose your fingers in the tresses of
The Cypress--slender Minister of Wine.

XLII

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And if the Wine you drink, the Lip you press
End in what All begins and ends in--Yes;
Think then you are To-day what Yesterday
You were--To-morrow You shall not be less.

XLIII

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So when that Angel of the darker Drink
At last shall find you by the river-brink,
And, offering his Cup, invite your Soul
Forth to your Lips to quaff--you shall not shrink.

XLIV

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Why, if the Soul can fling the Dust aside,
And naked on the Air of Heaven ride,
Were't not a Shame--were't not a Shame for him
In this clay carcase crippled to abide?

XLV

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'Tis but a Tent where takes his one day's rest
A Sultan to the realm of Death addrest;
The Sultan rises, and the dark Ferrash
Strikes, and prepares it for another Guest.

XLVI

---

And fear not lest Existence closing your
Account, and mine, should know the like no more;
The Eternal Saki from that Bowl has pour'd
Millions of Bubbles like us, and will pour.

XLVII

---

When You and I behind the Veil are past,
Oh, but the long, long while the World shall last,
Which of our Coming and Departure heeds
As the Sea's self should heed a pebble-cast.

XLVIII

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A Moment's Halt--a momentary taste
Of Being from the Well amid the Waste--
And Lo!--the phantom Caravan has reach'd
The Nothing it set out from--Oh, make haste!

XLIX

---

Would you that spangle of Existence spend
About the Secret--Quick about it, Friend!
A Hair perhaps divides the False and True--
And upon what, prithee, may life depend?

L

---

A Hair perhaps divides the False and True;
Yes; and a single Alif were the clue--
Could you but find it--to the Treasure-house,
And peradventure to The Master too;

LI

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Whose secret Presence, through Creation's veins
Running Quicksilver-like eludes your pains;
Taking all shapes from Mah to Mahi; and
They change and perish all--but He remains;

LII

---

A moment guess'd--then back behind the Fold
Immerst of Darkness round the Drama roll'd
Which, for the Pastime of Eternity,
He doth Himself contrive, enact, behold.

LIII

---

But if in vain, down on the stubborn floor
Of Earth, and up to Heav'n's unopening Door
You gaze To-day, while You are You--how then
To-morrow, You when shall be You no more?

LIV

---

Waste not your Hour, nor in the vain pursuit
Of This and That endeavour and dispute;
Better be jocund with the fruitful Grape
Than sadden after none, or bitter, Fruit.

LV

---

You know, my Friends, with what a brave Carouse
I made a Second Marriage in my house;
Divorced old barren Reason from my Bed
And took the Daughter of the Vine to Spouse.

LVI

---

For "Is" and "Is-not" though with Rule and Line
And "Up" and "Down" by Logic I define,
Of all that one should care to fathom,
Was never deep in anything but--Wine.

LVII

---

Ah, but my Computations, People say,
Reduced the Year to better reckoning?--Nay
'Twas only striking from the Calendar
Unborn To-morrow, and dead Yesterday.

LVIII

---

And lately, by the Tavern Door agape,
Came shining through the Dusk an Angel Shape
Bearing a Vessel on his Shoulder; and
He bid me taste of it; and 'twas--the Grape!

LIX

---

The Grape that can with Logic absolute
The Two-and-Seventy jarring Sects confute:
The sovereign Alchemist that in a trice
Life's leaden metal into Gold transmute:

LX

---

The mighty Mahmud, Allah-breathing Lord
That all the misbelieving and black Horde
Of Fears and Sorrows that infest the Soul
Scatters before him with his whirlwind Sword.

LXI

---

Why, be this Juice the growth of God, who dare
Blaspheme the twisted tendril as a Snare?
A Blessing, we should use it, should we not?
And if a Curse--why, then, Who set it there?

LXII

---

I must abjure the Balm of Life, I must,
Scared by some After-reckoning ta'en on trust,
Or lured with Hope of some Diviner Drink,
To fill the Cup--when crumbled into Dust!

LXIII

---

Oh, threats of Hell and Hopes of Paradise!
One thing at least is certain--This Life flies;
One thing is certain and the rest is Lies;
The Flower that once has blown for ever dies.

LXIV

---

Strange, is it not? that of the myriads who
Before us pass'd the door of Darkness through,
Not one returns to tell us of the Road,
Which to discover we must travel too.

LXV

---

The Revelations of Devout and Learn'd
Who rose before us, and as Prophets burn'd,
Are all but Stories, which, awoke from Sleep,
They told their comrades, and to Sleep return'd.

LXVI

---

I sent my Soul through the Invisible,
Some letter of that After-life to spell:
And by and by my Soul return'd to me,
And answer'd "I Myself am Heav'n and Hell:"

LXVII

---

Heav'n but the Vision of fulfill'd Desire,
And Hell the Shadow from a Soul on fire,
Cast on the Darkness into which Ourselves,
So late emerged from, shall so soon expire.

LXVIII

---

We are no other than a moving row
Of Magic Shadow-shapes that come and go
Round with the Sun-illumined Lantern held
In Midnight by the Master of the Show;

LXIX

---

But helpless Pieces of the Game He plays
Upon this Chequer-board of Nights and Days;
Hither and thither moves, and checks, and slays,
And one by one back in the Closet lays.

LXX

---

The Ball no question makes of Ayes and Noes,
But Here or There as strikes the Player goes;
And He that toss'd you down into the Field,
He knows about it all--He knows--HE knows!

LXXI

---

The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
Moves on: nor all your Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all your Tears wash out a Word of it.

LXXII

---

And that inverted Bowl they call the Sky,
Whereunder crawling coop'd we live and die,
Lift not your hands to It for help--for It
As impotently moves as you or I.

LXXIII

---

With Earth's first Clay They did the Last Man knead,
And there of the Last Harvest sow'd the Seed:
And the first Morning of Creation wrote
What the Last Dawn of Reckoning shall read.

LXXIV

---

Yesterday This Day's Madness did prepare;
To-morrow's Silence, Triumph, or Despair:
Drink! for you know not whence you came, nor why:
Drink! for you know not why you go, nor where.

LXXV

---

I tell you this--When, started from the Goal,
Over the flaming shoulders of the Foal
Of Heav'n Parwin and Mushtari they flung
In my predestined Plot of Dust and Soul.

LXXVI

---

The Vine had struck a fibre: which about
If clings my being--let the Dervish flout;
Of my Base metal may be filed a Key,
That shall unlock the Door he howls without.

LXXVII

---

And this I know: whether the one True Light
Kindle to Love, or Wrath-consume me quite,
One Flash of It within the Tavern caught
Better than in the Temple lost outright.

LXXVIII

---

What! out of senseless Nothing to provoke
A conscious Something to resent the yoke
Of unpermitted Pleasure, under pain
Of Everlasting Penalties, if broke!

LXXIX

---

What! from his helpless Creature be repaid
Pure Gold for what he lent him dross-allay'd--
Sue for a Debt he never did contract,
And cannot answer--Oh, the sorry trade!

LXXX

---

Oh, Thou, who didst with pitfall and with gin
Beset the Road I was to wander in,
Thou wilt not with Predestined Evil round
Enmesh, and then impute my Fall to Sin!

LXXXI

---

Oh, Thou who Man of baser Earth didst make,
And ev'n with Paradise devise the Snake:
For all the Sin wherewith the Face of Man
Is blacken'd--Man's forgiveness give--and take!

LXXXII

---

As under cover of departing Day
Slunk hunger-stricken Ramazan away,
Once more within the Potter's house alone
I stood, surrounded by the Shapes of Clay.

LXXXIII

---

Shapes of all Sorts and Sizes, great and small,
That stood along the floor and by the wall;
And some loquacious Vessels were; and some
Listen'd perhaps, but never talk'd at all.

LXXXIV

---

Said one among them--"Surely not in vain
My substance of the common Earth was ta'en
And to this Figure moulded, to be broke,
Or trampled back to shapeless Earth again."

LXXXV

---

Then said a Second--"Ne'er a peevish Boy
Would break the Bowl from which he drank in joy,
And He that with his hand the Vessel made
Will surely not in after Wrath destroy."

LXXXVI

---

After a momentary silence spake
Some Vessel of a more ungainly Make;
"They sneer at me for leaning all awry:
What! did the Hand then of the Potter shake?"

LXXXVII

---

Whereat some one of the loquacious Lot--
I think a Sufi pipkin-waxing hot--
"All this of Pot and Potter--Tell me then,
Who is the Potter, pray, and who the Pot?"

LXXXVIII

---

"Why," said another, "Some there are who tell
Of one who threatens he will toss to Hell
The luckless Pots he marr'd in making--Pish!
He's a Good Fellow, and 'twill all be well."

LXXXIX

---

"Well," Murmur'd one, "Let whoso make or buy,
My Clay with long Oblivion is gone dry:
But fill me with the old familiar juice,
Methinks I might recover by and by."

XC

---

So while the Vessels one by one were speaking,
The little Moon look'd in that all were seeking:
And then they jogg'd each other, "Brother! Brother!
Now for the Porter's shoulder-knot a-creaking!"

XCI

---

Ah, with the Grape my fading Life provide,
And wash the Body whence the Life has died,
And lay me, shrouded in the living Leaf,
By some not unfrequented Garden-side.

XCII

---

That ev'n my buried Ashes such a snare
Of Vintage shall fling up into the Air
As not a True-believer passing by
But shall be overtaken unaware.

XCIII

---

Indeed the Idols I have loved so long
Have done my credit in this World much wrong:
Have drown'd my Glory in a shallow Cup
And sold my Reputation for a Song.

XCIV

---

Indeed, indeed, Repentance of before
I swore--but was I sober when I swore?
And then and then came Spring, and Rose-in-hand
My thread-bare Penitence apieces tore.

XCV

---

And much as Wine has play'd the Infidel,
And robb'd me of my Robe of Honour--Well,
I wonder often what the Vintners buy
One half so precious as the stuff they sell.

XCVI

---

Yet Ah, that Spring should vanish with the Rose!
That Youth's sweet-scented manuscript should close!
The Nightingale that in the branches sang,
Ah, whence, and whither flown again, who knows!

XCVII

---

Would but the Desert of the Fountain yield
One glimpse--if dimly, yet indeed, reveal'd,
To which the fainting Traveller might spring,
As springs the trampled herbage of the field!

XCVIII

---

Would but some wing'ed Angel ere too late
Arrest the yet unfolded Roll of Fate,
And make the stern Recorder otherwise
Enregister, or quite obliterate!

XCIX

---

Ah, Love! could you and I with Him conspire
To grasp this sorry Scheme of Things entire,
Would not we shatter it to bits--and then
Re-mould it nearer to the Heart's Desire!

C

---

Yon rising Moon that looks for us again--
How oft hereafter will she wax and wane;
How oft hereafter rising look for us
Through this same Garden--and for one in vain!

CI

---

And when like her, oh, Saki, you shall pass
Among the Guests Star-scatter'd on the Grass,
And in your joyous errand reach the spot
Where I made One--turn down an empty Glass!

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One of the best discussions I have found comes from here toward the meaning of such a poem. In the end; the answer is dust in the wind....that is the short of the long. A goodbye is always a hello in reverse. Typically our impact on those around is becomes far more apparent in their absense. Both of my fathers prefer to smell their flowers. Always say "I love you" and always say "I'm sorry" and "do the right thing"....all good lessons to abide by; especially when traveling the road less traveled. Heroes are those who DO what we all are probably capable of IF we were willing to pay the costs....

You're Gonna Miss This

---

Well it no secret that I might be accused of being odd. I am listening to a powerful and very well written song, "You're gonna miss this," by Trace Adkins. It is a very comfortable mix of country soul and life memories. If you've ever stopped during your day and remembered little things that nobody but you and one other person might understand; whether its mother and child, husband and wife, brother and sister, best friends; you'll understand. Sometimes its just the slightest little upturn of a smile from someone you love. Sometimes it may be the little rhythm in the middle of a song or even some unforgettable pancakes that filled you up for 3 days (...of course I cant tell you that story; but trust me, only one of us needs to remember; just smile and keep readin'). Its funny how time passes and we eventually hear ourselves say something that parents used to say or some kid addresses you as "sir" or "old" without hesitating like you remember saying about somebody you thought was "soooo old." Some of us can name music groups that nobody has heard of and after the shock of going through all the melodies and hook lines and reenacting the video, it dawns on you, "they werent even swimming upstream then...." Anyway...I think you got my drift. Check out thsese lyrics....


You're Gonna Miss This Lyrics

It's amazing how little things count for so much for so long. The sound of your mother's footsteps, the raise of an eyebrow, hearing your whole name called loud, smelling your favorite dish cooking and of course, the hugs of a lifetime....you're gonna miss this. Having seen Trace in person, HE is an imposing figure. I was impressed by how well he sounded and managed himself. He recently appeared on Celebrity Apprentice. He certainly represented Nashville well as well as fatherhood and the real down-home-people of America that just aint interested in a bunch of stuff you cant take with you. There's no price for pride in your child's eyes when they stare back at you. Yeah, thats something to be missed. Great song. Great artist. Great memories. Thats real "soul food!" Thanks Trace.

Fractured Frigid Friday; Frompy Friday Fixin's!

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---

Its another chilly Friday. The week seems like a blur. I am trying to sit quietly and listen to my self thing; but of course, its better if I just start typing. Its a heavy deadline month complicated by meetings that are what they are — meetings to schedule more meetings.

Its a great day to be alive and its only made better by being surrounded by great people. I was reflecting to an earlier time of nothingness in the before time when I knew few friends and even fewer people. Such were the days before now. I sometimes revisit the philosophies of those times and try to understand more than why; but also the ripple effect of dogmaticly carrying out my policies. Yada Yada Yada....bring on the dancin' girls.

So here's something lighter; but heavier for entertainment. GAMES

Download Fun Games for the Holidays

Get in the holiday spirit with fun and challenging games like Family Feud Holidays and Powerpuff Girls: Fast and Flurrious.

...and alas....let's eat!!!


Friday Fixins!

Easy Ham Roll-Ups

From Diana Rattray, Your Guide to Southern Food.
Easy ham roll-ups, a lunch or snack recipe with
crescent roll dough, ham, cheese, and mustard.

INGREDIENTS:

* 1 can refrigerated crescent roll dough
* prepared honey mustard
* 4 to 8 thin slices ham, depending on size
* 4 rectangular Mozzarella cheese slices, or use shredded Mozzarella cheese
* sesame seeds

PREPARATION:
Divide crescent rolls into 4 rectangles and press perforated seams together. Spread with the honey mustard. Top each rectangle with 1 slice of ham and 1 slice of cheese, or sprinkle with shredded cheese.

Roll lengthwise, then roll in sesame seeds. Cut each roll into 6 slices and bake at 350° following crescent roll directions, or until browned.
Makes 24.

Yellow Nightmares and Friday Fixins!

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I was behind a school bus this morning at the crack of dawn and it took me too far back...trapped between must and can't. For some of you, this will give you the same flashback. It's one of those "Ramen Noodles" transporters — those words or phrases that immediately conote a completely similar time full of hopes, fears and perceptions. Its a symbol for those magicly shared growing up times that dont even require description when spoken to the right people.

I can remember surviving in college on $20 a week and Ramen Noodles. I couldnt dream of it now. Is it only because I dont have to? Hmmm. It seemed pretty easy too back then. Anyway, on to the Yellow Monster Tales.

HHHRRRRRRRRRRNNNNNNN....HRRRNNNNNN... (tip: sound effects really help tell a story)
It bellowed and wobbled down the gravel road, waking the sun and the neighbors as it cruddled along, missing no potholes. WHEEEZZZST! it would squeak to a stop just before its glass jaws would spring open with a cool gust on a young morning face, terrified of what came next. Its what always came next. Some days were better than others; but most were blahhhhhh. The insistent eyes of the bus driver forced you to take the first step long before you were ready. Your ears could already hear what you would soon come face to face with. The sound of your footsteps echoing inside your mind like lead bricks being dropped on a thin layer of cheap rubber over cold steel as your heartbeat competes to be heard first. You notice the cold bar that helps you steady your climb just before your last private second of clearing the little half-wall before you are "on the runway." It's a tiny little passage you shuffle down. But make no mistake! Whatever is going on is NOT more important than ignoring the person flailing about that doesn't have a seat yet. Nothing is more important than the casual, but intentional verbal pebbles slung your desperate way. Your ears catch them all; your mind and eyes try to ignore everything for that one break of compassion, mercy or maybe even luck that some seat has magicly been preserved just for you. There are no warm fuzzy looks staring back into your eyes; only irritated people as you attempt to stop at every possibility. Finally someone angrily moves their stuff over so you can take a seat...not that the bus has been waiting still all this time; you've been swaying left and right, forward and backward for at least 2 minutes as the jeers crowd into your exhausted and embarrassed mind. But sitting is not the end of the treat......but that's another Yellow Monster Tale...

Its funny now...well, slightly. Was it the red and yellow lights that triggered the memories? The big red stop sign that opens like a greedy coffin? Does it carry over later to police lights? Was it the bright yellow cage sillohetted against the dark morning dawn? Maybe it was the look on the nerdish kid's face I could see even in very little light. I knew what he felt like. I had been him in the past and sometimes him in the future. I knew his oddness would spotlight him once the steps were cleared. I knew the thick glasses and ackward walk would sit him apart from the crowd. Even his sister's beauty would only be a curse. We won't even talk about how it feels being left by the school bus.......

The bus was nearly invisible around the curve ahead by the time I blinked back into the present. Luckily noone else was behind me or a sharp horn would have smacked me back to the future. Oh yeah....the good ole days.

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Oh well...on to something better! Its Friday Fixin's and I LOVE pecans! I can also appreciate a little chocolate. You're gonna love this!


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RECIPE: CHOCOLATE PECAN SQUARES

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INGREDIENTS: Base:
1/2 cup butter, softened
1 egg yolk
1 cup flour
2 tablespoons powdered sugar

Topping:
3 eggs
1/2 cup brown sugar
2 tablespoons flour
1/4 teaspoon salt
2/3 cup corn syrup
1 tablespoon lemon juice
1 cup pecans
1 cup chocolate chips

DIRECTIONS: Base: Combine butter and egg yolk in a mixing bowl. Add flour and powdered sugar. Press into a greased 8 inch square pan. Bake for 15 minutes at 350 degrees.

Topping: In a large bowl, beat eggs until slightly foamy. Combine brown sugar, flour, and salt. Stir into the eggs until blended. Beat in the corn syrup and lemon juice. Stir in the pecans and chocolate chips. Spread over the base. Bake at 350 degrees. for 35 to 40 minutes, until the top is set and the edges are browned. Cut into squares when cold. Hey don't forget the ice cream! Have a great weekend!

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Back to the Beginning...

It is with each passing year, we celebrate our beginning, our origin, our birth...that magic moment that we were released from the water to the air; from the warm into the cold, from expectation into reality. Such is the stuff of many great stories. I cannot pretend to know or understand the mysteries of birth or the female body or even conception; but since you are reading and I am writing; we WON our race. It's September 10th and I hope my father is celebrating his 61st birthday well. Funny thing about birthdays...they signify the beginning; but always leave you thinking about the end.


Anyway, It's fascinating some of the time to watch people age. You compare your past memories against what you see before you and your mind fills in the blanks. I am sure its like the hope a young couple has when they first behold their new bundle of joy and look into the future waiting for its life to fill in the blanks. One thing I notice for sure; the older we get, the more like children we become. A little of the magic comes back into our lives. We begin to relish mystery and surprise again; hope for the impossible and reach for the attainable. There's alot of directions this blog could take; especially since the one typing is sitting in a chair in the middle of nowhere, drifting where time and distance from reality are immeasureable. Remember when you used to think; someday I will be 20, 30, 40 or whatever age.


Now its exactly the same except: I wish I was 20, 30, 40 or whatever. At 40, I am not sure there is anywhere else I would rather be...which sounds funny even to me; nontheless true. Since I cannot write what must be going through his mind; I substitute with my own reflections and observations. Ironicly, as people get older; they tend to communicate a lot more about ANYTHING. I can remember a time that 10 words in a sentence might happen on holidays or right after I did something bad and some memorable punishment was forthcoming. NOW, its like a faucet without the spicket. Timeout! Whoa! Way too much information. I didn't aks for that! Uhh...I need to go. (just keepin' it real!)


It's all been enwisening to watch and experience aging. My wife said somthing once (sorry honey, just an expression...) that rings true during a conversation with her father, "It's ok that you suffer from old age — it helps me prepare by learning from your example...who else is going to teach me..." I am sure I am butchering her conversation; but the jest of it is that those before us prepare our understanding of what is to come. It's easy to look and see where and how the wrinkles form, the grey hairs, the hairline or lack of, the softening of the body etc. Afterall, you've seen very few musclular babies! We return the way we came in. I comprehend that is all its ugly realities and that's ok (or at least it might as well be).


Anyway, like children, our faces light up when we receive the gifts we REALLY wanted or see some old friend we truely have missed or just get mystified by the simple pleasure of living; even just watching fireflies across grassy fields at dusk. I saw his eyes light up at the mention of a 4-wheeler (not that "I think" he needs one or that it is the safest of presents); but it certainly frames up the Christmas list (or later) if "the Lord be willin' and the creek dont rise." (southern colloquialism) Life is short and precious; live it to the fullest. Every birthday is a tremendous blessing and another chance to smile and pass it on so someone else can too!

My Nappy Yesterdays

The drive in this morning was extremely delightful. A good nite passed with good friends and a fresh new day is on the rise. It's hump day! Don't slump on the hump! Ride, Ride, Ride! I am sure it will be a busy one; but there are just too many things to be thankful for to worry about what "might" happen. With that said, I flipped on the radio and this song sent me back to the future. It's an old Stevie Wonder song, I wish.

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Looking back on when I
Was a little nappy headed boy
Then my only worry
Was for Christmas what would be my toy
Even though we sometimes
Would not get a thing
We were happy with the
Joy the day would bring

I wish those days could come back once more
Why did those days ev-er have to go
I wish those days could come back once more
Why did those days ev-er have to go

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...more...

Seems like only yesterday, I could see my mother smile. Sometimes I can see it in my own face. Life is simplier when adults do the things they should to be the kind of parents we treasure for a lifetime. I can honestly say I didn't grow up under the "we are your best friends" mentality. There was NO doubt who was the parent and who was the child. In the beginning, there were 4 of us and we were thick as thieves. That is to say that only one of us could be mean to any of us. They were some fun times. All the men of the family cook. I guess the women do too. Mom always insisted on men not requiring mothers after her. We were cross trained. Whatever the parents said is what got done. There was never a question of at our leisure; but now. That seems confused in a society of "ask the child what they want." Obviously I would have chosen to sit around all day and watch cartoons; but I was cutting grass from age 5, as well as us all having chores to be done before they got home from work. The "done or else" was never required...at least not more than once. And that lends fingers to thousands of blogs of tall tales and adventures...but not today.


I watch the school children play and wonder if tomorrow they will be ok. I wonder if they are safe when they go home. Will they even be safe on the bus? Obviously, the people in the world have changed and some think parenthood is the same as breeding; but they aren't. Like a garden, these little spirits must be watered, pruned and surrounded by warm light. Afterall, they are the gardeners of the future and we know what happens to unattended fields. In the eyes of my nephews and nieces, I see the glimmer of the future and pray for their safe passage til then.

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