Oh yeah

Life has a funny way of washing in and blowing all good intentions out the door. I had intended to post with relative frequency. I also intended to do a lot of other things, but I guess God thought they would have been too boring. I'm still working on that one.

In the mean time, I have nothing of consequence to write. My brain has grown chummy with a puddle of molasses and for fear of starting a cerebral war, I shall not insist too strongly that I pump something worthwhile onto the screen.

So, instead, I'll just mutter about this and that. And if I start to remind you of the crazy man wandering down the streets of Jerusalem, just smile and nod, I'll get over it sometime.


There's been a lone goose hanging about the Demme's dock recently. Which, for those of you who are not informed, is unusual in the middle of the summer. Geese mate for life. They never divorce. Thank God. So. Anyway... I have grown accustomed to its face... beautiful, smooth, black feathers. White chin strap. Nose a tad long, but countenance pleasant over all. Dark eyes, pools of quiet water. Long, elegantly muscled neck and broad wings, ever ready to swiftly carry it away. I have decided he will be my goose prince and I will name him Squishy. No, wait! Just kidding. How pathetic.

From my wanderings through a multitude of blogs, I have come to this conclusion: I will not use the words "musings", "rants", or "ramblings" in my blog unless I have no other recourse. In and of themselves, they are dandy words, however, they have just been used far too many times, turning them into something one might refer as "the proverbial" word. I truly dislike blending in with the crowd when it comes to writing. Whether I've succeeded in separating myself or not is entirely another discussion. For another day. Thank you.

And here, to end this for now, is a quote: "We can't solve problems by using the same kind of thinking we used when we created them." - Albert Einstein (1879-1955) German-born American Physicist


More creative writing, how boring

~Ann came home after school to find a cow in her living room.

School had been stressful. The children hadn't behaved and the temperature was far too cold for the one room schoolhouse's stove to hold at bay. Ann trudged through the pasture between her house and the school, careful to miss the treacherous patches of ice coating the snow. She tucked her fingers under her arms; her gloves left a lot to be desired.

As Ann made her way to the gate, she groaned inwardly. Its wooden slats hung loose. "Oh you stupid beast," she mumbled, her lips stiff with cold. It was evening and to the north a storm was gathering; dark, troubled clouds, and raising wind that bode ill news. The temperature would drop far tonight. "That cow will just have to care for itself," was her decision.

She made her way up the two steps to her door, pushed inward into her small home. It smelled strange. And over the moan of the wind Ann heard something heavy fall with a crash to the floor. She screamed, jumped behind the door and carefully peered around its solid comfort into the room. By now her eyes had adjusted to the darkness.

Ann laughed with relief. Across the room, leaning against the table, was the errant cow. It had made itself at home, enjoying the comparative warmth. Who wouldn't?


Creative writing 101

Take this sentance: Angela's first skydive was more of a thrill than she'd expected.

And change it to this:

"Breathe," was the recurrent thought. "Breathe in and out." Slowly, that is what the instructor had said. Relax your shoulders... pretend you are watching the white clouds scud across the azure sky from your hammock. And whatever you do, don't look out that open door where the wind screams, its fingers reaching, searching for something to drag off into the roiled atmosphere behind the tail of the speeding plane. Don’t look yet, anyway. And try not to think of what will happen once the correct altitude is achieved.

Angela couldn't believe she'd allowed her brother to talk her into this insanity. Three days, that's how long it'd taken him to beat through her protests. She now wished she'd been stronger... stronger than how her knees felt now. Wobbly. She kept them locked to keep herself upright and grasped the straps dangling from the ceiling of the plane as though her life depended on the strength of her strangle hold.

It was a good thing too, for with a suddenness that took her breath away again, the plane hit an extreme down draft and wildly lost altitude. The greedy wind screamed with anticipation, but Angela somehow held her position, though her head had hit the metal brace above. As the plane fell, now out of control, its right wing was knocked skyward with violence by a rouge updraft. Angela's world spun and she felt herself take wing, slam against the sharp edge of the cargo door, and tumble head over heels into the great outdoors.

"That's going to be a whopper of a bruise," was the abstract thought that flitted through her stupefied brain as she did cartwheels across the sky. Frankly, Angela wasn't quite herself. But, nature kicked in and reminded her that it was probably in her best interest to heed the warning, "Earth to Angela, earth to Angela." Literally. The terror of imminent doom burst her bubble of apathy, making way for memories of the instructor's wisdom to flood in. "When you arrive at the altitude of 3,500 feet, pull the ripcord." She glanced at her altimeter and gasped. It read 2,574 feet. Angela fumbled around, finally found the handle and pulled.

With a mule-kicking jerk, her parachute blossomed overhead. Its colorful canopy struck a sharp contrast against the blue sky. Angela's life stopped flashing before her eyes, and she lazily rode the cushioned air downward towards the grassy green field, where she made, for a beginner, a remarkably soft landing. After her feet touched the textured grass, she lay back weakly, pillowed her head on her shaking arms and attempted to slow her hyperventilation. As she wished mightily for a paper bag she glanced upward at the apparently innocent sky and vowed, "Never again."


Space filler til I write something worthwhile

Sleeping Giant

Night falls;
The mountain slumbers,
Pulling its knees up
Under the blanket
Of evening mist.
Memories of yesterday
Pillow its head,
And hopes for tomorrow
Gleam as bright stars
In the sheltering firmament
Row upon row,
Great green trees
Cluster at the mountain's feet;
The oncoming day's raiment
Waiting to be shrugged
About its shoulders
At the returning of the sun
Like a jeweled, dew-laden cloak.


Wipe yo feet, hunny chile

I just discovered a new favorite thing. To sit in the middle of the ball field with bare feet in the pouring rain, looking for four leafed clovers (found one) and eating a big, cheap, super market cheese danish. The kind that makes you feel ill afterwards, but is totally worth it in the midst of consumption. You get back inside drippy, sticky and totally content. Yay.

Postscript: I have decided that the spell check on this thing never got past the third grade. It told me "clovers" should be spelled "clobbers." Good grief.


I love to laugh. Sometimes it is an expression far truer than words.

Nervous laughter, when you're unsure what to say, you want to say something, but you cannot. So you laugh.

Burdenless freedom of children's laughter, never forced, without guile, maybe one of the truest expressions of the joy within that you'll ever find.

A sarcastic "ha!" which can either be meant to hurt or meant in jest. Both are easily like a knife thrust.

Joyful laughter, it bubbles out whether you want it to or not.

Chuckling with friends over stupid things, dumb jokes, and at each other.

Quiet laughter, shared with one other, about something no one else would understand.

The kind I love best, though I don't understand why: laughter through tears. A mixture of joy and agony, happiness and pain, the advent of renewed hope over the death of a vision. Or, simply, because someone made you laugh to remind you that trouble isn't forever.


It worked. I wasn't even trying

I saw a bear today. On my way to the lake, just past the gulf course. I wasn't even scared, not really. I think it was more one of those times where there is no time to get down through the list of other reactions to the "eek!" one. I figure it's about 12th on my list (don't bother to ask me how long the list is...)

I was tripping along totally enjoying the day, bright sun, cool breeze, the smell of fresh cut grass and the really annoying horse fly tenaciously orbiting my head (oo! question! can one enjoy something that is at the same time annoying?) Like I was saying, I was enjoying the day, the walk, the moment, and marveling over the complexities of God's creation. So, when I finally stopped gazing upward at the beauty of the green leaves contrasted against the blue, blue sky and looked down the road I was pleased (to put it mildly) to observe a bear lumbering out from within the clustering ferns of the forest. I suppose it was out on a walk for the same reason as I... too good of a day to stay inside mimicking a couch potato.

I'm proud to announce that I didn't even gasp. Instead, I slowed my pace, stopped and gawked (this action, gawking, is only polite when the object gawked at is not human. Your mother probably taught you that one). Surprisingly, it did the same. Stopped. It didn't gawk, this bear must have had a good mother. After stopping, it then plunked its large, hairy rear on the asphalt and tilted its blunt nose upwind and commenced sampling the breeze. I was downwind, by the way. I think I was about 10 yards from it, give or take a few. Close enough to see the variational coloring of its thick, glossy coat. It's a Black bear, naturally, but as some of you might know, Black bears are not always black. My aforementioned friend was a lighter shade, mostly a dirty tannish color. A bit darker about the face. Glistening chocolate eyes, though a mite beady... and vaguely close set. He was of a medium to large stature, I'd guess about shoulder high to my waist.

Swallowing my breath, I slowly inched my way towards its bulk--it turned to study me, its gaze bland--carefully, carefully, until I was close enough to reach out my hand and...

Just kidding.

I continued to parody a statue until, from the distance, both the bear and I heard a car as it wound its way along the road towards us. The bear's ears twitched and he hastily pulled himself onto all fours and lumbered off into the underbrush, making quite a racket, I must say.

I breathed again.

And finished my peripateticical wanderings.


Buzz off, I'm happy here

Is it our place to wait around to be taught, or should we be stepping out to grasp knowledge and experience for ourselves? Possibly a mixture of the two? There seems to be a tendency to set ourselves in a patterned daily lifestyle and expect those over us to endow us with wisdom. We, like sponges, absorb only what they work to produce, to one extent or another. There must be a difference between living our lives in a manner better than the majority of the mob and opening ourselves to something more. To excel. There is a need for a mind set of reaching out and taking hold.

Note the contents of my latest post. The general mass wishes to stay comfortably within the total abstinence area, it's simpler, safer, and, may I suggest, lazier? Fear based? I haven't yet searched out every reason for this. It takes a quantity of effort to seek out the perfect balance that overreaches that exuded by a "better" lifestyle. Truthfully, it just takes too much energy to allow ourselves to be brought into a place of openness with God that equips us with the ability to sense where His balanced pathway may be.

Relax, I'm not implying the idea of mediocrity, wishy-washiness or fence-stitting. To have a high standard is a part of the "excelling" lifestyle. But then one may take it to the extreme only because it places you in a highly "comfortable" position; a position not based on knowledge or understanding, but merely an easy following of tradition. Tradition, too, is never to be tossed aside on a whim, however, when a sharp-edged relationship with God is sacrificed on the altar of mindless tradition following, what then can we expect? A mass of robots, possibly.

So, ask yourself why. Why do we do this? Why don't we do that? Why should I resist mediocrity and stand for something far beyond a "better" life? Why should I not wait around to be fed like a baby bird? Why must I seek something that will most likely be uncomfortable? Don't be a mindless being... "Seek not to follow in the footsteps of the men of old, but seek the things they sought."

Seek; don't float down the current of life. Swim away from the falls of the "better." Climb up the banks of the Best and excel.

Sounds good? Well...



"To many, total abstinence is easier than perfect moderation." - Saint Augustine of Hippo (354-430AD) Numidian-born Theologian

I'm looking for whatever you wish to say, rant, suggest, comment, soap-box, expound, tear apart, build upon, laugh at, etc. etc. etc... you get my point.

P.S. This quote is neither directed at any one person, group of people, nor at my uncle's, sister's, cousin's, brother's godson. It is merely following the previous flavor of my blog, to stir people to think. :-)


Lil bit

It all comes down to trust. Think about it.