Intentions, Plans, and Erasers

I was driving down the highway, a perfectly straight line of a highway. And yet, there were very small movements of my hands on the wheel. Little corrections made along the way. I'm not typically conscious of this, it becomes an auto-pilot thing when you have driven awhile. Maybe, one of my tires is a bit low on air, maybe one needs balancing, maybe it is some minor front-end alignment issue that causes these movements of my hands on the wheel in some compensatory way to keep me moving forward. Maybe subtle changes in the road conditions.

I am not a sailor, but while thinking about my hands on the wheel of my truck, I started thinking about sailing. How it is necessary to run a rather zig-zag route in order to go forward. Tacking here, tacking there, as the winds dictated.

And then I began thinking of the course of my life and it seemed an illusion that I was advancing through time in some linear manner. That while I made and executed plans all along the way, other variables seemed to always intervene. Winds blew and then changed direction. And my plans shifted accordingly.

If I look at any time in my life, and then think back to where I was 5 years earlier it seems surprising to me that where I thought I would be was not where I wound up. And yet, the whole time it seemed I knew what I was doing, and was in control. In retrospect, it seems an illusion. There are too many intervening and unexpected variables. And they alter the course in unpredictable ways. I can write out a plan ahead, to be sure. But I keep an eraser handy.

I will plan my next three days. Will they go as planned? Maybe. Maybe not. Tomorrow, I may turn a familiar corner as I have so many times before, only to find myself in a circumstance unexpected. For better or worse. In my mind I keep a running plan, and an eraser.

Wreck on the Highway

Wreck On The Highway
Last night I was out driving
Coming home at the end of the working day
I was riding alone through the drizzling rain
On a deserted stretch of a county two-lane
When I came upon a wreck on the highway

There was blood and glass all over
And there was nobody there but me
As the rain tumbled down hard and cold
I seen a young man lying by the side of the road
He cried Mister, won't you help me please

An ambulance finally came and took him to Riverside
I watched as they drove him away
And I thought of a girlfriend or a young wife
And a state trooper knocking in the middle of the night
To say your baby died in a wreck on the highway

Sometimes I sit up in the darkness
And I watch my baby as she sleeps
Then I climb in bed and I hold her tight
I just lay there awake in the middle of the night
Thinking 'bout the wreck on the highway

by Bruce Springsteen

Feeling Stuffed.

Its been a day of working on STUFF. Wood stuff. Stuff on the drawing board. E-mail stuff. Mom stuff. Dog stuff. Cleaning up the house stuff. Hygienic stuff. Paying bills stuff. Thinking of people I love stuff. Taking out the garbage stuff. Watching TV stuff. Enjoying the wonderful air stuff. Getting irritated at noisy neighbors stuff. Forgiving them stuff. And then there's the other stuff, like the news stuff, and. the weather stuff. And then there is nap-time stuff. But I can't sleep because of thinking about the other stuff. Tomorrow's stuff. I need to be burped.

Working Outdoors

The past two weeks or so it has seemed impossible to get much done outside. Its been a heat wave. The next three days however, look good, with temps in the low to mid-80s. So, I have laid out a couple of boards in the shade of the carport. Hopefully, I can work this material into some small constructions...probably small boxes. The wood is Sweet Gum. I have to work around major splits that occurred in drying, but I think I can get a few things out of these boards. It will feel good to pick up the tools again for a few days.

Very Brief, Disturbing Dream

The phone rang once in the middle of the night. I picked it up. A very weak and shaky voice said, "Danny?" I awoke sitting up and hearing myself say, "Mom?"

The Fairytale

I re-discovered this drawing from some 20 years ago, while at a friend's house today. I liked it then, and today I liked it again!

16"x20" Ink and Prismacolor pencil.

Daybreak

Lost Icons

This is a picture from a Charlie's Angels fanzine from the 70's. She died today after a long struggle. Michael Jackson died too. I am saddest about Farah, although both were amazing performers.

Remembering Italian Beef Sandwiches

Watching a show on public television the other night about 'famous sandwiches', I was reminded of a boyhood experience when I was living in the Chicago suburbs. There was a small Italian Beef Stand at the corner of the very block I lived on. I would spend my whole allowance on one of those sandwiches! My friends and I would ride our bikes down there and pig out! The sandwich consisted of a Hoagie type of roll which was sliced, and then each half received a ladle full of the seasoned juices in which the thinly sliced roast beef was simmering in. Then the roast beef was laid in, and topped with slices of cooked Italian sweet peppers. It was simply out of this world! I actually had several dreams about eating these sandwiches!

Of course, we couldn't get enough of these on our meager allowances, but we found out that the man who ran the stand actually had a taste for rabbit. Of course, we happened to live near a big railroad yard that we were always exploring (and always getting kicked out by 'Railroad Dicks' as we called them) and there were lots of rabbits there in the thickets around the tracks. The plot thickens.

This part of the tale gets a little gruesome, but we were determined to get more of those sandwiches. We came up with a rabbit hunting plan. We would walk the fields with sticks in our hands, spread out 10 feet or more apart. Rabbits, when scared, run a crazy zig-zag flight. Surely one of us stood a chance of clubbing it as it ran by. Sure enough, it worked. The guy at the Italian beef stand was willing to give us 3 sandwiches per rabbit. Soon, we began evolving our rabbit sticks, using young tree saplings that we whittled on and carved our initials into. We were quite proud of our clubs. We made chips along the handle for each rabbit we got. We played hockey out on the street with tin cans, improving our swing. Its a rather ugly story, I know. But damn it, we were going to get more of those sandwiches come hell or high water!

Mom's Demise

I go to visit her almost every day. If I don't, I feel some ambiguous guilt about letting her down, even though many times she is scarcely aware that I came and went. Sometimes she seems confused as to who I am. Sometimes she is delusional and frightened, because it is not possible for me to be there since I am dead already. Sometimes she has nothing to say at all. Sometimes she tells me crazy things such as "Your sister has been kidnapped. They are going to kill her." Sometimes she tells me she had an interesting conversation with someone. It is someone that I know has been dead for 10 years now. Today, I will go visit her and there is no telling what her state of mind will be. She may be angry and cursing. She may be a pitiful crying child. She may be sound asleep. There is no cure for Alzheimer's. You can slow its attack, but eventually it destroys your ability to think or feel.

Mimosa Trees

Mimosa trees are common here. They are small ornamental trees that can be seen along the roadside, or as 'under study' trees along the edges of wooded areas. They have leaves that are somewhat fern like, and their blossoms are profuse and exotic, looking like hot pink wispy powder puffs. (Hummingbirds love them!). They are drought tolerant, and can thrive even in poor soil. I want to add several of these to my yard. I have 3 problematic Hackberry trees in my yard that I want to be rid of. They are too close to the house, and tend to break up in strong winds. These Mimosas would be the perfect replacements!

Crazy Bird!

In my shop is a floor to ceiling window that looks out on to the back porch. Lately, a red bird has been coming to perch on the chair outside the window. Perhaps the same red bird that built her nest in the rose vines. She flaps her wings, and flies straight up about two feet, then drops down to the chair again. Sometimes she will do this over and over for 15 minutes or so! I am guessing she likes seeing her reflection in the glass, or thinks the reflection is another bird imitating her.

Peephole to the Murphy Bed.

For awhile we traveled compliments of the Air Force. And on one occasion, we wound up in California in a small town between Fresno and Modesto. There was a strategic Air Force base nearby, which is why we were there. It was a strange world of pastures and cows, and huge B-52 bombers circling the sky doing practice missions carrying supposed nuclear bombs. I liked to park by a pasture next to the run-way and watch these planes land and take off, flying slow and loud over the cows. The noise was deafening, and I had to hold my hands over my ears. Oddly enough, the cows seemed not to even notice. Perhaps they had gone deaf by then. Nice little town, laid out like a Bingo game. Streets going East and West were named letters of the alphabet. North-South streets were numbers. Eventually, we got a house on the corner of E-7. Bingo!!!!!
But before we found the house we took a tiny efficiency on the second floor of a frame structure that looked like a house turned into tiny efficiencies. There was a wooden staircase of peeling white paint that led to our door, and to our unknown neighbor's. There was one more floor above us. Our living unit was tiny. A small kitchen and a living room with a fold-down bed that came out of the wall once you opened the double doors to it. A Murphy bed. Across from the living room was the bathroom, and just outside it, was a table and chair against the wall with a mirror above it....a vanity of sorts.
We didn't know our neighbors. But the guy upstairs had a habit of drinking, and then driving his motorcycle. I saw him one day on the stairs, limping, and with his arm in a cast and his face all scratched up. No surprise there.!
Our next door neighbor was even stranger. One late afternoon, while lying on the Murphy bed watching tv, I happened to notice a peculiar white pile of something under the afore-mentioned vanity. Upon closer examination, it was a little pile of drywall dust, and it seemed that our horny next-door neighbor had drilled a hole through the wall, so as to possibly watch us having sex on the Murphy bed, or look between my wife's legs as she sat at the 'vanity'.
I drove down to a photo-copy place and asked to use their color copy machine. I am not sure what the latest technology is, but back then, the copier scanned the image 3 times, to pick up the array of colors. So I waited for the 'red' scan and then stuck my face onto the screen, hoping this would not render me blind. The print was perfect. My face was beet red. And so were my pupils! It looked like a 'me' from hell. Exactly what I was hoping for!
Back at the efficiency, I positioned this print against the back of the chair in front of the 'vanity', and staring right back at the hole in the wall, along with a note that said, "You are going to die......soon!" The guy moved out the next day. It is, I guess, a good thing, money was tight, and to buy a gun and kill the guy, then dispose of his body would have been pretty expensive, and we were saving our dough to buy a house.

The Show of Hands

"The hand that rocks the cradle, rules the world." from a poem by William Ross Wallace, published in 1865. Drawing by O.C. circa 1990. Sometimes it is mom, sometimes it is dad, but it is best when it is both.

Yesterday

Veggie Shisk-Kabobs ready for the grill.
Sitting down to eat. Salad from the garden, pole beans in the skillet, veggies, shrimp and steak from the grill, new potatoes that M brought, beer, iced tea, bocci in the backyard, etc.
Me, having a good time despite butterfly on my shoulder.
Life patiently waiting while we gluttonous humans ate, in hopes of some small pittance. She got more than that, to be sure. She has been a lazy dog all day today, sleeping off a case of rib-eye belly.

Vegetarian Pole Beans Cooking

I am hoping I can get the old Southern flavor of my grandmother's beans. I used 'vegan' bacon crisped and crumbled., Vidalia onion sauteed in a little bit of olive oil, added a few cups of vegetable broth, and seasoned with freshly ground pepper and sea salt. Now, it all just needs to cook down for at least 30 minutes or so.

This Morning's Garden Yield....Yum!

Pole Beans, Romaine and other loose leaf lettuce.

Hot! Hot! Hot!

I had a lot of things to do today...today..today. And it was so Hot! Hot! Hot! I drove to a nearby town for groceries, groceries, groceries, looking at the temperature gauge on my truck, truck, truck, also saying Hot! Hot! Hot! I peeled my sticky, sticky, sticky shirt away from my skin, skin, skin, hoping to be cooler,cooler, cooler, but I was Not! Not! Not! And then there was some kind of traffic jam, jam, jam, Damn! And I am muttering , What? What? What? But now I m back home, and feeling better, better, better, the house is Cool! Cool! Cool! I made myself a cup...a cup...a cup... of coffee, but it was Hot! Hot! Hot! So, I dumped some Ice! Ice! Ice! into it, and it was quite Nice! Nice! Nice! Then I got a phone call from a Friend! Friend! Friend! And she was so Sweet! Sweet! Sweet! So, now I am feeling pretty Good! Good! Good!, and thinking thinking, thinking, its not such a bad, bad, bad, day after All! All! All!

Rude Awakening

It was about three in the afternoon, I think. About that time of day when the summer heat chases me back into the house. And besides, I was tired. I had been nurturing a twig in the ground for a couple of years, and now it was about 6 feet tall. So this morning I transplanted it to a new and hopefully permanent location near the patio. A Hawthorn tree, I think. So, I rested on the couch. And I was listening to some music. A nice long ambient piece by Eno. And I was just about to nod off, when there was a startlingly loud blast, like a gunshot accompanied by shattering glass. I sat up abruptly, thinking I was dreaming. That's when I looked up and saw that my window was completely blown out. There was glass everywhere. My heart began racing, my mind was trying to convert this crazy unreality into a rude matter of fact. I stepped into my shoes only to experience a sharp pain in my heel as it sank down onto a sliver of glass. That definitely made it clear that something was wrong. I hobbled to the window just in time to see a car at the corner past my house swing a U - turn and begin heading back my way. A moment later, another blast rocked my front door. I caught a glimpse of the guy. He looked familiar, but I couldn't quite place him. I could feel the warm wet blood in my shoe as I ran to the closet. My hands were shaking as I groped for my 16 gauge shotgun. It was a relic I bought at a flea market. I had never even fired it before. I just bought it on a whim after listening to the crisp metallic snap of the pump action. I had a moment of amazing clarity though, as I grabbed a box of shells from the shelf above and loaded four shots.
Another window shattered to the floor as I turned around. I got off a shot into the back of the car and saw the trunk fly open. I was ready now. A deadly calm came over me as I pumped out the empty shell. I knelt on the floor by the glassless window and steadied the barrel on the sill. I muttered, "Bring it on, asshole!", as I watched him turn to come back again. I could see his face now through the front windshield. I know who this is. We fired at the same time. I broke into a heavy sweat as I sat up on the couch and relived the dream. He had been me. I had been him. And we had just tried to kill ourselves.

Two 'Lifes.'

I was living on 200 acres with my dog, Life. Our main responsibilities were to take care of 50 head of cattle for a wealthy farmer. It was a perfect kind of 'life' for me and Life. She would run alongside the tractor as I carried hay to the cattle. She was good in helping me herding them when we had to move the beasts from one pasture to another. Plus, there were rabbits to chase, and creeks to splash around in. What more could I want? What more could my dog want?

Well, given her keen nose, she was lured by the distant smell of hot dogs and steaks being grilled in the sub-development just beyond the farm. So she 'eloped' one day. I printed up, what I hoped were attention-getting posters that showed a picture of my dog. Above the photo, in large letters, I wrote, I HAVE LOST MY LIFE Beneath it, I wrote PLEASE HELP ME GET MY LIFE BACK.. I stapled these on to telephone poles all over that neighborhood.

Days went by, a whole week. I was really pretty distraught. And then one day I got a call. The woman said she thought she had my dog. Of course, I went there immediately. I was met at the door by a little girl. Her name was Heather. She looked sadly up at me and said, "Are you going to take 'Diamond' away?" She had re-named my dog, 'Diamond', because in her child eyes , the white marking on my dog's forehead reminded her of a diamond. I looked up at her mother who rolled her eyes and shrugged. This was a wealthy family.

Life was happy to see me, and Heather watched this re-union with tears in her eyes. It was a hard moment. I told Heather that Life and I would come to visit now and then, and that they were welcome to come over anytime to watch Life work the cattle or to play with her.

I did visit the family several times with Life. And Heather's mom brought her to the farm a couple of times. I gave Heather a ride on the tractor and she seemed thrilled to watch Life herding the cows. I told her mother later, that Heather needs a puppy.

A few weeks later, I got a call from Heather's mom. "We got Heather a puppy, she fell in love with one at the Pound. She named her dog 'Life'," How cool is that?

Kissing Ice

One sweltering, muggy Summer day in New York City, several boys sat shirtless and sweaty on the curb, They fidgeted, and looked frequently up 87th street, keeping their eyes peeled for the ice truck, slapping at their sweaty skin as the flies closed in. "There he is!" one shouted, jumping up excitedly. They ran out into the street waving their arms in the air hysterically and jumping up and down as the truck rolled slowly toward them.. "Help us.! Help us!" "We are on fire!" "We are burning up!" "Help us!" One clutched desperately at his throat, as though about to die; acting it out in the comic dramatic style little boys are well known for.The truck slowly came to a squealing noisy stop, and the boys ran excitedly to the back, just in time to see the heavy door swing open. "Have mercy on us!" "We are on fire!" "Oh please...oh, please, ...oh please!" There stood, the towering Ice Man, clad in his water stained leather apron, and wielding a pair of giant steel tongs in his gloved hand. He was laughing and waving at them, and then bent to pick up an enormous block of ice with his tongs, the boys staring bug-eyed as they saw the flex of his huge muscles. He stood and swung toward the door in a single movement, and the boys scrambled out of the way as the gigantic block of ice came flying out into the air and shattered into big shards that flew along the asphalt in every direction. The boys ran in circles, scooping up chunks of ice. "Now, get outta da street!", the Ice Man shouted, as the truck slowly took off and the big metal door slammed shut.

The boys re-convened along the curb with their melting chunks of icy treasure. Rubbing ice on their flushed hot faces, their chests, and arms. Rubbing it on their legs and the soles of their hot feet. Licking it, sucking it. Kissing it. Gnawing at it with their teeth. Talking excitedly about the Ice Man. His big burly arms. His enormous biceps that threatened to tear the very fabric of his shirt sleeve. How he bent and clenched the enormous block of ice with his big menacing tongs and lifted it as though it was nothing. "The Ice Man is God!", one exclaimed. "He is! He is!" the others vehemently concurred.

Eye Exam

Another Story About Meat

I sat on Granny's back porch helping her prep some string beans, or pole beans, as they are called, since they are a climbing vine rather than a bush. You snap and discard the ends of the long bean, There is usually a 'string' that runs the length of the bean. You pull the string off and discard that too, Then you snap the bean into two or three pieces, depending on how long the bean is. We dropped these into a bucket of cold well water. Out in the yard, two chickens hung upside down from the clothesline with their heads cut off. They flapped their wings for awhile, even though already dead, Plucking feathers was the next task. I loved to do these things with Granny. In the monotony of it, she would tell me stories of the family. (Why grand daddy was never around....he was in a coal mine deep underground.)

After that, I would watch as she cut the chicken's feet off and give them to me. There was a tendon she showed me. And, you can pull it, and the claw contracts. I scared my little sister with this fact, more than once.

When grand-daddy came home, he was black from coal. He didn't say much, just mostly ate fried chicken and green beans, As Granny was tucking me in, he was headed out to the field. To farm by moonlight.

Pole Beans

My first crop of pole beans are about ready for cooking!

Sunday, Bloody Sunday

It was an early Sunday morning in southern New Mexico some years back. I sat and sharpened a knife in the doorway of my primitive wooden shelter. The neighboring rancher's peacocks had left me presents in the dirt. Long and lovely iridescent feathers. Every night they perched in the Chinese Elm that shaded my humble abode. And every morning there were one or two feathers. I considered them gifts. Today, I would go over to this neighbor's place and help him slaughter two sheep. In return, he would give me the hides to tan. I watched two cocks go at one another, feathers flying. pecking, clawing, the feather's on their neck ruffled, stirring up the dust in their frenzied attack on one another. One will live, the other will die. That's the way it was in their world. I studied the edge on my blade. Turned it to and fro. in the morning sun. There should be no light reflecting from the edge. Just as with a razor. That was what I was going for. The edge I would need today was a razor's edge. It's a fragile edge, one that could not hold up to carving into a tough wood like mesquite. It would break. I needed only a surgical edge that could cut the membrane between the flesh and the hide. That was my job today. And the tool needed to be right for the task.

It is a merciless thing to kill an animal. But I eat animals. And I figure, if you don't have the stomach to kill a beast, or observe it's death, perhaps, you should be a vegetarian. I walked past the dying cock, and bent down and twisted its neck. No reason for an animal to suffer more than necessary.

Ramon, and his young son Carlos were already there when I arrived. I admired Ramon. He was gritty. Small in stature, but all browned skin, scars, bone, and muscle. The quintessential picture of a life of hard labor that no artist could ever capture. He had two holsters on his belt. One held his knife. The other, a long gray well-oiled whetstone. I felt very much the rank amateur 'gringo' in his presence. But I showed him my knife and he studied it, and smiled, and nodded in looking at it.

Ramon stepped up to the hog-tied sheep and pulled back on its head. The silence of the lambs, took on another meaning, as he slit the animal's throat. There was no sound. The animal just laid there and died, its blood spilling out onto the primitive table's edge, and from there onto the ground. I looked down at it, some of it splattering my boots. All of it curdling on the hot silty ground before it could be absorbed. It was my turn now to brandish the knife. This is what it takes to bring meat to the table. To put a sheepskin on the floor of my shack.

Watching the news................

There seems to be some choices...a bottle in front of me, or a frontal lobotomy. Hmmmmm..............?

Get 'Em While They're Hot!

The Other Me

Sometimes, I am short, sometimes he is tall
Sometimes, its the other way around.
At high noon, he abandons me
Until later in the day.
He shows up in the evening too,
When I turn on the light.
My dog barks at the shadow puppets
I make on the wall.
She probably knows more
Than I do
About people
And their shadows.

Twiddling my Thumbs.

A dull day, but I suppose it is what I needed. I got lost in some difficult thoughts, but don't know if I want to say them. Watched a movie with Kim Bassinger in it. It wasn't that great. I hate to see good actors or actresses in bad movies, but I guess they have bills to pay too. Read for awhile, took a nap, looked at my computer, and thought I should take some pics of my 'screen-saver'.

Next Question.....................

This is one of those days when I am not sure what to blog about, so I have decided to hold a press conference, and will take questions at this time.

Walking by the River

A Mentor.............

This is a man from whom I learned a great deal about primitive, or rustic woodwork. He is depicted here, sitting on a bench he made, and next to a wooden bucket he made. Behind, is his 'shack' which he, of course, also made. I should add that besides his amazing work with wood, he also makes his own tools...carving knives, chisels, gouges, and mallets. The location is back at the end of an otherwise uninhabited hollow in the wooded Tennessee hills. Behind the shack is a 15 foot drop to a beautiful spring-fed creek. This is a photo of a photo taken by a friend. And my photo doesn't do it justice. It was shot on infra-red, and if I can find a way to scan it, I will re-post it since it is a wonderful shot.

Early Morning Walk

This morning I took a walk along the banks of the Duck River. Here's a couple of shots.

Trumpet Vine

A flowering vine that is quite commonly seen climbing up the trunks of trees. It is quite popular with hummingbirds.

Aw Shucks!

Janice, of Postcards from Wildwood, gave me a 'Lovely Blog' award. She also gave this award to a number of other blog-sites she finds 'lovely'. Now, I am a rough and tumble kind of guy, a rambling, gambling, desperado who shoots to kill. Ruthless, and hard. A dirty low-down dog. A cut-throat, a drifter and a loner. (There are things about me you don't know....things no decent person should have to hear.) I pick my teeth with a Machete, if that tells you anything. They don't call me Mal Hombre for nothing.

So you can imagine my surprise when I received this award. I don't know what came over me, but I just turned into a trembling bowl of jelly. Then these great big stormy kind of tears I never even knew I had, kinda rained down all over my face. What a mess! And my nose got all clogged up with snot too. And some of my really bad outlaw friends are coming over in about an hour to play "Bloody Knuckles"! I ran to my trunk in the closet where I keep some things that my grandmother passed on to me. A Bible she had painstakingly re-covered with black leather from my motorcycle jacket after the wreck, a little China tea cup, and an embroidered hankie. I swore I would never blow my nose on that hankie, but I did. That's what a scoundrel I am.

Still stunned that I had won a "Lovely" award, I stumbled into the bathroom and squirted a whole bottle of eye wash into my eyes. If my friends find out I was crying, they will kill me....and that is not a figure of speech.! Focus. Focus. Take deep breaths. OMG! They're here. Focus. Focus. Take deep breaths.

"Dude, what's shakin'?" "Whazzup, dog!" "My man...you are IT!" "Bubba! sit yo' ass down!"

All kidding aside, thanks Janice! : ) ,,,,,,,,,,,sob.......

"Danced" Abstraction

The photo post entitled "Danced", posted two entries below this one, was snapped off of a You tube video performance by a dancer in Bulgaria. After posting it, I clicked to enlarge the entry, and then shot these two abstractions off the monitor.

Green French Fries

I keep telling myself I have planted too many things in my yard and garden this Spring....not to mention having too many potted plants to have to maintain. Nevertheless, I couldn't help myself when I saw this unusual plant in a nearby nursery. It is called Codiaeum. This particular variety is known as Croton Petra, and is native to South India. I like to call it Curly Fry plant because its leaves look like curly french fries.

Art from the Sea.

Six flat and rounded pebbles worn down by the sea,. A small homage to Andy Goldsworthy's work with nature.

Danced

Yard Sale Find!

A cobalt blue glass head! Most likely used in a store to display hats or wigs,

"What the..............?!"

Looking at my garden this morning. Lots of things coming up! Like this shown. Trouble is, I don't remember what I planted here. I've thrown away the empty seed packets, so I don't have the pictures on them to help me. It reminds me of squash, except it is more compact. If anyone recognizes this vegetable by leaf and blossom, let me know. Otherwise, I'll just have to wait until it reveals itself to me!
Also, I could have sworn I planted giant sunflowers....but the bed they were supposedly in is now filled up with four o'clocks! Oh well, they will look nice upon blooming. But, what was I thinking that day?

Life has Dreadlocks.

My dog has dreadlocks. Not a good picture, but if you look closely, you can see a couple of them dragging the ground! She takes pride in these it seems. She is a long haired dog, and it seems on her under belly these get tangled and twisted. She likes to lay her head on my lap when I am sitting on the couch watching tv. And she loves for me to pet her. She will roll over on her back, her tongue hanging out and just love, love, love for me to rub her belly. But if I start to feel around on these stands of matted hair, she will get up and leave. I keep a pair of scissors on the coffee table should an opportunity arise...when she is in belly rub ecstasy that I can snip them off her. She is a mild-mannered dog, and yet kinda wild. In eight years, she has not seen a vet except one who is willing to come out to my truck and give her a rabies shot. The only baths she gets is with the garden hose, and then she is attacking me and the hose as I soak her down. It is a sight to behold. When I turn the water off and lay down the hose she chews at the nozzle like she just captured prey. I am about six nozzles into this now. I have to start using solid brass nozzles, because anything made of plastic will be destroyed. Later, after being rubbed down with a bath towel (a thing she seems to like) she is her puppy self again. I named her 'Life' because she never fails to remind me of how screwy life is.

The Wood Is Waiting...........

This is Sweetgum. It has been air-drying for over a year now. It is ready to be worked. But I am not ready to work it. It would be too hard on my back right now to handle such material. I have to train awhile in order to be able to fashion things from this wood. Mostly, I look at it and day-dream.

More Flowers Today!

Paying it Forward...............

Give three things away. Something you have made, or maybe found to be interesting, It is a way to make a bridge over our differences and distances. I will make and send something to the first three who respond to this.....but you have to also offer (on your blog site)to send 3 things for others!

Lilies in the Garden

These are called Morning Stars.
They are such show-offs!

The Paradoxical Brevity of Longevity.

Even a long life seems but a moment sometimes. Where did the time go? How many minutes, hours, days, weeks have disappeared behind me? How many were spent mindlessly? How many people have I known and never seen again? How many have I waved goodbye to, not knowing it was the last time? Today I want to look intently at everyone I see. Cars pass by my house. People on their way to work. I wonder what lies ahead for them? Or, for me? Life is quite amazing....quite short, even when it is a long life. For many, it is even shorter. One knows the very day one was born, but not the final day. The question in any life, is how best to spend the days between. I am thinking this now as a reflection on the many people who have disappeared somewhere between Rio and Paris.

Pottsville Pots and Pans

Even before I moved to Pottsville, I had a thing about pots and pans. I have many more of these than I can actually use...but I can't pass it up when a good deal comes along. Here are a few that I have on the shelf. This is my favorite cast iron stew pot..or chili pot. I use this frequently...especially to make chili in the Winter.
A small dutch oven....would hold two cornish hens. The lip around the lid allows one, when cooking on an open fire , to heap hot coals or embers onto it for even heating.
A very small sauce pan...3" tall/3" wide. I've never used it.
Cast-iron 'chili pepper' muffin pan. Perfect for making mexican cornbread muffins!
My 'cowboy' skillet. After helping a rancher in New Mexico at slaughtering time (several sheep and pigs) , he gave me this hand-made "chicharones" skillet. But first, we fried up some chicharones (fried pork rind/skin )in it and pigged out over a cold beer! Fresh chicharones right out of the skillet are sooo good! And, sooo bad for you!
Flip side shows nice rust and fire scorch patina,
A very small pewter/nickel creamer. A nice little antique.