In The Good Ol' Plein Air Wintertime

The War Between My Left Knee & Me

There is a war on...one that features a part of my body that I had relied upon for years

It's me against my left knee

My left knee seems to be winning

For now

C'mon, modern medical science, show me what ya got.

At The Temple Of The Forgotten Gods

At the temple of the forgotten gods
Are gathered
Prayer books, hymnals, and tracts
Discarded by disillusioned devotees
Who had yearned 
For salvation, to be saved, or at least given a little insight
None of which ever came to pass
So the promises put forth to the supposed chosen
By the various exalted priests
Of the gods of bygone eras
Crumbled into dust
Much like the deities themselves
Who were denied much hoped for reincarnation 
Into beings of much greater substance
For the directionless drifters to admire and idolize 

Oh, the sting of rejection
And lack of zen
Burning holes in the souls like hot coals on a carpet
Leaving many with a feeling not unlike malaise
Along with a pronounced feeling of helplessness
In the face of the overwhelming tyranny
That comes from having to think, to decide, for oneself
And discovering that the lies were not simple ones
Forced to deal with a deep, dark truth
The nature of the matter being
That it was their own feckless minds
Their own insidious consciousness,
That created their faith in something external

Pay attention, cried the teacher, not all is devine
Sometimes the world is just another planet,
Thrust into a heliocentric orbit around a sun
The world is not the playground of various gods,
Intent on causing discord and unrest

In the beginning there may or may not have been
A lack of knowledge
However, now it is a stretch to beg that excuse
Adam & Eve didn't have the luxury of comparative studies
And certainly not the opportunity
To discuss alternatives with their friends and fellows
Just, as far as the record shows, a yearning to know
Of and about everything that the world had to offer
And whether or not the garden 
Was really where they wanted to be
Who knows, maybe they looked for a home on the coast
A quaint little cottage by the sea
Where, it could probably be surmised;
They could raise the boys to be less selfish
And a hell of a lot less violent

The idea of an ideal existence
Is not unique or exclusive to any one culture
And neither is the desire to live forever
However, that is not what really matters
When it comes down to universal truths

The world is wonderful place, isn't it?
It is indeed, except for the occasional strife

It does bear repeating, that; 
The world
Is a wonderful place


Especially at sunset

Surprisingly Entertaining Despite The Derivative Nature Of The Plot

They cast a favorite leading man of the day and not just one but two of the more popular young up-and-coming ingenues, plus a once popular, now a bit faded but still with a little drawing power, actress as the femme fatale.

The Director was proven to be in touch with the current zeitgeist, and could be counted on to lure the targeted demographic, good for at least a two-week box office run.

Of course there would be a huge marketing campaign, tied to promotional appearances on various talk shows by the cast members and maybe a "win a chance for a walk-on role" contest.

Everything would be done according to the formula, and even if the the formula was so well-known it had become an embarrassment, no one connected to the project could work up even half a blush. The formula made money, and that was all that mattered.

Not one word was spoken on the set about art, or integrity, or craft.

Hell, there were more accountants milling about most days than actors or actresses, even on days that required a crowd of $100.00 and lunch extras to fill in the background for the big party scenes.

The script had long been dis-avowed by the original writer, and even three of the four writers brought in to punch it up. 

So the only screen credit for a writer went to a woman who had added 4 lines of dialogue in the mandatory break-up scene, and another 5 in the make-up scene.

In spite of the overall crass approach to the production of the film, there were still a few bright spots in the final print. One of the ingenues actually had solid acting chops, and there was a full 5 minutes of largely improvised dialogue between the leading man and a bank teller (played by an actor who once starred in a sitcom that revolved around a pet store and it's zany staff) that left just about every member of the audience laughing.

Of course, all of the bright spots were shown in the trailer.

Alone In The House At Night

Every single creaking of the old fence, every single whisper of the wind through the leaf-less trees, every single groan from the loose clapboard siding, seemed to echo throughout the cold, drafty house.

Windows shuddered and pipes rattled as the large clock at the end of the hall ticked out it's relentless cadence.

She had come back to her parent's house, the house she lived in until the day she left for the University, in an effort to lay to rest the memories that had been haunting her since the day of the accident.

The accident. That fatal 18 seconds of driving that were the last 18 seconds of her parents lives.

An Act Of Disrespect, Cowardice, and Ignorance

Yesterday was a day of gratitude here in the states. People all over the country sat down with family and friends and shared not only a big dinner, but also in each others lives, catching each other up on the good and the bad that they had to endure since the last big gathering.

Today I received a text message from a-brother-from-another-mother close friend that one of our mutual acquaintances ended his own life last night.

That hit me hard.

I didn't know the acquaintance in question well, but I knew him well enough to be completely mystified as to why he chose to take his own life. He was generally a high-spirited guy, always smiling, always enjoying life. Or at least it appeared that way to me.

And now I am angry at him. Angry and disgusted. 

He left behind a devoted wife and beautiful children, the oldest just 11.

Suicide is selfish, plain and simple. I type that and I immediately chastise myself, thinking, "What a minute, you have no idea what demons he was dealing with, you have no idea what mental stresses or difficulties this man may have been wrestling with on a daily basis, you can't judge him."

But then I thought, "No. He chose a holiday, a holiday of a specific nature, for a specific reason. To cause a lifelong trauma for those who survived him".

I think of his wife, and his children, and his friends, and I get angrier. 

I do not possess enough knowledge of the human psyche to understand what causes a person to want to end their own life. 

I have, however, read a number of books that cover the topic, spurred on by the suicides of a few people I have known.

But all I've really garnered from those books is that people who want to commit suicide usually succeed eventually, and that the demographic in the U.S. that is most likely to commit suicide is white males.

7 out of 10 suicides are white males.

Why? What is the causation? And where is the media outcry? 

The Recitations Of The Blessings, Actual

Thirty-plus people gathered together this afternoon. FS and JH had cooked up enough food to feed twice that number, and as everyone who joined us brought food or drink, there was plenty to go around.

First though, there was the traditional listening of Arlo Guthrie's "Alice's Restaurant", It's not Thanksgiving until we listen to Alice's Restaurant.

Then we went around the table (actually three of those temporary tables lined up in a row) with the gratitude declarations.

From the oldest to the youngest, the number one declaration of gratitude involved family and friends. However, there were also a few other declarations of gratitude that encompassed a bit more.

SS, whose parents divorced when she was very young, was grateful that her parents were united in their commitment to have her attend college, and, after earning an academic scholarship to college, has only one more semester to finish before becoming the first member of her family to earn a college degree.

HJ, a naturalized citizen originally from a country in Central America, simply said "This country".

SK stated he was grateful that he was alive at this particular time, as it was the best time ever to be alive.

Several people mentioned how fortunate we all were not to have had to deal with the wildfires that have plagued California, or any of the other calamities, natural or otherwise, that have plagued the world.

And all of us were grateful for present company, and the food.

Oh yeah, the food.

The Recitation Of The Blessings

Tomorrow afternoon I'll be sitting down to dine with family and friends, and while the food and drink will be plentiful, they will both take a back seat to the primary reason we will be gathered together.

Gratitude will be the heart of the day. 

I live with and among a group of people who truly understand how lucky we all are, for almost without exception each and every one of us are living better lives than we ever dreamed of.

So, when it comes time to pass the gratitude candle around the table, each and every person who takes their turn holding it will have a fairly long list of things to be grateful for.

And at the top of everyone's list will no doubt be, each other.

Cat & Dog Harmony

Hiding Out In An Abandoned Warehouse

He had been leaning up against the chain-link fence that surrounded the long-abandoned dilapidated brick building for nearly a half hour.

"This," he thought to himself, "sucks like mad."

He was a few months shy of his 21st birthday but he had the shakes, due to being without alcohol for the past 3 days, which was about as long as he could remember being dry without being in the joint since he was 12.

"Where the hell are they?" He said that out loud, in hopes that one of them would hear it and reply, "We're over here."

But no answer came from the darkness that surrounded him. 

"I knew I shouldn't have listened to Paulie, he's so full of it. Now I'm stuck here freezing to death. I gotta get out of here."

He looked through the gap cut with linemen's pliers in the fence that he was leaning against and tried hard to see if there was anything moving in the large overgrown lawn that spanned the distance from the perimeter established by the fence up to the falling down entrance of the building.

He really couldn't see a thing, but he could certainly hear things.

Creaks and groans made by loose trim or unsecured doors and windows that moved when the wind picked up, and the constant sound of shaking branches and shivering leaves.

Those sounds alone were enough to spook him, but when coupled with the DT's that had kicked in the other day, well, it was almost enough to drive a man insane.

And then he heard the laughter.

Denver Retro Con, 2018

This Train Is Bound For Nowhere

 

 

Grateful For Eyesight

I like to look at things.

I get an incredible feeling of joy from staring at things that I consider beautiful.

I derive great pleasure, for example, from the vivid, pollution-enhanced colors of a Southern California sunset.

Visual stimulation literally gets me high.

Rainbows are another good example.

I like to stare at rainbows, too.

That they even exist amazes me.

Yeah, there are those who scoff at placing importance in visceral pleasures taken from such everyday occurrences as sunsets and rainbows. 

But screw those people with a cactus.

I know they are simply prismatic effects involving light, water, gas, etc.

But it's not the cause that's beautiful, it's the effect.

Somewhat like life.

Now, That's What I Call Good Wood! (Carving, That Is)

These two bears carved on the trunk of a dead tree are good examples of the woodcarvers art.

Very good. 

But nowhere near as impressive as the mother eagle keeping watch on her young in their nest carved into the tree trunk next to it. 

The Eagle/nest carvings are beyond the keen in their excellence.

"...the victory of arms foretells the enduring conquests which can be made in peace..."

                                                Veterans Mural, Freemont Nebraska

Petesville, Population 2

He Could Quit Anytime He Wanted To

Milton stared hard at the large bowl on the table. The vibrant green of the lettuce and arugula leaves, along with the paler shade of green that the slices of cucumber evidenced, seemed to dance around the sides of the bowl, while the small, dark slices of olive, the much larger slices of the deep red tomatoes and the pale yellow bits of cheese appeared to be having a symposium of sorts in the center of the bowl, while the stark white of the little chunks of cold chicken sat like errant rocks on a well-mowed lawn.

Milton eyeballed the bottle of ranch dressing. He reached over with his right hand and grabbed it as if it were a lifeline, then violently twisted the cap off. Without a second of hesitation he proceeded to pour the thick creamy sauce over the entire conglomeration of healthy ingredients.

After setting the nearly empty bottle down he took up the large fork that lay on the napkin beside the bowl. His eyes examined the fork as if he was looking for a clue that might solve a major crime. Slowly he lifted his arm and directed the fork toward the salad.

*Erhm* Yeah, this isn't working. Guess the old saying is right, no great story ever began with a salad.

The Interesting Sitting Donkey With Lighted Eyes Hood Ornament That Has A Broken Leg

The Ames Monument In Beautiful Windswept Wyoming

If you ever find yourself traveling through Wyoming along Interstate I-80, and have a free half hour or so on your agenda, take the Vedauwoo exit twenty miles east of Laramie and drive a couple miles south on a dirt road to the 60 foot tall granite four-sided pyramid that was built in the 1880's in commemoration of Oakes & Oliver Ames efforts to get the First Transcontinental Railroad built.

The building of the First Transcontinental Railroad was no small feat. First proposed in the early 1830's, it wasn't until after more than 30 years of planning, exploration, and wrangling between the US government and various business men (some honest, some not so much) that construction got underway (in 1863, during the American Civil War).

The logistics of the engineering and construction, not to mention the financing, of the First Transcontinental Railroad have been compared to what it would take to send a manned mission to Mars. 

The Ames Brothers were charged with building the largest section, that of the Union Pacific Railroad - over 1,000 miles of track built from Omaha to Utah, along windswept plains, over rivers and gorges, up and around mountains  - all largely by manual labor using hand tools.

Considering that the country was at war with itself for the first few years of construction, it is extraordinary what those two men were able to accomplish.

The monument was built in what is essentially the middle of nowhere (though there is a very nice, very modern Bed & Breakfast just a mile down the road) due to it being near the highest point of the railroad, at an altitude of just over 8,200 feet. 

There was also a small town named Sherman nearby at the time, and railroad passengers could disembark at the station there and take in short visits to the monument as they made their way east or west across the country.

However, the route of the railroad through this part of Wyoming was changed in 1901 to eliminate having to travel over a dangerous single-track bridge just two miles from the town, and once the route was changed Sherman became a ghost town, and visits to the monument pretty much came to a complete stop.

The Monument, which was owned by the Union Pacific Railroad, sat alone on the wind swept summit and little was done in the way of upkeep after the town of Sherman disappeared.

Vandals (the 9 foot tall bas-relief portraits of the Ames brothers that were created by sculptor August Saint-Gaudens and grace the east and west faces of the pyramid look like they have had their noses shot off) along with weather took a toll on the monument in the years that followed the relocation of the railroad tracks. 

But not to a point beyond repair.

In the early 1980's, Union Pacific donated the Monument to the state of Wyoming, and in 2010 & 2011 the Wyoming State Parks & Cultural Resources department undertook a much needed rehabilitation of the Ames Monument, and it now sits on the high prairie looking almost like the day it was finished back in 1872, and is open to the public free of charge, year round.

Weather permitting, of course - snows a lot and gets pretty cold up there (30 degrees yesterday, so you may want to bring at least a jacket, unlike the two two chowderheads, MJM and yours truly, seen in the pics).