The Cat That Crashed In The Garage

 A couple of days ago, right when the temperature started to drop into the low thirties, a cat with unique markings wandered into the garage and parked itself.

I did not recognize the cat as being one of the several in the neighborhood I know, and as it was shivering and looking a bit dodgy, my obvious course of action was to allow it to stay and provide a little food.

The cat is a little shy - most likely a bit frightened, and while it appears healthy there appears to be a little bit of damage to his nose, as if it has been attacked recently.

The markings are unique enough (as seen, he has a large exclamation point and a comma on his back), that whoever owns this cat would immediately recognize them.

The cat appears to be 8 or 9 months old, and is very docile, and does not object to being picked up. I'm going to make some "Hey, Looking For Me?" flyers and post them around the neighborhood. Someone has to be missing this cat.

If no one claims him, well then, looks like I have two cats for Christmas.

Early Entry, Best Christmas House 2025

 

     The only thing that could make this display better was if they had Yukon Cornelius in there

Arkie Watching The Broncos OT Win Over The Commanders

 

The Silver-Haired Woman From Louisianna

   Her name was Opal, at least that's how she introduced herself. Her hair was silver yet she looked to be in her mid-thirties. I casually mentioned that she looked much too young to have silver hair and she retorted that it was her family's' curse, all the women go grey young.

   She told us that she had recently relocated to Denver from Bogalusa, Louisiana, a small town about an hour's drive north of New Orleans

   She also stated she was looking for a room to rent as she was staying in a motel just down the road, which she indicated was somewhere west on 44th with a quick flip of her hand. 

   Her accent was quirky, not quite a southern drawl and not quite Cajun. I knew a woman when I lived in Alaska who had moved to Eagle River from Saint Mary Parish, and she had the same accent.

   Note: It is Saint Mary Parish, not Saint Mary's Parish.

   It was about 45 minutes into the conversation when she suddenly got up and exclaimed that she had to go as she had a job interview in an hour.

   Which struck us as a bit odd, seeing as how she had just spent almost an hour drinking at the bar.

Rip Up The Tracks But Leave The Bridge

 

Terry Jacks 1974 Hit Single Seasons In The Sun...With The B Side That Turned My Mom Beet Red

 

Chanced upon a copy of Canadian performer Terry Jacks' 1973-74 hit single Seasons In The Sun at a garage sale today. One of the biggest selling songs of all time, it sold 14 million copies worldwide.

The song is basically the English version of Belgian Jacques Brel's 1961 release Le Moribund, with re-worked lyrics written in 1963 by the American poet Rod McKuen.  

The song is an overly sentimental, sappy as hell, chunk of mellow gold. It is also considered one of the worst songs ever recorded.

Which hasn't stopped bands ranging from the Beach Boys to Nirvana from recording cover versions.

It was the very first single I ever bought. It cost .94 cents at the Kresge store in Spring Valley, which was small fortune to my little 11 ten-year old self.

But I had to have it, as that song was just the cat's pajamas to me.

Yeah, I know. But hey, tastes evolve.

That song, however, is not the topic of this dialog. The flip side of the single is.

Try to imagine what my eleven-year old brain thought when I first read the title of the B side of the single. If you imagined it was anything close to "Man, this I gotta hear," you are absolutely correct.

So I played it.

Unfortunately, my mom was within earshot.

The song lyrics are stated more than sung. The very first line is "Put the bone in...she asked him..."

I only got to play the record once, never saw it again.

You can hear it on YouTube now, and yeah, it's as horrible as the A side.

The Wings Of Cozad

    About thirteen years ago a street artist in Los Angeles, one Colette Miller, came up with the idea for the Global Angel Wings project, which was simply angel wings painted on the wall of a building that people could stand in front of and have their picture taken with, and, you know, look all angelic like. 

   Colette considered the angel wings a means for people to somewhat become angels of the earth, and soon she was painting them everywhere - as in, all over the world, from Los Angeles to Moscow to Melbourne. 

   A couple of years after she painted her first wings, a New York based muralist, Kelsey Montague, painted some angel wings on a wall in lower Manhattan, which caught the eye of Taylor Swift. Tay-Tay had her picture taken in front of those wings and then posted the pic on her Instagram account, and, well, the wings on walls dealio really took off from that point.

   And it appears the original intention of the wings on the walls has evolved a bit - they are not just a hotspot for selfies anymore, they are now used as memorials to lost loved ones, or as tributes or commemorations to people or things of significance.

   It's also now almost impossible to visit a town/city/village/census-designated place without seeing wings, angel or not, on a wall or twenty. Even in little ol' Cozad, Nebraska, I saw wings everywhere. 

   And the variety was exceptional.

 

Happy Thanksgiving Everybody!

 

Weirdness Abounds

    While driving home tonight I caught sight, out of the corner of my right eye, of what appeared to be a man walking in the opposite direction of my travel, well off the road, along what I assume was a bike path.

   He was wearing a long sleeved button down shirt and underwear, nothing else. And he was eating an ice cream cone.

   It was 28 degrees out.

   I thought to myself that I must be seeing things as that there was no way in hell a man was out walking in nothing but a long sleeved button down shirt and underwear in 28 degree weather, and certainly he would not be eating an ice cream cone.

   But I couldn't shake the image out of my head, so I decided I needed to turn around and make another pass down the road to be certain.

   The next intersection was only a few hundred feet ahead, so I flipped on my left turn signal and moved over into the left turn lane. 

   Almost to the very second I did that I saw headlights in my rearview mirror, coming up behind me extremely fast, and then the car that was behind those lights lit up the lights that were mounted on its roof - a cop was lighting me up as I was approaching the stale red light at the intersection.

   My first thought was, "What the hell, I signaled before I got into the turn lane, and I even have my turn signal still on, what am I being pulled over for?"

   As the traffic light turned green at the intersection as soon as I slowed my approach, I began to turn onto the street perpendicular to the one I was on and move over to my right to facilitate being pulled over. Then I noticed that the police car in my rear view wasn't following me, but had instead made a U-turn.

   Breathing a sigh of relief I drove slowly up the road I had turned onto.

   Approaching a red light at the next intersection I decided that I would turn the car around and head back to the road I had been driving on, but head the opposite direction (as I was planning to before the cop lit me up), to see if the police cruiser was perhaps checking out the man I saw walking along the bike path in a long sleeved shirt and underwear while eating an ice cream cone.

   So I made my way back, and when I turned onto the road I was originally on I could see the flashing red and blues of the police car about a quarter mile down the road.

   That had the be the cop pulled over to investigate the man in just a shirt and underwear walking down the road while eating an ice cream cone.

   Remember, it was 28 degrees out, so yeah, that would be worth investigating.

   Within 25 yards of where the police cruiser was pulled over I began to slow down. Drawing nearer to the scene I could see a police officer with a flashlight scanning the side of the road where I could see not a man wearing nothing but a long sleeved button down shirt and underwear while eating an ice cream cone, but a woman, in what looked like vintage 1940's lingerie, sitting at a bus stop with a bottle of wine in one hand and a cigarette in the other.

   All I could think was "What the hell is she doing out dressed like that on a night like this...and where is long sleeved dress shirt underwear ice cream cone man?"

   As well as, "Are they a couple?"

   Man, weirdness abounds.

How To Beat The High Cost Of Living

 

   The above letter to the editor is from an issue of Life magazine dated December 8th, 1941. The letter is a response to an article that was featured in the issue of Life magazine dated November 17th, 1941 that detailed the sharp rise in prices for consumer goods from 1938 to 1941.

   I do not have that November 17th, 1941 issue of Life magazine, but I'm thinking I have to track one down. Should be interesting to compare what was regarded as high prices in 1941 with what are regarded as high prices in 2025.

Someone Asked Me To Poetically Describe Going Through A Bad Break Up

It was pulling me down

Like quicksand

The denial of what was actually going on

Closing ears & eyes to the truth

As if it would make a difference in the end

The say fake it 'til you make it

But it couldn't be faked

It was as real as the sun 

At midday in the Sahara

Any harm that was being done was all self-inflicted

There really was no one else to blame

Had to simply face the music

Simply take a peek over the edge

Simple as touching your left elbow with your left hand

It was tempting to keep the status quo

To pretend all was as it should be

But with every ounce of strength that could be mustered

I made the leap without having to jump

When it was all over

When I finally made it to the other side

Secure in the knowledge that what had to be done was done

There came a moment when self-reflection teased

With the jab "what took you so long?"

Wait Your Turn Fat Man

 

Cozad's Favorite Son

 
   As I mentioned in my previous post my travels in August of this year included a visit to Cozad, Nebraska, birthplace of one of America's foremost 20th century painters and art instructors, one Robert Henri (pronounced "Hen-Rye").

   Robert Henri was born Robert Henry Cozad in Cozad, Nebraska, one of two towns in the midwest founded by his father, John Cozad. The story of why Robert Henri changed his name from Cozad to Henri is an engaging one involving his father shooting a neighboring rancher to death in 1882, his trial for murder and eventually being found not guilty, and the family's then having to leave Cozad and assume different identities due to the resultant ignominious cloud that descended upon the entire family despite the father's exoneration. 

   But that's not what this post is about. This post is about the Robert Henri Art Gallery that was opened in Cozad this past August. The Art Gallery was built right behind the Robert Henri Museum, which is housed in Henri's boyhood home which was restored in the early 1980's and has showcased the artist's life and work for the past 40 years.

   The new Art Gallery is around five times the size of the previous one, and was made possible by generous donations, a few grants, and some seriously tireless devotion to the cause of preserving Henri's work by an amazingly dedicated group of volunteers, museum board members, and professional art historians and curators.

   Presented here is just a small sample of the results of their efforts.

                          The East 9th street entrance to the Robert Henri Art Gallery in Cozad

                           A Portrait of Carl Gustave Waldeck, Oil on Canvas, Robert Henri 1896 

                             Dutch Girl with Sailor Hat, Oil on Canvas, Robert Henri circa 1907

                                      Normandie Interior, Oil on Canvas, Robert Henri 1897

                                        The Model Nude, Oil on Canvas, Robert Henri 1915

                           Nude in Blue Pencil, Pencil on Paper, Robert Henri date uncertain

                                      Carl (Karl Schleicher), Oil on Canvas, Robert Henri 1921

                                             Bridgeen, Oil on Canvas, Robert Henri 1927

                                  Spanish Woman LaMora, Oil on Canvas, Robert Henri 1902

                                  The Beach at Far Rockaway, Oil on Canvas, Robert Henri 1902

   There you are, an extremely small sampling of what is on offer at the new Robert Henri Art Gallery in Cozad, Nebraska.

   BTW, that last painting, The Beach at Far Rockaway, is one that really needs to be seen in person - I consider it one of the most vibrant, exciting plein air paintings I've ever seen.

 

Getting Cozy In Cozad (Nebraska, That Is)

    

   This past August I had the time and opportunity to stop in Cozad, Nebraska, a town of just under 4,000 residents that is a little east of the 100th meridian along US 30, and is not too far off of I-80.

   As one drives along I-80 (east or west bound, doesn't matter which direction) there are prominent signs along the interstate that declare to travelers that they are approaching Cozad, and that it was the birthplace of Robert Henri (which is pronounced in Nebraska as "Hen- Rye"), a prominent American artist of the late 19th, early 20th century.

   It may seem a bit odd for a small farming community such as Cozad is to take such pride in an artist, but they do indeed - to the point where a palette and brush sculpture has become the symbol of the town.

   Here, let me show you a few:

When You're Aching To See The Surfrajettes Perform But They're In San Diego Tonight And You're Not

 

Canada's finest all-female instrumental Surf-Rock band will be in San Diego tonight, performing at the Casbah on Kenter Blvd downtown (doors open at 7:30, show starts at 8:30).

They will be in San Diego, and I won't. 

Bummer.

And they're playing the Casbah, one of the best small concert venues on the planet.

And admission is only $31.00 (US, not Canadian).

But it's only a temporary bummer for me, as they will be in Colorado next week, playing in the Springs on the 24th, in Fort Collins on the 25th, and in Denver on the 26th.

I will definitely make it to at least one of those shows, if not two of 'em.

Because these ladies rock, like a tornadic hailstorm in the summertime.

Check out their video on YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZAyeVjnJg9E

Then go and check them out live at a small, intimate venue near your home. 

 

Veterans Day, 2025

 

                                                                            D-Day Memorial in Columbus, Nebraska

The Generation Gap(s)

    Last week I was asked what I thought was the biggest difference between my generation (X) and whatever the media label is for people who grew up with ready access to the internet was - Gen Z? Millennials?

   It's been a full week and I've pondered the question everyday since. Turned it upside down and inside out trying to figure out what the difference is...if there really is one (or two, or eleven thousand).

   Using the good ol' Google I searched for common complaints about the generations in question and everything I found was extremely similar.

  Everything. 

   My generation (at least according to the then dominant media - newspapers, magazines and television news) was regarded as lazy, ungrateful, ignorant (of how good we had it), selfish, inconsiderate, and pretty much a harbinger of the end of times.

  The computer-literate generation (at least according to the current dominant media sources - digital platforms, social media apps, and, such as they are, 24-7 news channels) is regarded as lazy, ungrateful, ignorant (of how good they have it), selfish, inconsiderate, and pretty much a harbinger of the end of times.

   There was, of course, some retaliatory criticism of the preceding generations by both of the succeeding generations - the tried and true you've bankrupted our future by totally mismanaging the government, your parenting skills are suffocating us, and of course, how can we possibly ever afford to buy our own homes earning ridiculously low wages and home prices being sky-high?*

   Every generation seems to be critical of the prior generation for the exact same reasons.

   There are a few things that are obviously different, such as improvements in health care, technology, and communication, as well as a much more receptive climate toward alternative lifestyles and such.

   So, the biggest difference (to me) appears to be the ready access to instantaneous worldwide communication, and/or the ability to spread information oneself - anyone and everyone who can connect to the internet can access Facebook, Youtube, Blogspot, Instagram, X, Tik-Tok, and hundreds of other social network programs to either digest the content or create the content.

   And there's the rub. Information and ideas can be spread around the world without check at the speed of light - good and bad ideas and information.  

   Which has been both very entertaining and horribly alarming, so far.

*In 1981 minimum wage was $3.35 an hour and the average 3 bedroom, 2 bathroom house sold for $83,000. In 2025 minimum wage is $16.50 and the average 3 bedroom, 2 bathroom house sells for $512,000

The War For Attention That Ended In Alienation

   Struggling, straining, focusing as much as he could on the afternoon when he first met her, he was still unable to recall many of the details of the meeting.

   He was sure of the basics; her dirty blonde hair was cropped short to somewhat form a frame around her face, her lips were painted with the shade of light pink lipstick that was popular at the time, and her eyes were a light blue that suggested Nordic ancestry.

   She was also dressed in a casual business pantsuit, which suggested to him that she had either taken off work early or had just been fired - one of the two was usually the only reason people who had jobs ever showed up in that bar that early in the afternoon.

   It was a dive, close to the beach and heavily patronized by the locals, but tourists usually avoided it due to the less-than-inviting appearance and the fact that it was down a bleak side street, and if one did not know where it was, stumbling across it was rare.

  She had ordered a Long Island Iced Tea, that much he clearly recalled, but only because it caused him to leave the front of the bar for almost 10 minutes to search for a bottle of Triple Sec in the back room - this was not a bar wherein customer's ordered drinks that had more than two ingredients, it was a tap beer or Whisky or Rum and Coke kinda place, with the occasional Kamikaze or Tequila Mockingbird.

   Simple drinks for simple folks, usually with house liquors as the mixer. 

   Fuzzy Navels, Sex on the Beach, Tequila Sunrises, and Long Island Iced Teas were the staple of the bars on the main drag that catered to the tourists or inlanders, those that lived east of I-5. The locals either didn't know those drinks existed or hated the pretensions that went with ordering one of 'em.

   As she was one of three customers in the bar at the time, and the only one actually sitting at the bar, he had struck up a conversation with her that naturally resulted in an exchange of names, something he thought nothing of at the time as it was pretty much just part of the job.

   He recalled that when she left after about two drinks and maybe 45 minutes of small talk, he did not think he would ever see her again - short interactions with people who were never seen again was also pretty much just part of the job.

   However, he was wrong about that, very wrong. She returned to the bar at about the same time in the afternoon three days later, and was wearing a sundress and sandals, and her hair was up in a small knot of a bun. He remembered how easily he fell into a conversation with her that crossed into a little more personal territory.

   She stated she was single without even the slightest attempt to soft-sell her intentions, and inquired into his relationship status. That was when the deception, at least on his part, began.

   He told her that he was unattached, single.

   The affair lasted 87 days, which was long enough to permanently alter not only the one relationship he valued more than he ever cared to admit to himself or anyone else, but also his perception of his own self worth.

   

  

When He Decided To End It All

It was on his 15th birthday that he stepped in front of the train

The shame he'd been living with had become searing pain

His parents would no longer have to deal with it

Wouldn't have to hide it from the neighbors

The letter he left behind absolved everyone of blame

He wrote down for the first time all of his fears

And all of his pain and all of his tears

Listed everything he had never said about the long-ago incident

Revealed how the memories had grown like festering sores

Confessed he had held onto the rage all of those years 

Didn't think he could have hurt anyone, because no one really cared

His sins were his own and now everyone would be spared

Thought this last final action would end everyone's torment

But he couldn't stop his parents from thinking of him everyday

Or his siblings and friends, nor the workers on the railway

The Cool Feral Cat The Walked Over To Say Hello

   I've got a pretty good connection with cats. It's a mystery to me what it is or why I possess it, but across the board cats & I have always been on friendly terms, even feral cats.

   When I was in Southeastern Colorado at the tailend of last month, the is strikingly handsome, very cool feral cat walked across a vacant lot to say hello.

   I was very, very tempted to take him home, but I just got Arkie and there is no way I was going to add some affection competition to the mix this early in the game.