Christmas Poem

I look in the mirror
And what do I see?
That Santa’s my daddy
It just has to be.

Our hair is white
And so is our beard
We look so much alike
That it’s really weird.

Our belly’s will bounce
Like a bowl of full of jello,
We both like to laugh
Are jolly good fellows

We’re cranially challenged
Our heads big and round.
We’re known to be different
We continually confound.

We do have our differences
A few I do see.
You Ho Ho Ho
One’s enough for me.

I admire the color blue
Red’s kinda scary.
The white fur trim, I feel
Makes you look like a fairy.

So dear Santa
I think you can see
Why I think you’re my dad
Do you believe little ole me?

From A Shepherd's Eyes

So little ones, you want to hear my story again? Well, I guess I can tell it, you know it really never gets old. It was several years ago that I was standing with your two uncles, out in the field watching our sheep. It was a beautiful night, a cool breeze, a crystal clear sky, the sheep was quiet, I even noticed a star that was brighter than normal. Yes, it was one of those rare beautiful nights that I enjoy so much.

We had just settled down on top of the hill to eat our meal when suddenly the sky was brighter than day. We fell on our faces afraid of what was happening when we heard this beautiful voice that said, “Do not be afraid, I bring you the most joyful news ever announced, and it is for everyone! The Savior, yes the Messiah, the Lord, has been born tonight in Bethlehem. How will you know Him? You will find a baby wrapped in a blanket, lying in a manger.”

That’s when the most amazing thing happened, the angel was joined by a multitude of heavenly host and they were singing praising God, and they were picked us to give this message to. We three lowly shepherds, were given the message of the good news.

Needless to say we forgot all about our five fish and two loaves of bread. I said, “Lets get to Bethlehem as fast as we can and see this amazing thing the Lord has told us about.” So off we went, leaving sheep and cloak behind, we ran as fast as these old feet would go.

We entered the town and asked a couple of men if they saw what we saw and they looked at us like we were sick in the head. So we started looking on our own. We were going down Ceasar Avenue when Thaddeus shouted, “There’s a stable behind this inn, should we check out it’s manger?”

“Yes!” I yelled, “Lets not leave a manger unturned until we find Him.”

We ran to the stable and was met at the door by a man. We told him of what the angel told us and how the choir sang for us.He was smiling as he said, “I know your angel, he spoke to me a few months ago. Hallelujah, God’s promise is true. I am Joseph, husband of Mary who is mother of Jesus. Come, see God’s blessing.”

We slowly walked in, amongest the cows and donkeys, Mary sat on a pile of hay with this newly born baby in her arms. She seemed to glow, I guess it was the glow that every new mother has, but the baby, aw, the baby just radiated. He was so pure and innocent as He laid so quietly in His mother’s arms. I still get choked up just thinking about it.

Joseph walked up behind us and said, “His name is Jesus, God’s gift to all people.”

Mary looked up, “Just as He promised in the Law and Prophets. His name has to be Jesus, which means Savior.”

I suddenly realized how hard I was breathing. I don’t know if it was the running or the magnificence that we were in the presence of. I’ve had my own sons, but I didn’t feel like this at their birth. Something was different besides the appearance of the angels and the fact that He was born in a stable. My knees became weak, could this really be the Messiah? Could our salvation be before us?

Then something wonderful happened. The donkey that was standing behind the pile of hay, walked around to the mother and child. It looked at Mary and then at Joseph as if it were asking permission, it then stretched his neck out and softly touched his mussel to the child on His cheek. It backed away and returned to where it was munching on the hay.

Thaddeus, whom you know is the smartest one of our family, he fell to his knees and bowed his head. Daniel and I then also knelt in awe of this baby.

Mary spoke, “Oh, how I praise the Lord. How I rejoice in God my Savior! For He took notice of his lowly servant girl, and now generation after generation forever shall call me blest of God. For He, the mighty Holy One, has done great things to me. His mercy goes on from generation to generation, to all who reverence Him. How powerful is His mighty arm! How He scatters the proud and haughty ones! He has torn princes from their thrones and exalted the lowly. He has satisfied the hungry hearts and sent the rich away with empty hands. And how he has helped his servant Israel! He has not forgotten His promise to be merciful. For He promised our fathers, Abraham and his children, to be merciful to them forever.”

How do you respond to someone that speaks so? All I could think to say was “Blessed be the name of the Lord.” I guess that was appropriate, it just seemed pitiful after the blessing that Mary gave. Sometimes silence is truly golden. We bowed before the child and bid our farewells as we had to get back to the sheep. Now you little ones know how sheep are, without their shepherd to keep them together and protect them, they usually scatter and are prey to animals stalking about. When we returned to the herd, they were as we left them, eating peacefully, full and content. Another miracle in a night of miracles.

Daniel, Thaddeus and I sat down and picked up the meal we left behind. We talked of the angel and the things we saw that night. We told it over and over as we didn’t want to forget any of it, I knew one day I would be telling my grandchildren about it.

Eight days later, Thaddeus and I went to the temple to pray. We met cousin Simeon outside the gate. He was in a hurry, it seems the Holy Spirit had told him to get to the temple, that his prayer had been answered. Remember that Simeon was told by the Holy Spirit that He wouldn’t die before he saw God’s anointed King.

We were following him and up ahead they were performing the circumcision ceremony. There stood Mary and Joseph, the couple with the child in the stable. I started towards them but Simeon beat me there, he moved pretty fast for an old man. He took the child in his arms and started praising God. “Lord, Now I can die content! For I have seen Him as you promised me I would. I have seen the Savior you have given to the world. He is the Light that will shine upon the nations, and He will be the glory of your people Israel.”

Mary and Joseph stood there with their mouths open, marveling at what Simeon was saying about Jesus. Simeon then spoke blessings over them, but he turned to Mary and said, “A sword shall pierce your soul, for this child shall be rejected by many in Israel, and this to their undoing. But He will be the greatest joy of many others. And the deepest thoughts of many hearts shall be revealed.” He handed Jesus back to Mary and turned and left, with the biggest smile over his face.

I was standing there looking at them, I was a little amazed at Simeon myself. Joseph looked at me and smiled, nodding his head in remembrance of that beautiful night. Before I could acknowledge him, a prophetess walked up to them.

Every time I went to the temple I saw the prophetess Anna there, She came up as Simeon was walking off and she also started praising God, and telling everyone that the Messiah had finally arrived. Did you hear that children, the Messiah had finally arrived.

I was still trying to process all this. Why did the Messiah come to a poor couple? Why was he born in the most dirty, worthless part of Bethlehem? Why did the angels come to lowly shepherds? I didn’t know, I still don’t know, but it must have been God’s plan from the beginning. I was always told in the synagogue that the Messiah would come riding a white horse, delivering Israel from our oppressors. This child didn’t look like a warrior.

Several years later, I was standing in the field close to the road. It was another one of those glorious days that make you are glad to be alive. I stood there with staff in hand letting the warm sun soak into my face when I hear a commotion. Along the road came a whole group of people. All of them trying to get a man’s attention, they were yelling His name, “Jesus, over here.” “Jesus, tell us a story.” “Jesus, perform a miracle.” The crowd quieted and a man walked through them, it was Jairus the leader of our synagogue.

He fell to his knees in front of Jesus and said something to him that I couldn’t hear. It must have been important for Jairus to bow before a common traveling preacher. But that was when a memory came flooding back into my mind, of a night when I knelt before a baby in Bethlehem, and yes, oh yes His name was Jesus. The angel said He was the Messiah. There before me was standing the Messiah.

I dropped my staff and run toward the crowd, I had to tell Him my story, of how I had been there just after His birth. As I neared, Jesus stopped suddenly and turned. I could plainly hear His voice, “Who touched me?” A crying woman admitted that she had, and then Jesus said the most amazing thing, “Woman, your faith has healed you, go in Peace.” As I stood there He had healed that woman. This was no normal man, this had to be the Messiah.

I heard stories from time to time about this prophet that was healing people around the countryside, and about the wonderful words that He spoke about God’s kingdom. All this time I was wondering when He would mount that white Stallion and free us from our bondage. Then I heard the news that they had crucified Him. The priest had Him killed because His message convicted them. I thought, well, that is that. Maybe Jesus was the forerunner of the Messiah and the Messiah was yet to come.

Then a man stopped by while I was beside that same road where I had seen Jesus. He asked if I had heard of Jesus and I said “Yes I had.” I then proceeded to tell him my story of the Angel and Simeon and even what I saw on that same road. He then told me what he had seen.

“They tried, convicted and hung Him on the cross. After three days He rose again from the dead, I saw His empty tomb. He then appeared to us again and taught us and told us to spread His Good News throughout the world. He was the Messiah, He saved us from our sins. He is God’s perfect lamb, sacrificed for us who could never pay the price for our salvation. He is whom He said He is, and He wants you to join Him in Heaven where together, you will worship the Holy Father God. Salvation is a gift for you from Jesus the Christ, all you have to do is accept it, accept Him as the Messiah.”

It all became clear to me then, the Holy Spirit cleared my mind and I saw God’s deliverance. I saw that the Messiah wasn’t sent to save us from Rome or our oppressor’s, He was sent to save me from me and my sins.

So there you have it, little ones, the story of a baby born to save us. One day, maybe this day, you will have to decide for yourself if you want to follow Jesus. May my life be a gift to you, an example of listening and following the Chosen One, The Bright and Morning Star. Now go play, your Grandmother and I have a feast to prepare.

No Nativity Scene in DC this year

From an email:

An early update regarding Christmas in our nation's capital for 2009. I wanted to leak the story early so everyone fully understands. There will be no Nativity Scene in Washington this year! The Supreme Court has ruled that there cannot be a Nativity Scene in the United States ' Capital this Christmas season. This isn't for any religious reason. They simply have not been able to find Three Wise Men in the Nation's Capital. A search for a Virgin continues. There was no problem, however, finding enough asses to fill the stable.

Yipee

Click the "Romantic Walk" link over in the blog links on the right. There's a new post over there.
You might want to check out some of the other blogs listed there also, you be glad ya did.

Reminders of Spring

I thought with all the snow that has hit around the country, that you'd might light a little Spring in your day. Enjoy some of the flowers that hung around the yard this year.

My First Christmas Gift

They have begun construction on the street in front of my abode.

Two years ago they said they would start.

Now that winter is here and a wet winter is predicted, they decide it's time to fix my street.

They are not only going to fix it, but they are going to four lane it.


Can anyone say Indy Speedway?

The old street is now a memory, dug up and hauled away.

They have dug down at least another foot since these pictures were
taken.

I can't get my car out over the temporary gravel drive they have put in. We have gotten rain and it has pooled up on both sides of my drive, making the gravel muck. We have two other vehicles, an old pickup and a SUV that can make it out.

I imagine that it will be close to this time next year before the speedway opens. After all, they posted the sign: "Slow Men Working."

New Post

After a few months, there's a new post over at Romantic Walk, hit the link over in the blog link pages. Thanks.

Not Again!!!!

I awoke, at the insistence of a over-stretched bladder.
I arise, feeling the warmth of a carpet floor.
I walk, to the Room, yes, that Room.
I squawk, forgotten cold tile floor.
I slip, relief comes too soon.
I mop.

The Sum Of Two Halves Is A Whole

I was reading some papers that I came across as I cleaned out my father's room. In them he wrote down memories that he held close to his heart. Memories of his childhood, through his time in World War II, and when he and mother were married but without children. I read them and was amazed of what a boy from Wann, Oklahoma accomplished. I marveled at the stories of his time in the Army Air Corps, and his contribution to D-Day.

I then started thinking about my grandfathers. Sigel, my dad's dad, was a cowboy turned farmer. He drove cattle up the Chisholm Trail and later broke sod so he could plant. He lived through Oklahoma becoming a state, the Dust Bowl, WWI and WWII and other wars, he went from driving cattle to driving a Chevy. He help forge history as he went about his daily routine.

Then there was John, my mother's father. His name is all over Knob Noster, Mo, as he and his father ran the brick factory there. I guess today those bricks are collector items for those who like collecting bricks. He also mined coal, my ma was a true coal miner's daughter. I remember him as a big man with a big laugh and smile. He was a lover of books, a trait handed down to me.

So this Thanksgiving day, and everyday, I'm thankful that I grew up in the family I did. Two families, miles apart, but united by the love of Bessie and Robert. Two families that different traits are combined in me to make me who I am today, and I must say, they came together nicely. May those that come after me say the same about me.

Ann's Writng Prompt: Do Not Use Verbs

A cold cup of sugar and cream coffee. Plate of bagels and cream cheese. Lipstick encrusted cigarettes. Soft jazz music. Two empty stilletto heels. A run in a black seamed stocking. A black ribbed sleeveless turtleneck sweaterdress. A red corset on a chair. Gentle breeze. Flowing curtains. Little and lacy panties. Newly wed couple. Canceled dinner reservations.

Egads

The other day I bumped into an old friend, and I mean old. This sucker’s hair that hadn’t turned loose, had turned gray. He had puffy eyes, and his forehead was wrinkled. I couldn’t believe that he looked so old.

That’s the last time I look in a mirror.

Two Pairs Of Jeans and Two White Shirts

Ok, another recycle from my old blog. Yes, I will be writing something new in the near future.

Summertime the year I became “legal” was one of the best that I can remember. My first year of college was behind me and I met someone whom I thought I was in love with, but after really falling in love years later, I realized that it was lust and not love.

I first saw her as she walked into our Speech class. One look at her and I was speechless, not good in a speech class. She wore a white cotton button up long sleeve shirt with the top three buttons unbuttoned. The jeans she wore must have been put on with a shoe horn. Her red cowboy boots completed the imagine of the perfect woman. Did I mention that you couldn’t see her bra even though the shirt was unbuttoned? It’s hard to see something that isn’t there.

In order to keep things orderly the teacher had pre-assigned partners, and much to my delight, we were assigned together. I introduced myself by stuttering through some mindless sentences which ended with “I’m not really as stupid as I sound”.

She said, “I’m Val, short for Valentine as I was born on Feburary 14th. I like to have fun but I’m also serious about my school work. So, do you think you can keep your mind on the classwork, if not I’ll ask to be reassigned to someone else.”

“Can I be honest?” I gasped, “If you would wear a flannel shirt or maybe a suit of armor or something besides what you have on, then I may be able to keep my mind and eyes off your breasts.”

And that’s how we met. We had a cold winter that year with snow drifting up to the window sill, but the dorm room was hot. My best friend said he knew Val’s dorm room because the windows were always steamed up.

Plans were being made. Dates were talked about and what color bridesmaids gowns would be. We even had names picked out for our children. Before we knew it, summer had rolled around and we had to part for the summer.

“Two weeks,” I told her, “In two weeks after my first paycheck I’ll be knocking at your door.”

“I’ll be waiting. Waiting to hold you close, to hold you tight. I will dream of it every night until I once again kiss your lips.” And with that, she was gone.

Two weeks flew by. I worked extra hours the first weekend so that I could leave early on Friday. I jumped in my car and drove the two hours as fast and as straight to her house as I could. I jumped out of the car and was going up the sidewalk when the door to her house burst open and she came bounding out. I felt as though I was in Speech class again, I was again speechless. This time she was wearing very short frayed cut-off jean shorts. Her Dead Head T-shirt was tight and I couldn’t see her bra this time either. I stood dead in my tracks as she ran into my arms and kissed me like never before. She lead me into the house and....

Oh yeah, did I tell you we got an A in Speech class?

Rain Girl

A post from "Romantic Walk" from a year ago, thought I'd be green and recycle.


It was a warm day as I was walking through the park when it suddenly began to rain. I was about two miles from my car so I thought I’d embrace it and take a stroll in the cooling rain. She was standing at a fork in the path wearing a small smirk on her face as she looked at my rain soaked body. I stopped and without a word she took my hand and led me back into the park. There we found a secluded park bench that overlooked a duck pond. We sat silently, alone in the park, letting the rain fall on us as we watched the drops make ripples as they fell into the pond. I tried to think of something to say, “Hi, I’m an Aquarius, what sign are you?” No, too stupid. “I see you enjoy the rain, how about taking a shower with me?” No, too forward. So I sat there waiting for my heart to quick pounding so I could hear myself think of some useful, non-idiotic thing to say.

Just as suddenly as the rain started, it stopped. The ducks were swimming under a rainbow that appeared across the pond. And just as suddenly, she stood still holding my hand, and kissed me on the forehead. She gave me another one of her smirks and was gone.

I sat, soaking wet, looking across the pond, contemplating what had just happened, trying to sort out my feelings when I felt someone watching me. I looked down the path she had taken and an older couple stood there, looking at a drenched man sitting on a wet park bench. They too were soaked so I wondered if they had seen the girl and which way she had gone.

I stood and walked toward them, but what I observed sent chills though my body. His eyes were familiar, as was the way he stood. She too looked like someone I knew, but I couldn’t place how I knew them. As I came closer, the top of his hand caught my eye; on it was the same tattoo of a bullpup that was on mine. I froze in my tracks as they passed by and as I turned to look at them they sat down on the same bench my Rain Girl and I were sitting. I began to see it clearly now, that man was me, 50 years older and the lady was my Rain Girl. The old lady looked at me and gave me a smirk and pointed up the path. I turned and as I started to run after my girl, I glanced back at the old couple. The bench was empty as they were swept back up in time, but their message was clear. I found her at the same fork in the path where she was earlier. She finally spoke, “It took you long enough,” her voice sounded like a smooth jazz melody.

I said, “It’s not every day that you fall in love, it took me by surprise.”

She took my hand again, “Let’s get you out of those wet clothes.”

This time it was my turn to smirk.

The Yearn

The river ran deep
during this drought,
Until the well ran dry.
Only so much one can take,
Only so much you can cry.

They say there are
Lessons that we'll learn
Things we'll never see,
But it doesn't take away
The everlasting Yearn.

Yearn for one last hug
One more laugh.
One more smile.
Yearn for the day before
And hope that it would last.

But life goes on
Sometimes wishing it wouldn't.
Left here for some unknown reason
For a higher purpose
If only for a season.

Where My Love For Chocolate Came From

A simple candy wrapper. Most people would have thrown it out, I would too except this one held a memory for me that I didn't want to forget. She was my first love, the first to hold my heart in her hands and when I was with her, the world just floated away.

It was our last night before we left for college and it would be the last night of our romance, we both knew it, but we were leaving that unsaid, and now it was time to say goodnight. I pulled up to the curb in front of her house, as I turned to kiss her goodnight she pulled a Hershey's kiss from her purse. I watched as she slowly unwrapped it, trying hard not to tear the silvery wrapper and then she laid it out flat on the dashboard. She then put the kiss between her lips and after letting it slowly melt in her mouth, she gave me a sweet chocolaty goodbye kiss. Without a word she got out of the car and ran inside, leaving my class ring on my car's console.

No, I won't throw this wrapper away, instead of wrapping itself around a piece of candy, it wraps a sweet memory.

Why I Don't Write Poetry IX

I walk,
Leaving a trail of footprints.
I seek,
The road I can call my own.
I find.
Now will I follow?

The heart,
Will never fail to lead.
The mind,
Will never fail to comprehend.
The soul,
Will never fail to be fulfilled.

If you let it.

The Commander's Captain

My church just recently welcomed a new pastor. In the interim we had a retired pastor whom just happened to be my old pastor twenty years ago. To make a long story short, this is what I wrote for his thank you reception.


A ship without a captain
Tossed about by the wind
Guided by the current
It’s sails growing thin

Filled with a crew
Each with an oar in their hand
Waiting for someone
To take command

Sent from the Commander
He stepped behind the helm
To give directions
From the Commander’s realm

His course is true
His destination sure
His eye is on the prize
His task is pure

Captain of many a ship
Guided them safely to shore
His time here though short
His message we can’t ignore

The Commander has another
Ship for him to sail
Another ship adrift
A crew that needs saved by the nail

His course is set before him
He needs no direction or more skill
For his life is the Commander’s
To perform His Will

Graditude and thanks
Seem so hollow of words
To say how much we love you
How much you’re adored

Though our course will cross
On the horizions shore
May we be shipmates when we pass through
The Commanders Door

Missing Beth

I miss Beth. I never met her, but I miss her. Beth is author of one of my favorite blogs, "Switched At Birth", and decided she needed to put the blog aside and concentrate on other areas of her life. Ya can't blame her for that.

After reading a comment she made on another site, I realized I missed her. A few times a week I'd pull up her blog and there she was, welcoming me to her home on Long Pine Preserve with that big smile of hers. Then suddenly she was gone.

This caused me to start thinking, why do we get so attached to people we have never met? Why is it that on-line friends become almost like family? I feel closer to all you on-line friends than I do those I physically see. I blogged about this once before, a long time ago, and my conclusion then was that at the keyboard, we can be ourselves. We don't have to put up a false front to try and impress someone we don't know, but then a funny thing happens, we've established a relationship. We cross our t's and dot our i's and suddenly we have a friend in Florida, Alaska, even Down Under.

We have even written about our friendships over at Ann's website. We decided that we're going to all meet on Gully's deck and have a beer or two and pound on our laptops. I do hope that one day that will happen in one form or another.

I don't know why this is such a phenom, but it is. Maybe the way to world peace is one on-line relationship at a time. So my friends, on-line and off, keep in touch. Keep writing and keep wowing me with your words, on-line for now, but one day face to face.

(I know this is almost the exact opposite of my last post, but the last post was mainly about a romantic relationship. This one is about friendship and finding them in a place where a person wasn't really looking for friends.)

Text Message?

I guess I'm a little old fashioned. Have all these new types of communication really made life easier? Back in the day it was three ways to ask the latest crush out. For the one who was really bashful and tongue-tied, a note left on her desk. For the shy but conversational, there was the phone call, and for the verbose, there was the face to face. These three styles of communication worked well the majority of the time. The reaction was from "Isn't that cute?" to a slap in the face, depending on the pick-up line you used.

Now it seems the face to face has been deemed necessary only during the date. They text, send pictures of themselves, email, and even when everything else fails telephones. I guess a text message would qualify as note. But how impersonal has this become. How well do you know someone by their text message or email? How do you know if this person is as nice as they sound or are they a pervert?

I guess I'm just an old romantic, I prefer the wooing. The holding of hands, the goosebumps when you brush their arm as you walk beside them. The aching of your arm as you refuse to move it even after all blood has left it because it took you so long to work up the nerve to put it around her. The look in her eye when you finally kiss her.

So I'll live in my decade where you opened the door for your lady. You protected her reputation and listened to her wishes. You were obedient to not only your parents wishes, but when her father spoke, you listened.

Ah the good ole days

OUCH!!!!

Back before Beautiful and I were married I was shopping at the local supermarket where I selected:

A half-gallon of 2% milk, A carton of eggs, A quart of orange juice, A head of romaine lettuce, A 2 lb. can of coffee, and 1 lb. package of bacon.

As I was unloading my items on the conveyor belt to check out, a drunk standing behind me watched as I placed the items in front of the cashier. While the cashier was ringing up the purchases, the drunk calmly stated, "You must be single."

I was a bit startled by this proclamation, but I was intrigued by the derelict's intuition, since I was indeed single. I looked at the six items on the belt and saw nothing particularly unusual about my selections that could have tipped off the drunk to my marital status.

Curiosity getting the better of me, I said, "Well, you know what, you're absolutely right. But how on earth did you know that?"

The drunk replied, "Cause you're ugly."

I get no respect................

Sigel's Summer

Sigel lifted his straw cowboy hat off his sweating head and wiped his face with his bandana. He had a love hate relationship with Oklahoma Indian Territory in the summer. He hated eating the dust off the cattle trail all day, but loved watching God paint a sunset at night. The sun turned his face a dark brown but his long sleeved shirt kept his arms as white as if it were winter. The heat radiated off his paint pony, Jamie, and he knew that it was about time to spell her.

Boss Man rode up next to him, “We’re going to stop early today, there’s a river crossing about a half mile up the way. We’ll bed down there for the night, and get a early go in the morning. This heat is taking too much weight off these doggies.”

“We’ll get’m bedded down,” Sigel smiled, “maybe Cookie could cook something besides beans tonight?”

“Just be beans with some jerky thrown in. He probably don’t even need a fire tonight, them beans probably cooked themselves in this sun,” the boss man laughed.

Sigel tipped his hat and rode off to start the bedding down process, and started thinking. He didn’t like thinking, he always over thought things when he should have just gone with his first instinct. Still, he started making a list in his head as he listed them out loud to Jamie. “Being hot, means the varmints would be prowling in the cooler night hours. Probably be a good idea to ride extra rounds. We’ll wait till after supper to make that call. At least we’re near water tonight, maybe I can grab a bath, upstream from the herd of course. I’ll need to help Cookie fill the water barrels. I’ll need to fill my canteens. Might give Jamie a good bath and rub down too. She deserves it, hauling me around all day. Oh, well, I’d better get busy.”

Summer nights in July doesn’t always bring a cool breeze, tonight was one of those hot, sticky nights that made life on the trail tough. Sigel wasn’t bothered by it though. On quiet nights like this, he could hear Cookie snoring clean across the herd. He would sit in the saddle and let Jamie dose while he looked into the stars and talked with Jesus. He gathered strength from these times and too often his shift would end too soon and he’d lay on his bed roll and continue his conversation with the Lord. His strength came from these times and he was always surprised the next morning on how rested he felt without much sleep. He remember some Bible verse his mama would quote him about how strength came from the Lord, but he didn’t know where to find it. He figured remembering it was just as good as reading it. Remembering it was a way of thinking about it and seeing what God wanted him to learn. Too often, he admitted, he’d read his Good Book and then not think about what it said. Well, he decided, at least I know I'm going to Heaven and I won’t have to spend any time in hell, shoot, don’t know if it could be much hotter than Oklahoma in July.

The Most Boring Post

I was tagged, I guess that's what you call it, by my best red headed cyberbub Linda from 777 Peppermint Place. She gave me the "Honest Scrap" reward, I think she fat fingered it, it should be "Honest Crap" if she's referring to my writing. Anywho, I'm suppose to list eight truths about me. I warned you that this was going to be boring. So here goes, All you wanted to know about Walk but was afraid to ask:

1. I'm short for my weight. There ya have it, I'm short. According to my weight I should stand at 8' 10". So I'm short.

2. I've lived at the minimum of sixteen addresses since I was born, I think it's closer to twenty, but I can't remember them all. They cover seven states.

3. I like a good chick-flick. There just not many of them out there. "Under the Tuscan Sun" or "Must Love Dogs" are good examples. Lifetime movies are bad examples.

4. I hate lists.

5. I was roadie for a night a few times. The first time was when I was in college and was roadie for "Rare Earth". Others were David and the Giants, and Ray Boltz.

6. I had eight aces in a row in a doubles tennis tourney back in the day. I was a stud back then.

7. I've survived two head-on car accidents. Totaled out a 66 Mustang and a 71 Ranchero.

8. I was first kissed by, oh yeah, I promised I'd never tell.

Ok, now to tag some others......

1. Sarah Palin...just as soon as I get her blog address.
2. Michael Jackson...whoops, too late.
3. Michael Moore.....never mind, no mind.
4. Britney Spears.....nope, we already know too much about her.
5. Amelia Earhart....just as soon as she lands.
6. Daffy Duck..........I believe his address is Washington D.C.
7. Monty Python.....But I don't speak English (Well, I don't, I speak Okie)
8. Mikey the Mime..Except we're not on speaking terms.

Well, there ya have it, or maybe not.

Granny and Gramps

looking at this picture
Not color, but black and white,
Of my granny and gramps
Posing with smiles so bright.
Their house in the background,
Their dog not out of their sight.
Granny's a head taller,
Gramps didn't care much about height.
Wearing their sweaters
Buttoned up so tight.
Cane in their hands
Bad legs were their plight.
Eye glasses sitting on their nose
Magnifying their eyes so bright.
One of the last pictures taken
Before Gramps left on his homeward flight.
Leaving Granny alone in their house
Missing her beloved knight

Found A Couple New Blogs

For those of you that are unfortunate enough to live outside Oklahoma. I found a couple of blogs that tell you about this fine state.

The first is "How To Survive Oklahoma" and shares everything from tips on the hot weather to Okie history.

The second is "77 Counties - 77 Distinct Images". The blogmaster here is eventually cover the 77 counties of Okieland and blog with pictures and interesting facts about each county.

Both are fairly new blogs so check back often. The links are in my blog list to the right. Happy reading.

Lady Victoria

Here is a portion of one of my works in progress. It's about an artist, Richard, and his model, Vickie. This would be towards the end of the story, the reveal if you want to call it that. What do you think, should I proceed with the full story? It is in it's "raw" stage, so it should flow better in the final draft.


Vickie’s emotions poured over her like cold Aunt Jemima's syrup as she stood before her portraits. With just minutes before the Metropolitan opened it’s doors for the exhibit, she wasn’t sure posing was the right thing to do. She was also puzzled about the large one titled “Lady Victoria,” she didn’t remember posing for it.

Richard walks up and places his arm around her, “I think I captured your beauty, your sensuality, your personality. The paintings are almost as exquisite as the model.”

“You are such a smooth talker, aren’t you? I can tell you've spend quite a few years in Paris” She laughed a nervous laugh. “Are you nervous? There are so many butterfly's in my stomach that I feel I could fly away.”

“There are no worries, they will love the paintings. They will love you. This night could very well change our lives.” He really wondered if anyone would even show up.

“By the way, when did you paint the large one in the middle that you named ‘Lady Victoria’. I don’t remember that pose.”

He looked at her with a look of disbelief and asked, “You have never seen her before? I thought you knew about her.”

Now she looked at him with incredulity, “Yeah I’ve seen her before, every time I look in a mirror. I didn’t know you had the time to paint her with all our other portaits.”

“You don’t understand. My Lady Victoria is the painting that made me famous. I painted her ten years ago.”

“But we’ve only known each other for a year, how could you have painted me like that?” They looked deep into each others eyes. She into his hoping to find something that would tell her he wasn’t a madman.

“I painted her,” he explained, “after I painted six other models, those paintings hanging over there.” He grabbed her hand and led her to the other grouping of paintings. “Look at this one, she has your eyes. This one has your cheek bones. This one your breasts. If you look at her butt, you can see it is yours. I took pieces of each one and pieced them together to make the physically perfect woman whom I named Lady Victoria. It is a coincidence that her name and her beauty matches you perfectly.”

“Is that why you acted so funny that day when I rented your apartment?”

“Now you know that I wasn’t just some strange, weird artsy type.” he laughed. “It was quite a shock to see Lady Victoria in the flesh. I spent so much time painting her, making her so perfect that I fell in love with a face on a canvas. Until that day that you walked into my life, I thought that I would never find someone that I could give my love to.”

She was about to speak when the doors burst open as the exhibition began, and Richard was swept away by reporters and patrons. “I didn’t get to tell him, “ she thought, “that I loved him too.”

Goofy Little Poem

I wrote this poem after seeing this picture of Alison Sudol, aka A Fine Frenzy, one of my favorite musical artist. This photograph looks almost like a Monet painting, sign of a good photographer. The name of the photographer isn't listed with the picture, so whoever you are, you done good. And now, with no further ado, Goofy Little Poem:

I pass by
The girl in the rowboat
Beside the road
I wonder
Why she is sitting there.
Day after day

I pass by
The girl in the rowboat
Beside the road
She smiles
My heart flutters as I walk
Past her way

I pass by
The girl in the rowboat
Beside the road
I notice
Her red hair flowing down
Over her shoulders

I pass by
The girl in the rowboat
Beside the road
I feel
Love's ember slowly ignite
Over her beauty

I pass by
The girl in the rowboat
Beside the road
I stop
Offering my hand to help
Her out

We pass by
An empty rowboat
Beside the road
Holding hands
For the rest of our lives
No, Forever

The Dalton Gang

They knew their time was comin'
That was sky blue clear.
Into town they rode still
Showing absolutely no fear.
Up to the bank they sauntered
As if they were after a beer.
Met with gun fire and bullets
Which hit far and near.
Death came to them that day
And to the families they hold dear.
Their life just a memory
Of a few that still live here.
Who are waiting
For their ghosts to appear.
Not many, maybe not any
That day shed a tear
Just another day
In the life of the frontier.

Tick Warning

I hate it when people forward bogus warnings and I have even done it myself a couple times unintentionally...

But this one is real and it's important.

So please send this warning to everyone on your e-mail list.

If someone comes to your front door saying they are checking for ticks due to the warm weather and asks you to take your clothes off and dance around with your arms up.

DO NOT DO IT!! THIS IS A SCAM!!

They only want to see you naked.

I wish I'd gotten this yesterday - I feel so stupid.

An Author You Can't Refuse

I don't do book reviews, at least not very often. But this is one that will be on my favorites list for a long time, one that I will even read again, and that is very rare. So here goes, I hope I can do this book justice.

I met Mr. Michael Snyder on ChristianWriters and was immediately drawn to him before I even knew he was a real honest-to-goodness-published author. His first book is "My Name Is Russell Fink", which I reviewed here last year. A book with that title, I just had to read. I soon became a fan of Mr. Snyder's work, so I was excited when I heard that his next book was to be released this Spring. I preordered it and checked the mail every day until I finally had it in my hot little hand. Finally "Return Policy" was in my "reading room".

As a wanna-be writer I've taken a few classes to try and learn the trade. A couple of things I had been taught is that it is hard to write in the first person and not to head-hop from one character to character. Mr. Snyder does this with a master's pen. The story flows from one character to the other and back again. The story unfolds through the eyes of the different characters, whom take on the story is just as different as they are.

His characters became my friends, that has only happened once before, and that was with another CW author's creation, John Robinson's Joe Box. Upon reading the last word I had this feeling that I just said goodbye to my best friend for the last time, only this time it was several best friends.

So the next time you're on Amazon or at a good bookstore, grab a copy of "Return Policy", it is worth every penny you'll spend. And Mr. Snyder's kids will be glad to be able to eat.

Muse Blues

Early in the morning, not even close to dawn,
I awake, rub my eyes and yawn.
“Get up, get up, inspiration is nigh”
I hear my muse in my ear and sigh.

“Ok, Ok, I’ll go see what clicks,
Maybe I’ll write about some good looking chicks.”
But the eyes are old and blurry
So to awake I’m not in a hurry.

I plop at my desk and turn on the machine,
All I get is a bright blue screen.
I stare in disbelief, not tonight or this morning it seems,
The demon inside has it’s own schemes.

My wife walks in, “Oh, there you are, you retard,
I thought maybe you were out in the yard.
Remember the neighbors called the last time.
The judge said mowing naked is a crime.”

All this because of my muse
Who loves to torture me and inflict abuse.
Rides me hard to write a few words
And “Don’t forget the rule of thirds”.

So back to bed I go and shut my eyes,
Say goodnight and my goodbyes.
In the morning I’ll think this was all a dream,
As I eat my Wheaties and chocolate ice cream.

Taking Chance

Last weekend while Beautiful and I was at the hotel resting, we watched one of the best movies I've seen in a long time. The title was "Taking Chance" starring Kevin Bacon. I won't play spoiler but it was about a Marine officer that escorted a fallen warrior back home. It was based on a true story and was very moving. It makes you even prouder of the men and women that risk everything for people whom take them for granted. An excellent movie, catch it if you can.

Weekend Getaway

Beautiful and I finally got away for a weekend by ourselves. Our adventure took us a whole 90 miles from home, but it seemed like a million.

Our first stop was at our hotel, The Skirven, built back in the 1920's and refurbished in '07. A beautiful lobby with the old art deco restored beautifully. Our room was on the ninth floor, a corner room that looked down this street that the picture was taken. We picked this hotel as it was with walking distance to all the sights we wanted to see. Friday we checked in late and had a late dinner at the hotel. I was going to take a picture of our meals like Beth does at Switched At Birth, but forgot my camera. So I'll just tell you, it was purty and good. Beth would have given her approval. Afterwards, we sat in the lobby outside a piano bar and listened to some gal tickling the ivories.

Saturday we walked over to the OKC Memorial which is where the bombing took place. There are two walls, (like the one in the reflecting pool photo) that have 9:01 and 9:03 engraved in them. The bombing took place at 9:02. Even with a Memorial Day crowd, the grounds were silent, everyone in awe of the inhumanity of a few demented individuals.


The tree is called the Survivor Elm. On that day cars parked around it were burning and even some of its limbs were destroyed. Today it stands as a symbol to the attitude of the people of OKC who lived through this, we will survive and flourish. The building behind it had heavy damage that day. Today the wall stands the same as that day, untouched all these years later. Inside houses the museum. You run the wide range of emotions while going through the museum. I was outraged, saddened to tears, thankful for the response of people around the world, and mad that these events and events of 9-11, seem to mean so little to people now that they are not on the evening news every night. The statue is titled Jesus Wept which says it all.














We next walked the four miles to the Botanical Gardens, I wasn't much inpressed. The grounds were landscaped beautifully, but the old fat boy was getting tired and so the poor impression. Beautiful liked it, and that's all that matters.









That night was spent in Bricktown, I used my camera phone but didn't save the pictures, datgum newfangled thing. So once again I'll have to use words. We walked over, only about five blocks from our hotel, to Bricktown and ate at Jazmo's Bourbon Street Grill, our table was on the canal, as close as you could get without falling in. A cool breeze swept along the canal and dinner once again was outstanding. Appetizer was Crocodile tail bites, Beautiful had a mushroom burger which had more mushrooms than meat. I had Chicken Bon Ton which was a panneed chicken breast topped with a crab and shrimp Alfredo sauce served over dirty rice. I believe I'll have that again. We walked the canal waiting for time to pass before the live music started when a clap of thunder told us to head inside. We landed in Maker's Cigar Bar, and were the only one's there, I got a cigar and we settled down into a nice leather chair and couch and waited until the band started to play. They started at nine was going to play until around 2. We left around 11:30 when a loud mouth blonde came in with about 10 others and we couldn't hear the music any longer. You know you're loud when the band tells you to settle down, which they didn't. We walked back to our hotel, which is a good thing about OKC. It's safe to walk downtown after dark, other places not, but around bricktown they keep the peace. It was a great weekend getaway, I'm going to schedule another one soon.

It's Time

It’s time. Once a year it is time. Time to remember the heroes that have kept us free. From beaches, forest, deserts, mountains, below the sea, from anywhere there is someone or something that threatens freedom, they are there. For those we are remembering this weekend, the fallen heroes, thanks isn’t enough. You didn’t have enough time with your family, you never saw your baby let alone make it to retirement. To those serving around the world, this grateful American proudly thanks you, prays for you, and looks forward to the time you’ll come home.

Life

Life.

What is life but a set amount of time on this earth. When we are born that set amount starts ticking. Each one of us has a set amount of time, and like fingerprints, that amount is different for each of us.

So, if we have a set amount of time in this period that we call life, how are we going to spend it? Being a grouch, complaining because the waitress didn’t get your tea glass filled the minute it was empty. How about that ole gal that’s driving the speed limit and keeping you from rushing to wherever, is it worth bitching at her?

Or how about spending more time with someone. Not only a loved one, that’s easy, but how about at the bedside of someone with HIV. Or talking to the town bum. How about holding your lover’s hand as you cross the street.

Spending time. We’re rich with it when we’re born. We grow poorer each day as we spend our life in our everyday routine. One day, we never know when, we will be bankrupt of time, our life will have been spent, and we’ll go the way of our elders, not another second to make a difference in someone’s life.

I hope each one of us will impact someone, touch someone, help someone, before time is up.

Stormy Weather

“A storm approaches.”
The navigator says.
“Steer into the wind,
Adjust your course.”
Lightening flashes,
Thunder thumps my chest.
Or is it my heart,
Beating, no pounding.
The bow rises,
Waves break.
So do the dishes.
I jump at the sound
And awake
I sit on my bed
In an ocean of sheets

My Dad, The Jokester

I found this among some of my dad's papers. I don't remember him ever telling a joke, his humor was the ribbing and some practical jokes, so this must have struck his funny bone for him to write it down.

Problem:

If a pig drank several whiskey sours before he started,
and ran a mile before he farted,
how far could he run before he shits.

Calculation:

Now in order for me to win this bet
I first must take you to where the first fart was let.
A farmer said he saw the pig pass
With whiskey shooting from his ass.
Now the farmer was a mile away
From where the pig started
And passed the farmer just as he farted.
It was so funny the farmer had to laugh
While the pig nearly ran a mile and half.
Now it seems to me if he could keep his wits
He could run five miles before he shits.


I found this on the day dad died, he helped us laugh and remember the good times we had together. We all could see him laughing along with us. Thanks dad, you helped me through one of the worst times of my life, just like you always did.

My Name

Dierks Bentley has a song that has become my theme song, it is “My Last Name”. If you haven’t heard it, take a time to listen to it sometime. In the mean time I’ll give you the short version, he’s proud of the name his father gave him, and he’s proud of those who bore it before him. That is why it has become my theme song.

A couple of weeks ago my father passed away, he is my example, my inspiration, my hero. Robert G. Walker was born to a poor farm family, he lived through the Stock Market Crash, the Depression, the Dust Bowl, Served during World War 2, the A-bomb, desegregation, the Berlin Wall falling down, man walking on the moon, Cuban Missile crisis, Kennedy’s assassination, the first Black president, among other things. He went from walking and riding horses to driving all over the nation.

A quiet man who spoke only when he had something important, or funny, to say. Had to have meat, bread and gravy at least once a day and loved lemon pie. It would be safe to say that he spent most of his life outdoors, he worked as a pipe liner and he loved to work in his yard. He loved working in his small shop and became a master at the scroll saw, his art work hangs all over his house, and mine.

He taught me how to work hard and to be proud of it. That action speaks louder than words. To be proud of country and stand up for it. To love family. To be a friend to everyone even those you may despise.

The greatest compliment that I received was in a sympathy card from a friend who didn’t know him, she said that considering the caliber of man I have become that my dad must have been a wonderful man, that he was and still is in my heart, and the heart of all who had the privilege to know him.

Love ya dad, and I miss you.

The First Ring

We just sat down to supper. Outside the thunder rolled and the lightening flashed, it is the perfect night to watch the original Halloween movie once again. I laugh at how young Jamie Lee Curtis looks until I realized how young I looked all those many years ago. Just as the bad guy was reaching for the closet door, our lights went out. I jumped into my wife’s lap and screamed like a little girl. That’s when it happened….

The first ring.

They immediately started, the cold sweats, the trembling fingers, and my heart trying to burst through my chest. I just know it's that ghastly and horrifying man calling to torment me. It has to be him, who else would call at this time of night? My knees are weak as I stumble towards the telephone. Maybe if I just don't answer it, yeah, if I don't answer it I won't hear his cruel voice. No, that won't work, he will just continue to call. How long can he terrorize me? How long until I can once again sit in my home in peace?

Second ring.

It seems louder than the first. Is he playing with me? Why is there someone outside playing the drums? Oh, that's my heart beating inside my ears. What if I let the answering machine do it's job and answer for me? It might work to give me a few moments of peace, but he will call back, he most certainly will call back.

Third ring.

OK, answer it and get it over with. He can't terrorize me all night can he? What can he really do? He's just a voice on the phone. OK, I'm gonna answer. Steady now, it's just a phone. A voice can’t hurt you, only make you hurt yourself as you run for safety.
I lift the receiver to my ear.

"Hel-Hello?"

"Yes, I'm Teddy Telemarketer with Acme Widgets and do I have a deal for you!"+

AHWAAAAAAAAAABAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA! It's even more dreadful than I feared! When will my no-call status kick in? Oh the inhumanity of it all! My dinner's getting cold! Don’t let them smell fear! Homeland Security, please put a stop to these terrorist!

I quickly hang up and stand there shaking in the darkened room. I stare at the phone wondering when it will ring again, feeling the telemarketer tentiles reaching out to grab my throat. I try to finish my dinner but nothing taste good cold. Then I hear it…

The first ring…….

Bob or Robert

You know when Bob, depending on his mood it could be Robert, comes into the room. When he swings the door open he bellows out a big "HO HUM", his version of "Honey, I'm home." He offices in the next cubical to mine and is always late, sometimes two to three hours late, but it never bothers him. "I put in my eight, it doesn't matter when I get here. If I want to sleep late I will", and there isn't a manager that will tell him otherwise.

Bob has had polio, or some other disease, that causes him great effort to walk. But he doesn't want your sympathy. He says that he can't wait until he can't make the walk to the office from his pickup so he can ride his four wheeler to work. An ordinary scooter wouldn't do, it would have to be a four wheeler or he'd just stay at home.

The way he dresses is different from most of us. His jeans and slacks have to be "stretchy" and they can't be a designer label, he couldn't let any of us think that he might have some style. His shirts are usually solid brown or beige button up dress/casual with the collar unbuttoned. To button his collar would make him look like a "pervert". He does sneak in a t-shirt every now and then but they have to be solid also, "I ain't buying no shirt that has some name on it, I ain't advertising for no one". Black roper boots and a black belt, "I don't need karate to get a black belt", rounds out his wardrobe.

When Bob becomes agitated, he morphs into Robert. Many a computer mouse has died when Robert's computer has crashed. Noisy co-workers also bring the Robert out in him, if someone is close by in an office and their laughing is loud he will yell, "It must be crazy laugh day today." When a maintenance man comes up to rearrange an office or do some routine work that makes some unusual noise, Robert yells, "What's all the noise?" The best Robert phrase is when you do something that startles him, "That scared me, and I'm not scared of nuthin' but women and police", which he stole from some movie.

Bob isn't married and probably never dated, but he feels that is "one of my strong points". His latest scam was trying to get one of us to pay him a hundred thousand dollars to become his beneficiary. He figured that by the time he retired he would have "close to a million" in his retirement account and that a hundred grand now will help him more than a million "when I'm in the grave".

Bob is Bob and there isn't anyone else like him, that's good or bad depending on your impression of Bob. To the outsider he seems brash and rude, but to his close friends and co-workers, life would be boring without him. That's right Bob, just keep being yourself, it gives me plenty to write about.

The Old Hospital

We couldn't help it, we were boys, and boys are supposed to do things that most grown ups would think is stupid. David and I never failed to disappoint our parents with the stunts that we would think up. This one was my idea, not a good idea, but it was mine.

It was the summer of 1967, a lazy summer before I was old enough to start a steady job. I made enough money for soft serve ice cream at the Diary Queen and to get into the swimming pool by mowing a few lawns. On this particular day, David and I had walked to the Dairy Queen which was no small task for us. I lived in the last house, or the first house depending on which direction you were going, on Highway 75 in Southeast Kansas. My house was a mile South of the city limits and a quarter of a mile from the Oklahoma State Line. If I followed State Line Road a mile and then north another mile I would wind up at David's. I'd ride my bike or cut across pastures to get to David's, we would then either drive his mother mad or head into town and see what we could get into. This particular day we decided on some soft serve ice cream and see what else developed.

As we sat sucking the ice cream out of a dip cone, which had the ice cream dipped in hot chocolate causing a hard chocolate shell on the outside, we were discussing what do. David suggested, "Let's go to the park and see how fast we can get the merry-go-round to spin. Maybe that kid is there and we can make him puke again, that was so funny."

I reminded him, "Yeah, that was funny until his mother chased after us. She scared me, I thought she was going to catch us. I never saw a mother run that fast before."

Then an idea came upon me, "Let's go check out the old hospital. I hear that there is a door on the side where we can get in." The old hospital had always intrigued me ever since I could remember. It sat there empty, daring me to come visit. Being three stories tall, it loomed over the surrounding houses, a testament to one doctor's dream. It served my community well until it became outdated and a new hospital was built to replace it.

The old hospital sat on the corner of 4th and Fawn Street, a busy intersection as all the teenagers would "shoot the U" there. It was the popular turnaround spot on the west end of town when you were cruzin'. When David and I started driving we'd call it "Killing the Sheep" (shooting the ewe). The Dairy Queen was about five blocks from the hospital, to get there David and I walked down the main drag , which is 4th Avenue, where all the stores were. We passed Jack's Filling Station where you got full service with your purchase. There was the hardware store, the Board of Education which we ran by, Estes grocery, Lingles Five and Dime, and the pride of downtown, Blackledge furniture store. The last block before the hospital had Wheeler's Chevrolet and then the houses started.

As we approached the hospital we noticed a green car at General George Wark's house. He was a General in World War I and his two story gray house was the first house just south of the hospital, which was the side of the hospital that had the door we were going to use to get inside. The car worried us, it had a U.S. Army logo on the door, and we didn't want the Calvary to come riding up as we were exploring the nether regions of the hospital.

We walked to the North side of the hospital and circled around the back side, ducking behind the old trash cans and junk that was left there. We easily got to the door and slipped inside. We waited just inside the door and watched to see if anyone at the Wark house was aware of our intrusion into the bowels of the old building. We saw nothing outside so we turned our attention to the building. The door we slipped in opened into the old kitchen, at least it looked like a kitchen with all the counter tops as there weren't a stove or refrigerator. The shadows of the morning sun shining in the dirty windows cast a eerie feeling over us. A shell of a room that didn't hold a twelve year olds attention very long.

We continued out into the hall which led to the front door. The front door was a solid wood door and looked imposing. Behind the door was a closet which had a new padlock on the closet door. We tried to open it but gave up, vowing to come back with some tools so we could see what they were hiding. The rest of the first floor just held vacant rooms that were exam rooms for when the doctors had their offices there.

We walked up the marble stairs which we though was strange as we had never seen marble stairs before. On the second floor we found the operating room with the table and overhead lights left just like they were after the last operation. As we scrounged around we found some bandage scissors and some of what I now know were surgical clamps. As we looked up we saw a balcony where the surgeries were viewed. This room was the highlight of our exploration.

We then proceeded to the third floor with the intent of looking down on the surgical room. As we neared the top step we heard something in one of the rooms at the end of the hall. We figured it was a owl or rat or some other creature that had made its home there. We found the balcony and was looking down on the surgery room when we noticed a shadow appearing through the open door to the hallway. We spun around and there stood Steve, one of our friends. After our hearts left our throats and our breathing returned to normal, we found out that Steve's dad bought the old building and was going to tear it down to sell the bricks. Steve was there exploring like we were except he had a key to the front door.

It was a sad day when they bulldozed the old building. I made some money from it though as I sat on that corner with Steve and David cleaning grout off the good bricks and stacking them to be used once again. At a penny a brick, we were rich. Even today as I visit the old hometown, I'll shoot the "U" and look on that vacant lot and remember the old hospital. It went the way of so many of our old buildings, a loss to our community and a loss to a twelve year olds dreams of exploration.

My Obit

When times comes for me to be worm food, this is what my obit should say:

It comes as not much of a shock
Here lies the remains of Walk
Born a pipeliner's son
He never owned a golden gun
Instead he turned to the pen
And wrote of mice and men
Words was his prey
Until he fell into the bay
He sank like a rock
Our good friend Walk.

Music, Music, Music

I've always loved music, I inherited it from my mother. She loves to play the piano and sing, especially if her boys will sing with her. At Christmas time it was easy to sing along but during other parts of the year, I didn't know the songs she loved to play. She didn't know too much Kansas or Lynyrd Skynyrd and I didn't know the big bands. Then a couple of years ago, the family had Christmas at my house. My nephew was here and he talked of how much he like jazz. So with a few hints from him I started collecting jazz. Then an amazing thing happened, I started downloading the music that my mother loved to play, songs like "Always" and "Chances Are". I started listening to Louis Armstrong, Ella Fitzgerald, and "ole Blue Eyes". I also found that I started to really enjoy music. It became soothing to my soul. Relaxing. But the most important thing, I can now sing along with Bessie as she plays the music she loves. That makes her day and that makes mine.

Bluegrass Memories

“You can always use some SOAP to wash the week away. Come and join the Southern Oklahoma Acoustic Players and let our melodies soak into your soul. On Friday or Saturday nights the sounds of bluegrass, gospel, and some down-home-blues pierce the night with the resonance of a hundred singing strings.” That raucous radio announcement never failed to get my peaked anticipation to rise like a hot summer’s day does to the thermometer’s mercury.

Strong Irish coffee scents the air as Mickey takes the stage to play lead on “Miss McLeod’s Reel” with Kenny on his upright bass, Sissie on rhythm guitar, and Billy Joe playing the fiddle. The town’s old maid, Miss Wilson, sits in the front row on a old metal folding chair, tapping her toe on the old warped floor of the Opera House. In back sits Katherine, better known as Katie, with Bryan holding her hand, at fifteen they just know it’s true love. Over to the side Grandpa Snelson is doing a “Jed Clampitt” dance as the Reel rolls into full speed. Grandma Snelson throws back her head into a laugh that cackles throughout the House.

As the music flows into the night air, it pulls people to the Opera House like the smell of mother’s cookies would pull my friends to my house. As the crowd grows, it spills out into the night and suddenly we have a street dance. The police pull up and block both ends of the block for our safety, but the town is empty because everyone is here. The musicians mix into the crowd to play and sing their harmonies.

Mrs. Adams daughter, I never can remember her name, breaks open a jug of cider, sweet cider mine you, none of that hard kind would do here. Miss Penley starts cutting the cakes, mostly chocolate or strawberry icing, with little Beth Ashley sticking her sticky fingers in to test each one.

Suddenly Jerry stops the music and yells to quiet the crowd, “I have an audacious announcement to make. I just asked Jenny Lynn to be my betrothed and she said YES!” The band breaks into their version of the Hallelujah Chorus as the mayor shakes Jerry’s hand and gives Jenny Lynn a kiss on her forehead.

Grandpa Walker looks at his old railroaders watch and yells, “Time to go, gotta get some sleep before I can nap in the church pew in the morning.” The band plays one more song, a quiet quiescental piece so the lovers can have one last hold me close dance.

As I lock up the Opera House, I turn to a deserted desolate street that just mere moments ago was filled with laughter, rhythm and rhyme. I slowly walk down the avenue, head filled with remorse of another night having passed and anticipation of what the next weekend will bring.

The First Watermelon - A Rememberance

I would sit on the patio and wait, watching each car as it rounded the curve looking for that red and white Buick station wagon. That red and white station wagon would be carrying my Uncle Porter and Aunt Aliene and the long anticipated Texas Watermelon.
It would be mid-June of the summer of 1965 in Southeast Kansas, the weather would be getting hot and I'd be in the "I'm bored, there's nothing to do” mode, but today it was broken by the anticipation of cutting into that watermelon.

They would finally arrive, Uncle Porter smiling that big broad smile of his, especially big this time because of his prized passenger, not Aunt Aliene but that big, juicy, the other red meat, monster watermelon. The ceremony would begin, Uncle Porter would drop the tail gate of the station wagon and stand there like Vanna White and present the watermelon. "She's a beaut this year!" We would stand there with our mouths open in awe at the green striped object of our desire.

Dad would bring out the wash tub, bought just for this occasion and sit it under the big elm in our side yard. There he and Uncle Porter would carry the melon over, encase it with ice, and cover that with a blanket. "Go play, it won't be ready until after supper." That phase made time go into slow motion. Dad usually got mad after the one hundredth time of me asking if I could check to see if the melon was cold yet, "If you ask one more time there will be no melon for you. I told you to go play." I'd go inside and sulk until supper.

Supper was fried chicken, mashed taters, corn, green beans, homemade bread and an apple pie in case someone didn't want watermelon. The pie would be always be there the next day, if Uncle Porter didn't sneak off with it. I would inhale dinner and then have to wait while Dad finished off the chicken. He'd even chew on the neck bone drawing out the anguish that was building in my soul for having to wait for that long anticipated bite of cold, sweet melon meat.

"Whatsya think Porter, think that melon is cold yet? Think it's about time to slice 'er up?"

"We might have to test 'er out first, Bob, we better make sure it's good before we pass 'er out to everyone."

With that we adjourned to the elm tree, I blasted pass everyone and jerked the blanket off the top to make sure nobody had stolen that glorious fruit. Dad and Uncle Porter would place the melon on the picnic table and prepare for the "test piece" Dad would cut a small triangle out of the middle and inspect the color and smell. "Smells good Porter, I think you might have pick a good one." Then he would drop a bite in his mouth and pick up the "watermelon knife" and slice into it. He always cut the melon in half length ways and then cut the halves into half moon pieces. I'd grab the first one and go sit on the ground under the elm and dive into that precious piece of sweet melon. Aw so sweet it tasted, like candy that would melt in your mouth. The sticky juice would run off my chin and all over my shirt, and I didn't care. The meat would be a deep red turning to pink as you chewed closer to the rind. The black seeds were shot out my mouth into the wash tub where they mingled with the ice. I'd chew up the white seeds, adding to the pleasure of eating my favorite fruit. Afterwards, I'd lay back in the grass and dream of tomorrow when I could eat another piece. The second though was never as sweet as that first long anticipated bite of watermelon.

Anna and Oprah

Poor ole Anna, such a miserable soul
An old maid and spinster, least that’s what I’m told.
She watched the mail man on his rounds each day,
She liked to watch how his bum would bump and sway.
Her hair tied in a knot on the back of her head
Not a straind out of place even when she’s just out of bed.
A brown sweater she wore all year round,
Over a white high collared buttoned blouse, oh so renowned.
On her feet she wore grandma boots,
No, really, inherited from her Grandma’s Smoots

Then one day her front door bell rang,
There on her porch stood Oprah and her gang.
“We’re here to give you a makeover,” Oprah said with glee
“And I’m footing the bill, you get it all for free.”
Well they cut and they permed, plucked and painted
When they finished Anna nearly fainted.
Standing there was a reflection in the mirror
Whom she looked like it could not be clearer
Standing there looking back at her through that piece of glass
She turned and said, “Phew, Oprah, you sure got gas!”

Plucking Blackberries

Earth's crammed with heaven,
And every common bush afire with God,
But only he who sees takes off his shoes;
The rest sit round and pluck blackberries.

-Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Who said Liz wasn't a prophet? Doesn't that describe the world today, we're all too busy with our Blackberries (she was speaking of the fruit not the smart phone, but the irony is amazing), iPhone, texting, emailing, blogging, updating our Facebook page, hitting twitter, on and on and on......So, where is our time with the One who made blackberries, cherries and the universe? Can we twitter God? "So God, s'up?" What does God's Facebook page look like? Ever got an email from Heaven?

I think we all know what we should do, even you who don't feel you "need" God. You have that little place in the back of your mind that tells you you're missing something. I know that God has his own messaging system, it's a conversation with Him. Tell Him what you think, what you're feeling. That's all He wants, most likely He won't send you to Africa, India or somewhere like that, He just wants to be part of your life. So quick plucking those Blackberries for a couple of minutes and say, "God, s'up?" Who knows, He may just tell you.

Love Quotes Like This

"A Parable of Immortality"

"I am standing upon the seashore. A ship at my side spreads her white sails to the morning breeze and starts for the blue ocean. She is an object of beauty and strength, and I stand and watch until at last she hangs like a speck of white cloud just where the sea and sky come down to mingle with each other. Then someone at my side says, 'There she goes!'

"Gone where? Gone from my sight...that is all. She is just as large in mast
and hull and spar as she was when she left my side and just as able to bear her
load of living freight to the place of destination. Her diminished size is in
me, not in her. And just at the moment when someone at my side says 'There she
goes!' there are other eyes watching her coming and other voices ready to take
up the glad shout, 'Here she comes!' "

- Henry Van Dyke

Ann's Writing Prompt

The first teacher I had to lead me in this quest called writing is Ann Linquist. On her blog, Ann Linquist Writes (link in my blog link section) had this writing prompt:

"To test this theory, I often write what I call “ouiji poetry.” I begin by closing my eyes, then randomly letting my fingers dance over the keyboard as fast as I can with no thought as to what is coming out. I try to hit the space bar once in a while and the “enter” key too, just for variety."
"Now I have lines of meaningless letters and numbers on the page. I look for suggestions of words in the chaos and give myself complete permission to translate the garbled lines into words. It’s still a mess, but I am slowly beginning to create order out of chaos. I revise again, and again. A bit of sense emerges along with many surprises."

There are many amazing "Ouiji Poetry" that came from this exercise, visit her link to read them. Here is my answer to that prompt:

After many wadded up pieces of paper, I decided I wouldn’t quit until I completed this, especially with GA4 just around the corner. 1) is the random 2) is the 1st draft 3) is the final

Of course being a guy, you can guess which way my mind went.

1) Lskryeuskx,cx cbdgdftgrywjhqwksmnsdbdfvgdt3y2qjqkq nmsbndverg4yhwjqksndsbvdgfregt34ywhqkjqnmsbndvergf4gtvebhwqjwkqbnmdvbwqgywuw3qkamsd nbeghwmq kashjckj, M ANVBSBHWJQ K1I2U3WHSWABNMla,ejdh

2)Lightning in the sky, illuminating us,

Sex beyond the foggy morning

Hawks swimming, small diameters

Bvds forgotten, 3 to 2 gigabytes

No more brown veggies 4 you

How quick and subvert dogs are free

34 year whole quick shower

Band very forgiven quickly.

Brown double buggy

With you til 3 am Sound now beginning Kash or check

My anniversary of BSing writing

K1 2u wheres the wabbit laugh

3) Lightning in the sky, illuminating us

Sex beyond the foggy morn

Hearts swimming, signs of dissolution

Bodies forgotten, two into one

No one bidding eternity for you

How quick, subvert and discreet

Forbidden, wild, and quite sweet

Bastion of forbidden quaver

Bound dauntless before blithe

With you still thriving amidst

Source of bridled passion

Checked within

Anna's Eyes

I first wrote this when I heard that there would be a granddaughter joining our family. My mind raced with what would a teenage granddaughter's greatest disappointment be, this is my answer to that question......it's fictional now, but with a name change and over time it may become fact....


She’s the apple of my eye, my sweet Anna. I guess it’s because she’s my only granddaughter, or it could be that she and I connected early in her life, and our relationship grew as she did. I was surprised that she was proud of her old grandpa and even postponed dates when she knew I was going to be in town. I was one proud old dude.

During one visit I knocked on her door, “Anna, it’s me, can I come in?”

“Of course you can Grandpa.”

She was sitting at her dressing table, and I could tell that she had been crying.

“What is wrong darling, what’s gotten you so upset?”

“Oh grandpa, just look at me. I’m ugly. There isn’t enough make-up to make me look cute let alone pretty, and don’t tell me that I’m beautiful, because I know I’m not.”

I sat down beside her and took her chin in my hand and turned her toward the mirror. “You are beautiful. It took generations of people to make you as you are. You have the best of all our traits and combined they make you who you are, my beautiful granddaughter. Look at your nose, that is your mother’s nose and her mother’s nose. I didn’t know your great-grandmother but I bet that is her nose too. Look at your ears, my dad had those ears and with those ears he listened to the surrender of the Japanese in World War 2, he heard the first words spoke from the moon, and he heard your father’s first cry when he was born. Those cheek bones are my mother’s. She turned heads until my father captured her heart. Take a look at this chin that’s in my hand. This is your father’s chin. Firm and squared makes you look ready to take what the world has to give”.

I turn her head towards me, “Now look at into my eyes, do you see it? You have my eyes. They sparkle when you smile, they radiate your goodness and tell me that as a person you are a mature and confident person. They complete you, the beautiful you that every one of your ancestors would be proud of. You are beautiful, my dear Anna. You are so beautiful inside and especially outside. Yes, you may not be the most beautiful one in your class, or the most popular, but you are who you are and that is someone to be proud of, there is nobody but you and your crazy notions that can take that away from you.”

She wiped away the last of the tears in her eyes, “Just how do you know what to say? Are you a prophet or something?”

“No, I’m just an old coot who has some living under his belt and now sees things more clearly than I did a few years ago.”

She laughed and hugged me, “You’re not just some old coot, you are my old coot”.

Yes, my dear Anna, you are the product of generations. As I look at the old black and white pictures I have of those who have gone before us, I see a little of you in them. You make me proud, and I know as they look down on us they turn to those around them and point and say: “Look, she’s one of ours.” One day my dear, you will say to your granddaughter, look you have my grandfather’s eyes, they sparkle when you smile, they dance as you laugh, you can be proud to have those eyes.