Wayfarer Walk

Why I Don't Write Poetry 1012-1

2012-01-02T10:00:00.003-06:00

The fallen leaves,
Fly in the north wind
Like a group of thieves,
Robbing the thoughts of my mind.

Confined in a depression
Of my perception,
Thoughts of confession, obsession,
Too often misconceptions.

An escape, a flight to deliverance.
Of thoughts clear and luminous
Free from disregard and ignorance.
Spoken full of truthfulness.

Still the wind blows,
The leaves are free to fly.
But my mind is closed,
Locked with no reply.

My Favorite Books of 2011

2011-12-28T09:16:00.002-06:00

These are a few of the books I've read this year that I enjoyed, in no particular order of preference:

1. Heading Home by John Robinson. In a church service, God revealed that Jesus was returning in the coming week. Two Vietnam vets spend the time finding the ones they fought with to tell them the good news of Jesus. Well written, with believable characters. I'm still thinking about the message I gleamed from this book. Mr Robinson writes a Joe Box detective series that are some of my favorite books.

2. A Stand-Up Guy by Michael Snyder. Mr Snyder is also one of my favorite authors because of his, how do I say this, different type of humor. The main character in this is a stand up comic wantabe that has to work through many issues. Maybe Mr. Snyder's style appeals to me because I have a "different" style of humor. Dunno, but I enjoy his books.

3. Give The Lady A Ride by Linda Yezak. This is Linda's first book, and you really couldn't tell it. Enjoyable cast of characters that you fall in love with. See the review I wrote a few months ago.

4. The Baer Truth by Linda McMaken. Another Linda and another first book and another cowboy story. This is the first in a series about the Baer Brothers, so I'm sure next year when I write about my favorite books, a Baer book will be among them. I also already review this a few months ago, so go read it to find out more about it.

Those are four that stand out, there are several more that I read that didn't set my world on fire and several that lost me after the first few chapters. Here's to 2012, may the new crop of books be great ones, and may there be many first time author friends publishing this year.

He was heard as he soared away, "Happy reading to all, and to all a good book!"

Why I Don't Write Poetry 1011-6

2011-12-26T11:23:00.002-06:00

Another year is ending,
So much that is left pending,
So much water under the bridge,
Too many times falling off the ridge.

The loss of many my heart held dear,
Our eyes clouded with tears.
New life with a cry arrives
Welcomed into our lives.

A year of shouting praise,
Blessed in so many ways.
A year of wiping tears,
Celebrating a life we share.

So much that transpired.
So much that inspired.
A new year to look forward to,
Wishing blessings for you.

A Stable?

2011-12-24T19:01:00.003-06:00

It was a stable. A dirty stable filled with animals and all the things associated with them. Cow patties, donkey dung, sheep sh--well, you get the idea. What a place for the Savior of the world to be born.

But that was the plan, a plan that was put in motion all the way back when Adam and Eve ate the apple. A lot of water had passed under that bridge between Adam and the stable. Prophetic promises answered, the King of Kings, the Bright and Morning Star, the Messiah was born. Born in a dirty and stinky mess, to save us from our mess.

Merry Christmas, may the One we celebrate this season bless you this coming year.

Peter Pan

2011-12-17T20:59:00.000-06:00

With two broken legs and one arm in a cast, George had a hard time doing what most people take for granted. For instance, flipping channels with the remote made him really thirsty, so he drink two large glasses of tea. A little while later he realized that wasn’t such a good idea as now he had to recycle that tea.

He called his wife and she started pushing him down the hall. About halfway to the bathroom he yell, “I ain’t gonna make it, there she blows.”

His wife grabbed the bedpan and threw it at him yelling, “Peter Pan. Peter Pan. Peter Pan.”

And that’s why they are redecorating the hallway. Now you know the rest of the story.

Dishes

2011-12-06T09:31:00.000-06:00

She stands at the sink, doing the dishes again. The window over the sink gives her the perfect view of him walking up the sidewalk. She heart skips a beat just thinking of being in his arms again. She sloshes suds over the plate and stares out the window, her mind thousands of miles away. She imagines him sitting in the sand, water bottle in hand, and laughing with those gathered around him. He was their class clown, and she knew he would be making all those around him laugh, he would be lifting their spirits for a few minutes anyway.

She puts the dish down, her eyes blurring with the tears that never seem to dry up. She turns and walks into the living room and over to the fireplace. On the mantle is his picture, how handsome he is in his uniform. As she places the picture back, she picks up the black case beside it and opens it. Inside placed on the gray lining is his purple heart and gold star. She then runs her hand over the tri-folded flag and realized he would never walk up that sidewalk again.

Why I Don't Write Poetry 2011-5

2011-11-02T09:18:00.004-05:00

My contribution to the prompt given by teacher extraordinare Ann Linquist: "The Gatekeeper":

“I am the Gatekeeper,” his voice boomed,
“Do not precede or you will be doomed.”
I look at him with a weary smile,
“Do not fear, I carry no guile.
I am on a essential quest,
And I must continue my journey west.”

He repeated his greeting phrase
“I am the Gatekeeper, I do not faze.
At your own peril may you approach,
It is my territory that you encroach.
So, leave, go as you came,
This is not some adolescent game.”

“My quest, it carries me on,
I refuse to retreat for I am not your pawn.
Move to the side and let me advance,
I must go, it can’t be left to chance.
For the Gatekeeper you may be,
But I must go to Grimly Reap.”

Recycled - My Obit

2011-10-05T18:46:00.000-05:00

Feeling green this week so I'm recycling this from 2009

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.

Alumni Reunion

2011-09-29T16:19:00.003-05:00

All you alumni from Beginner's Writers Workshop with our favorite teacher Ann, please go to her site (in the favorite blog column at the right) and drop her a message. She'd like to know what y'all have been up to.

Why you're at it, jump in one of the discussions and leave a bit of your writing behind.

See ya there.

Book Review - Baer Truth

2011-09-08T20:08:00.002-05:00

Another cyber friend, Linda McMaken, has published a book, "The Three Baers, Book One: Baer Truth". Like my last review of Linda Yezak's Book "Give The Lady A Ride" this is a modern day Cowboy romance. And like Linda Y, Linda Mc's (confused yet) characters are well defined and lovable, in fact I'm in love with Tessa, when you read it you'll figure out why. There are several laugh out loud parts, which come at unexpected times, a very enjoyable read. It is the first of a trilogy about three brothers, which has it's twist in itself, the oldest, Joe, is the hero in this one. This is Linda's first book, but she has written articles for several magazines, she the Senior News Editor for Reader's Entertainment News, Senior Media Marketing Manager, and scriptwriter for COS Productions, and she also has a blog which you can click on over on the right in my blog list.

Linda, good job, I'm waiting patiently for book Two.

A Long Dark Highway - Finally

2011-09-07T16:12:00.002-05:00

He awoke to the smell of stale cigarette smoke and pickled herring. He immediately lost all bile that was in his stomach, causing his head to fill with pain. "That's it," he thought, "I finally made it to hell." He tried opening his eyes, but all that was there was darkness. He searched for any small trace of light that might indicate a door or window, but all he saw was darkness. "I'm blind." he said out loud, the sound of his voice made him jump. He felt around and came to the conclusion that his room was about six feet wide and 10 feet long. What he thought was the door was in the middle of one of the six foot walls, but no hinges, or no door knob. He felt the crease in his forehead, it was still moist, slowly oozing blood and sweat. He put his back again the wall opposite the door and sat down. "It's another fine mess you've gotten me into Stanley."

The sudden screech of an eagle over loud speakers caused him to jump to his feet. He immediately fell to his knees as he became light headed because of his head wound. Lights flashed on and off, her laughter boomed, echoing off the wall, then the worst came as she started playing Lady Gaga. He put his hands over his ears but the noise was just too loud. Then her voice came boomed, "Give it to me. Give it to me," over and over and over.

"No! You'll never get it. Never," he yelled at the top of his lungs. The noise stopped immediately and the door cracked open. She stood there with his Glock in her hand, up to the temple of his best friend.

"Give it to me. This piece of trash is all that cares for you. Are you going to give that up for it?"

He stood there looking into the two pairs of eyes. One full of hope, one full of hatred. "Ok, you win. I put it next to your collection of Bibles, I knew you'd never find it there."

"It had better be there, or I'll hunt you down and next time I won't just graze you." She threw him his gun, "It's not loaded anyway." She laughed all the way out the room, and headed straight to her study. After moving a dusty pile of Bibles, she saw it, "That clever SOB, I'd never would have looked for it two feet from my desk." She slowly picked it up and ran her hand over it. The hairs on her arms stood on end as her excitement climaxed. "Finally, my very own copy of Pee Wee Herman's Big Adventure."

A Long Dark Highway - Smoke If You Have Them

2011-09-03T16:53:00.005-05:00

The tire smoke looked all convoluted through the broken windshield, but the smell left no doubt that the tires did their job and shut the Mustang down. "Glad it's a rental." he thought as he pushed the door open. He stood on the bridge, and scratched his head. The sign said "Bridge Out" but it's not, it spans the creek perfectly. That feeling came back to him, his "Spidey Sense", and the hair stood up on his neck again. He reached for the Glock but then remembered he put it in the seat next to him.

He turned and started to run for the car, he just about made it before the shot rang out and the bullet put a crease in his forehead. As the dawn turned to dusk, and dusk to dark he hears her laughter ringing in his ears. His last thought was that now she would never get what she wanted most in the world.

A Long Dark Highway - Road Signs

2011-09-01T07:10:00.003-05:00

"You'll never get it, even if you rip my beating heart out of my chest, you'll never get it. Only I know where it is, and only I can retrieve it, so take the bacon and shove it."

"You are so cute, trying to act all tough and such. You'll give it to me, you know I'll find you wherever you try to hide. I found you here, I'll find you there." She looked out the window at the sun peeking over the horizon, "Looks, like another beautiful sunrise."

I slowly moved my left hand around to my Glock, yeah, it's not my gun hand but at this distance I don't think I could miss.

"Leave the gun alone, Romeo, you'll never get a shot off." The hair on my neck bristled, I could feel my blood pressure rise, I slid out of the booth, threw a twenty on the counter and without a word, walk out, sounds of her laughter echoing between my ears.

Gravel flew as I hit the pavement. I headed back the way I came, headed back to the only home I have ever knew. Once there, she would be on my turf, on my terms, it was going to end my way.

I never saw the "BRIDGE OUT" sign until I hit it.

A Long Dark Highway - Breakfast Is Served

2011-08-25T06:48:00.004-05:00

She pulled herself into the booth just as Ambrose brought her meal. "Two eggs, hash browns, biscuits and gray and a double order of bacon. Is there anything else?" Ambrose said as he glanced down at her cleavage.

"How about some privacy?", she spouted back at him. Ambrose turned and walked behind the counter shaking his head.

"So, in what way are you going to ruin my life this time?" I said as I looked into her eyes. "You don't show up unless you're bored and want to screw with me."

"O ye of little faith. I only want one thing." she said as she crunched some bacon.

The hair stood up on my neck and I started to wonder if I should pull the Glock. I knew what she wanted, she's wanted it for years, and I also knew that if I gave it to her she would leave me alone and I could once again settle down. I just wish it was that simple, because there was no way I could, or would, give it to her.

A Long Dark Highway, continued

2011-08-09T17:13:00.008-05:00

The cold metal barrel of my Glock was hard against the small of my back, where it was stuck in my waistband. She knew I had it, I always did, and she knew I'd use it, I usually did. I tried to open the driver's car door, it was locked. I slowly put the key in and turned the lock, my hand slowly opened the door, I wouldn't put it pass her to blow us both up for spite. As I stepped in, her perfume enveloped me, I missed that fragrance, and the feelings that came with it.

"So, come here often?" I ask in my best tough guy voice.

"I would really like some bacon and eggs." she said without eye contact.

Bacon, I thought, damn, I forgot bacon with my eggs. "If you want a meal, you better hurry before the rush starts."

She looked at me, a shy smile across her lips, "I forgot your stupid, dumb-as-a-rock humor. Let's go, we can talk inside."

Ambrose looked funny at me as we walked to a booth in the back. "Same as I had, Ambrose, except add some bacon."

She said, "I need to freshen up." Ambrose pointed to the other end of the diner. As she walked away from us, Ambrose smiled and said, "Wow, she is gorgeous, you sure work fast."

"An old fiend." I said.

"You mean an old friend?"

"No, fiend, she took the 'our' out of friend a long time ago."

A Long Dark Highway

2011-08-08T19:44:00.004-05:00

This late at night the highway seems void and endless. This night is starless and the asphalt stretches out before me sucking up the glow of my headlights. My eyes ache as they strain to see ahead of me, my mouth is dry and my stomach growling. Lightening flashes in my mirror as I notice a faint glow of lights ahead of me.

I pull into an all night diner, you have seen them, sitting there like they were back in the 60's, needing a fresh coat of paint and someone to wash the windows. This one was one of those that looked like an old passenger train car that derailed and came to rest next to a couple of huge boulders. As I turn off the engine and lights, I look inside and see only the cook behind the counter, dressed like Mel from the TV show "Alice", cigarettes rolled up in his t-shirt and a goofy hat on his head. Something looked familiar about him, I couldn't place it, but it put me at ease about going in.

I looked around as I walked through the front door, the booths are lined up along the front of the place, with the red stools standing attention around the counter. A round glass case is sitting there with a couple of pies left in it. I sit next to the pies at the counter, the red stool is pretty comfortable, the vinyl squeaked as shifted my weight. The place was surprisingly clean compared to the outside, the chrome sparkled, the air clean, the coffee hot.

I found out that Mel's name was really Ambrose, and that he quit his job on Wall Street, bought this diner, and the rest, he said, was history. He said he loved what he was doing, meeting people and filling their stomachs. He filled mine very well with two eggs, hash browns, biscuits and gravy, a piece of lemon pie, and more coffee. I had miles to go before I slept so I had to bid Mel, I mean Ambrose, goodbye.

The early morning air was crisp and awakened the senses. I stood outside the door and breathed in a couple of deep breathes, and turned to waved at Ambrose. As I turned I noticed the reflection in the front window. I could clearly see that someone was in my car, and I could clearly see that I knew who it was. How could she find me here, and at this time of morning?

Dreams and Memories

2011-07-29T06:26:00.004-05:00

It was a fond memory, or a dream, either way I know that I'm fond of it. It was a simpler time before life grabbed hold and threw me down a path to where I am, to what I've become.

I loved that time of my life, and I loved often. Hearts were broken, mine and theirs, and hearts were set afire with passion. Or should I say lust. We would walk the railroad tracks to "our private spot" and spent the day encased in each others arms, and the quilt. The birds sang to our beat, the wind played its melody as it swept across us, nature turned off the sounds of the world so we could listen to each other's heart beat.

That is until the train came by, shattering our world, pulling us back to reality. I can still see the eyes of two older ladies who sat in the third passenger car, two rows from the back, as they realized what they were seeing. Was it disappointment in this younger generation that glared back at me? Was it disgust? Was it envy? Was it a fond memory, or a dream, that they remembered from years past?

We laughed, hoping our grandparents weren't their friends, and started back down the railroad tracks to my car. She looked up at me and said something like this, "I don't think I will ever have another day as good as this one." I don't know about her, but life did get sweeter with a few sour spots along the way. What I could tell her now is that love, true love, is much sweeter than lust. That lust, no matter how good it is, lasts for only the moment, love lasts forever and a day.

It may be a fond memory, or a dream, but it is unique to me, for me. One of millions that has piled on day after day, made just for me. And when these memories come flooding back, I smile and once again relive that moment in time.

Review: Give The Lady A Ride

2011-07-04T14:15:00.002-05:00

I'm beginning to realize something, I enjoy the work of new authors over the over-published pros. With the old pros you get the same ole same ole. With a new author you have no expectations and usually I enjoy the book more than the pros. I've posted on a couple of other authors who fell into this category that I've had the privilege to converse with, to drop names K.M.Weiland, Michael Snyder and John Robinson, and their books were excellent. Now you can add another name to that list, one that some of you may already know, Linda W. Yezak.

I posted a few months back that her book was being published and posted a trailer for it. Well, it has been out for a couple of months and I finally got around to reading it, and I was pleasantly surprised. I really liked it. There have been too few books that when I finished that last page I wished there was a few chapters more. There have been even fewer books that when I finished that last page I already missed the characters in it. This book did that for me.

I guess I identified with the main character, Talon, because he is a chick magnet. He is also a cowboy, a real ranch hand, cow puncher. Being an Okie and having real cowboy blood flowing through my veins, I quickly and easily identified with him.

I'm not going to give away the plot or the characters, but you can probably guess the plot as it's a romance but you won't guess the twists that Linda crafted so well. The characters, especially the cowboys, are believable and the descriptions of the various locations, from rodeo arena to bunk house, was well written.

Linda, congrats on a good book, and following your dream. I'm patiently waiting on the sequel or whatever else you may put into words. I hope you continue to enjoy your marketing and all aspects of your writer's journey.

Hot In Okieland

2011-06-28T06:58:00.004-05:00

It's so hot here the egg won't fry on the sidewalk because it's already hard boiled before you can crack it open. It's not the heat that is so brutal, but the 30 and 40 mph wind that seems to never die out. I now know what a blast furnace feels like.

It's so hot here that the other day the farmer that runs cows next to my place lost his herd. He had planted popcorn, it got so hot it all popped, the cows saw all that white popcorn on the ground, thought it was snow and froze to death. I tell ya, its brutal here.

The weather report might as well be a recording: Hot and sunny. It's been too hot to do anything for two months and the weatherman says it might really warm up next week. Doesn't it ever rain in this barren desert? We've had 2.88 inches of rain this year. The grass is as dead as in winter, at least I don't have to mow.

A buddy missed his cat sneaking into his car the other morning. When he went out to lunch the cat had swollen up to the size of a shopping bag and exploded all over his Lexus' leather interior. He told the kids it ran away. Now when you walk by his car it smells like Kibbles and S@%#.

Tried to run some errands after work. Wore shorts and sat on the black leather seating in the ol' car. I thought my butt was on fire. I lost two layers of flesh.

If someone else wise cracks, "Hot enough for you today?", I may be calling you for bail money.

A little update:

The Southwestern part of Oklahoma has been put into the "exceptional drought" category. That's about as bad as it gets on a climatological scale. 33% of the State is effected in this category. As you move east it is less severe. According to the stats, this is the driest year since 1921. Dust bowl was in the 30's after years of drought and over farming of the land.

Why I Don't Write Poetry 2011-4

2011-06-23T19:35:00.005-05:00

They tell me its all in the eyes,
Truth or maybe lies,
In the eyes are no guise.

Differ I will, differ I must,
With much disgust, distrust.
For my belief is honorable and just.

The eyes are noble and able.
They cause trust, can disable,
One look and know if you are stable.

So look me in the eye if you will,
What do you see, a thrill or a chill?
Maybe the skill to kill?

What you see today may differ tomorrow,
They could be filled with joy or sorrow.
What will the soul borrow?

For in eyes beauty can be seen.
Sparkling, bright, and clean.
Whether in a dinner gown or blue jean.

The eyes are what we gaze upon.
Judging whether a swan or a Khan.
What do you trust on?

Why I Don't Write Poetry 2011-3

2011-06-07T18:48:00.004-05:00

A fly
On a window screen
Working to get out,
After working to get in.
Spending it's short life
Within a fraction
Of it's goal

A man
In a cubical
Working to get out
Forced to get in
Spending his short life
Insignificant
A shadow

The difference
May not be clear
Similar destiny
A fly lives
With wings on earth
A man get wings at death
And flys

Feeling Profound Today

2011-05-24T07:01:00.002-05:00

From an e-mail and unknown author:

READ THIS VERY SLOWLY .... IT'S PRETTY PROFOUND.

Too many people put off something that brings them joy just because they haven't thought about it, don't have it on their schedule, didn't know it was coming or are too rigid to depart from their routine. I got to thinking one day about all those people on the Titanic who passed up dessert at dinner that fateful night in an effort to cut back. From then on, I've tried to be a little more flexible.

How many women out there will eat at home because their husband didn't suggest going out to dinner until after something had been thawed? Does the word 'refrigeration' mean nothing to you?

How often have your kids dropped in to talk and sat in silence while you watched 'Jeopardy' on television? I cannot count the times I called my sister and said , 'How about going to lunch in a half hour?' She would gas up and stammer, 'I can't. I have clothes on the line. My hair is dirty. I wish I had known yesterday, I had a late breakfast, It looks like rain' And my personal favorite: 'It's Monday.' She died a few years ago. We never did have lunch together.

Because Americans cram so much into their lives, we tend to schedule our headaches. We live on a sparse diet of promises we make to ourselves when all the conditions are perfect! We'll go back and visit the grandparents when we get Steve toilet-trained. We'll entertain when we replace the living-room carpet. We'll go on a second honeymoon when we get two more kids out of college. Life has a way of accelerating as we get older, the days get shorter, and the list of promises to ourselves gets longer. One morning, we awaken, and all we have to show for our lives is a litany of 'I'm going to,' 'I plan on,' and 'Someday, when things are settled down a bit.'

When anyone calls my 'seize the moment' friend, she is open to adventure and available for trips. She keeps an open mind on new ideas. Her enthusiasm for life is contagious. You talk with her for five minutes, and you're ready to trade your bad feet for a pair of Rollerblades and skip an elevator for a bungee cord.

My lips have not touched ice cream in 10 years. I love ice cream. It's just that I might as well apply it directly to my stomach with a spatula and eliminate the digestive process. The other day, I stopped the car and bought a triple-decker. If my car had hit an iceberg on the way home, I would have died happy.

Now...go on and have a nice day. Do something you WANT to...not something on your SHOULD DO list. If you were going to die soon and had only one phone call you could make, who would you call and what would you say? And why are you waiting?

Have you ever watched kids playing on a merry go round or listened to the rain lapping on the ground? Ever followed a butterfly's erratic flight or gazed at the sun into the fading night? Do you run through each day on the fly? When you ask 'How are you?' Do you hear the reply?When the day is done, do you lie in your bed with the next hundred chores running through your head? Ever told your child, 'We'll do it tomorrow.' And in your haste, not see his sorrow? Ever lost touch? Let a good friendship die? Just call to say 'Hi'? When you worry and hurry through your day, it is like an unopened gift....Thrown away.... Life is not a race. Take it slower. Hear the music before the song is over. Show your friends how much you care.

Life may not be the party we hoped for... but while we are here we might as well dance!

I Heart You

2011-04-24T17:05:00.003-05:00

Since I haven't posted since the last time I posted, I thought I'd better post something. Here is a resurrected story, a retread, so if you've read it before, I hope you enjoy it again.

Six grade was a hard year for her. Helen was the class out-cast, being overweight and from the wrong side of the tracks made her the brunt of many jokes. Now the worst day of the year for her was coming, Valentine's Day. She knew they would decorate some shoe box to sit on their desks so that everyone would put their store bought Valentine's cards in them. She knew that she wouldn't be given any cards, just like last year and the year before, and so she didn't ask her mom to buy her any cards to give. Tears soaked her pillow that night as the dread of another day and more disappointment loomed before her.

He was the rich kid of the class. Born into money that his ancestors made on the backs of slaves and convicts. Somehow Patrick was different from his family. He loved life, not because of what he had, but because he enjoyed the creation around him. He would sit for hours on Saturdays watching the birds feed and water in his back yard. He would take photographs of the changing seasons and then paint magnificent works that even impressed his father. "Not bad for a kid, but don't think that you could make a living at that. You need to start preparing yourself for the real world, to follow in my footsteps…." yada yada yada. He believed in passion, even at his young age, and knew in his heart that he would follow that passion. His favorite time of year was approaching, Valentine's Day. The day that he would get a card from his parents that told him that they loved him. He would wear the card out looking it over and over throughout the year.

Patrick worked on his Valentine box with the artistic ability that he painted by. Everyone was amazed at how beautiful it turned out. "Typical," Helen thought, "the rich kid gets all the good paper and glue and stuff to make his box beautiful. All I had was some worn out fabic and a few buttons to dress mine up with." Patrick placed his box on the front of his desk and stared at it the rest of the day, content in what he had created. During the lunch break he walked around the classroom and admired what others had done to theirs. The last one he looked at was Helen's. He noticed the worn fabic and the chipped and broken buttons that covered the box. He also noticed that the corners were neat and folded like how his Christmas presents was wrapped.

"Helen did a good job with what she had." the teacher said startling Patrick.

"Yes she did." Patrick replied. The words "what she had" echoed in his mind. "What she had." Until that moment he hadn't realized how blessed he was compared to the rest of the world. He decided he would try to brighten Helen's world somehow.

That night Patrick laid out the construction paper, crayons, glue and glitter. He found his favorite pair of scissors and sat down to make a card. Not any Valentine card, but one that Helen would remember her whole life. The next day was Valentines Day and he wanted to make it special for Helen. This year there would be no store bought card for Helen.

Time came for the Valentine's day party. Recess was over and the kids came back into the room to find cupcakes on their desks and balloons tied to their chairs. The home room mothers had transformed this classroom into a fantasy land during the short recess time. The kids all ran to their desks, except Helen, and she slowly walked to her back row corner desk. She liked the way her desk was decorated and that uplifted her mood. She slid into her chair and waited on permission to eat her cupcake. She decided that she'd take half of it home to her mother, as she rarely received any such treat.

"OK, class. It's time to enjoy your goodies. Go ahead and open your Valentine boxes and you can eat your cupcakes too." The noise level increased as the kids talked and laughed together. Patrick turned to see if Helen had read her card yet, but she just sat there slowly munching on the cupcake. He then noticed that she wrapped half of it in her napkin and put it in her lunch pail. He stood and walked back to her desk, "Helen, would you like to take my cupcake home. I'm not supposed to eat sweets much and I'd like you to have it."

Helen looked at him with disbelief. Someone was actually talking to her and not making fun of her. "I'd like that," she said.

"Good, here ya go. By the way, I made a card for you last night."

Helen about tore the box in half trying to get to his card. To her surprise her box was full of cards, all hand made. Some were well done, some were just thrown together, but they were all given to her. Her eyes filled with tears and as she looked up, the whole class was looking at her. Ronnie, the brat of the class, walked up to her, "Helen, I'm sorry that I've been such a jerk. You're pretty cool to have taken all the ribbing that I dished out." One by one the class passed by Helen and gave her a hug, or some kind of encouragement. She looked at her teacher, whom also had tears streaming down her face.

"Class, I'm so proud of you. That is what this holiday is all about, love. Patrick realized the hard time Helen was having and mentioned it to you. You didn't have to do anything, but you did. Now Helen knows that you like her and I can tell by the tears in her eyes that you have touched her heart. So class, Happy Valentines day, and thank you for teaching me the true meaning of loving one another."

Helen ran home after school and excitedly told her mother about what had happened. She showed her the cupcake and each card and repeated word for word what each one had said to her. Her mom smiled as her eyes teared up at the change she saw in her daughter. Helen spent the rest of the evening looking over her treasures. Her mother spent the rest of the evening thanking God for what had happened.

Helen and Patrick became close friends and grew up together, but that is another story for later.

Give The Lady A Ride

2011-03-07T16:41:00.005-06:00

A good friend, Linda Yezak, has her novel debut coming up in a matter of days. I've read a few chapters and now can't wait for the whole shooting match, or should I say rodeo. Here is a video trailer for her book, "Give The Lady A Ride". Click the link to the right on 777 Peppermint Place and give Linda a high five, she's also giving away some nifty prizes.

Hope you don't mind Linda, I copied your cover and stuck it in here also. If there is some copywrite problem, I can remove it.

Why I Don't Write Poetry 2011-2

2011-02-27T13:56:00.003-06:00

I sit with my head in my hands
Life slipping by,
Not knowing where it will land.

The wind is blowing the dust
To regions yet unseen,
Upon my heart, a dagger is thrust.

The wounds are deep
Though the bleeding shallow,
Bandages wet and seep.

Upon each the time has come
Slowly, one by one.
The slow cadence of a bass drum.

The pain is eased, the light turns bright
Such is the seasons of life.
Such is why I fight.

By Request

2011-01-08T13:09:00.013-06:00

A certain friend , I won't mention any names(OK shaddy), was snooping in my profile on Facebook and noticed that I painted. She said to show her some if I would, and since I don't think she'll be coming to Okieland any time soon, here are a few.

This first painting was my first painting. I copied the idea out of a book the teacher had, in writing words, I plagiarized it. As you'll see, I like painting scenery.

The second one with the window view is my mother's favorite. It is also a plagiarized painting.

The third with the horses is all my idea. The landscape is from North Central Kansas with the rolling hills and rock fence posts. The horses is from a picture I took of my father's horses.

The wind mill is from a picture I took somewhere. I liked it because it the foreground is in shadows.

The last one could only come from my mind. It is painted on a slate shingle that was from a 1800's Texas ranch house.

All the paintings are oil on canvas except for the slate. I've also painted a couple of saws, but they aren't "in style" now.

Weight Update

2011-01-05T11:55:00.001-06:00

As of today, total loss of 36.6 lbs. 40 more to go.

Why I Don't Write Poetry 2011-1

2011-01-03T10:00:00.005-06:00

I am under pressure. The first post of a new year should be something profound and meaningful. I ain't one of those types of people. The most profound thing I can remember is when Noah said, "It looks like rain." Several of my favorite blogs first post this year have some kind of meaning, like "What I learned last year", "What I'm striving for in this new year", "I'm going to do this this year," and on and on and on.

So what can I post that is meaningful? I've got nana. So maybe it's time for a "Why I Don't Write Poetry" post. Yeah, lets see where that will lead:

Why I Don't Write Poetry 1011-1

A new beginning in this new year,
New laughter, new tears, new treasures, new fears.
New paths to wander,
New thoughts to ponder.
Words to write that was left unwritten,
Muse's prompts that was once hidden.

I choose to go the way that I walk,
To ink the metamorphic rock.
To look at the world through my eyes,
Then edit, polish and revise.
Though I may often fall short,
My desire cannot be thwart.

This year I send you blessings,
Of every kind, wrapped in different dressings.
Dream your greatest dreams,
May your eyes shine and gleam.
Fight that which is your greatest strife,
But most of all, thank you for touching my life.

Merry Christmas Message

2010-12-24T08:07:00.003-06:00

The smell of the stable was ripe. The sheep, donkey, and cows filled the air with their special perfume. The straw was well used and dusty. The stone walls cool from the night air. The screams of child birth filled the ears of the animals. The sudden cry of a new born baby.

A special night for mankind, the most important night, took place in the lowest of places. Who would have thought that the One who would rescue mankind would be placed in a bed of straw? Who would have thought that the Shepherds, who next to the leper, was the lowest on the human scale of class and dignity, would be the first ones the Angels would announce the birth of the King to? Who would have thought that a virgin would give birth to the Savior? Who would have thought?

An uncommon place for an uncommon birth for an uncommon Baby. The Christ Child. The Alpha and Omega, the Beginning and the End. The Bright and Morning Star. Immanuel, Prince of Peace. Friend. Brother. Savior. God's free gift to mankind.

Enjoy this holiday, but embrace the reason for it. It isn't gifts, Santa, or even being with family. Those are the side benefits. The true reason is to celebrate the One who left Paradise to live among us, show us how to live, and then pay the price we could never pay. The birth of my Friend. The birth of My Savior.

A Different Christmas Poem

2010-12-12T13:41:00.002-06:00

I received this a couple of years ago in an email, still a remarkable poem;

A Different Christmas Poem

The embers glowed softly, and in their dim light,
I gazed round the room and I cherished the sight.
My wife was asleep, her head on my chest,
My daughter beside me, angelic in rest.
Outside the snow fell, a blanket of white,
Transforming the yard to a winter delight.
The sparkling lights in the tree I believe,
Completed the magic that was Christmas Eve.
My eyelids were heavy, my breathing was deep,
Secure and surrounded by love I would sleep.
In perfect contentment, or so it would seem,
So I slumbered, perhaps I started to dream.

The sound wasn't loud, and it wasn't too near,
But I opened my eyes when it tickled my ear.
Perhaps just a cough, I didn't quite know, Then the
sure sound of footsteps outside in the snow.
My soul gave a tremble, I struggled to hear,
And I crept to the door just to see who was near.
Standing out in the cold and the dark of the night,
A lone figure stood, his face weary and tight.

A soldier, I puzzled, some twenty years old,
Perhaps a Marine, huddled here in the cold.
Alone in the dark, he looked up and smiled,
Standing watch over me, and my wife and my child.
"What are you doing?" I asked without fear,
"Come in this moment, it's freezing out here!
Put down your pack, brush the snow from your sleeve,
You should be at home on a cold Christmas Eve!"

For barely a moment I saw his eyes shift,
Away from the cold and the snow blown in drifts..
To the window that danced with a warm fire's light
Then he sighed and he said "Its really all right,
I'm out here by choice. I'm here every night." "It's my duty to stand at the front of the line,
That separates you from the darkest of times.
No one had to ask or beg or implore me,
I'm proud to stand here like my fathers before me.
My Gramps died at 'Pearl on a day in December,"
Then he sighed, "That's a Christmas 'Gram always remembers."
My dad stood his watch in the jungles of 'Nam',
And now it is my turn and so, here I am.
I've not seen my own son in more than a while,
But my wife sends me pictures, he's sure got her smile.

Then he bent and he carefully pulled from his bag,
The red, white, and blue... an American flag.
I can live through the cold and the being alone,
Away from my family, my house and my home.
I can stand at my post through the rain and the sleet,
I can sleep in a foxhole with little to eat.
I can carry the weight of killing another,
Or lay down my life with my sister and brother..
Who stand at the front against any and all,
To ensure for all time that this flag will not fall."

"So go back inside," he said, "harbor no fright,
Your family is waiting and I'll be all right."
"But isn't there something I can do, at the least,
"Give you money," I asked, "or prepare you a feast?
It seems all too little for all that you've done,
For being away from your wife and your son."
Then his eye welled a tear that held no regret,
"Just tell us you love us, and never forget.
To fight for our rights back at home while we're gone,
To stand your own watch, no matter how long.
For when we come home, either standing or dead,
To know you remember we fought and we bled.
Is payment enough, and with that we will trust,
That we mattered to you as you mattered to us."

PLEASE, Would you do me the kind favor of sending this to as many people as you can? Christmas will be coming soon and some credit is due to our U.S.service men and women for our being able to celebrate these festivities. Let's try in this small way to pay a tiny bit of what we owe. Make people stop and think of our heroes, living and dead, who sacrificed themselves for us.

LCDR Jeff Giles, SC, USN

Why I Don't Write Poetry - Part 13

2010-12-04T07:13:00.002-06:00

The temperature rises and falls.
My neck is getting tired.
My eyes are bouncing up and down.
Tightness all around.

My mind is all confused,
Can't focus on a single part.
The heart is racing,
Feet start pacing.

I must tell her,
To wear a bra,
Or I'll have a heart attack,
When she does jumping jacks.

Weight Update

2010-12-01T11:50:00.002-06:00

At today's weigh-in I passed my 10% goal a month early - lost 6 lbs for a total of 31.4. I'm going shopping for a speedo tonight. Think Victoria Secret needs a male model?

Doris' Day

2010-11-01T11:08:00.002-05:00

Ann's new prompt: "Give me a story that uses these five things: Beans, Doris Day, alligator, pillow, verb tenses." This is my take using the Doris Day theme:

The pillow was still warm and smelled of her scent, “Chanel No. 5″ I believe. Once again she leaves me lying here alone, wishing she would stay. I pull on my pajamas and walk to the window. I look at the rain bouncing off the window pane, the street light giving off a golden glow, and her, I watch her walking to her car, a light yellow 1950 Dodge Wayfarer convertible. She pauses at the door and glances up at my window, a faint smile on her lips. The car starts and I can hear the radio playing Doris Day singing “Que Sera, Sera.” How appropriate, “Whatever will be will be.” I stand at that window until her tail lights disappear over the next San Fransisco hill.

I walk into the kitchen and notice she left her alligator overnight bag here. That’s a start, I thought, maybe next time she, and not just her bag, will stay overnight. I place the bag on the blue and yellow Mexican tile, and open the bag. I touch the soft silk I find in there, it feels so much like her. I notice a brown paper bag, I smiled thinking of her drinking her Irish Whiskey out of a paper bag. Inside I find nothing but a bag of pinto beans. That was funny because she couldn’t cook, nor could she boil water, how would she cook this beans. Besides, with what beans does to her, I’d rather she’d leave them on the shelf. I put the sack back into the bag just as I found it and placed the bag back where she left it.

The phone rings, I know it is her at the pay phone three blocks away. “I’m tired of this “Pajama Game” and “Pillow Talk”, we may have to issue a “Storm Warning” but when it’s “April in Paris”, I want to have “Tea for Two” “By The Light Of The Silvery Moon,” because “It’s a Great Feeling” when I’m with you.”

I hang up the phone and unlock the door for her, I guess there will be a light yellow 1950 Dodge Wayfarer convertible sitting outside my flat from now on. Maybe one day we’ll have to trade it for a station wagon. But for now I have to go warm up her pillow.

(I have a 50 Dodge Wayfarer convertible and while looking on-line for parts, I came across a story about a light yellow Wayfarer convertible that Doris Day owned, thus the use of that car and the titles of some of her movies.)

Weight Update

2010-10-21T06:20:00.002-05:00

Week five: -20.8 lbs total. Zeroing in on the first goal of 10% of beginning weight. And to go along with the weight loss, working out on my Total Gym has increased my flexiblity and strength. Only sixty more pounds to go.

545 - A Common Sense Article

2010-10-13T10:50:00.002-05:00

The following article makes sense to me......this article was written when Reagan was in office or around that time frame, but it is even more true today.

The 545 People Responsible For All Of U.S. Woes
BY Charley Reese(Date of publication unknown)-- -- -

Politicians are the only people in the world who create problems and then campaign against them. Have you ever wondered why, if both the Democrats and the Republicans are against deficits, we have deficits? Have you ever wondered why, if all the politicians are against inflation and high taxes, we have inflation and high taxes?

You and I don't propose a federal budget. The president does. You and I don't have the Constitutional authority to vote on appropriations. The House of Representatives does. You and I don't write the tax code. Congress does. You and I don't set fiscal policy. Congress does. You and I don't control monetary policy. The Federal Reserve Bank does.

One hundred senators, 435 congressmen, one president and nine Supreme Court justices - 545 human beings out of the 235 million - are directly, legally, morally and individually responsible for the domestic problems that plague this country.

I excluded the members of the Federal Reserve Board because that problem was created by the Congress. In 1913, Congress delegated its Constitutional duty to provide a sound currency to a federally chartered but private central bank. I excluded all but the special interests and lobbyists for a sound reason. They have no legal authority. They have no ability to coerce a senator, a congressman or a president to do one cotton-picking thing. I don't care if they offer a politician $1 million dollars in cash. The politician has the power to accept or reject it. No matter what the lobbyist promises, it is the legislation's responsibility to determine how he votes.

A CONFIDENCE CONSPIRACY

Don't you see how the con game that is played on the people by the politicians? Those 545 human beings spend much of their energy convincing you that what they did is not their fault. They cooperate in this common con regardless of party. What separates a politician from a normal human being is an excessive amount of gall. No normal human being would have the gall of Tip O'Neill, who stood up and criticized Ronald Reagan for creating deficits. The president can only propose a budget. He cannot force the Congress to accept it. The Constitution, which is the supreme law of the land, gives sole responsibility to the House of Representatives for originating appropriations and taxes. O'neill is the speaker of the House. He is the leader of the majority party. He and his fellow Democrats, not the president, can approve any budget they want. If the president vetos it, they can pass it over his veto.

REPLACE SCOUNDRELS

It seems inconceivable to me that a nation of 235 million cannot replace 545 people who stand convicted -- by present facts - of incompetence and irresponsibility. I can't think of a single domestic problem, from an unfair tax code to defense overruns, that is not traceable directly to those 545 people. When you fully grasp the plain truth that 545 people exercise power of the federal government, then it must follow that what exists is what they want to exist. If the tax code is unfair, it's because they want it unfair. If the budget is in the red, it's because they want it in the red. If the Marines are in Lebanon, it's because they want them in Lebanon. There are no insoluble government problems. Do not let these 545 people shift the blame to bureaucrats, whom they hire and whose jobs they can abolish; to lobbyists, whose gifts and advice they can reject; to regulators, to whom they give the power to regulate and from whom they can take it.

Above all, do not let them con you into the belief that there exist disembodied mystical forces like "the economy," "inflation" or "politics" that prevent them from doing what they take an oath to do. Those 545 people and they alone are responsible. They and they alone have the power. They and they alone should be held accountable by the people who are their bosses - provided they have the gumption to manage their own employees.

This article was first published by the Orlando Sentinel Star newspaper

The Kitchen Window

2010-10-07T08:16:00.003-05:00

Thought I'd give y'all something besides weight updates. This is in response to Teacher Ann's writing prompt. Y'all should hit the link over in my favorites and join us, Ann Linquist Writes.

Standing in the kitchen, late at night, the breeze from the open window above the sink fluttered the white linen curtains as she stared out into the darkness. She rubbed the chill bumps on her arms as her mind was a million miles away. Her hand reached to where her long dark hair tickled her barely covered breast as the breeze blew past her.

Sleep eluded her. Her eyes were tired but her mind was awake with thoughts she shouldn’t have. She returned to the bedroom where he was still sleeping that sound sleep that a man recently satisfied sleeps. She kneels beside the bed and watches him, her love since junior high and her love for life. She gently runs her fingers through his hair and breaths in his scent, she never wanted to forget his scent. A tear ran down her cheek and joined the others as they dampened the bed sheet.

She had been through this before, she can get through it again. She was ashamed of herself for having the doubts and wondering what if it all turned out different this time. She rubbed the chilled bumps as she climbed back into bed. Sleep finally came, and came hard.

She awoke to a room full of sunshine, and the smell of frying bacon. She jumped up, and ran to the kitchen where he stood at the stove. He looked at her and smiled, “Now that’s a vision I will never forget.” She looks down to see that her thin nightgown had fallen off her right breast. She couldn’t believe that she felt the warmth of embarrassment rise in her ears. He took the bacon off the fire and walked over to her, cupping her bare breast in his hand. She wrapped her arms around his neck and held him tight, so tight that maybe, just maybe, it would be tight enough to fuse them together.

Their embrace was interrupted by a honking horn in their driveway, “My rides here, I love you with all my heart, and I will come home as soon as I can.” With that he embraced her once again and turned to leave. He picked up his duffle bag, and walked though the door to join the rest of his platoon as they headed to war.

He turned and looked back at his house, the last image that he carried with him was her standing at the kitchen window, the morning breeze warmed by the morning sun fluttering the white linen curtains. She was standing there holding her long dark hair as it tickled her exposed breast. With that image in his mind, he knew he could make it through hell and high water in order to get back to her.

Week 2

2010-10-07T08:13:00.002-05:00

Somehow I only shed 3.4 lbs this week. It did put me over 5% weight loss of my original weight, so I guess I can't complain just yet. I put that speedo order on hold, got a few months until I need it.

First Week Update

2010-09-29T11:53:00.001-05:00

Update: 12 lbs this first week. Speedo ordered. :>)

Here Goes Nuttin....

2010-09-23T08:23:00.004-05:00

To prepare myself for next summer, I let this one get away. I started Weight Watchers yesterday on a 17 week journey. Tipped the scales at 292 lbs. Yikes. I've tried doing this on my own and haven't accomplished much, so with a co-worker joining me, he tipped the scales at 319, I now have an accountability partner and someone I can talk to when the tiger in my tank starts growling.

I also have just purchased a Total Gym, so this time next year, I may be back to my fighting weight and strength. I'm hoping to go from a keg to a 12 pack. Maybe if I really work at it I make it to a six pack.

So far today, one muffin. I imagine that lunch will come early today.

Goal: 2 lbs a week, that would be that would be 34 lbs over the 17 week period. I'd be happy with 20 lbs. Total goal, to get back to my high school weight of 180 lbs and size 34 pants. That may never happen, but this I know, I will be in better shape than I have been since my mid 20's, and that's what this journey is all about.

By the way, that's not me in the picture. I'd post a before picture of me but I know you may be reading this over breakfast or lunch and I don't want to spoil your appetite.

It's Hot In Oklahoma

2010-08-12T06:30:00.003-05:00

From an e-mail:

It is so hot here that even the ice cream trucks aren't safe............

Something Smells

2010-07-09T17:50:00.001-05:00

The smell of fresh brewed coffee awakened him out of a dream. He arose and let the hot water shower over his hair as the Herbal Essence suds flow down his back. His towel smells as fresh as when Snuggles first dried it.

He pours his first cup, holds it to his nose and let the steam penetrate his senses. The smell of the salty ocean breeze flows through the open french doors. A slight whiff of a passing skunk interrupts his thoughts.

The exhaust of rush hour was especially strong this day. For once he was glad to pass the Chinese buffet as it masked the commuters. In the office, once again the smell of coffee filled the air. His day was good until he spilled his Old Spice on his new suit.

That night he dined in the new “In” place with it’s special waffles sweetening the air. At the table next to him sat four young ladies, causing him to smile as he inhaled the scent of a woman.

He slid into his bed and pulled the sheet up to his nose, Snuggles tucking him in. As he drifts off the ocean breeze pulls his dreams into the deep.

Why I Don't Write Poetry - Part 12

2010-07-05T15:43:00.002-05:00

There's that place
Between a head ache
And pure ecstasy

The place between
A good days work
And goofing off

Between love
And hate

Between empty
And Full

There's that place that
Seems so calm
Surreal

Where's that place?

Fool's Paradise

2010-07-02T21:45:00.003-05:00

"Listen to the rhythm of the falling rain,
Telling me just what a fool I've been....."

The Cascades knew me well when they recorded that song so many years ago. You say, "Oh no, what have you went and done now?", all that I can say is something real stupid.

I fertilized the yard today and it's raining tonight. "That's good" you say. Yip, good timing. Stupid move. Now the grass will grow and I'll have to mow more and waste all that good time that I could be reclining in front of the TV with a sodie pop in my hand.

What a fool I've been.

The Summer Sod House

2010-06-26T15:33:00.001-05:00

The sod house was dark and hot in the August afternoon. The windows shut to disguise that she was there, effectively blocking what breeze there was. Sweat ran from her forehead, down her cheek, and eventually runs between her breasts. The soaked shirt she wore showed the softness beneath, sticking to her shape like a second skin. Her hair long, wet and stringy, fell to her shoulders and across her left eye. She stared at the door, hoping it wouldn’t open, wishing it would.

She rises from her chair and unbuttons the back of her skirt. She lets it fall to the floor revealing her nakedness that was once hidden underneath. Much better, a little cooler, she thought. She turns the back of the chair to the door and straddles it. This should distract them, she thought, for a minute or two. She runs her hand up her thigh and sighs to herself. She misses him, if he was here, she wouldn’t be in this position. Then maybe, if she’d sit like that more often, he might not leave home for so long.

Footsteps on the porch brings her back to reality. She reaches and picks up her colt six-shooter pistol and aimed at the door. The last thing he had done before leaving was teach her how to shoot. Now she has her target in her sights, she slowly squeezed the trigger as the door slowly opened. She dropped her gun as she recognized the figure back lit by the setting sun.

“Amanda?” he said, his eyes trying to adjust to the darkness of the cabin.

“Hank.” she yelled as she jumped into his arms, the smell of the trail exciting her more as he held her.

His hands moved down to her bare assets, “I didn’t know you were expecting me.” he whispered as he move his hand around between them. He unbuckled his gun, his pants belt and finally his pants and let them fall to the floor. His hand then started to make her moan. He laid her on the table and remembered why he hurried back. Their rhythm began to move the table across the dirt floor where they fell into a sweaty heap as they exploded in utter excitement.

“Oh, by the way,” she said, “Mom has come to visit.

Why I Don't Write Poetry - Part 11

2010-06-13T11:00:00.002-05:00

I look to the west and see the east.
What's the meaning of this weird beast?
Who can respond to such a quest?
I have no answer, not a guess.

I look up and only see down.
There lies that lazy ole hound.
I wandered to the kitchen for a snack
Not walking forward, but walking back.

My world is in a tizzy
My head spins all dizzy.
Oh look, the answer I found
My bifocals are turned upside down.

Move Over Mario

2010-05-07T21:29:00.005-05:00

If you want to have some fun, take whatever you're driving and go autocrossing. Find an event near you and put the petal to the metal. It really is fun, even in a "family car" like my CTS. So go smoke the tires, make them scream, and you'll find you'll have a big ole smile on your face, just like I did.

Why I Don't Write Poetry - Part 10

2010-04-24T18:29:00.003-05:00

Tis the night,
Or maybe the early morn.
Twilight's beams prevail.

The earth slumbers
In an drowsy trance
Sleeping beneath the veil.

Will the morning come
With sunlight filling the sky
The breeze waves the wheat.

Night passes,
Day conquers the dark
Blood coursing through my veins.

Slumber inspires
Revives the senses
Strengthens the will

In the light I wander
Looking for what
I may never know.

Something Different About This Night.

2010-04-22T19:31:00.002-05:00

She jerks awake in the night, it has become her nightly ritual. The only warmth in her bed is from her own body, still she reaches over to where he would be laying. A deep sign comes from her deep inner soul, thirsty for his touch. Tonight seems different, she rises from the bed and goes to her second story window. Sleep has overtaken her town at this hour of the morning, not even a stray cat was moving. She stands there peering into the darkness, the moonlight embracing her in it's glow. She looks east, and her dreams cover the thousands of miles to where duty has taken him. Tonight she feels his presence with her, she feels as if his arms were around her once more. She runs a finger over her cheek, as he always did, her eyes close as the sensation trickles in her body. Her hand drops to the bare skin just below her neck and continues until her hands cups both breasts. She stands there for a few minutes and opens her eyes to look upon the darkness of the night.

He sits hunkered down in a fox hole, enemy shells bursting in the tree tops all around him. He pulls her picture out of his helmet and gazes upon it. He smiles at the memory of that day at the beach, she looked so young and beautiful in her new swimsuit. Now instead of sand beneath his feet, it was mud and blood. He looks at her smiling at him, her eyes filled with mischief, her hands on her hips, in her best Betty Grable pose. He reaches out and runs his finger over her cheek, just like he had done a thousand times during this war. He continues down with his fingers encircling each breast, his mind thousands of miles away, back in his bed, back besides her. His heart felt as if it would burst, it was so filled with loneliness, so filled with desire for her. Thoughts he had thought a thousand times run through his mind, but tonight something was different.

She tries, but sleep never returns. Her soul was in turmoil. Her body rebelling against all common sense. The hairs on her arms were standing on end. Yes, she thought, there is something different about this night.

The medic pulled her picture from his hand, his eyes still open, still staring at her beauty. The medic looks at it and then puts it in his pocket, he'd see that she would get it back. The medic looked at him lying there in the foxhole. One small wound right over the heart. One small piece of shrapnel was all it took it seemed to burst his heart. Another set of dog tags, another family to notify. Yes, there is nothing different about this night.

Because Of Him

2010-04-14T18:54:00.003-05:00

Laughter.
He was always surrounded by laughter.
He was the cause of laughter.
Not at him
Because of him.

Everyone's friend,
Close as a brother.
Always positive
Even during the negative.
Because of him.

Now he died alone
In a cold dark empty house
No one to check on him
No one bothered to care
Because of him.

Don't know the changes
That he must have gone through
Don't know the reasons
No one cared. Could it have been
Because of him.

The end wasn't fair
The end was way too soon.
My friend, my mentor, my class clown.
You've taken a big part of my heart
Because you were you.

The Farmer's Widow

2010-04-06T18:26:00.002-05:00

This is another email joke that I just had to share with y'all.........

A successful rancher died and left everything to his devoted wife. She was a very good-looking woman and determined to keep the ranch, but knew very little about ranching, so she decided to place an ad in the newspaper for a ranch hand.

Two cowboys applied for the job. One was gay and the other a drunk.

She thought long and hard about it, and when no one else applied she decided to hire the gay guy, figuring it would be safer to have him around the house than the drunk.

He proved to be a hard worker who put in long hours every day and knew a lot about ranching.

For weeks, the two of them worked, and the ranch was doing very well.

Then one day, the rancher's widow said to the hired hand, "You have done a really good job, and the ranch looks great. You should go into town and kick up your heels." The hired hand readily agreed and went into town one Saturday night.

One o'clock came, however, and he didn't return.

Two o'clock and no hired hand.

Finally he returned a round two-thirty, and upon entering the room, he found the rancher's widow sitting by the fireplace with a glass of wine, waiting for him.

She quietly called him over to her.

"Unbutton my blouse and take it off," she said.

Trembling, he did as she directed. "Now take off my boots."

He did as she asked, ever so slowly.. "Now take off my socks." He removed each gently and placed them neatly by her boots.

"Now take off my skirt."

He slowly unbuttoned it, constantly watching her eyes in the fire light.

"Now take off my bra." Again, with trembling hands, he did as he was told and dropped it to the floor.

Then she looked at him and said, "If you ever wear my clothes into town again, you're fired."

I've Got An Eye On Ewe

2010-04-04T16:27:00.003-05:00

I had an eye, I did
It belonged to my favorite squid.
It would blink at the dawn
An shut tight during a yawn.
It's lashes were long
Blinking to life's song.

I lost an eye, I did
Along with my favorite squid.
I've looked in all it's favorite spots
Now I'm seeing dots.
The eye, the all knowing eye
Must've sprouted wings to fly.

Sounds Good To Me

2010-03-24T09:46:00.002-05:00

From an email I just received, I'm not sure where it originated but you can bet it didn't come from Washington D.C.:

For too long we have been too complacent about the workings of Congress. Many citizens had no idea that members of Congress could retire with the same pay after only one term, that they didn't pay into Social Security, that they specifically exempted themselves from many of the laws they have passed while ordinary citizens must live under those laws. The latest is to exempt themselves from the Healthcare Reform that is being considered...in all of its forms. Somehow, that doesn't seem logical. We do not have an elite that is above the law. I truly don't care if they are Democrat, Republican, Independent or whatever. The self-serving must stop. This is a goodway to do that. It is an idea whose time has come.

Proposed 28th Amendment to the United States Constitution:

"Congress shall make no law that applies to the citizens of the United States that does not apply equally to the Senators and/or Representatives; and, Congress shall make no law that applies to the Senators and/or Representatives that does not apply equally to the citizens of the United States ".

I do believe they are suppose to serve us, not enslave us. All these recent earthquakes are the Founding Fathers turning over in their graves.

Patrick Henry – March 23, 1775

2010-03-24T07:30:00.003-05:00

"The battle, sir, is not to the strong alone; it is to the vigilant, the active, the brave. Besides, sir, we have no election. If we were base enough to desire it, it is now too late to retire from the contest. There is no retreat but in submission and slavery! Our chains are forged! Their clanking may be heard on the plains of Boston! The war is inevitable — and let it come! I repeat it, sir, let it come!

It is in vain, sir, to extenuate the matter. Gentlemen may cry, “Peace! Peace!” — but there is no peace. The war is actually begun! The next gale that sweeps from the north will bring to our ears the clash of resounding arms! Our brethren are already in the field! Why stand we here idle? What is it that gentlemen wish? What would they have? Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery? Forbid it, Almighty God! I know not what course others may take; but as for me, give me liberty, or give me death!"

From Paul Johnson’s A History of the American People:

Then Henry got to his knees, in the posture of a manacled slave, intoning in a low but rising voice: ‘Is life so dear, our peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery? Forbid it, Almighty God!’ He then bent to the earth with his hands still crossed, for a few seconds, and suddenly sprang to his feet, shouting, ‘Give me liberty!’ and flung wide his arms, paused, lowered his arms, clenched his right hand as if holding a dagger at his breast, and said in sepulchral tones: ‘Or give me death!’ He then beat his breast, with his hand holding the imaginary dagger.
There was silence, broken by a man listening at the open window, who shouted: “Let me be buried on this spot!‘

May we find someone whom will be so impassioned as to put love of country above love of political party. The majority of the signers of the Declaration Of Independence died broke of money, but rich in accomplishment. Seems today it's love of money, not "what you can do for this country."

I'm not going to do it

2010-03-23T09:43:00.001-05:00

Rant about health care. Rant about the loss of freedom. Rant about the leeches that are draining the producer's dry. Nope, I ain't going to do it.

Dust

2010-03-08T16:33:00.002-06:00

Dust.

Dust to the left of me.
Dust to the right.
Dust upon my pad and pen.
Dust upon my writing might.

Dust in the air.
Dust begatting dust.
Dust filling the wrinkled creases
Dust covering the minds rust.

Dust on a unused Muse
Dust on a unsaid word
Dust on a idea sought.
Dust on a story unheard.

Dust.

Volare

2010-02-17T15:02:00.003-06:00

A joke I recently heard:

I was in Starbucks yesterday when I suddenly realized I desperately needed
to pass gas. The music was really, really loud, so I timed my gas with the
beat of the music.

After a couple of songs, I started to feel better. I finished my coffee, and
noticed that everybody was staring at me....

Then I suddenly remembered that I was listening to my iPod

Moment Memories

2010-01-25T12:29:00.002-06:00

We were sitting in the pizza joint all alone in a room full of people. We had just met forty five minutes before and now sat arm in arm gazing into each others eyes, totally in love.
She was the cousin of a friend, who was sitting across the table with her latest lover, who happened to be my best friend. At least I think they were sitting there, we didn’t pay much attention to them.

We were talking dreams, ambitions, how her nose crinkled up when she smiled. She pulled close to me and whispered in my ear, and my nose crinkled as I smiled. We were laughing, I proposed marriage, we laughed some more, and then she accepted on one condition. The next song that played on the jukebox had to be “our song”. She went on to say that depending on the song’s lyrics whether or not she’d accept.

“Colour My World” by Chicago was playing, verses were over and just the long musical ending played on and on. She looked at me and said “Too bad we weren’t a song sooner, I’d have to change my last name.” Her eyes were dancing and I knew that if we were serious, if we really did get married, there would be no regrets.

The jukebox went silent, and it seemed time slowed down to super slow motion. Even our double date buddies seemed anxious to hear what would blare over the speakers. You could hear the inner workings of the jukebox, and could envision what was happening, the arm came over and plucked up “Colour My World” and replaced it in B14. It hummed again as the arm grabbed the next record and sat it on the turntable. Then came the initial hiss of needle against wax. Within the first few notes we started laughing as we recognized “Crocodile Rock” by Elton John.
At first it didn’t sound too bad especially since my dates name was Suzie. I really liked the part when the chorus talked about Suzie wearing her dresses tight. Then came the bummer in the second verse, Suzie went and left with some foreign guy.

She looked at me with unbelievable sadness in her eyes, the total opposite of how they looked just moments before. For a minute I thought she was going to cry until I said, “Those damn French guys with their fancy talk, an Okie don’t stand a chance.” The dance came back into her eyes and her nose crinkled up as she laughed once more.

Several letters past between us until they dried up from one point or the other. I haven't a clue whatever happened to Suzie but I imagine she had a good time getting there. I just wonder how many songs played on the jukebox before she finally found Mr. Right.

A Review

2010-01-09T20:30:00.002-06:00

There are many reviews of her new book, "Behold The Dawn", so I won't dig deep into it. But I will comment on the author, K.M. Weiland. I met Katie on ChristianWriters when she answered a question I had posted. I was slightly intimated because not only was she a published author with her book, "A Man Called Outlaw", her name on there was Tarin and her avatar looked very intimating. I kept my mouth shut as she and other authors such as Michael Snyder and John Robinson discussed the finer points of writing and getting published. I pictured this mature woman around my age, her hair pulled up in a bun, that had stayed up nights picking at her Royal to get a manuscript out. When I found her website I surprised to see this attractive young lady that had such a handle on the craft of writing. By the way, her picture is about the best pose for a writer that I have seen. I was going to post it here but wasn't sure about the copyright type of stuff.

I ordered her first book about a year ago and was drawn into it. I thought to myself, "Self, pretty good first book" but felt the flow or something about it wasn't just right. Nothing particular that I could point to and say "I'd fix that" but nevertheless, I enjoyed it put it on my favorites list, which is a stack of books that I won't part with. Of all the books I have read, only five books have made that list before Outlaw. So when I heard her next book was coming out, I preordered it and waited patiently. "Behold The Dawn" rocks. I've always liked the knights in shining armor stories, and while the hero isn't in shining armor, he is a knight. Excellent book, order it today as Katie needs to pay her heating bill. In fact, order both books, you won't be disappointed by either of them. Now my favorites list is up to seven.

Katie also writes at least two blogs, her personal one, "Wordplay", is full of great advice for writers. I signed up on iTunes for her podcast of this great advice she has. I enjoy them as I sit at work (Yes, I don't have to think much at work, I'm that good!). She also co-authors another blog "Author Culture" with a couple or other good ole gals whom have this writing obsession figured out. Both blogs are in my blog list, go check them out.

So Katie, thanks for all the advice you've given, both to me personally through CW and through your blogs. Also thanks for taking me off to another place at another time through your books. I'm looking forward to your next project.

Christmas Poem

2009-12-28T10:31:00.001-06:00

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

2009-12-19T12:00:00.002-06:00

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

2009-12-15T17:09:00.001-06:00

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

2009-12-12T14:21:00.003-06:00

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

2009-12-08T19:10:00.006-06:00

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

2009-12-06T14:05:00.007-06:00

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

2009-12-01T09:52:00.002-06:00

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!!!!

2009-11-26T20:16:00.002-06:00

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

2009-11-24T19:02:00.003-06:00

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

2009-11-01T13:39:00.000-06:00

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

2009-10-24T10:55:00.000-05:00

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

2009-10-16T20:15:00.003-05:00

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

2009-10-09T18:35:00.002-05:00

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

2009-10-03T14:53:00.002-05:00

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

2009-09-19T14:31:00.001-05:00

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

2009-09-15T16:37:00.001-05:00

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

2009-09-08T19:54:00.004-05:00

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

2009-09-01T20:11:00.004-05:00

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?

2009-08-26T21:33:00.002-05:00

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!!!!

2009-08-14T09:08:00.004-05:00

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

2009-08-06T18:55:00.002-05:00

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

2009-07-27T16:38:00.004-05:00

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

2009-07-21T19:35:00.002-05:00

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

2009-07-08T10:31:00.003-05:00

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

2009-06-28T14:38:00.004-05:00

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

2009-06-22T19:20:00.003-05:00

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

2009-06-17T19:01:00.004-05:00

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

2009-06-12T20:19:00.002-05:00

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

2009-06-08T21:17:00.005-05:00

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

2009-06-06T10:26:00.001-05:00

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

2009-05-27T21:47:00.002-05:00

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

2009-05-25T11:36:00.016-05:00

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

2009-05-22T10:24:00.003-05:00

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

2009-05-19T09:53:00.001-05:00

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

2009-05-14T21:56:00.001-05:00

“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

2009-05-09T11:13:00.002-05:00

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

2009-05-04T20:59:00.002-05:00

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

2009-04-27T16:39:00.001-05:00

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

2009-03-31T16:48:00.001-05:00

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

2009-03-19T17:11:00.001-05:00

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

2009-03-10T19:45:00.002-05:00

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

Music, Music, Music

2009-02-21T14:39:00.003-06:00

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.