morning words

In the misty morning hours

when the quite soaks through

theres a place I love to be

and that place, is with you.

the next day

Goodbye, Christmas 2005
Old Yuletide.
So long Christmas day,
It was a joyful ride.

Actors and Me

Actors. Me.
Difference #783.

First and foremost I do give my friends on both sides of my middle, the right to voice a question, comment or concern about, near anything.
Talk about sports, sure.
Talk about the weather? Alright,

BUT when a Actor, just left of the tree of life gets “one of those “political thoughts, and when it bounces inside the void we call your precious little head REMEMBER when you give your option its news, it will be heard by way more people then when I give my option, now’s here the part your agent might could explain to you by drawing small sketches on the backs of brown paper bags, while your comment can sink an acting career mine will only stop BBQ invitations!

With all due respect, to all
due concerned, I have a
question to pose;

IF, someone took a Koran, and expertly handled it, then removed and replaced each and every reference to their belief system with Christianity, would a Liberal get mad? Would either of the two afore mentioned religions get mad? Would the balance of the verbiage read in a positive light? Or in a negative light? Would you be mad?
Now, once more I beg your forgiveness, and ask another question.
What would your reaction be if they did the opposite, and added the Koran to the Bible in all above referenced switch out of the core foundations? Would a Liberal get mad? Would either religion get mad? Would the balance of the verbiage read be a positive light? Or a negative light?

IN GOD WE TRUST
WE TRUST IN GOD
THOUGH MR NEWDOL
THINKS IT ODD

The color purple

Voting. To you and I its something we might not think about much. But to our brothers and sisters in Iraq it means life itself, changes for their children, a future without the fear of terror, a chance for normal, a correction to a wrong. I take off my hat to you brave souls, both American and Iraqi. I stand in awe of you all. I thank the God I believe in for what he has done in your world, and you, everyone of you, shall remain in my prayers. May Christmas 2005 bring peace to all of God's children.

Write on, brother

Note: This is a draft of a story I am play writing, if anyone would like to help me finish it, I think it would be a hoot! Add to it, and lets see what we can come up with. Thanks, Scott




His sadness dripped from every pour on that lonely drive to the cemetery. They had been married 23 years and she had taken sick this past Christmas, fought him on spending money on a doctor every step of the way. Her heart was failing, she was given 2 months to get her affairs in order, and depending on your out look it was good that she completed them 2 weeks early. Their children didn’t seem as concerned for him in terms of his grief as much as for their own lives and their desires that he not come and live with any of them.

At the last minute he had opted out of traveling in the limo with them, and choice to drive by himself. His tears made driving difficult but hell, what did he really care, everything he had ever lived for was going 6 feet under in less than an hour.

Everything that happens at these things happened just like normal, the same words were used to sum up her life, her loves, and her worries, the same tears fell, the same songs were sung, and the same salutations were extended. He took everything in with a numbness he had never felt. Everything was in slow motion and sir real, but he kept it all to himself. The people left quickly to get back to the hustle and bustle of their own lives, each determined to be better at telling those they love just how much. He stood there alone, even the kids had to run. The normal hugs came and went.

His eyes didn’t seem to be focused on anything in particular when the waitress asked him if he wanted the cup he was holding so closely refreshed. He pushed back slightly and reentered the world of the living long enough to say “No thank you”. She shrugged and headed towards the next table. The plate of pork chops and mashed potatoes sat untouched in front of him, and he laughed quietly. He remembered how much he always had loved her cooking, and especially the pork chops. She had stopped cooking the way she had learned from her Mother, and Grandmother almost 10 years before being diagnosed with high cholesterol so this type of meal had been few and far between. Now, with out sampling the food, he knew it would be tasteless in more than one way.

Goodbye, so long, say hello to those before ya

Gas.
A
Clean
and
Renewable
Resource.

The Full Cold Moon and the Kitten

Listening to the quite sounds of a gator-aide lid turned hockey puck Thomas the less than 1 year old kitten makes his shot. ITS GOOD… somewhere deep within his little cat brain this score counts, but just as quickly as his new toy goes hiding under the chair he’s off exploring behind the TV. Finding no viable, or mobile toys he stands in front of CSI and watches the gory for a moment before contemplating a direct leap into the Christmas tree. My “NO” changes the course of his history and he’s off seeking a way into the 1” gap between floor and chair, the last known location of fun. I wonder how much of his foolishness could be connected to tonight’s full “cold” moon? Does its pull on our inner gravity tug harder against his small fir lined shell? Then I suddenly hear the new sounds in the kitchen of perhaps a spoon now being used as an object to spin wildly on the lino and the answer becomes crystal clear……we stand not a chance, we humans who find ourselves sitting between the moons tug and the creative mind of a crazed and bored kitten.

walking in the snow makes me feel so small, as if the entire world is so much bigger then I. Its only when I look back and see my footprints that I can understand where I fit here on earth.

Where you sat
now grown cold
you left us all
though not old
my friend my friend
we cry for you
in winters grasp
or skies of blue
your flight departs
into the stars
twinkle twinkle
where you are
another year has
come and gone
without your smile
without your song
where you sat
now grown cold
you left us all
though not that old

Winters Friends

Friends and family, one of the true gifts of Christmas assembled today in my neighborhood. From 60 to 6 months we gathered in a loving environment to take part in a friendly game of cards that we call whoopee, food and fellowship. It was a good time to catch up on the events in the lives of those who we see almost everyday, yet forfeit the understanding of their burden simply because we have our own to carry on with, and so with a daily wave and a hello we go our own ways. It was very good to reconnect for all of us. I loved the patter of tiny feet wildly running towards their next adventure, dodging adults standing above them, lost within their own conversation, often about the very children that just scurried past. Watching the interaction of these young children with one another as well as with those older warms the soul.
It is now Christmas season, the weather chills the nights, and unprotected plants fall to its bitter cold, not to return until the spring thaw. The smell of smoke filters inside from the fires of others warming themselves from this winters frost. Still, the children play and I am reminded of the internal fires that burn brightly as their laughter reaches my ears, filling me with a peace that God is not yet done with us, or with me.

The Fire and the Chicken

The Fire and the Chicken

A short tale by s.redenbaugh

So there it was, ready. Missing only one last item, her. She was somewhere between the Junior Collage and here, only that distance and the rain was now keeping her from my preparations. There were 5 candles placed here and there, and while they could have been mistaken for random, each had been placed in an exact position, each caused its light to be cast just so. One small table lamp sat next to my one vise. A roaring fire burned brightly in the corner, filled with the wood we had collected together one sunny Sunday up in the high country. It’s warmth was beginning to fill the large room. In front of this a folding table and two chairs sat ready for use, a red and white checkered cloth lie across that table. Upon the table, and protected by the cloth sat two round dinner plates, each with two folded paper napkins forming triangles sitting to both the right and to the left of each plate. The long flat edges were facing the sides of each plate, and sitting on both the napkins to the right were a silver knife and spoon. The forks sat to the left. A round bucket sat off to the side, its contents slightly revealed by the one lamp that sat by my one vise. Inside, ice surrounded three bottles. One Corona and one water, her possible choices and the other bottle was Gatorade. A slim bottle opener sat upon the ice. Spread across other areas of the table were tightly covered dishes of baked chicken, mashed potatoes, a green salad, with two dressings and 4 freshly baked parker house rolls. Inside the house I had written on a dry erase board three words, “wife. Garage quickly”. I had barely set down viewing our dinner arrangements when she walked in. Her smile was big, and her eyes tired, school, Christmas shopping and life in general had taken today’s toll and this was my way of making something we do three times a day special for her, special for me. You see, in our house of many splendors there were two things that I couldn’t provide us. One was a fireplace, the other a tin roof. So now she sat smiling and gazing at the spread all around us. The rain tapped out its song as we ate by firelight, laughing, talking and sharing all the while unconcerned of the old shop slash garage we sat in. It was as if where we sat, fireside, and being with each other caused there to be nothing else in the world and that all other things, like the one vise I keep in the garage, the walls and every thing all the way to God’s foot no longer existed. Enchanting to say the least.
Yes, this evening was wonderful. Fine food, and company. A warm fire to push back the rains chill, the aroma of oak burning and small talk about life. Conversation about the small things that each of us do in a day, that sometimes may go unnoticed every other day of the year. Bonding, melting more into a 22 year creation with each bite, each glance, and each smile. It was like Heaven.
Tonight’s fire has now all but gone out, only a few small embers remain glowing as I clean up, having insisted on her retreating back to the house to get into her jammies. I enjoyed the clean up, listening to the rain, dodging drops with each trip to the house, even while being the target of lawn sprinkle light years ahead of my time, and of my ability to program them.
The clean up is done, the fingers on both of my hands now pen this history of the wonderfulness of this evening. She lays under a warm blanket on the sofa, eyes now closed, dreaming of the things she dreams of. The half smile she has, deep in peaceful bliss would make a fine masterpiece of a painting, but that will have to be another time. In closing I would only add that I recall the mention of my one vise kept in the shop, and thought those of you that may read this one day should know that my vise, it’s the one that’s bolted to my work bench.