Head Out On The Hi-Way

"Head out on that hi-way, looking for adventure, in what ever come our way, yeah we gotta go out and make it happen" Traveling north on I-17, we left Phoenix at a crack and a half past dawn, fully fed and ready for an adventure. Passing by so many interesting named locations, such as "Wool Growers, Bates and Grassy Mountain Windmill's". Our path cut through the winding Black Hills near Pinto Mesa and Copper Canyon. It was near here that we hooked an East onto State Hiway 260. As we crossed the great Wingfield Mesa we then turned south, heading into the heart of the Cottonwood Basin. Following "Fossil Creek Road" we left the Mesa's 3229' elevation and were forced to shift into 4 wheeled drive as we started the deep descent. The road quickly turned from dirt into a series of impassable ruts. It was here that carefully placed rocks pulled from the cliff walls would allow us to pass, although men of sanity would have turned back. If this landscape was shouting go back then we must have had the stereo to loud.With each turn of the road we sat in amassment at the topography, from sheer cliffs to rolling hills on the valley floor. A mixture of Painted Desert and Grand Canyon meeting the sky. About 20 miles back we came to a junction marked with a sign from the 1930's. To the south lay the "road" to "Child's Powerhouse" and the one towards the northeast would take us to the "Irving Powerhouse,” which was also the way to the town of Strawberry. We hoped the map; the road and the 4-wheel drive rental would get us there, but then again there had been many rockslides covering parts of the road. One still held in its rocky grasp an old truck pinned against a tree. Its owner, long since given up retrieving it. We knew that once to Strawberry we would only be 23 miles to our end game destination. But first, we'd need to climb over 8000' to crest this valley.So, we decided to go check out Child's first, heading the completely opposite direction. We ended up running parallel with a lot of river access; the beautiful Fossil Creek carving deep into the varying strata exposing millions of years of its journey. This place oozed history yet we could never find the powerhouse. After an hour we lost enough road to go forward, what remained amounted to a path that I wouldn't have walked on, the rest lay about 100' below, the river already pushing it relentlessly to the sea. We turned back and soon came to the junction again.About thirteen more miles were painfully put behind us, traversing over fallen trees and twice having to push boulders out of the way with the front bumper, which we had latched a piece of iron pipe to in order to minimize the damage. Soon we saw the main Fossil Creek Bridge, and though we were wickedly tired we stopped and walked out on to it. Mainly to check for safety our spirits lifted upon viewing the deep green water rushing below us. Deep pools, small falls, and rushing rapids were all there for the viewing. We spent some time under the bridge to attempt to green light our travel across it since it creaked as we walked on it. Danny walked in front of me as I drove slowly over the dilapidated structure, weaving the vehicle back and forth so the tires would have something to touch. The only thing we were missing would have been a set of those red flags used to guide planes into their berth. At one point a section about 15' of the side rail fell, landing with a crash and a splash into the river below. We both froze with saucer-sized eyes, heart rates double the norm, but still in the game. I slowly tapped the gas and felt the tires digging in to the mud that had been deposited on top of this bridge so many years ago. Pieces of the bridges road top started to crumble and I knew it was now or never. I switched back to 4-wheel low and floored it. Just as the passenger rear tire begin to drop towards the river the other three tires pulled it up and out, ending us on the other side of the bridge. I got out and we both walked over and stared at a sign posted on our side, it read that this bridge was condemned and unsuitable for even foot traffic. It was about then that we saw a sign across this termite infested hull-laying face down in the grasses. Neither wanted to read it, but both agreed it was an exact copy of the one on our side. No turning back now, those 8000' worth of switchbacks ahead better be in decent shape.We began to rise up, winding thru roads built in 1910 yet not repaired since 1950. With each switchback the cliff grew deeper and deeper. Soon we hit snowdrifts in full sun. Then, we'd drop slightly back into canyons such as Hackberry and Doren's Defeat. We could often see Fossil Creek below, thousands of feet down it looked like a small blue ribbon winding in the canyon it cut so many years ago.The Creek ran between the Buckskin Hills and Deadmans Mesa. It was as beautiful as our own God's Bath and Stanislaus River Canyons. Hours past, mud flew, and our rise out of the canyon was at first uneventful. Then we rounded a sharp corner and saw a huge truck, sitting in the middle of the road, and there wasn't anyone in it. We stopped, shut off the engine and started walking up, and past the truck. About a quarter mile up we found the driver, he was shocked to see us because for the better part of his day he had been guiding a huge crane down the canyon, and we had not past them. It was here that we began to learn the history of the powerhouses. Build in 1910 the Irving system diverted water 29 miles upstream and ran it through a system of flumes that ran along the northern side of the canyon. The mountain range it had been install on was named the Cimarron Hills and that water was dumped down into the turbines that made the power. From there it returned into another flume that had ran down to Child's, and when it exited there it was retained in a lake known as "Stehr Lake". We remembered seeing what appeared to be a drying up lake back where the road had tumbled into the river. The bottom line of the entire situation was that the "Enviro" mental's had sued and won their case to have the entire project torn down and returned to the way it was. This was won based on the fact that three non-native fish species had gotten into the river. We were told by the truck driver that in its hay day there were 50 people living in this oasis, complete with a schoolhouse. In fact, his wife had lived there since she was a child and her father had help construct the project. Soon the still diverted water will flood this canyon, yes, flood it because they had been using 80% of it to make into electricity and once they stop the diversion the water flow into this canyon will increase, well, 80%. This is predicted to draw tens of thousands of white water rats into the canyon. Increasing from the 8 or 9 a week that go there now. We talked for about an hour then figured out how to get our jeep out of the way of their truck and crane. Running the jeep's driver side off the road on the canyon side where it looked to be stable did this. Once past us we started again up the mesa with the Cimarron Hills across the canyon. It is here that the canyon walls began to show their own Grand Canyon type formations and colors, sadly the river would soon start to rip away at the long-standing natural beauty. It seemed so wrong that the one's who did protect it will now give up the stewardship to those who will learn they did more damage than good.Soon, we crested the mesa and the road became paved. Minutes later we found the town of Strawberry and stopped for food. 23 miles later we turned off Hiway 87 and descended down a 9% grade to our final destination, the Tonto Natural Bridge. It is believed to be the largest natural Travertine Bridge in the world. Think Natural Bridges in Calavaras County times 4. It was a wonder to behold. At 183' tall, 150' wide and 400' long it took 3 rolls of film to quench my wonder. David Gowan discovered it in 1877 as Apaches were chasing him. He hid for two days in one of several caves that dot the inside of the bridge. According to the ranger we learned that the west side of Pine Creek had been formed by a flow of Rhyolite. This rock was eroded, leaving behind purple quartz sandstone. The rock layers were then lilhified, titled, and faulted. Then the area was covered by seawater, which left behind silt and mud. Volcanic eruptions then covered these rock and sediment layers with lava, forming a basalt cap. It was quite the site and well worth what we went through to get there. From here we had 109 mile trip to get back to Scottsdale, and that trip, is a story for next time!

somewhere in this desert

Somewhere in this desert, of sand and cacti, there are new doors to pass through, new adventures to be found. Tomorrow, Jerome, a town of hippies is our target. Reporting from the roads of Arizona, SRR

Enceladus

An enhanced-color image of Enceladus, based on data from the Cassini spacecraft, highlights dark "tiger stripes" in the south polar region. Those stripes are actually fissures that appear to be the source of the Saturnian moon's geysers

Clooney Puppet Speaks

George Clooney Speaks. The “actor” was heard to have said that he would rather watch one of his own movies than be an American.”

What a waste

Well it was 24 years ago today that a huge talent allowed drugs to rule his life. Cocaine and heroin shot into his veins by a “fan” brought his heart to a halt, and ended the short life of John Belushi. I have never forgiven her, or him for letting that happen. John, may you live on in others you touched with your humor.

Nasa Links

Columbia site- http://www.nasa.gov/columbia/home/

Shuttle History- http://history.nasa.gov/shuttlehistory.html

Nasa’s Free Education Packs- http://education.nasa.gov/

Matrix Ping Pong

Anyone up for some ping pong?

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Other new options

Here's another new car option for you!http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=-1999617328673633907

Getting a new car?

For anyone looking into getting a new car, this option is a must!

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New Car Option

If your think about getting a new car, make sure and get one of these!

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The King of Beers

This is a funny commercial to check out, just click and go!

http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=-3010891853586596603

Really Cool Car Trick Site

http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=3520789471434710955

Now Listen

Terrocrats, shut your faces, your red, embarassed stupid faces!

Go soak yourself

Here is a web site just for you that seek a nice long soak in a natural hot tub. Scattered across the world you can check and find GPS locations for your next trip. Enjoy, and let me know if you find any super cool ones!

http://www.soak.net/

Laura Bush takes names

Laura Bush calls Hillary Clinton out of bounds
12 February 2006
TURIN: US first lady Laura Bush called New York Democratic Senator Hillary Rodham Clinton "out of bounds" for a recent attack on her husband, US President George W Bush, but chalked it up to politics.
Senator Clinton, pondering a run for the Democratic presidential nomination in 2008, has begun to intensify her criticism of the Bush administration, recently saying it could go down in history as among the worst ever.
"Of course I think it's out of bounds," Mrs Bush told ABC News from Turin, where she attended opening events at the Winter Olympics. "But I think it's politics, it's certainly politics."
The Bush and Clinton families have a complicated relationship. President Bush and his father, the former president, both Republicans, get on well with former President Bill Clinton, a Democrat, but the Bush family does not want to see Clinton's wife, the former first lady, win the presidency in 2008.
A rich political tapestry was evident at the funeral last week in Atlanta for Coretta Scott King, the widow of civil rights leader Martin Luther King, with the Bush and Clinton families gathered along with former President Jimmy Carter.
At that event, former President Clinton gave a hint of his thinking about who should win in 2008. He noted that former presidents were present, as was the current president, and then he gestured to his wife to suggest she was the future president.
Mrs Bush said the two Bush presidents and Clinton "are in a club together and really I think wives of the presidents are in a club, as well."
"We know what it's like to live in that house. We certainly know what it's like to have your husband criticized. So I think there's a certain empathy that we might have for each other that we wouldn't have maybe for somebody else who said something like that," she said.
In an example of the way Republicans are dealing with Senator Clinton's attacks, Ken Mehlman, chairman of the Republican National Committee, has said Senator Clinton's attack was an example of anger and that Americans do not like to elect angry candidates.

What a long strange week it's been

The rain tapped across the tin roof as the fire began to roar, signaling a start towards warmth. The chill possibly like getting embedded in a glazier by accident, or I suppose even on purpose fills this shop. Built in 1926 there is nothing straight here except myself. On a work table in the center of the room sits a black cat, eyeing me as she wags her tail attempting to get my attention. She laid claim to the place years ago and is usually quite successful on chasing the other cats out, and for that trouble she wants to be noticed. The smell of oak and pine whiff past me as I turn up the stereo system, and “Statesboro Blues” begins to soothe this weary mind. After a long week I need to erase the bitter taste of a world that rewards stupidity.

Stupid people shouldn’t breed, a truth long shared by most folks, but please add that they shouldn’t drive, speak, move or make noise in any way shape or form unless completely alone or in a meeting with others who have come to work on no fewer than 12 steps towards improving. Until then stay out of the way, keep out of cars if you’re driving and for heavens sakes throw your trash in a proper receptacle. Learn to be better and if you’re over 200 pounds please wear a shirt that covers your tramp stamp. Don’t swear at your children in public or for that matter, at all and always remember that no one really wants to listen to your cell phone call during the movie. Its also good to understand that wrestling on TV isn’t real or worth saving its greatest moments in the little gray matter you were given.

Ok, back to the nice fire, a cat and Alman Brothers, while the rain melts my thoughts back to its happy place. I feel much better now.

dirty time in the hills

……..stranded fifty plus miles from the nearest food or water I sit in this truck awaiting rescue, which at best involves my son following very cell phone unfriendly directions given in over twenty five separate calls all the while playing the “can you here me now’s”. Directions given a piece at a time as the cell waves allowed, a few words in each blast of communication, directions given in an insane attempt to guide someone to where even I wasn’t sure was. Twenty miles from a town of three, turning down an unmarked road by an oak tree by a stream with a “bait 4 sale” sign from years ago hanging on the fence. Then where the road forks miles in, trend left on what’s known as “Baker O’Riley”. Going 8 tenth of a mile there’s a quick right up through the shrub oak and on to the red clay slime that passes as a road only when dry. Dropping 500’ in elevation in ½ mile, winding passed the four wheel drive fire truck that now sits stuck and abandoned there comes a sharp left onto a freshly cut “road” which in these parts is code for a guarantee full axel embedment. Sitting just out of view, I’ve spray painted my son’s name on plywood scraps I’ve found that others have left behind after suffering the same fate as myself, hoping his name and the arrows will allow him to find me before death does. Now 10 hours since I ate my stomach suggests to my hands to throw rocks at the hundreds of deer that graze all around me.

I had done well down this road, made it to the very end, then making a 37 point turn to keep from getting stuck. I had even parked and walked the 2 acres fairly well, but as I drove out I made a huge mistake, I stopped again to look at some flagging tape marking a lower boundary, and its was at that very moment I knew I had made a poor choice. As I attempt to go forward the embankment started to give way and the drivers side front wheel sank into a puddle of slime, red clay slime. The bed of the truck ended 6” from the post the gate hinged off of.

For over three hours I used every stick, rock board and even “tee” rail fence posts to wedge under the wheels, hoping I might be able to back up. Now covered in mud from head to toe, 35 attempts late, it starts to rain and I know I have only a few minutes before self rescue is anything more than a pipe dream. At three o’clock straight up and down the impossible happened, no, but my cell phone rang and I explained to Tracey at my office what I needed and why. The clouds seemed to have caused the cell signals to work very sporadically, yet my “XM” satellite stereo system showed a “no Signal” display, something they guarantee would never happen. As the rain slowed a bit and with the knowledge the cavalry was on its way I sat out with digital camera and snapped 92 photos of moss, rocks and strange things to even me. When I returned to the truck I realized that it had slide 2 more inches towards the gate post and that the frame under the truck was now resting on slime.
So I now sit here awaiting someone to come to my aide and write. Tell everyone I loved them, I’m just thankful I won’t have to gnaw off a body part before I go…………………………………………………………

happiness is a warm gun

There’s a guy on my TV,
Telling me to listen.
Says he knows what’s best for me,
Yeah, a liberal politician.
He knows what’s best,
For you and I.
Getting his hands on your gun
Is what he’ll try.

So long Smith and Wesson
Kiss your Colt goodbye
Mr. liberal knows
What’s best for you and I.

So, they took away the guns,
But they stabbed me in the back.
So they took away the knifes
Trying to end the attack.

Next day they were horrified,
When they came to find.
Someone killed another, seems
There was an axe to grind.

So they took away the axes,
With smiles on their faces.
Until a little later when they
Found men hung in places.

So they banned all rope,
Happy once again.
Until the 6 o’clock news
Told of murder by poison.

Their list grow long.
Of what they ban.
But can you stop
The hurt, man to man?

danger

I Wonder What That Cracking Sound Is?

James Blunt's "cry"

One of the most beautiful songs I have ever heard.




“CRY”
James Blunt


I have seen peace, I have seen pain.
Resting on the shoulders of your name.
Do you see the truth through all their lies?
Do you see the world through troubled eyes?
And if you want to talk about it anymore,
Lie here on the floor and cry on my shoulder.
I’m a friend.

I have seen birth, I have seen death.
Lived to see a lover’s final breath.
Do you see my guilt? Should I feel fright?
Is the fire of hesitation burning bright?
And if you want to talk about it once again.
On you I depend. I’ll cry on your shoulder.
You’re a friend.

You and I have been through many things.
I’ll hold on to your heart.
I wouldn’t cry for anything.
But don’t go tearing your life apart.

I have seen fear. I have seen faith.
Seen the look of anger on your face.
And if you want to talk about what will be.
Come and sit with me and cry on my shoulder.
I’m a friend.
And if you want to talk about it anymore.
Lie here on the floor and cry on my shoulder.
I’m a friend.

it is said......

“How beautiful it is to do nothing, and then to rest afterward”

Spanish Proverb

makes sence to me

“Make Haste Slowly”
Zen Master

WARNING PG -13 Story

The following story is fiction and was the first I ever submitted for
publication, its was soundly rejected...............................


It wasn’t the first time I’ve ever been asked that question, but at this

seemingly eternal second my mind began playing ostrich by burying

any speech function I had deep into the gray matter of my past.


I never have really thought much about why I tell lies. I have always

figured that most men are gifted, or cursed depending upon one’s

moral codes in the truthfulness arena. Some tell the truth always, and I

think those are the one’s we end up seeing as they argue with

themselves about whether the voices really meant it. I would believe

that since we, as a whole are still repopulating our planet that the

majority of men do lie, regularly. It is a survival skill that I believe is

past from generation to generation. I am not making this stuff up

when I say that, but I am also not able to point you towards proof. As

far as my own lying goes I have found it to be a very covenant method

of staying alive. What I mean is that some lies were created to keep me

out of jail, divorce court or from that line at the local Unemployment

Department that always seemed to have such an above average

number of unretained people all clustered together in such close

proximity. This is not a happy place and I want to do everything I can



to not make the lines bigger for those who suffer there. Most of my lies

have just been your run of the mill, standard white lies. There have

been a mix of a few half-truths, and some quarter half-truths, but my

stories have never killed or harmed anyone that I liked. I first started

by telling the easy ones, and then later I worked up to the creative

ones that I could formulate at 3:00 in the morning after being woken

up out a very satisfying deep sleep. Say, perhaps by a woman asking

me if I love her, or quite possibly questioning me on just whose panties

these were now twirling from her finger. Sometimes I lie because the

truth seems so bland, and my version is much more vivid. Sometimes

my lies became truth, and that is kind of strange but as long as I am

not affected why fight it. White lies live inside my head, and they

bloomed and have reached a state where no one can tell lie from fact

anymore. It is an art form to be able to convince an Eskimo to buy the

extra ice trays with his new refrigerator.



I can remember the very day that I learned in school that not only was

it bad to lie, but that it was very very bad. I often wondered how much

more the two verys might add to a punishment, but I never asked

anyone who ever found out. My third grade teacher had attempted to

explain to her wide assortment of young minds that once you told your



first lie that you then had to remember who, and what you had told

someone. I soon found it was much better for me to make up an even

bigger whopper when confronted with a past; telling of fabrication

then admitting I had lied. While some had nodded in agreement with

that teacher, and others begin breaking down, even weeping, I can

remember thinking, so, we’re talking what, two sets of memory books

here? Please understand that up until that very moment, I had never

knowingly told a lie.


I was a good kid growing up, and I did what I was told. I understood

that death was a socially accepted punishment for bad children. Many

of my friends had been sent away to “live with Grandma.” I never did

bad things, because I also knew that if I did, someone else’s parent

could jump out and catch me doing stuff when my folks weren’t

around. They could accuse a kid of anything remotely resembling a

crime. Adults had it down. They ran a tight ship and we children rowed.

They watched each other’s backs, and they could, according to some

ancient code of parenting, chew your butt until your Mom or Dad

wondered onto the scene.


I spent the rest of that day staring off into my A.D.D. distance, soaking

up the possibilities of just what this exciting new understanding held. I



knew that from this moment on, the boring existence of those past 8

years of my life wouldn’t be repeated. I saw flashing images of a

potential life on the run. Spent lying to get all my needs met. Sort of

like running with scissors and pinning the blame on some sap all

rushed into my mind. It was as if there was a dance of good and evil

battling, all taking place inside me with a polka band soundtrack. I saw

the plus side of both leg and wool pulling, and that made me feel like I

might be able to make it through not only 3rd grade, but through life

itself.


I spend the rest of my life honing those skills. I practiced them until my

timing was flawless. I could make up stuff effortlessly on the spot.

Stories were told even when my neck wasn’t out on some line, they

just popped out, and my lips were powerless from my imagination. My

reputation as a man who never lost a battle of words grew. My own

Mother believed me when I concocted the story of my adoption. Life

was like an abundant feast from where I could dine and drink from the

nectars of the gullible that I encountered each day. Words became my

sword, and my swift use of it ended any fight before cuffs could be

rolled. Those whose paths I crossed accepted my elephants as mere

decoration in my living room. My naked kings paraded freely with no

willing accusers, and this time would be no different. I took an


undetectable breath, turned towards her, and looking her straight in

the eye, and said, “No, you are not fat.” I then turned my head and

watched as the little boy in my mind began to run with his scissors,

laughing and jumping on the good furniture.

I am not proud of what I had to do to survive, but survive I have. I

know what my inner voices mean, their just never very true.

nothing can't be done

“Happiness is not a state to arrive at but a manner of traveling”

Samuel Johnson

A HUNDRED YEARS FROM NOW IT WON’T MATTER WHAT KIND OF CAR I DROVE, OR WHAT I DID FOR A LIVING, OR HOW MUCH MONEY I HAD, OR WHAT KIND OF HOUSE I LIVED IN, BUT IT WILL MATTER IF I WAS IMPORTANT IN THE LIFE OF A CHILD

Secrets revealed

“THE SECRET OF PATIENCE IS FINDING SOMETHING TO DO IN THE MEAN TIME”

Say What

“The Limits Of My Language Mean The Limits Of My World”

Ludwig Wittgenstein
(1889-1951)Philosopher

love

Someone once told me that they felt as if love were a room full of fog, and that they would one day hit a wall which meant to them that a relationship would end. Hopeless and inevitable. Further, they had their doubts about someone pledging their love, forever, based upon such a long period of time. Well, this got me thinking, and here is what I think about that.

Wondering through the fog, some people, the human type, for reasons we possibility will never know, let alone understand, can pass freely through out the room (life) and never find that wall. Love is everything, its nirvana, its fear, its peace, and its war. Each moment spent in true love is bliss, each moment spent in knowing that forever will come many times in one’s life is sabotage, the point is that its better to have loved and lost, than to have never loved at all. Trust until it is broken, then gauge the cut across that bridge, give until all you have is absorbed, perhaps you will see two as one, graying yet still holding each onto each others hearts and hands. Love is never easy, no matter how much we wish ourselves into the movies magic, we will have to work each day at this craft. If your heart tells you he is the one, then he is, but if your heart is only warmed by his vow of love to you, then yes, forever ends this week.

peek-a-boo

Dianne Feinstein at Alito hearings………………..our tax dollars at work!

we are small

I found this on a blog site and fell in love with the beauty of it.

To anyone who has ever lived as a Geisha, and you know who you are, could you fill me in on what the deal is? If they put on any more white makeup how long will it be before their climbing on top SUV’s grabbing their crotch and moon walking?

two times a quarter century

Something occurred to me today at the movies (Dick and Jane) as I looked around at my fellow “goers”. It seems to me that the 18-30 year old girls of today have become much more accepting of what my generation would have called a sexual “taboo”, and that because of this, their male counterparts are seemingly less well mannered because their end goal is partially now a given. You guys may have already known this but for me the pieces fell together and just wanted to say so. By the way, the kids in this photo are not like the kids I wrote about.

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.

Thanksgiving 2005

Well Thanksgiving 2005 wasn’t what I had hoped for. I had thought we were going to replace family with adventure, but as this trip has taught me (like I didn’t know it already!)there is, sadly nothing that can replace your family. Funny, you’d think free drinks would be as entertaining as Uncle Harry telling the same joke he’s told for the past 35 years, but even after 12 or so drinks, truth be, they aren’t. Restaurant fixings can’t touch Aunt Betty’s lumpy gravy, nor can the waiter at Reno’s finest match her surgery stories. Face it, we can’t stand to be around them, but when they are gone, we become closer to alone, we become them whether we want to or not, one day waking up to find that we no longer have anyone to tell our own stories to, no one to make our own uneatable food product for long after our own taste buds have rotted. Family, hold it tight and don’t ever give up the fight to claim them, each and everyone of them, toothless or not. For one day, we will be alone, and the young man who bags our grocery’s quite possibly will know more about us then anyone we have in our waning lives. Keep each human who shares more than 25% of your DNA in your heart, in your prayers and in your life. Love them because blackjack dealers don’t really care. Love them because it’s the right thing to do. Love them because your Mother would want you to.

flying children from the 18 hundreds

In the early months of 1808 it had become expected for folks children to be able to fly. When this often wasn’t the case, some would succumb to peer pressure. Many reverted to selling kidneys to be able to purchase “flying” machinery apparatus’s hoping to aide the offspring into a flight not unlike that of the 3 winged Blue Heron. Silly as it may seem by today’s standards it was serious business then, many children that were able to fly naturally went on to become cartoonists making upwards of $1000.00 per week. Others, sadly would only go on to being in charge of pencil sharpening for these draftsmen. Later, Mr. Francis P. Poe would attempt to unionize these lower paid workers only to watch management teams across the USA simply plug in the latest thing, the electrical pencil sharpener. It became a rallying cry for the flightless children and the 43 States adopted the 11th amendment. The last child able to fly without help past away in the spring of 1867, strangely it was Mr. Poe’s own youngest son Crawford Poe. A monument was commissioned in 1877 of these events and in 1888 it was unvailed in Brookfield Wisconsin.

I put the following to you

On a closed metal gate, a sign reads "Keep gate closed at all times", would keeping with the request now make it a fence?