You know, there are only a few things in life that I'm good at it. Not exceptional in any, but good in a few. One of those things I'm good at is finding excuses for not going to church. After my last divorce - and I emphasize 'last' - I moved back to where my job is, and I just quit going to church. I didn't even look for a church to go to. It's not that I didn't have friends invite me to go to their churches, because I did. I just never went. It was easier for me to sit at home, surrounded by all of my hurt, disappointment, anger and self-pity, and criticize the hypocrisies that I'd seen, claiming that God could minister to me without anybody else around.
Yeah... I was wrong. Not the first time, and I'm sure, not the last! I got this from my friend Patti, and it sounded too familiar to me:

A Church goer wrote a letter to the editor of a newspaper and complained that it made no sense to go to church every Sunday. 'I've gone for 30 years now,' he wrote, 'and in that time I have heard something like 3,000 sermons. But for the life of me, I can't remember a single one of them. So, I think I'm wasting my time and the pastors are wasting theirs by giving sermons at all.'

This started a real controversy in the 'Letters to the Editor' column, much to the delight of the editor. It went on for weeks until someone wrote this clincher:

'I've been married for 30 years now. In that time my wife has cooked some 32,000 meals. But, for the life of me, I cannot recall the entire menu for a single one of those meals. But I do know this... They all nourished me and gave me the strength I needed to do my work. If my wife had not given me these meals, I would be physically dead today. Likewise, if I had not gone to church for nourishment, I would be spiritually dead today!' When you are DOWN to nothing... God is UP to something! Faith sees the invisible, believes the incredible and receives the impossible! Thank God for our physical AND our spiritual nourishment!

Amen! I've started going to church again, and my entire outlook on life is now constantly in motion, changing every day as my self-inflicted spiritual wounds are being healed through my obedience to God's word. Please pray that I won't stumble again in this, for I am surely weak. Just as the kings written of in the Old Testament, when we walk with God our blessings are multiplied. When we walk away from God... well, let's just say that it gets really dark when you move out of the light!
Have a great weekend, and go to church! God bless!

"It's so funny being a Christian musician. It always scares me when people think so highly of Christian music, Contemporary Christian music especially. Because I kinda go, I know a lot of us, and we don't know jack about anything... If you really want spiritual nourishment, you should go to church. Those people care about you. And you don't have to buy a ticket." - Rich Mullins

"And let us consider one another in order to stir up love and good works, not forsaking the assembling of ourselves together, as is the manner of some, but exhorting one another, and so much the more as you see the Day approaching." - Hebrews 10:24-25
(And, can I get a show of hands from those who can already see the Day approaching?)

Today was a total waste of life. There are many things I'm fighting against saying, so I'll just try to keep it civil. Thank God in heaven above that stupidity isn't painful... that blatant ignorance isn't (necessarily) communicable. There are many days that people (I'm sure I'm not the only one) feel that they are swimming against the overwhelming current of torpidity, fighting against the exasperation of simply being, surrounded by the idiocy of people whose titles far exceed their intelligence. How do we come to this? And why do we tolerate it?
I have no answers to those questions, and strongly suspect them to be purely rhetorical. Then again, I'm sure that some of the very souls that trip my triggers of annoyance find me to be equally provocative in my own unique ways. Still, there are days that it would've truly been better to have stayed in bed, praying for unconsciousness to steal away the hours so as to avoid the aggravation. I'm getting too old for this crap. Too tired of the futility of my efforts.

To those of you who are reading these words, rest assured that none of you are in any way the target of this rant. (I suspect that some of those who are the basis for this rant can't read anyway.) Sometimes guys like me just need to vent, and when you are me, that usually means blasting a blog post. Like the photograph above, some days just feel almost totally dark on the inside, with the only hope found to exist around the edges leading to freedom. Who knows... it may be one of the better self-portraits I've done in recent weeks.

Today my Dad would've been 74 years old. He's been gone for almost 21 years now, but I still miss him. (Happy birthday, Dad.) Perhaps your 53 years of life would've been lengthened if it weren't for our mutual intolerance of stupidity. I know you'd know exactly what I mean. And I know verbatim what you'd tell me... I'm working on it. Promise.

"Life consists of a lot of minor annoyances and a few matters of real consequence." - Harvey Penick

"No matter how much hope you pin on their sleeves, those select individuals who lead us never take us where they tell us they will. Eventually, we end up circling the porcelain bowl again, trying hard not to get flushed with all of our misplaced sanguinity." - Jeff Jeter

As I sat in my office today, mindlessly transferring emails from our pitifully pathetic Lotus Notes system to Word documents for storage (all of which has to be done by hand where I work, because computer technology less than ten years old isn't yet acceptable - go figure), I began to watch the pages add up and thought back to the time when all those documents would've been in a file cabinet somewhere, printed on paper and tucked into manilla folders with hand-scrawled labels on each tab. And then I started to think of all the other things that only exist in days gone past. It's amazing when you think about it.

• Hitching posts, like the ones in the photograph, don't really exist in today's world. They've been replaced by tons of concrete and asphalt, covering thousands of acres of what used to be grass covered country. We call them parking lots. With the price of gasoline soaring to dizzying new heights on an almost daily basis, I think many of us will start considering horses again. After all, oats are much cheaper - for now.
• Vinyl record albums. When I was growing up, I spent just about every dime I ever earned on those things (and still have about 200+ in boxes stored away, with nothing left to play them on), and spent literally hours listening to them and reading the liner notes. Now, with the onslaught of IPods and digital music downloads, we've successfully rendered extinct not only record albums, but also 8-track tapes, cassette tapes and, before long, CD's.
• Manual typewriters. Most who read this may not remember such things at all, but I do. That's what I learned to type on! A standard, black, round-key, Underwood typewriter. One of the dozen or so in the school I went to, where learning how to type was considered anything but manly. However, there were a few of us guys who were confident enough in our masculinity to take the class... which put us right there where the girls were. Need I say more? Today, if you were to ask anyone to use one of those, they would look at you like you'd lost your mind and probably ask, "Where's the printer?"
• Full-service gasoline stations, like the ones I worked at when I was a teenager, have become extremely rare - and excessively expensive. Thirty years ago, you could pull into a gas station and be met by a smiling attendant. "Fill 'er up?" was what you'd likely hear, as one would begin washing your windows, while another offered to check your oil and tire pressure. You never had to leave your car, unless you wanted to stretch your legs. And the gas was only about .29 cents a gallon, too.
• Drive-in theaters are just about long gone, as well. And that's a shame, because it was always a blast to find a good spot to park, hang that crackly speaker on the window and watch the show on the really big screen! Throw in a short walk to the concession stand, where popcorn and sodas didn't cost you more than the tickets, and you were set for the night! (Plus, there was a lot of good "dating" that went on at those drive-in theaters!) You can still spot the old drive-ins, usually abandoned today, along the rural highways of the country.
• Wholesome television programs... you know, the ones the entire family could watch without hearing someone swear or seeing some girl undressed. Shows like "Leave it to Beaver," "I Love Lucy," or "The Andy Griffith Show" are true television classics - but none of the major networks want to make anything that good anymore. There were lessons to be learned watching those shows - morals to the stories they told that you could apply to your own life. Now, we're stuck with crap like "Survivor," "Big Brother," and "The Mole" which teach us all how to lie and cheat our way to success, while stabbing our fellow competitors in the back. Yeah... what the hell happened there?

There are lots of things that fit the description of "things that time has erased," but I won't go on here. I suppose there are many things that I grew up with that are only memories now, living in days gone past. But, I'm hopeful that there are many more good things that I'll live to see before my days are ended. It's just that, on days like today, progress seems so... well... backward.
Guess I'm just gettin' old, huh.

"Time is a sort of river of passing events, and strong is its current; no sooner is a thing brought to sight than it is swept by and another takes its place, and this too will be swept away." - Marcus Aurelius

"In times like these, it helps to recall that there have always been times like these." - Paul Harvey

I promise, this is the last flower photograph for a while. I'm not sure what these are, but I'm pretty sure they aren't lilies! (Aafke, am I right?) Among all the wonderful flowers in my neighbors yard, these are the most humble. They don't scream out at you with loud colors as you pass by, but are simply content to gather amongst themselves quietly and enjoy the sunshine. I guess if I was a flower, this isn't the one I'd be... but they're pretty just the same!
As everyone around here is getting ready for the Independence Day celebrations - which traditionally includes fireworks (which I find to be the literal version of 'blowing your money') - I chose to see these flowers as their own private, purple fireworks display. Actually, even better. No cost, no fire, and no noise. Perfect.
Where ever this photograph finds you, I hope you are as peaceful as these flowers. I know I wish I was.

"Just living is not enough... One must have sunshine, freedom, and a little flower." - Hans Christian Andersen

"The splendor of the rose and the whitness of the lily do not rob the little violet of it’s scent nor the daisy of its simple charm. If every tiny flower wanted to be a rose, spring would lose its lovliness." - Therese of Lisieux

OK... so I'm posting a third photograph of yet another lily. I like 'em! This flower, another of the aromatic array that lines my neighbor's side yard, was just too pretty for me not to photograph it! If you took the previous two photos I've posted and combined them into one - presto! Besides... just look at it! It's brilliant! And I'm not talking about man-made brilliance either... no way. I'm talking about the kind of brilliance that only God can create! (Definitely better than crayons, too!)
OK, I'm just an old, fat man. But hey, you gotta admit that it is a beautiful flower, right?
I used to teach a Bible class during lunch hours every Wednesday, and one of the ladies who was always there was my friend, Chrissy. Now, understand, Chrissy is one of those people - inside and out - who would make the flower look bad. But Chrissy once told a story during one of our study sessions that has always stuck with me. It went something like this...

It's so easy to allow ourselves to get hung up in all the ugly that's in this world. All the hate. All the evil. How easy it is to give in to the world, and in so doing, to lose sight of God's hand. He's always reaching for us. He never gives up on us. He's always there... we just have to open our eyes enough to see Him. To me, all it takes to bring a smile to my face... all that it takes to remind me that God is still there, right beside me, is to simply notice the beauty of His creation. It's like driving down a long road, with the worries of life weighing you down, just to look up and see a single, beautiful flower growing alongside the pavement. That flower is God reminding me of the beauty that's around us. We've just got to open our eyes and see it.

We don't do our mid-week Bible studies anymore. Not for several years now, actually. I miss it. But I still remember so many of the wonderful things I learned from it. When that highway of life gets long and arduous, I think about my sister, Chrissy... and I always see the flowers. Good stuff.

Just one more floral photograph in this series. I promise, it won't be another lily! :-)

"And if tonight my soul may find her peace in sleep, and sink in good oblivion, and in the morning wake like a new-opened flower then I have been dipped again in God, and new-created." - D.H. Lawrence

"Never lose an opportunity of seeing anything that is beautiful; for beauty is God's handwriting - a wayside sacrament. Welcome it in every fair face, in every fair sky, in every fair flower, and thank God for it as a cup of blessing." - Ralph Waldo Emerson

Blue Harbor Resort

We parents relaxed on the beach,  strolling to the water's edge, then wandering to see the kid's project in creation, enjoying the slow weekend.  Blue Harbor was a fabulous nearby family getaway--only a 2 hour drive, where we could enjoy the beach in the morning, the indoor water park in the rainy afternoon, and sneaking to the outdoor pool when the sun reappeared.

We had as much fun as the kids on the twisty slides, racing each other on tubes and without.  When the bell sounded, everyone hustled to stand under the boat where 1000 lbs of water would dump on our heads.  And then finishing the waterpark time with a stint in the hot tub.

We had fascinating evening weather--enjoying cocktails on our deck while there were lightening storms where the horizon joined the water, clouds miraculously appearing as the thunder rumbled, then streaks of lightning crashing down to the waves.  After several hours of this fascinating sky, an orange orb cautiously arose from the water, peeking behind the clouds, then the moon lit the beach as it finally rested proudly above the receding clouds.

Having vacationed with the other 2 families before, we easily shared the food and drink preparation throughout the weekend.  It was great to have an extended time to spend with each other, catching up.  While running one morning, Sara and I saw many fisherman with their recent catches laid out on the dock for purchase. 

On our departure we shared a picnic of all the leftover food in a park, donning sweatshirts and hoping to avoid the raindrops. We then started to plan for next year, hoping to explore the town more.  C 

Another of my neighbors pulchritudinous flowers (I think another lily... Aafke?), this one reminded me of when I was a little boy spending summers at my grandmother's house. Usually, after my brother and I had been there a week or so, we'd receive a package of "goodies" from my mom. Invariably, there was a coloring book (the latest cartoon character was generally the subject) and a box of brand new Crayola Crayons. How exciting! Amidst the sweating of living in the Texas summer with nothing more than an oscillating fan to stir the hot air, a new box of crayons and a cool spot to utilize them was like heaven! Back then, they still had colors like blue, green, red, brown, black, orange, violet... and yes, yellow. But that was then. We were much simpler then.
With today's box of Crayola Crayons, our children are confronted now with colors like Banana Mania, Atomic Tangerine, Fuzzy Wuzzy Brown, Hot Magenta, and Razzmatazz. What the hell is all that about? Of course, there is still the standard yellow crayon... but there is also variations of yellow, like Sunglow, Laser Lemon, and Unmellow Yellow. (Who knew Donovan would have such influence? What's next, Hurdy-Gurdy Green? Am I the only one who remembers Donovan? Geez... I'm gettin' old.)
So, the next time I'm sitting in a restaurant, watching my grandson color on the kiddie's placemat/coloring sheet/menu and propaganda hand-out, I'll have to pay more attention. All this time I thought he just wasn't speaking well enough to tell me what color he was using... now I'm thinking that he may have been telling me clearly enough - I just don't have the vocabulary to keep up!
Hold on to your shorts... there's only two more floral photographs in this series! :-)

I like the Pacific Blue, but that's just me. So tell me... what color are you?

"If you want an interesting party sometime, combine cocktails and a fresh box of crayons for everyone." - Robert Fulghum

"We could learn a lot from crayons; some are sharp, some are pretty, some are dull, while others bright, some have weird names, but they all have learned to live together in the same box." - Anonymous, but very, very true

While my own yard is still sorely lacking, due to my lack of sufficient funds to acquire the "good stuff" to landscape with (except in small doses), my neighbor, Connie, has some really nice flowers going on next door. So, since they're so close, I decided to snap a few photographs. Who would've guessed?
I have no idea what this flower is - a lily of some kind, I'm thinking - but it is really beautiful to look at. The colors reminded me of the sky at sunset... hence the name of this post.
I spent my weekend writing my farewell poem for my friend, Kevin, who is retiring in July. He's finally reached that magic point that the rest of us are working toward. So now he can ride off into Connie's flower... or, the sunset. Whichever. :-)
Here's to a good week.

"There are always flowers for those who want to see them." - Henri Mattise

"The sunset caught me, turned the brush to copper,
set the clouds
to one great roof of flame
above the earth." - Elizabeth Coatsworth

P.S. - With this post, 'Life at the Foot of the Stairs' has welcomed its 9,000th visitor!  Thanks to everybody who has taken the time to make this a part of your day!  You're all great!

There I had the double good luck of seeing a rainbow and a shooting star on the same night.   Hoping the good luck rubs off on all. 

Have a great day.  C

My friend over at Fighting Windmills did a really cool meme' on favorite quotes. So, being prone to offer quotes (as anyone who has ever read anything here knows I am!), I thought I'd chime in with 10 of my all time favorites! Here we go:

"When the power of love overcomes the love of power, then the world will know peace."
- Jimi Hendrix

"Be thankful we’re not getting all the government we’re paying for."
- Will Rogers

"It is a thousand times better to have common sense without education than to have education without common sense."
- Robert Green Ingersoll

"Climb the mountains and get their good tidings. Nature’s peace will flow into you as sunshine flows into trees. The winds will blow their freshness into you, and the storms their energy, while cares will drop off like autumn leaves."
- John Muir

"What you have become is the price you paid to get what you used to want."
- Mignon McLauglin

"If you foolishly ignore beauty, you will soon find yourself without it. Your life will be impoverished."
- Frank Lloyd Wright

"Prosperity is a way of living and thinking, and not just money or things. Poverty is a way of living and thinking, and not just a lack of money or things."
- Eric Butterworth

"I am enough of an artist to draw freely upon my imagination. Imagination is more important than knowledge. Knowledge is limited. Imagination encircles the world."
- Albert Einstein

"The mediocre teacher tells. The good teacher explains. The superior teacher demonstrates. The great teacher inspires."
- William Arthur Ward

and my all-time favorite...

"All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing."
- Edmund Burke

And now, a bit about the photograph up top. I was quite proud when I took this photo, and thought I'd done a good job of conveying the image I intended. But every time someone saw it, they almost instinctively said, "Why'd you take a picture of your mirror?"
If you take a look over at Fighting Windmills, you'll see how a rear view image is supposed to be done! :-D

"Man is timid and apologetic; he is no longer upright; he dares not say 'I think,' 'I am,' but quotes some saint or sage." - Ralph Waldo Emerson

"On the highway of life, we most often recognize happiness out of the rear view mirror." - Frank Tyger

Just one more post about our local inmate cemetery, then I'll move on to a more palatable topic... maybe! If you happen to visit "Peckerwood Hill" - formally known as the Captain Joe Byrd Cemetery - you'll find a large grave, outlined with a welded pipe rail, beneath a large and shady tree. The headstone inside that plot is the largest in the cemetery. And it's for an inmate who isn't there - literally - anymore. His name was Set-t’ainte or ‘White Bear.’ But, because Set-t’ainte is virtually unpronounceable to anyone besides a Kiowa, the whites anglicized the name to ‘Satanta.’

According to History.com, it was May 18, 1871 when Chief Satanta and his warriors massacred a wagon train in northeast Texas. This event came to be knows as the "Salt Creek Massacre" or the "Warren Wagon Train Raid." Thus, the beginning of the end.
Satanta was surely a skilled formidable warrior, but he was also equally skilled as an orator and diplomat. He helped negotiate and signed treaties with the U.S. establishing a Kiowa reservation in Indian Territory (modern-day Oklahoma), signing the famous "Medicine Lodge Peace Treaty" on October 21, 1867... but Satanta never willingly accepted government efforts to force his people to abandon their nomadic ways. While he went to the reservation, he would still leave periodically to hunt (provided for by treaty), always returning after some time out in the freedom of the prairie. But Satanta was restless, and hated life on the reservation.

In 1870, when the Indian agent finally agreed that they could leave on another of the hunts provided for by the treaty, Satanta and several Kiowa happily rode off to Texas in search of buffalo. Along the way, they raided several white settlers, but the Kiowa were not identified and later returned to the reservation.
The following spring, Satanta grew more aggressive. He joined a large party of other Kiowa and Commanche who bridled under the restrictions of the reservation and determined to leave. Heading south to Texas, the Indians eluded army patrols along the Red River and crossed into Texas. On this day in 1871, they spotted a wagon train traveling along the Butterfield Trail. Hoping to steal guns and ammunition, the warriors attacked the 10 freight trains, killing seven teamsters. They let the remaining drivers escape while they looted the wagons.
Again, Satanta and the other warriors returned to the reservation. Informed of the Texas raid, the Indian agent asked if any of his charges had participated. Amazingly, Satanta announced that he had led the raid, and that their poor treatment on the reservation justified it. "I have repeatedly asked for arms and ammunition," he explained, "which you have not furnished, and made many other requests, which have not been granted."

Chief Satanta was taken to Texas, where he was tried and sentenced to execution by hanging. However, due in part to the fact that Satanta himself preferred death to imprisonment, his death sentence was commuted to life in prison. The ultimate punishment for Chief Satanta.
In 1873, after being besieged with humanitarian requests for his release, Governor Edmund J. Davis agreed to parole Satanta back to the reservation. Within a year, Satanta was leading war parties to participate in the Red River Wars, and in 1875 he was captured and returned to prison in Texas.

Despite his vocal protests that he preferred execution to imprisonment, Satanta was returned to the Texas State Penitentiary in Huntsville. He fell into a deep depression, refused to eat, and slowly began to starve to death. Transferred to the prison hospital in 1878, he committed suicide by leaping headfirst from a second-story window.

In the end, Chief Satanta chose the most dishonorable death of all for a Kiowa - he took his own life. Better death that prison, right to the end. In 1963, the Kiowa people were granted permission by Texas Governor John Connally to exhume the remains of Chief Satanta for burial on the Kiowa reservation in Oklahoma.

To Texas, Satanta was a savage and a murderer. To the Kiowa, he was an honorable and great Chief among his people. His original grave marker on Peckerwood Hill, states: "Died by his own hand, October 11, 1878." True. But that's not all of it.
His grave marker among the Kiowa people tells a bit more: "He fought a long, hard battle for his people to keep the land they loved to hunt and live on. 1867 Medicine Lodge Peace Treaty signer." True.
But still not all of it.

"A long time ago this land belonged to our fathers, but when I go up to the river I see camps of soldiers on its banks. These soldiers cut down my timber, they kill my buffalo and when I see that, my heart feels like bursting."

"I am a great chief among my people. If you kill me, it will be like a spark on the prairie. It will make a big fire - a terrible fire!" - Kiowa Chief Satanta

Throughout most of my life, I've watched as our young men (and women, now) have been sent off to fight wars. Vietnam was raging in my youth during the 1960's, as several of the older boys from the old neighborhood slid into the uniform and went off to war. They had no enemies... but our government did. So they went, just as the generations before them went to Korea, and Europe, and the Pacific. They go, they fight, and often, they die. Then, when the fighting is ended, they come home. Home to a grateful nation, or a loving family... or, sometimes, to nothing at all. Home, bringing the horrendous visions of what they've encountered along the way. Home, with the addictions that they picked up while trying to survive in often death-defying circumstances. Home.

That's what the men in the photograph above came back to. Home. You know, that place where supposedly the heart is. These men: Johnny Borgstrom, a Private in the US Marine Corps; Richard C. Duncan, an AIC in the US Air Force; Marshall Dunham, who served with US Army in Korea, where he received a Purple Heart; John T. Morris, who served in the US Navy during World War II; Gordon Lee Pevear, a PFC in the US Army that served in Korea; Arthur Clay Ruhl, a Private in the US Army; James Carl Stallings, a Private in the US Army, who served in Vietnam; Larry Wayne White, a Lance Corporal in the US Marine Corps, who served in Vietnam; and Eddie Lloyd Whitehead, a Private in the US Marine Corps, who served in Vietnam. All of these men left family, friends, and the life they knew to don the uniform of an United States service man and fight for their country. These are the people we are raised to know as 'heroes.' But even heroes have their failings... even heroes can go wrong.

The other thing that these nine men have in common, besides serving as members of our country's military, is that they all died penniless and alone, serving time in a Texas prison. Each of them are buried in the Captain Joe Byrd Cemetery (also known as Peckerwood Hill), for inmates who aren't claimed by any surviving family.
I don't know what these men did that landed them in prison. Perhaps all of them died a death deserving of their crimes - at least I hope that was the case. But I can't help but wonder what went wrong... where did the road turn from the horror of war to the horror of prison. And how can men who were once willing to risk their life to protect our freedoms leave this life without anyone caring enough to provide them a proper burial. These are questions I can't answer. Sure, they were criminals - perhaps violent men, murderers or rapists. Perhaps they were drug addicts, who turned to thievery to support their habits. Perhaps they were simply forgotten people, who did their duty... and then their time. I don't know if any of them were sentenced to life in prison - but that's what all of them served. And now, the only symbol of any honor associated with any of them is found in the simple concrete marker provided by the Department of Defense.
After twenty-six years working in the Texas prison system, I've not much in the way of sympathy for convicted felons. Most truly deserve everything they receive. But, as I was walking through the acres of numbered prison-made markers, these nine men seemed worth remembering. So, I present them to you here - stains and all.
There, but for the grace of God, go I.

"The two most precious things this side of the grave are our reputation and our life. But it is to be lamented that the most contemptible whisper may deprive us of the one, and the weakest weapon of the other." - Charles Caleb Colton

"If the whole human race lay in one grave, the epitaph on its headstone might well be: 'It seemed a good idea at the time.'" - Rebecca West

Now, let me start by saying that I don't know Doris. For all I know, she may give a fantastic colonic, massage, or facial. And, for that matter, she may sell some really kick-ass herbs, too! But, for the last six months, I've been passing this sign out in front of her home on my way to work. I don't know, but there's just something about seeing a sign in someone's front yard advertising them as a 'Certified Colon Hydrotherapist' that conjures disturbing images involving handcuffs and garden hoses... you know, with those high pressure nozzles, cheap WalMart folding chaise lounges and a lot of duct tape! Sheesh... no wonder I always find myself exceeding the posted speed limit as I cruise by! But, this morning, since it was brightly sunlit and no one was in sight, I gathered the courage to stop and take the photograph for this post. And no... I didn't hear any water splashing, or people screaming in muffled tones either - thank goodness.
My road dog, Mike, says that colon hydrotherapy is actually quite a liberating experience. Sort of like speeding down a giant waterslide with a funnel up your arse, and then seeing how long you can hold all those gallons of cleansing liquid before you become like one of those water rockets we used to play with when we were kids. He swears by 'em. Says everyone should have one.
Personally, I think his wife makes him do stuff like that whenever he's pissed her off. But that's just me... Who knows. Maybe we could make it a party. You know, get a relaxing massage and one of those fancy facials, shove a couple of gallons of water up our butts and enjoy some good weed. Could be worse, right? OK... maybe not.
Enjoy the rest of the weekend.

"The key to a happy life is a healthy colon." - Eddie Murphy

"Warm water increases blood flow to joints, plus the heat increases the flexibility of the joints." - John Klippel
(But John, there aren't any joints in my colon... I'm just sayin'.)

These will be the last from my series of photographs documenting my latest trip to the Texas Hill Country. One last shot of the serene Frio River, as it runs through Garner State Park. One last daydream, before I file the images away... before I find another excuse to make the trip. (If I can afford it, that is.) As I look at the photograph above, it makes me liken the flow of a river to the flow of thought in people's brains. Like the river, our thoughts encounter obstacles, such as rocks and sandbars, that we must successfully navigate in order to make reasonable decisions. Those decisions stand like the sturdy cypress trees along the bank of the Frio... serving as markers of where we've been and what we've done along our journey. A fairly nice image, if you ask me. But, of course, I'm a bit biased!
It seems that somewhere along the way, in spite of all of our technological advances and efforts to increase the creature comforts that we now take entirely for granted - no longer luxuries, but expected provisions... you know, like air conditioning in the summer - we seem to have lost something absolutely vital to our survival. Common sense.
Every day I hear more and more of the idiocy that seems to be prevalent in our world. Uninspired hatred, random acts of violence, just plain meanness... they crowd their way into our headlines and assault us every evening at 6:00pm. And we've become so desensitized to it. So much so, that we've allowed our common sense - our sense of basic dignity, decency and respect - to simply wither and die. Maybe it's just my old age creeping in... am I the only one who sees this?

The trees along the river see it, as they gather around the fallen corpse of common sense. Not felled by an axe, or shoved aside by a bulldozer. Nothing that sudden. Common sense was simply left to pass away, and is now apparently mourned only by the trees that line the river. Surrounding what's left of it in order to protect it from any more lunacy. How have we allowed this to happen? What were we doing for all this time, while our lucidity was slipping into oblivion... surely we know, don't we?

I suppose my question is a simple one... who has the seeds?

"You can't legislate intelligence and common sense into people." - Will Rogers

"If we seek the pleasures of love, passion should be occasional and common sense continual." - Robertson Davies

The dogs days of summer seem to be coming a bit earlier this year - although I still think Al Gore's "inconvenient truth" is a pile of fertilizer. Nevertheless, when the heat index takes that 90 degree temperature and makes it feel like 105... well, let's just say I'm thankful for anything frio! Frio is Spanish, meaning cold. And that's exactly what the Frio River usually is. Like it's cousin, the Guadalupe - which I've had to pleasure to float down on a "toob" several times in my life - the water temperature is always just a bit on the chilly side. Hence the name. At places, like in the top photograph, the river seems to almost vanish into the rocks and sandbars along its route, only to emerge later in full bloom.

There's something peaceful about the Frio River. It requires nothing of you. At many points, its barely ankle deep, and at others quite perfect for swimming. Lined by such beauty, it is as enticing as nature can be sometimes. And sitting on its banks... well, let's just say that one could easily slip into the illusion that all is right with the world.
And, I can tell you... that's a very nice illusion to treat yourself to. I highly recommend it - often.

"I love the element of water. It's so peaceful, so quiet. The colors of the sea. You sit beside it and you have time to think. It never ends. It's beautiful." - Wolfgang Peterson

"There are worlds out there where the skies are burning, where the sea's asleep, and the rivers dream. People made of smoke, and cities made of song. Somewhere there's danger, somewhere there's injustice... and somewhere else the tea is getting cold." - Doctor Who

That smiling fat man on the left... yeah, the one with sailboats on what's left of his favorite shirt... that's me enjoying another great Father's Day with the best family a father could ever be blessed to have! That's my uber-grandson, Aspen, being held by my lovely daughter, Alli, and flanked by my handsome son, Clinton! These wonderful three spent the weekend with yours truly, and it was the best weekend I've had in a long time! We even got to play with water balloons in my driveway! (Talk about a stroll down memory lane! But, no, we didn't heave any at passing cars... and the fact there weren't any is totally irrelevant!)
If I am not blessed to spend another moment in this place, I will take my extended dirt nap knowing that my children are two of the most intelligent, wonderful, loving and compassionate people it's ever been my supreme pleasure to know... and my grandson is in the best and most capable of hands. Thank goodness they took after their mother! :-D

I love you guys with all I am. Thanks for making this one of the best weekends of my life! xoxoxo

"A father is a thing that growls when it feels good–and laughs loud when it’s scared half to death. A father never feels entirely worthy of worship in his child’s eyes... Fathers grow old faster than other people... But fathers enjoy an earthly immortality and the bet is paid off to the part of him he leaves behind." - Paul Harvey

While on a recent trip, I was snapping some random photographs of passing trains. My grandson knows more about trains than I do, and since he loves 'em, I'm trying to gain interest! I have to admit, there is nothing quite like the feeling of standing in the rocks and gravel next to the tracks as a freight train is roaring within arms length... close enough to reach out and let your fingers feel the heat of the friction the speeding steel box cars generate against your startled fingerprints. (NOTE: Do NOT try this! I am a trained professional idiot, and sometimes do incredibly stupid things for no apparent reason!) The vibration of the ground beneath my feet, the clicking thunder of tons of train passing by, the calm of the day disrupted by this diesel-fueled behemoth. Yeah, it was a rush... I gotta admit.
Anyway, the photo above was one I snapped off as the train was rushing by. I didn't pay much attention to what was actually in the frame until I downloaded the images and started editing. At first, I was going to discard the shot, because it wasn't much to look at in that first glance. But then, I noticed the number on the car that my shutter captured... 53. Now, to most folks, the photograph still isn't much to look at. And 53... well, that's just another number, right? The anonymous numeral that sits nestled gentley between 52 and 54, no more, no less. To me, the photograph suddenly had meaning.
This weekend is Father's Day. My father, the man from whom I learned how to be a man, has been gone from this world for a little over two decades now. I still miss him, and would trade five years for five days with him, just to ask him all the things I never took the time to when he was alive... a mistake too many of us make with our parents, and even more with our grandparents. My father lived to see two of his four grandchildren come into this world, but I think only the eldest (my daughter) has any real memory of him. To me, his memory is as vivid as the last time I saw him. His voice as clear as the last time I spoke to him. What does that have to do with the photograph of the train? My father was 53 when he died. And while it may sound crazy - and maybe it is - that photograph made me feel like he was reaching across the chasm to remind me that he still loves me, in his always subtle way, using something simple that he knew would trigger my brain. Corny? Maybe so. But this weekend is Father's Day.
The last conversation I had with my father was on the day he died. It was a telephone call, as I was a busy young man of twenty-six years, with two young ones at home and my mind on more (less) important things. I can still remember the last words we spoke to each other.
You see, my grandfather was a very stern and private man. He didn't believe in men expressing any kind of emotion. When he died, I saw my father cry for the only time I ever did. He hugged my brother and I and told us something that I'll never forget. He said, "I want you boys to know that I love you. My dad never spoke those words to me, nor I to him. Now he's gone, and it's too late for me to tell him how much I love him. I don't ever want it to be like that with us."

My last words to my father on that November afternoon were, "I love you, Daddy." His last words to me were, "I love you, too, son." Then he was gone.
To this day, whenever I talk to my children, I always try to make sure that the last words they hear out of my mouth are, "I love you." One day, I'll be gone from this place. I want my father to be proud to know that his eldest son learned at least that one lesson... and I want his grandchildren to know that, no matter what, their father will always love them with all his heart. Just like his father loved him.
I love you, Dad. Still. Always.

"It is not flesh and blood, but heart which makes us fathers and sons." - Friedrich von Schiller

"It was a train that took me away from here, but a train can't bring me home..." - Tom Waits

Well, it seems that my copyright issues have been resolved! Woot! And thanks to all who helped me with the legal side of a 'more complex than I'd imagined' circumstance, as well as all who sent along their encouragement and well wishes! (Not to mention those of you who unselfishly provided me with email content to fill my posts with for the past week or so! Muchas gracias!)
One thing I've learned is this: The landscape of the blogosphere isn't always smooth, with lush stuff that leaves you feeling warm and fuzzy inside. Nope... just ain't so. Like in the photograph above, sometimes the blogosphere landscape is gonna present you with something that may look interesting from a distance... but when you get close, you find out it'll prick you if you're not careful!

Thankfully, I've learned to be a little more attentive to how I do what I do... and that's a good thing. Goes to show it's never too late to teach an old dog new tricks! LOL! At one point, the legal beagles (who never charged me a dime for their counsel... working in criminal justice does have it's perks!) advised me that the best way to address misuse of my content was to (a) privatize the blog, or (b) delete it and start over somewhere else. It seems that WordPress doesn't allow for the blockage of RSS feeds from any of their blogs - which is how my content was being hijacked - but, I could always go back to manually coding each post on a 'blank page' site and encode the page to make it more difficult to copy. Didn't want to do that, either. So, kudos to the people at GoDaddy.com, who own the server that was involved, and who voluntarily blocked the site and demanded removal of all unauthorized content. Once notified of the situation, they acted within 24 hours to take the site off line - with the areas of the site where my posts were being used still off line as of the time of this writing. Good people, and interested in doing the right thing.
So now, it's back to the way things should be here at the loft... me sharing my photographs and viewpoints (and hopefully a few chuckles), and you not having to read that same stuff you got in your email day before yesterday! LOL! Thanks for sticking around... that's what makes us family. :-D

"I bought a cactus. A week later it died. And I got depressed, because I thought, Damn. I am less nurturing than a desert." - Demetri Martin

"Maybe that's all that family really is, a group of people who all miss the same imaginary place." - Zach Braff

Night arrives with a gust, as lights appear like fireflies--flickering at first, then a swarm lights up the distance. Waves undulate along the shoreline, the wind rocking both the water and the steel building I stand in.

As evening falls in the city, the crowds gather herdlike onto the sidewalks, seaching for prey and great food and better company.  Let the summer festivities begin. C