Perspective

       I had forgotten how physically demanding directing a play is. Last night we blocked Act 1. I was on and off the stage, up and down the stairs, across the stage a couple of hundred times. I was exhausted when the rehearsal was finished. But we got it done, and it looks good. And I got a workout without going to the gym!
      Tonight we will go over the first act again, just to the cement the blocking. That will be our agenda for Wednesday night, also. Thursday we will block the second act. The second act is about 20 pages shorter than the first so it should go faster. I hope.
      The cast is doing well. I think they're all going to give strong performances. The play itself is good, although the ending isn't quite as dramatic as it could be, but if we play it right, it will still be satisfying.
      I had also forgotten how much fun directing can be. Oh, it's tiring and can be emotionally frustrating, but it can also be a lot of fun. So far, I'm having a good time. Catch me later in the month when the new wears off, and the cast goes through the inevitable emotional turmoil. Naturally, I hope that doesn't happen, but I've never seen a play that didn't have some backstage blow-up. When I was younger, it used to really upset me. Now I just shrug and move on. That's community theater.
      Or really, theater anywhere. I remember reading an article about a huge blowup on a Broadway play, one that actually came to blows between two of the female cast members. Later, they became best friends, one of them serving as bridesmaid for the other. People are funny.
      I think it helps if people realize that it's just theater. Don't get me wrong. Theater is wonderful. It's exciting. It's fun. It enriches both the audience and the actors. It's well worth the effort. However, it's not feeding the poor or healing the sick or doing a thousand other worthwhile things. You have to maintain your perspective.
      I think that applies to a lot of things. You have to keep your perspective, try to see the broad picture even if that picture doesn't include the success you wanted. Back in college, I was helping a friend of mine through a messy breakup.
      "I'm going to die," he told me. "I miss her so much. The world isn't worth living in!" Two months later, he was dating someone else. When he broke up with her and started the "I can't live without her; life has no meaning" routine, I reminded him that he had lived through the first breakup and would doubtlessly live through this one. He looked at me, frowned and said, "You're taking all the fun out of this."
       Maybe so.

Ships

       The radio is playing Catie Curtis.

"And I recall in my sleep
how you changed my life
on Magnolia Street
and I dream but it's true
I'm not the same since I met you
And I feel like I'm going home
but not to the one I've known ..."

      I was talking to a friend of mine Friday. She's still searching for that one, the man who will know and love her. "He's out there," she said. "Somewhere. And he's looking for me, too, even if he doesn't know it. I've just got to hold on until I meet him. Then it will be ..." She smiled.
      "I hope so," I said, thinking that she was waiting for her life to begin, but that was her choice and hadn't we had this conversation a thousand times before. I wasn't the one for her. I was just her friend. That's what she wanted from me.
      I was talking to a friend of mine in Tulsa last week. He needs to get married, he says. He's so lonely. Somewhere there's a woman for him, he says. He's just got to keep searching.
      "Good luck," I said, thinking of the many times he had told me of his fruitless search and how he could fill his life with so many things. But I didn't say anything. I'm his friend. I support him even if his quest never ends.
      Another person would have matched them up. Would have thought that fate was bringing them together, but I know better. Oh, I introduced them at one of my plays a few years back. I thought maybe some sparks would fly. I even questioned them about the meeting later. "Too old," she said. "Too plump," he said. "Too out of shape," she said. "Too much make-up," he said. "Too intellectual," she said. "Too young," he said.
      And so they go on, ships that pass deliberately in the night.

San Diego

This was sent to me by girl named Tammy. Sadly enough, I don't remember who she is.

Postcard from Hawaii

This was sent to me by Mary. I used to work with her.

Biltmore Estate, North Carolina

This was sent to me by Joan and Jerry. The Biltmore has over 250 rooms in it.

Weight Loss Prayer

      My aunt sent me this prayer from The All-New Free To Be Thin by Neva Coyle & Marie Chapian. I thought it was worth sharing.

The Weight Loss Prayer

Thank you, Lord, for teaching me discipline.
Thank you, Lord, that I am now free to be in charge of what I put in my body.
I choose to receive from You the strength I need to be faithful to my commitment to You.
Your strength fills me.
You show me that I can be responsible for what I choose to eat.
I thank you, Lord, that I am victorious in You.
I will accept the discipline of my Daily Prayer Time.
I will read the Word in the strength of the Holy Spirit.
I will keep my daily food diary and be aware of the contents of the food I eat.
I will not be a slave to food any longer.
I am victorious because You are victorious!
In Jesus' name.
Amen.

      The authors recommend saying this prayer twice when you are tempted by foods you shouldn't eat. I cross-posted this at The Great Slim Down. You can purchase The All-New Free To Be Thin from Amazon.com by clicking here. My aunt recommends the book, but I haven't read it yet. Let me know what you think of it if you do.

My plate overfloweth ...

      I realize blogging has been hit or miss here lately. Sorry. My plate seems to be fuller than I can comfortably swallow these days. I'm working on that.
      The play is cast. I think I have a good group. We should know for sure when we start rehearsal Thursday night, but I'm not worried about it.
      Instead I'm worried about building and painting the set, updating the web page with the cast info and pictures, and producing the posters, the programs, the theater group newsletter and the publicity articles for the local newspaper. Yikes.
      Well, that's why they play me the big bucks … except ... I’M NOT GETTING PAID! This is, once again, another reason why I think I'm not very bright.
      Naturally since I have no time to devote to them, my mind buzzes with ideas for Darkness, Oklahoma and Figments. They're shameless, flirty tarts, that's all there is to it. But I know if I suddenly started working on them, they would dance happily away. My muse is apparently a come-hither-go-away. The story of my life.
      So ... what else? I'm behind on housework, but I'm going to make a good try on it this evening after I finish this. I need to read the play again and continue working on my director's copy. I need to update the group weights on The Great Slim Down. (Congrats to Michelle who is losing so much more weight than me that I'm not sure if I like her anymore! [Would it be cheating to mail her some chocolates? Just kidding ... sort of ...]) I need to do some minor work on the theater web page. So ... I have a lot to do.
      Except ... I seem to lack the motivation to get to work. I don’t seem to lack dots, however. See, here are some more ... Three dots in a row are properly called an ellipsis. Except I'm not using them properly. So we'll just call them Fred. Here's another Fred ... What's a Fred or two between friends, right? Right ... The plural of ellipsis, by the way, is ellipses. Just so you know. The plural of Fred is Freds. I seem to like italics today, too.
      Okay, I must get to work now. I'll talk to you later. You talk to me, too. I'm feeling lonely. And overwhelmed. And sad. So send money. Or come by my house with gifts. Gifts are nice ...

Auditions and review (Rebel Ice)

      The auditions went okay. I have enough people to cast the play except for one role if no one else tries out. It was funny how it turned out. I had worried about having enough men try out, but I had plenty of them. I thought I'd easily have enough women try out; naturally I didn't. I hope that I have more women audition tonight. If so, I will be able to make the final cast decisions tonight. And we will start rehearsals Wednesday night. I hope.
      I'm afraid that, for the next month, the play will be all I'll be talking and obsessing about. Bear with me. I'm sure I will come out of it with a few disasters that will make funny stories. That does seem to be how my projects go.
      I intended to write a longer review of Rebel Ice, the new SF book by S.L. Viehl. I haven't had time to do so, but here's a short one. It's good, intelligent, exciting science fiction that focuses more on relationships than hard science. In other words, you don't have to hold a doctorate in physics to enjoy it. It's part of a series (Stardoc), but the book stands alone well. If you've read the previous novels, it will make the experience richer, but if not, it's still a good read. I hope I don't spoil it for you to say that Viehl takes a tremendous chance with a main character. I'm curious to see how it plays out in future books. Click here to purchase it from Barnes and Noble. But be warned. If you read one Stardoc novel, you'll want to read them all. Dr. Cherijo Torin grabs on you and doesn't let go.
      And that's all for now. I'll try to be back later tonight and let you know what happens.

Paying the tax man

      A busy weekend. I've spent it working on my taxes and finally doing the February Gazette. The Gazette is printing now and still needs to stapled and put in the envelopes. My taxes took a while because I'm itemizing this year for the first time so I was collecting receipts and adding various expenses in their categories. Yuck. But it's close to being finished. I should put file them on Tuesday or Wednesday.
      March will be a busy month for me. Tryouts for the play are tomorrow and Tuesday night. We'll start rehearsals Wednesday. And that will be my evenings until April 2 (the last date of production).
      Otherwise, I did laundry and other housework. I also went down to the theater and worked on the set for a few hours. The set is about a third done. A door frame and stairs need to be built, and one wall needs to be moved back. Then it needs to be taped, painted and trimmed. After that, the furniture. I'm fortunate that my roomie is going to be the set foreman. He will do a good job, and I won't have to worry about it. My former secretary is going to be my stage manager. My crew is shaping up nicely.
      It's going to be a lot of work, but it feels like it's going okay so far.
      Anyway, have a good night and a great week. I'm outta here.

Postcards from Key West & Mexico

Wouldn't you like to be sitting here?


O la la!

Scrabbling

      It's surprisingly difficult to beat the computer when playing Scrabble. It has a complete dictionary at its disposal so it comes up with some very strange words. For instance, LARKY. I had to look it up. It means: "1. High-spirited, zestful. 2. Silly; zany." At least Websters says it does. You can even be larkier or larkiest. Who knew?
      It's very good at using Z. When I get a Z, I look for a chance to play: ZIT, ZOO, ZINC, ZEBRA, ZAP, ZONE, ZITHER, ZEAL, ZERO, ZIRCON and ZOOM. That's my Z's. But it used ZED, ZEBU and ZEITGEIST. ZEITGEIST won the game because it played it on a triple word score! You can't come back from that. And it incorporated two other words when it did it. (I changed the game's setting from champion to intermediate after that.)
      Now I keep a dictionary by the computer to look up the words it plays. I had thought I was fairly literate, but frankly I've been humbled. Despite this I'm winning more games than I lose. Eventually I hope to be up to facing the champion setting, but give me few months.
      I've been trying to figure out how to play it online. It does have an online option, but when I click it, nothing happens. Probably the computer game company that produced it is out of business. The game was in the bargain bin, and it was old, not even mentioning XP or Windows ME on the system requirements. I'll have to find my online fix some other way.
***
      Crystal asked me about how crystals formed last night. She home-schools her son, and it came up as a science lesson. I gave what I remembered from my high school chemistry, but later began to doubt what I said. So I started researching it. As it turned out, I was correct, but I kept clicking on various links and wandered across the Internet, following whatever caught my interest. Eventually I ended up on a page that sold crystals as tools for "healing and contacting The Other Side." Ooookay. Apparently by attuning your mind to the "dimensional vibrations" of the crystals, you can do all sorts of things. Curious. You'd think this would be big news, but no one is reporting it. I wonder why.
***
      Can you ever truly trust someone who doesn't find Monty Python and the Holy Grail funny? I think not. And now for something completely different ... Good night.

Update

      Since I don't have any particular topic in mind, I thought I'd just update you on a few things.
      My niece: At home, on pain meds, will see a specialist on the 27th. Otherwise, we don't know much more than we did. Please keep her in your thoughts and prayers. She's a brave little thing, that's for sure.
      DRP: The Debt Reduction Plan is still in place. I should pay off another credit card in November of this year, barring unforeseen events. Another in 2007. The final card will go in 2008, leaving only my first and second mortgage. The second mortgage should go in 2009, leaving only the house payment. And that should go in 2010. It seems weird to be planning that far ahead. Almost as if I'm asking for trouble. Did you know that most major Japanese corporations have 100 year plans? Many have 200 year plans. Wouldn't you like a look at them? I would.
      Global warming: I made a mistake yesterday and started discussing global warming with a rabid Republican. I also lost my temper. He didn't know what he was talking about, quoting talk show hosts and Internet columnists. When I suggested several science journals, he said, "People can twist facts to mean anything. Scientists hate Bush and God." The only sane reply you can make to that is to leap the table and choke the speaker to death.
      The terrible thing about global warming is that it has become political. Liberals use it to attack Bush. Conservatives use it to attack liberals. Both of them are totally missing the point. Global warming itself should not be political; it should be science. What we should do --if anything -- about it, that's politics. And neither side is willing to actually look at the science. Instead they trot out pet scientists.
      My rabid Republican brought out that the Antarctica ice cap is growing. I explained that its growth was predicted back in the 1980s as a consequence of global warming. I even attempted to explain why the raise in temperatures would cause the growth using a salt shaker and a fork. (It has to do with the fact that the earth orbits the sun at a tilt and that it wobbles as it does so and that the Arctic melts first, releasing fresh water into the oceans and raises the freezing point of the ocean. [Saltwater freezes at lower temps than fresh so the fresher the water, the easier it is for the ocean to freeze.] Antarctica, while warmer, is still below the freezing point so it grows. Also, the Arctic melting increases the amount of moisture in the atmosphere, and that increases the amount of snowfall on Antarctica. But back to our story.) He cut me off. "I don't care about that. I support our president."
      I gave up at that point and kept attempting to change the subject. He kept on. I finally told him that I didn't want to talk any more about it. He got a triumphant look on his face and said, "I would have never imagined that you would censor anyone. That's a liberal for you!" So ... I told him what I thought: He was an idiot, and I didn't want to be his friend any more because his idea of a discussion was to beat the other person into submission and that I was sure Bush would appreciate it if he'd stop defending him since the president has defenders that don't make Bush look like a fool. It was not one of my more successful social occasions.
      Scientists are certainly not blameless in this mess. They've lost the public's trust. They've allowed themselves to become corrupted by politics and the desire for money. Science has moved from being the pursuit of knowledge to the pursuit of personal glory and wealth. Maybe it's always been that way and I'm just naive to assume otherwise. All in all, it's pretty depressing.
      As for my rabid Republican friend, he called to apologize later that afternoon and I apologized back. It might have blown over, but he just had to say, "But I was right." I hung up on him and didn't take his other two calls. He called me at home, but I let the answering machine pick it up. Some doors need to be closed.
      Scrabble: This computer Scrabble game is going to be the bane of my productivity. I've played nearly 20 games over the past two days. It's not as much fun as playing with people, but it is fun.
      Play: Tryouts for the play I'm directing will be Monday and Tuesday night next week. After that, I will be in rehearsal every night (except Sunday) until the play opens March 30. I'm already missing my free time.
      Darkness, Oklahoma: I'm still wrestling with the "Town Meeting" problem, but I think I have it solved. I simply skipped the set-up for the meeting and started with them meeting with a few quick lines to explain how they all got there. It's a bit rough, and I need to add a few lines to some other scenes to make it seem more plausble, but so far, so good. I won't have it finished by the end of February as I hoped, but I should have no problems in getting it done in April and then off to my first readers. (I'm hoping you folks who volunteered are still interested.)
      Figments: I've mentioned this play here a couple of times. It's been slowly coming together. I think I will be able to finish it this summer. I'm cautiously excited about its potential. It's funny (I think) and exciting (a murder in unusual business enviroment). I might really have something here.
      The Gazette: My family newsletter is running very late this month. Yes, this is the February issue! I should be able to finish it this week so that it will at least get mailed in February. Sigh. And then I need to turn around and do March's immediately. So really, I shouldn't playing computer Scrabble. Maybe I should use it for a reward.
      Diet: Question: If you cheat constantly, is it really a diet or is it more of a vague suggestion of a diet?
      And now I'll close. Have a great day!

The game's the thing

      I was raised in a highly competitive family. We were taught to do our best, yeah, sure, but we were also taught to win. Getting the A, the trophy, the prize. That's what we did. Yeah, it was pressure, but the pressure also led me and my siblings to achieve things that we might not have. Impossible to know now since it's not like things could be done over.
      However, over the years, I've come to realize that the winning isn't as important as the playing. I know, I know, that sounds so lame. "It doesn't matter who wins or loses; it matters how you play the game." And I won't go that far. It does matter who wins, but it's also fun to play.
      I've noticed this in playing Scrabble, Hearts, Spades, Monopoly, Chess, etc. It's the interaction of the game, the thrill of playing that I enjoy now. It's nice to win, but it's also a letdown because the game is over.
      My father enjoyed games. He could keep a family Monopoly game going for days by lending money and bending rules. I don't really recall a game ever ending. My mother would finally insist that the game be put up so that she could have her kitchen table back.
      Strangely enough, this relates to religion. I was raised in a faith that emphasized that our time here on earth was a misery and we just needed to hold on until we reached Heaven. World joys were to be avoided, condemned. The reward was the afterlife. In fact, the more you suffered here, the better it would be in hereafter.
      I still remember the first time a Mormon friend of mine quoted a verse from the Book of Mormon that said, "...and men are, that they might have joy." I've always thought there was some truth in that. It was certainly something that my mother believed, that we can have joy in the journey. At her funeral, we sang this song: "There's joy in the journey. There's good times in the going. It's not all in the reaping. There's plenty in the sowing." She would have liked that.
      Sooo ... maybe that's my philosophy in life. To seek the joy in this journey, secure in my eventual destination, but enjoying the sights along the way.
      I really started this to say that I bought a computer game of Scrabble at Wal-Mart for $9.99. Pretty cool. I've played several games this evening. I can see where my spare time is going for a while. Anyway, good night. Take care and have a good week.

Between

Now, in this moment between
what was and what will come,
is the only place we can live.

I take your hand. We run across
the park through the trees
laughing for no reason we can explain.

We stop beneath an old oak
trying to catch our breath
holding hands like children do.

And then my eyes linger
on your face. I reach out to
touch your cheek. You sigh.

I move close. We kiss. Your lips
taste like cherry sweet sweat.
Our bodies press together.

"It's late," you say. "I have to go."
"I know," I say. "I wish."
You nod, try to smile, and turn away.

We walk back to the motel
to our cars to our separate lives
living only in these betweens.

Copyright 2005. All rights reserved.

Cherokee alphabet postcard

      I don't know if I've ever mentioned on here that I collect postcards. This is one from my collection. I will be featuring others over the next few weeks.


A postcard that features the Cherokee alphabet.
Scan copyright 2005. All rights reserved.

Math and other useless things

      "Why the long face, sunshine?" I asked my wonderful and clever niece (Can you tell I'm a doting uncle?) as I wandered by the kitchen table on my way to the wonderful and food-filled refrigerator (Can you tell I need to lose weight?).
      "I'm studying for my math test," she said, a frown only slightly marring her perfect 10-year-old features. "Would you help me?"
      "Certainly, oh wondrous child," I said. "First, does your teacher have any children? And does she love them enough to give you a good grade if, for instance, they turned up missing and she received a ransom note demanding just that?"
      My niece looked at me sadly. "Mama told me that you were a math moron, but I didn't believe it."
      "And well you shouldn't," I said. "Ask her the last time her checkbook balanced. Here, watch this." I placed my checkbook on my thumb and balanced it, but when I looked up, my niece had left the room, apparently looking for someone who doesn't think sign and cosign are the math equivalent of Mr. and Mrs.
      I have never been math-minded. All those numbers simply confuse the issue as far as I'm concerned. I have never done my own taxes and do not intend to start. I, however, can balance my checkbook, but only because I'm dealing with low numbers and almost anyone can subtract $5 from $12.
      To be honest, I haven't used much math since high school. I can't even think of the last time someone wandered up to me at a party and said, "If person A was traveling toward person B at half the speed of B, how soon would they pass each other if they were 12 miles apart at the start and B was going at 40 miles per hour?" Actually, that has never happened, and if it ever did, I would be well within my rights to punch the asker in the mouth.
      I know I shouldn't say things like that. I should encourage young people to stay in school by telling about how what I learned helped me. And I do think everyone should stay in school and avoid the real world as much as possible. It keeps them off the streets, and they're not competing to get my job. College is a particularly nice place to avoid reality. I'd be in college now if my parents hadn't ran out of money after my tenth year.
      Truthfully, a lot of what you learn in school seems useless. Students are forced to memorize a lot of facts that their instructor thinks is important even though he may send flowers and little romantic notes to his spleen. Of course, the real importance of those facts is that you need to know them to pass his tests. You won't need them afterwards unless you end up on a game show.
      And what strange facts they are. For instance, did you know the average man's large intestine would wrap around a common light bulb approximately 18 times? I remember quite clearly when a biology instructor shared that with my class. I also remember wondering who checked and why. It may have only been an example that my instructor thought would make the subject clear to us. Still, you have to wonder if he didn't eventually turn up on America's Most Wanted.
      Another strange tidbit that has stuck with me is that the abbreviation of Tasmania is Tasm -- not that anyone ever explained who wrote enough about Tasmania to need an abbreviation. And did you know that a blatherskite is a talkative, foolish person? Or that a gnu is a large African antelope with an oxlike head? Or that a kohlrabi is a garden vegetable, similar to a cabbage? Why would I remember these things when I have trouble remembering my social security number and where I parked my car? An even more important question is why my teachers would think it was important to share those facts with me. Other than now, I've never used any of them since school.
      As for tests, surely the educational establishment can find another way to grade students, some better method to evaluate their knowledge of a subject without subjecting them to such intense pressure and discomfort. Perhaps the instructor could personally interview each student. That would allow every pupil the perfect opportunity to offer a bribe. I myself have always liked the blanket 'A' idea. (Naturally you have to be careful where you place the blanket. Otherwise, people will see and maybe call the police.)
      Still, I know my teachers tried their best. They may have been hampered by what they had to work with. I guess tests are a small price to pay for avoiding reality -- yeah, and blood is just another liquid. I also know school and college enriched and my life by providing me with exposure to masterpieces of art and literature and earthshaking theories from the sciences.
      But as for math, count me among the unnumbered.

Copyright 2006. All rights reserved.

An almost history of Valentine's Day

      It's Valentine's Day today … or as it's called in my household "Passover." I hope you have exciting plans with your loved one, perhaps going to an expensive restaurant and gazing soulfully into each other's eyes and then you glance out the window at the lovely night and exclaim, "Hey! What is that guy doing to my car?" Just so you know, I'm letting the air out of your tires, thus ensuring you a night to remember. I hope you brought a jack.
      Not that I'm bitter that you're with a loved one while I am alone as I scurry around dark parking lots. I wish you much happiness and joy and perhaps a plague or two. Nothing serious, mind you. Just an inflamed pimple or a hacking cough or leprosy.
      That might seem harsh, but Valentine's Day has a harsh history that I will now share with you. I did extensive research on this, mostly by making it up, but a few facts did creep in despite my best efforts so be warned.
      The Catholic Church recognizes at least three different martyred saints named Valentine or Valentinus. All three died in terrible agony, thus giving rise to their remembrance with candy hearts and chocolate. That might seem odd, but most people mark Easter by eating chocolate bunnies and hiding hard-boiled eggs. So it does follow the general theme.
      The most commonly held legend says that Valentine was a priest in Rome during the third century. When Emperor "Killjoy" Claudius II decided that single men made better soldiers than those with wives and families, he outlawed marriage for young men. Valentine defied Claudius and continued to perform marriages for young lovers in secret. When Valentine's marriages were discovered, Claudius had Valentine thrown in prison.
      Supposedly, Valentine actually sent the first 'valentine' greeting himself. While in prison, Valentine fell in love with his jailor's daughter. (Why the daughter was visiting men in prison, the legend doesn't say.) Before his death, he wrote her a letter, which he signed "From your Valentine." He also healed her blindness through his faith. (Her first words upon regaining her sight were "Who are you? And why am I in this dreary place?") For Valentine's good works, Claudius had him beaten, tortured with hot irons, beaten some more, more torture, another beating because you can't have too much beating, and then finally beheaded. They beat him after the beheading, too, but all the fun seemed to have gone out of it.
      Some historians say Valentine's Day is celebrated in the middle of February to mark the anniversary of Valentine's death and/or burial. Others claim the Christian church decided to celebrate Valentine's feast day in the middle of February to 'christianize' celebrations of the pagan Lupercalia festival. Still other historians don't care and have gone out for a bite to eat.
      We do know that, in ancient Rome, February was the official beginning of spring and a time for purification. Houses were cleansed by sweeping them out and then sprinkling salt and wheat throughout their rooms. (This was centuries before the invention of Lysol and those nifty Swifter mops.) Lupercalia, which began on February 15, was a fertility festival dedicated to Faunus (the god of agriculture) and Romulus and "Uncle" Remus (founders of Rome as well as the Romulian Empire that bedeviled Captain Kirk so much).
      To begin the festival, the Luperci priests, would gather at the sacred cave where the infants Romulus and Remus were believed to have been raised by a she-wolf or lupa. No, seriously, that's what they believed. The priests would then sacrifice a goat (for fertility) and a dog (for purification) and then several lawyers (for fun).
      The boys of Rome then sliced the goat's hide into strips, dipped them in the sacrificial blood and took to the streets, gently slapping both women and fields of crops with the goathide strips. Supposedly, Roman women enjoyed being touched with the strips because it was believed the strips would make them more fertile. I don't know what would happen if you slapped a modern woman with a goathide strip dipped in blood, but it wouldn't be pretty.
      Later in the day, all the young women in the city would place their names in a big urn. The city's bachelors would then each choose a name out of the urn and become paired for the year with his chosen woman. These matches often ended in marriage and sometimes bloodshed and feuds. This is quite similar to the Oklahoma Lottery of today.
      Pope Gelasius declared February 14 as St. Valentine's Day around 498 A.D. The Roman 'lottery' system was condemned as un-Christian and outlawed. The Church tried to replace it with a system where the young men pulled out the name of a saint and then would spend a year trying to be like the saint, but for some reason, the public wasn't as interested in that as you might suppose.
      No one really knows where the tradition of sending greetings to your loved ones on Valentine's Day started. The oldest known valentine still in existence today was a poem written by Charles, Duke of Orleans, to his wife while he was imprisoned in the Tower of London. The greeting, written in 1415, is almost unreadable but most scholars think it goes: "Roses are red, Violets are blue, The Tower is stinky, I have the flu" or something not even close to that.
      In the 17th century, Valentine's Day began to be popularly celebrated in Great Britain. (So it's really the fault of those dang English.) By the middle of the eighteenth century, friends, lovers and chimney sweeps commonly exchanged small tokens of affection or handwritten notes. By the end of the century, printed cards began to replace written letters, and decreasing postage rates helped spur the popularity. (Postage rates weren't much of a problem for the royal family due to their tendency to date cousins. Many times they would just walk across the palace and hand their Valentines to their relatives.) Americans probably began exchanging hand-made valentines in the early 1700s since we were still aping the British then. In the 1840s, Esther A. Howland started selling the first mass-produced valentines in America. Hallmark maintains a shrine for her with a perpetual chocolate fountain.
      The Greeting Card Association says an estimated one billion valentine cards are sent each year, making Valentine's Day the second largest card-sending holiday of the year. (An estimated 2.6 billion cards are sent for Christmas.) Valentine's Day is celebrated in the United States, Canada, Mexico, the United Kingdom, France and Australia. The rest of the world is free of it.
      And now I must go. There are many more cars out there to visit. Be seeing you in the parking lots. Oh, Happy Valentine's Day.

A Valentine Primer

      It's the day before Valentine's Day. If you're a guy, you're probably saying, "What? Valentine's Day is tomorrow?!" Yes, you moron, despite all those ads on TV -- even on Spike TV -- you've once again let the high holy holiday of romantic blackmail and relentless marketing slip up on you.
      Now, calm down. I'm here to help you, even though I myself have no one badgering me for goodies this year because my girlfriend chewed through the duct tape and escaped. Just remember this helpful phrase: Cats Can't Fly. Immediately you're thinking that maybe if they had bottle rockets tied to them, they might be able to, but don't go there. Trust me, it isn't pretty. No, we remember that phrase: Cats Can't Fly because the capital letters will remind you to buy: Card, Candy, Flowers. That's it. That's all you need to do to keep your love cupcake happy.
      Yes, I see the sweat beading on your forehead. I see your reddened face. I see your body tremble. You're either having a heart attack or you're thinking about actually going into a shop and buying those things. Calm down. Let's make our phrase just a bit bigger. Cats Can't Fly High. The 'H' will remind you to simply go to your local Hallmark store. There you can purchase a card and candy along with a thousand other items whose sole purpose seems to be look cute and collect dust.
      Hallmark loves Valentine's Day with a passion that's frankly unseemly. When you walk into their stores, you smell nice scents, hear romantic music and confront 1,548,302,743 cards from which you must select the totally correct one. Listen, that's a lie. Walk toward the Valentine's cards. Stop in front of the rack. Make sure you're in the proper section for your particular love (Wife, Girlfriend, Garage Mechanic, Ex-girlfriend You're Stalking, Emu, etc). Close your eyes and stick your hand. The first one your hand touches is the right one. Pick it up.
      Next, head for their candy section. You can identify it by the stacks of hundreds of red boxes that are not shaped like a human heart but are called heart-shaped nonetheless. Don't pause. Find a medium-sized box. Pick it up and take it with you. Do not pause. Go directly to the counter. Pay for it. Snarl if they attempt to sell you anything else, and they will.
      There, you're outside now. Take a deep breath. Sit down and put your head between your knees if you feel sick. This will make you feel worse. I don't know why they have you do that except you do look funny and other people laugh at you, thus easing their heavy burdens.
      Okay, now drive to a florist. This one is going to be tricky, but just remember these words: "bud vase." Enter the store. Walk to the counter. Say, "I need a bud vase." Now, the florists will attempt to get to you buy something else. They will say something like, "Well, sure, you can have a bud vase, but if you really want to show your love, doesn't she deserve more? Because you can bet that your neighbor is watching her and he thinks she deserves more and even now they're planning to run away together to the islands and leave you a lonely, broken man doomed to spend your drunken life alone and to die in a rest home, unloved and unsung, but you can stop all of this if you'd just give her two dozen roses that only cost as much as the gross national product of Bolivia, but isn't she worth it?! What is wrong with you? GIVE ME YOUR CREDIT CARD NOW!"
      Don't let that happen. Use force if you must, but get that bud vase. Leave the store. Take another deep breath. (From this point on, I'm going to assume that you can breathe on your own.) There. You're ready for Valentine's Day. It wasn't that bad, say compared to a root canal or a complete physical exam.
      If you follow this, you will impress the living daylights out of her. For a day or so. If you'd like for her good feelings toward you to last a week, take her out to dinner, maybe dancing, and then give her a nice back massage without expecting anything -- and I do mean ANYTHING -- in return.
      Admittedly, this is a beginner's course on Valentine's Day. I'm sure you can probably think about it and devise something better for your love muffin. A few important points to remember as you do so:
      1. Lingerie is not a gift for her. It's a gift that will benefit you. Don't be misled. And if you make the mistake of getting it too large, you are a dead man.
      2. It's a rare woman who likes tools or appliances for Valentine's Day. Should you have one of those paragons, you'd better make sure you keep her. She's worth her weight in screwdrivers and multi-tools.
      3. It's never right to give them nothing, even though they say they don’t want anything. That is a trap that has broken many a proud man. Don't fall for it.
      4. A boat hitch is not an appropriate gift, and it will look bad on you in divorce court.
      5. Don't bankrupt yourself buying diamond jewelry. Yes, I know a diamond is forever, but let's be honest, a marriage usually just lasts twenty to forty years, six hours if married in Vegas. Why put that diamond pressure on your relationship? (Note: This doesn't apply to Mormons as they have eternal marriage. This means they need to be extra careful in choosing a mate because they don't have the escape of death.)
      6. Remember that Valentine's is an escalating holiday. Next year you will have to top what you did this year. One year Bill Gates gave his wife a $2.7 million dollar necklace. The next year he was forced to buy her several states, including Rhode Island, as a gift. Learn from his mistake. Keep it simple.
      7. Most of all, remember that women deserve the loving attention. After all, they put up with us. And, buddy, that ain't no easy life.

Babblerock

      I spent the weekend being sick, running a fever, stomach problems, etc. I'm finally feeling better tonight -- just in time to return to work tomorrow. My timing really stinks.
      I did get the theater group's web page updated this afternoon. I'd been having a problem with getting the changes to load onto the server, but I finally figured it out. Very annoying how a simple syntax error can screw up a whole web page. Makes me crazy.
      Otherwise, I didn't do much. Watched a couple of old movies. Listened to some ocean waves. Slept. What? The ocean waves? I have a CD of ocean waves. Very calming. Helps me relax and/or sleep. I have several "environment" CDs, including a running river and a bayou at night. If you're interested in relaxation techniques, I recommend them.
      Talked to Crystal on the phone tonight. She said that she didn't find me dark or evil at all, and she's known me since the fifth grade. So there, all you dark sayers. Although ... she might have been saying that just because she's scared of me ... Naw. That couldn't be it. She's a nurse. She's not scared of anything!
      Did I mention that Michelle has great musical taste? She gave a link to Michael Buble. The song "Feeling Good" convinced me to order the CD. I recommend you check him out if you like contemporary, smooth jazz. You can listen to three of his songs on his site, including "Feeling Good.
      And now I'm going to head to bed. Hope you all have a good week. Talk to you tomorrow.

123454321

      My niece is at home again. The hospital didn't help much. She will see a specialist on the 27th, which was the soonest he/she/they could see her. Until then, she will survive on pain meds and willpower with occasional trips to the hospital. It's bad, but that seems to be the best that can be worked out. Health care in this country is expensive, slow and discouraging. If you're poor, you don't ever get the care you should. Somehow I'm going to get some money and rescue my family. Don't know how yet. Maybe selling kidneys and other organs on the black market or robbing banks or selling national secrets to ... well, does anyone still want our national secrets? Our media seems to tell them all anyway. There are reasons beyond greed that make people turn to crime.

#

      Got told again that I'm "surprisingly dark." I was having lunch with a friend who said that my writing was filled with "joy, life and laughter," which was nice, and she found that odd since I have such darkness in me, which wasn't that nice. I wanted to know what she found dark about me. She said it was that it was because I was sad a lot.
      Well, that made me feel like I was a whiney hiney, and I told her that I didn't think I was that dark.
      "You are," she said. "You just hide it very well, and most people don't ever know to look any further. You're very good at keeping people at a distance. Answer me this honestly, have you ever trusted anyone enough to be completely open and share your deepest thoughts and feelings?"
      "Of course not," I said. "I'm a guy!"

##

      A friend of mine shipped me a bottle of liquid vitamins. (Thanks ... I think.) Apparently his mom is either selling it or pushing it. It's loaded with hundreds of minerals, vitamins and plant extracts. In fact, it's so loaded with nature's goodness that it looks like river mud. Tastes somewhat like it, too. That's an understatement. It tastes BAD. You could follow it with a chaser of battery acid, but you'd still be able to taste its terrible health. There's a reason they don't carbonate it and sell it in the soft drink aisle.

###

      I pulled a muscle or something in my left side. It's been giving me a lot of problems. Well, really just one problem. It's hurts! Thank goodness for Advil. And aspirin. And morphine ...

####

      It's cold here. We've had unseasonably warm weather until now, but it was in the teens last night and only in the thirties today. Of course, for those up north, that probably seems mild, but I don't enjoy it. I dream of warm beaches and clear skies. I miss the green grass and the leaves on the tree and the flowers in the fields.
Do not tarry, Spring.
Winter holds so hard ...

#####

      Have I ever mentioned how much I admire people who can walk away and start a new life? They cut their ties, they set sail, they head for a far-off place. They may look back but only to make sure they aren't drifting off course. I always wonder if they find what they're looking for or do they just find more of the same.

####

      Two of my blogging friends have declared war on each other. I don't expect this will end well. I've been on the Net for a long time, long enough that I remember when Prodigy and Delphi were the thing. I've seen these email/chat/bulletin board/comment/post battles over and over. The Net will always be inferior to face-to-face communication and interaction because we lack the visual cues and tonal inflections that can defuse the most incendiary statements.

###

      I've been better on my diet this week so I'm expecting a loss when the next WWIN takes place. See The Great Slim Down for details. Our fearless leader Crystal has returned and will doubtless lead us all on to slimness. (Yeah, the pressure is on!)

##

      I need a nap.

#

      I should be doing housework, writing, errands, but I think I'm going to go back to bed and nap some. Talk to you later.

Wobble

      Still no good news on my niece. She remains in the hospital. Her doctor has the bedside manner of a psychopath, and that comparison is almost an insult to psychopaths everywhere. My sister is working on getting her into another hospital. We hope that will take place soon. My niece is in terrible pain, but she's being very brave. I'm very proud of her. The nurses on her floor are treating her very well. One told my sister that they just loved my niece. If only the doctors were as compassionate and caring as the nurses.
      Or at least competent. It's frightening to discover that an Internet search turned up more information than the doctor knew. I know they can't stay up on everything, but you'd think a specialist would, well, specialize in their field. But this particular doctor was several years behind on current thinking and treatment. It makes you wonder what happens to patients who don't have an active and caring family.
      My good friend Crystal, RN, says that a patient gets better care when they have an advocate with them. Family members or friends who work to understand treatments and help the patient keep track. She recommends that if you have to go the hospital, you take someone with you to help you. It literally can make the difference between life and death.
      Speaking of Crystal, she's in her new place now and getting settled in. She has to buy a new monitor for her computer, but she might be back online this weekend. She's doing well, but not enjoying California as much as she had hoped. Smog is more of a problem than expected, and it's playing havoc with her allergies.
      I haven't been doing anything except watching TV and being worried. It somehow feels wrong to be laugh or have a good time while my niece is in such pain. I know she wouldn't want me to shut down, but I find myself not able to carry on as I normally do. My life revolves around the people I love, and when they're suffering, I suffer, too. It's not necessarily a good thing.
      Anyway, that's where we're at now. I hope we get to a better place soon. Remember my niece and her family in your prayers. Thanks. I hope things are going well for you.

Morning

      A long, worrisome weekend that is leading into a long, worrisome week. The main worry is my niece's condition. I keep hoping and praying that the doctors will figure something out and help her. She has an ob-gyn consult today, and maybe we'll learn something, but more likely, more tests will be ordered. I'll let you know. She thinks they're really trying to help her, but it's frustrating to know she's suffering. I don't like it when the people I love are in pain. It's weird, but I'd much rather it be me than her. It's somehow easier when I'm sick than when they are.
      Otherwise, I mostly slept this weekend. I've been experiencing a mild IBD flare. It's cut into my sleep time so I'm napping constantly. Last night I got about six hours of uninterrupted sleep so I feel a bit better today.
      My local theater group met yesterday. Tempers flared. Not much fun, but I'm hopeful that things will improve. I sure didn't enjoy the stress. I don't know why people take it so blamed seriously. It's not like we're saving the world, folks. It's just so that some people can get on stage and enjoy themselves. That's all. Chill.
      I wrote a bit on Darkness, Oklahoma. I still haven't fixed the "town meeting" problem, but I had several early scenes that needed to be rewritten and new scenes that needed to added. I think I have a way to fix the TM problem, but I need to write on it some more.
      And now it's time to get ready for work.

Today's news on my niece

She had a bad day today. A lot of pain. She had to take so much pain medication that she's really out of it. Tomorrow she will have a consult with the ob-gyn doctor. We're hoping that will result in some sort of answer and treatment. Please continue to think of her and pray for her. Thank you.

Update on my niece

We still don't know anything for certain. They're still running tests and waiting for the results of tests. It could be the Crohn's disease or the endometriosis or some combination of the two or something new like a tumor, God forbid. But she is on pain meds, and that has improved her spirits, and she was able to get some sleep for the first time in days. They allowed her to take some liquid food today, and so far she has been able to tolerate it. I spoke to her briefly over the phone and told her that you guys were praying for her. She told me to tell you 'thank you.' I appreciate her being in your prayers and ask that you continue to lift her up. Thank you.

Prayer request

My oldest niece is in the hospital tonight. Things look a bit grim. I would appreciate you remembering her in your prayers and thoughts. Thank you.

If I Were A Wasp

My stinger would sizzle red hot
as I flew around having great fun
aiming my barb at the deserving lot --

like jerks who will honk at cars run
slow by elderly folks as if such
rudeness could undo what years have done

and talk show hosts who wallow much
in people's pain for crowds who titter
at those who could be them if fate touched

and slobs who casually litter
dropping hamburger wrappers on trails
like we can move when this earth lies bitter

and flaccid fools who slaughter whales
because they unthink precious oils will
put the manly boing back in their quiet bells

the list goes on and now I feel
one wasp could be squashed or even caught
we need an army -- that'll be the perfect deal.

Copyright 2006. All rights reserved.

The Masters & Johnson Diet

      The late great 4-Star chef Louis Saismara once said, "There are two great joys in life: food and sex. And food lasts longer if prepared properly and stored correctly." There, you have it from straight from the mouth of a Frenchman (which sounds unsanitary, but the quote was washed before you read it): Food is better than sex.
      Food has always been attracted to me. It's a curse that I eat under. The good Lord knows I've tried to be less appealing to the vittles. I carry a health-club card around and point it at any German chocolate coke that comes too close (that is, within a mile to me). I wear jogging suits because I've been told that sweat scares food away. I've tried, honestly, I've tried. Do you think I like eating this much?
      But nothing works. I'm just irresistible to food. The minute I go into a restaurant, cherry cheesecakes begin to smile sensuously, and potatoes brush sour cream away from their eyes to wink at me. Tarts pull down the corners of their pastry coverings, revealing the rich, dark blueberry fillings. Lush Italian pizza pies slink toward me, their large pepperoni somehow poking through their thick covering of cheese and tomato sauce.
      "Nothing's better than beef," a steak sizzles. "Sink your teeth into me."
      "The setting sun and pounding surf will satisfy your every appetite," a lobster leers.
      "Lettuce entertain you," the salad bar says, its eyes dressing me with blue cheese and buttermilk ranch.
      "Be strong like a sailor man," the spinach quiche says.
      "Why don't ya just skip all them and let me show a really good time, big boy," a cream pie suggests, swirling its white topping to show me just a glimpse of red, ripe strawberries.
      "We're the best, above the rest," the fried shrimp chant. (For some reason, shrimp always speak together in bad rhymes; I know that's fishy, but it's true.)
      "Are you trying to start something?" the steak asks bullishly, shoving the lasagna. The spaghetti cracks its noodles like a whip at the tacos. The lobster slithers sinisterly toward the cheesecake which heaps more cherries on top of itself in an attempt to be more appealing to me. The shrimp cheer on the steak which intends to defoliate the salad bar.
      A food fight is about to break out. I must choose one of them quickly. But which one? Steak or lobster? What about the salad bar? And those desserts ...
      Then it comes to me, the solution to the problem. I hand the menu to the waiter and say, "I'll take everything."
      It's a curse, I tell you, a curse.

Copyright 2006. All rights reserved.

Closing The Book

It surprised me when I swept off
all the books on the shelf. I thought
I had long since spent my passion
in purchasing your faithless heart.

You feel uncertain of our life,
you tell me. What you mean is your
better love than me may still be
out there. Why settle for less here?

So go. Leaving is how you show
how little you care, how little
you understand the rarity
of love in this non-fiction world.

If this were a story, you would
come back broken and I would let
you love me or even better
introduce you to my new love.

Since this is not, I will pick up
the scattered books and set them back
on the shelf, being sure to set
yours to one side to box later.

Copyright 2006. All rights reserved.

Not boring but not interesting either

      I've had a computer problem all weekend. Not fixed completely, but my computer can continue to limp along a bit longer. The time is coming for a new one, but I hope this one will hold on for a few more months.
      Otherwise, I've not done much to blog about. Read a couple of books, saw The Island, which was a better movie than I expected. Filed a few things, did housework and laundry, worked on Darkness, Oklahoma, enjoyed the rain we received and prayed for more. That's about all for this weekend, and it is all for this post. Catch you tomorrow. If we're lucky, I'll be more interesting then.
     Before I forget, Crystal is fine. She doesn't have her computer set up yet, but maybe we'll see her online sometime in February. And now, good night.

Occasionally

      Occasionally life decides to shock you. It's like that. It wants you to pay attention. So every now and then it throws a surprise at you. Sometimes those surprises are good. Sometimes they're bad.
      Today I was reading blogs at lunch. I have several that aren't my regular reads, but I still have them in my favorites, and I drop by from time to time.
      On one of them, in its latest entry, I noticed an odd reference to a loss. I scrolled down and I discovered the blogger's husband had been killed in a traffic accident in August. I was floored. Somehow I had missed those few posts where she talked about his death, the memorial service and what came after. I don't really know this person. We've been in the same chat room a few times at Forward Motion and exchanged a few "Howdys," but that's it. I know she writes. I know she's friendly with several people that I'm friendly with. How did I miss hearing about the accident? Was I that oblivious to what was going on? I wanted to tell her now how sorry I was to hear of her loss, but it's been several months. Maybe she doesn't want to be reminded of her pain. And after all, we don't know each other. I don't want to cause her any additional pain. I guess I can just remember her in my prayers.
      While wondering about that tragedy, I went to another blog. Mostly to see if it had been updated. The last time it had a new entry was in September. Still no new posts, but I noticed that the last post had several new comments. I had read the old ones before. I opened the comments page and scrolled down to the end to read that the blogger had passed away in November. He caught pneumonia, went into the hospital, and then picked up secondary infections while he was there. He slipped into a coma and never woke up. His blog will continue, I guess, unless Blogger finally decides to do away with it. Until then, his blog remains, a memorial of sorts in cyberspace, a remembrance of what he thought and wrote as ephemeral and fleeting as our lives are but still making an impact on those who surf by.
      If you're expecting a conclusion to this, some grand sweeping statement, sorry. I don't have one beyond the banal and obvious: Life is short. We never know what tomorrow will bring. Today is the first day of the rest of your life ...
      It just makes me think. Uncomfortable thoughts. The ones I push to the dark corners of my mind. I see them, but I steadfastly ignore them, concentrating on what I have to do to get through another day. But they're still lurking, their eyes gleaming yellow. Hear that faint noise? The click of tiny claws. The rustle of paper. Sometimes, just sometimes, when your mind is quiet, when you don't expect it, you feel their hot breath on the back of your neck.

Darkness update

      You may have noticed that I haven't been blogging about Darkness, Oklahoma much. That's because I'm in trouble with it and haven't written my way out. I do know one thing that will become a rule for me: DON'T CREATE A CHARACTER TO FIX A PROBLEM.
      Here's what happened. I have a lot of people in the book who all have pieces of the puzzle. These people need to get together so that they can exchange information. The problem is that many of these people have never even met. I need, in a sense, a town meeting where our heroes can talk to each other.
      So … to fix this, I created a character. A sort of wise man. A player to move all the game pieces. My heroes would all get together because he would get them all together. I wanted him to be quirky and interesting. Wise and funny. Something out of the ordinary run-of-the-mill sages that seem to populate various fantasy books.
      However, this new character created a whole bunch of problems. Why was he withholding information? Why not gather everybody together at first and send them off to do what has to be done? Why play games when so much is at stake?
      Oh, okay, I'll fix that. There'll be a prophecy so that things have to be done in a particular order. But who will give the prophecy? Oh, I know, I'll create an ancient prophet and an ancient, powerful society. But if they were so powerful, why aren't they still around? Okay, there was a war or maybe the gods stuck them down for their pride. Ahem. Recognize the plot yet? If you read much fantasy, you do. And all of this came about just so I could get my heroes together. Which, by the way, still hasn't happened.
      I knew then what I had to do. The wise man had to go. I'd lose nearly 7,000 words, but he had to go. The prophecy stayed but in a much reduced and mysterious form. The ancient prophet and the ancient society, gone.
      I felt ill as I removed the wordage. I still feel a bit queasy. I saved the character in a different file. He had some cool quirks. Maybe I can use him in some other story someday.
      Anyway, that didn't fix the original problem, but at least I don't have all the new problems. Somehow these folks are going to share info. I don't know how yet, but it's going to happen one way or another. I hope you'll be reading the solution soon.

Explanation Of My Survival

When

Darkness draws close and I hunger
for the killing pain, the final fury
and the dead quiet ever after --
When I'm weary, sick of living
in this world where evil rages free
and good lies captive of fearful hearts --
When I long to finally shatter
and let the jagged bloody pieces fall
pass my silent and uncaring hand --

Then

I remember holding you in
the awkward cradle of unsure arms
as you looked at your three-month-old world
with brightly curious eyes and waved
tiny hands and actually smiled when
I made inane baby talk and in
that moment, I gather the pieces
of my heart, shake off my burdens and
let the light shine down on me once more.

Copyright 2005. All rights reserved.

How to beat blue funks

      Recently one of my friends seemed down. She had just fallen over a book bag that someone had inconveniently left on the sidewalk in front of the library. I helped her stand back up.
      "You seem down," I said, helpfully dusting off her clothes and receiving a slap in the face for my efforts.
      "Don't be fresh!" she snarled.
      I shrugged. Many times people don't realize they need help, but I didn't want to push so I didn't mention that she had torn the back of her skirt.
      "I've been in a blue funk lately," she said, sighing. "I guess it's winter."
      "Yes, it is winter," I said, amazed at her ability to grasp the obvious. "Was the 20 degree weather your first clue?" I picked up my book bag.
      "No, you idiot," she said in that sweet affectionate way that so many of my friends adopt when speaking to me. "I mean winter depresses me. The trees are bare, the birds are gone, and the days are short."
      I looked carefully at the trees across the street. Sure, they were missing their leaves, but what did she mean by bare? But I had focus on what was important: I wondered how long it would take for a cold draft to alert her to her torn skirt.
      "There are many ways to beat a blue funk," I said. "First, I'd find a stick --"
      "You do know that a blue funk means a depressed state," she said. "And don't say New Hampshire."
      "I wasn't," I said, offended since I was going to say Montana. "I'm going to tell you ways to get out of a blue funk."
      She raised an eyebrow. Of course, it belonged to a guy who walked past her and then did a double-take.
      "I know I'm going to regret this," she said. "What do you do?"
      I outlined a few quick methods to beat a blue funk without using sticks.
      1. You can count your blessings and realize how much better your life is than most of the world because you live in the USA, but most people think that's no fun.
      2. Wear a chicken suit to work. It will lift your spirits and those of your fellow workers and possibly give you more free time. But if you think that's too fowl and nothing to crow about, read on.
      3. Enjoy a whole, delicious, double-chocolate cake, but be sure to drink a diet Dr Pepper to cancel out all the calories.
      4. Streaking. This will definitely cheer you up as you dash breathlessly through the town, chased by dogs, the police and men with white coats.
      She interrupted me at this point. "Don't be ridiculous," she snapped. "I would never ever streak."
      "Really?" I said, opening the library door and letting her go inside in front of me. "Then you might want to fix your skirt."
      For some reason she blamed me, but her anger lifted her depression. So I had helped her, after all. I'm just amazing.

Copyright 2006. All rights reserved.

"Are They Shadows"

      I've mentioned before how much I love poetry. I picked up that love early and have never wavered from it. Over the next few months, I thought I'd share a few poems that have always spoke to me.
      We'll start out with one by Samuel Daniel. Born in 1562, he was the son of a music teacher. He was educated in Oxford, worked in Paris and Italy, and returned to England to become a successful court poet, writing verses for special occasions, and penning dramatic entertainments. He died in 1619 at his farm in Somerset, England.
      This poem was probably written around 1610 after Daniel was the guest of honor at a masque commissioned by Queen Anne. (A masque was, in the words of Wikipedia, "... a form of festive courtly entertainment. ... Masque involved music and dancing, singing and acting, within an elaborate stage design.") But the poem goes deeper than its surface subject, as all good poems do, and illuminates pleasures remembered. As typical with untitled poems, the first few words are given as the title now.

ARE THEY SHADOWS?
By Samuel Daniel

Are they shadows that we see?
And can shadows pleasure give?
Pleasures only shadows be
Cast by bodies we conceive
      And are made the things we deem
      In those figures which they seem.

But these pleasures vanish fast
Which by shadows are expressed;
Pleasures are not, if they last;
In their passing is their best.
      Glory is most bright and gay
      In a flash, and so away.

Feed apace then, greedy eyes,
On the wonder you behold;
Take it sudden as it flies,
Though you take it not to hold.
      When your eyes have done their part,
      Thought must length it in the heart.

If you were wondering

      If you were wondering why I haven't been writing much this week, I've been busy working on my family's monthly newsletter. I finally received all the articles from the various family members, and I've been typing and editing for the past three days. I hope to finish tomorrow.
      If you were wondering how Crystal was doing in her move to California, I talked to her today. She's currently in Sacramento doing some sightseeing before moving into a temporary place on Saturday. A couple weeks after that, her apartment will be ready, and she'll move again into that. Her job will be near the Mojave Desert, and she and her son are looking forward to exploring the area. I hope they share photos with us. They made the trip fine, despite being pelted with rain, hail and some snow.
      If you were wondering how Darkness, Oklahoma is going, it's going okay. I should have something for my first readers to read at the end of February as per my plan.
      If you were wondering how my Debt Reduction Plan is doing, it's still on course. I'll pay off another credit card in October or November of this year. I'm hoping maybe sooner, but that will depend on how my job goes.
      If you were wondering how the diet is going, check The Great Slim Down 2006 for details.
      If you were wondering how Mikey is doing, he's doing okay. He and his mom have moved away from here, which is disheartening and I miss him a lot, but he seems to have adapted. Kids bounce back sometimes better than we do. I hope to see him soon.
      If you were wondering when I'm going to end this entry ... Now.

Sunset this evening

Sunset this evening.
Copyright 2006. All rights reserved.

Beautiful orchid

      My good friend AmberClear raises orchids, among her many other talents. She sent me this photo and allowed me to post it here. This particular orchid is a "potinara Danny Adams 'Edith North'" variety.
Photo is Copyright 2005 by AmberClear. All rights reserved.

Clarity

       Apparently I wasn't clear in my previous post about comment moderation as I received a couple of emails from people who believe that I am under an obligation to post their comments, however smugly snide they are.
      So this doesn't apply to 99.9 percent of the people who come here. But for that .1 percent, let's go over it slow, and I will use small words. This is my blog. I determine content. If I don't like your comment for whatever reason, I won't post it. I don't have to explain. I don't have to be fair. If you don't like it, don't come here. Why is this so difficult to understand? Apparently you want attention of some sort. You won't get it here. Move on.
      This is all the time I'm going to spend on this. I've changed my filter so that emails from those people will simply go straight to the spam filter. This is my final, high-handed, undemocratic word on it.

Comment moderation

      With great reluctance, I have enabled comment moderation. The troll returned today, posting profanity and vulgarity. Its comments have been deleted and will no longer appear.
      Comment moderation means your comments might have a delay in showing up, but they will eventually show up.
      I apologize to most of you. I welcome your comments and will attempt to check my blog often to allow them to show up quickly. I know this will cut down on the number of comments, but I'm willing to do that so that 51313 Harbor Street remains what I intend it to be: a positive, family-friendly blog.
      For those few who apparently dislike this blog or its contents, you are not welcome. The Net is huge place. I'm sure you can find some other blog that will welcome your profanity, vulgarity and insulting comments. Seek them out as you will no longer be allowed to comment here. Also, because of my email filter, I am able to never see the comments at all. You will be speaking into a void. I find that both amusing and sad.
      Anyway, once again, I apologize to my faithful readers for this inconvenience. Know that I value your input and your friendship. Thank you.

Recent reading

      A couple of days ago, Erudite Redneck asked what books his readers were reading. I meant to answer over there, but I didn't. So I'll share what I've read recently and what I'm currently reading.
      What I read:
      Ansel Adams at 100 by John Szarkowski. A short biography about and substantial number of photos by the famed American photographer.
      The Amorous Busboy of Decatur Avenue by Robert Klein. Klein's memoir is fast, funny and interesting as he covers his life until he's 25. I hope he writes more.
      Where Trouble Sleeps by Clyde Edgerton. A New York Times bestseller in which we learn some of the past of Edgerton's fictional Listre, North Carolina.
      The Goodbye Body by Joan Hess. This is the first of this series that I've read, but I'm going to find the others. It's a good, fast mystery with lots of humor.
      Side Effects by Nancy Fisher. A medical thriller (think Robin Cook) about a drug that restores youth but has a terrible side effect that someone is killing a lot of people to conceal.
      The Sugar House by Laura Lippman. Another mystery series, but I didn't like it as much as the one by Hess. Tess Mongaghan is a female detective, tough with lots of family problems. Not bad, but a bit grim.
      Origami: 30 Fold-By-Fold Projects by Paulo Mulatinho. Truthfully I only got this book because it had two folding models that I hadn't done or seen before. But it's well illustrated and accessible to a dedicated beginner if you'd like to try your hand at origami.
      Currently reading:
      202 Digital Photography Solutions by George H. Wallace and Chuck Gloman.
      The Complete Photography Course by Michael Joseph and Dave Saunders.
      A Short History of Nearly Everything by Bill Bryson.
      All these books, except for A Short History of Nearly Everything, belong to my local library and are, as of today, overdue. Sigh. Oh well, my fines will help them buy more books, I guess.

Cool photo

A cool photo of my friend Randall that he took of
himself with his camera phone.
Copyright 2005 by Randall. All rights reserved.

Why I had to blog today

      Today I wasn't going to blog because I was feeling down about the troll yesterday. Yes, I know that I shouldn't let his/her opinion matter to me, and I know he/she isn't worth the time, but it happened, and it got me to thinking about how easy it is for us to be cruel to each other and wondering why that is so.
      Don't think that I'm going to go and on about how worthless humanity is, because I'm not. We're the best and brightest to come along so far, and we do some pretty amazing things. We also do some really stupid things. And I've been wondering lately how is that going to balance out. When will we tip the scale toward the light finally and permanently?
      Of course, a lot of people believe we won't get better. That eventually we will get so bad that the world will have to be destroyed in fire. They back this up with a lot of Biblical scholarship. And they're probably right. I certainly haven't studied the issue enough, but I think that it will be sad if that is so. I find many good things in this world; I'd hate to think of them fading into that long night. But that's me in a nutshell. I'm always hopeful, but I plan for the worst.
      Considering how hard this world is, how many burdens we all carry, you'd think we'd try to be kinder to each other, even to those who have opinions and lifestyles of which we disapprove. But we're not. We shout at each other, we blog terrible things about each other, we attack beliefs, faiths, lifestyles, politics, their very lives. And we give no quarter and take no prisoners. We smile when the other guys are hurt or humiliated. Because we know we're right, we don't feel pity. Just contempt.
      Are we so small? If that is all we are, then bring on the fire. Let it all be swept away. I'll strike the match.
      But.
      Then I think of other things.
      Like my babies, some of whom have grown up and are having babies of their own.
      Like my siblings, who have traveled this wild road with me so far.
      Like my friends, some of whom have known me for more than 30 years now, and we're still close.
      And you, my blogging buddies. Those folks whom I've never met in "real" life, but still care about me and are cared about by me.
      And all those people out there working to make the world a better place in hospitals, soup kitchens, homeless shelters, schools, homes, churches, small towns and large cities, all those keeping themselves above water and helping others stay afloat.
      And finally the God I serve, a God of hope, a God of joy, a God who enjoys a good joke and maybe a Dr Pepper every now and then between creating universes. A God that is my friend however unworthy I am.
      And so maybe this troll did a good thing because as I thought about those things, I realized I didn't feel sad after all.
      What I feel is, what I mean to say is that we are blessed. And it's still a pretty good world. So let's not have that fire just yet.
      That's what I wanted to say and why I had to blog today.
      So good night, pleasant dreams, and someday we will rise to greet a new, wondrous world.

Troll

      Well, if you've been watching my comments today, you know that I've been dealing with a troll. At first I responded, but now I've simply deleted everything he/she has said as well as my responses. Life is too short, and I should have never given him/her the attention. He/she may continue to comment, but I will be deleting them.
      I appreciate those that defended me so much, but I've deleted your comments, too, since they didn't make any sense without the troll's. I will continue to delete his/her comments until he/she gets tired of this and goes somewhere else to play. I don't want to turn on comment moderation since that's a pain, but I will if I must. 51313 Harbor Street was never meant to be a place to debate anything. Those who wish to do so should check out the blogs of 4 Rows Back or Erudite Redneck. You'll find plenty of people there who like to rumble.

We Move In Darkness

We move in darkness
We know our way
around our bodies
where the touch
dissolves in sinsation,
where my/your breath
becomes our breath.
where we forget
what we've been told,
where our words fall
and moans shout

We untangle dreams
We know how
to gingerly do that,
to take what we need
while leaving enough,
to focus on ourselves
without losing sight,
to satiate without
extinguishing,
to fall into heavy night
and land to walk away

We know these things
We've learned the art
of giving only so much
that we are not taken,
of going only so far,
of keeping ourselves,
on safe ground,
careful to never lose
ourselves wholly,
of not going where
we couldn't return.

If only we could hurtle
into the empty night
our bodies ablaze
with glorious hunger,
our flesh melting
into one creature,
our dreams meshing
into one far-off city,
our mingled passion
bringing forth
light in the dark.

Copyright 2005. All rights reserved.

Why cavemen would be ashamed of us

      As I have always pictured it, Marquis de Sade was sitting in his imitation-leather throne, resting his feet on Toady, his lawyer. Although the Marquis had just finished torturing some small children by making them watch presidential debates, he still felt displeased.
      "Toady, I feel displeased," he said.
      "Why, oh great one?" Toady asked.
      "Well, for one thing, the lack of wide-spread enthusiasm for torture," the Marquis sighed. "I had hoped that many people would discover the joys of this good, clean pastime besides the CIA."
      "You did sponsor those rap concerts," Toady pointed out.
      "Well, yes ..."
      "And what about your success with Paris fashions for women?" Toady continued. "Women are wearing uncomfortable rubber clothes that make them look like an explosion at a tire factory. What more could you want, mighty and huge lower colon?"
      "True, I have had my little successes," the Marquis said. "Still, if I could just involve more people, get whole families involved in painful and humiliating activities." He strode to the window, past the large portraits of heavy metal bands and television evangelists, and looked out over the wilderness. Suddenly inspiration struck.
      "I have it!" he announced. "The perfect activity that whole families will do together! It'll cause them pain and misery! They'll bicker, they'll fight, they'll try to stab each other with sharpened sticks! We'll call it camping!"
      "Camping?" Toady asked.
      "Yes, yes, people will go out into the wilderness and sleep in tiny tents that force them to bend their bodies like pretzels," the Marquis said. "They'll suffer with half-cooked food, horrible weather and fight off mosquitoes as big as albatrosses! There'll be snakes and bears and gigantic blood-sucking ticks and chiggers!"
      "I don't know, oh great and bloated one," Toady said, doubtfully. "You actually think it'll catch on? Surely people are too smart."
      Toady, of course, was wrong. Each year, millions of families spend millions of dollars to return to the wilderness that their forefathers spent thousands of years getting out of. It's enough to make a caveman weep.
      Now, don't think that I'm criticizing the great all-American sport of camping. I like being miserable just as much as the next guy. The way I look it, you just can't measure such things in terms of the number of mosquito bites and poison ivy hives. No, the proper way to rate a camping trip is how many weeks you have to spend in a hospital following it.
      And I know what I'm talking about. I went camping a fair amount in my teens because my parents forced my participation in the Righteous Rangers, a church organization similar to Boy Scouts. In fact, the only difference between us and the Boy Scouts was that we worked harder; after all, if we didn't get those badges, we knew we would suffer eternally in torment.
      Every Wednesday night, our parents would drop us boys at the fellowship hall of the church. Our commanders would lead us in reciting the Pledge of Allegiance, the Lord's Prayer and, of course, the Ranger Credo (which went: "As a Righteous Ranger, I promise to be truthful, kind, honest and caring, and promise to obey my commanders in all things even though they don't have the combined intelligence of a wart-hog" or something like that).
      After which we would sing a few hymns and then devote the rest of the evening to discovering exactly how many ways we could burn, cut, fold, mutilate and spindle ourselves with the assorted tools of wood carving, leather working, knot tying, etc.
      A few words at this point spring to mind about our commanders, but they are mostly unprintable. I'm probably being unfair to those men. After all, they could have stayed home and watched television; instead, they gave up their hard-earned leisure time to come to church and make some boys very, very miserable. They were sick men.
      About once a month, our supreme commander would stand and announce our monthly camping trip. We greeted this with groans and pleas, but it was to no avail. Off we would go into the wilderness.
      I am exaggerating somewhat when I say wilderness. Usually we would camp in someone's pasture in which cows had thoughtfully left little surprises to keep us on our toes or actually to keep our eyes on the ground. In fact, our campsites taught us the joys of shoes. Most of us country boys ran around barefoot; that changed. After you've plopped your foot into a wet, cold pile of cow surprise and felt it ooze between your toes, you realize that shoes are a gift from heaven and not just something your mother wants you to wear for appearance's sake.
      After we set up camp, we would then work on the outdoor badges: stargazing, tracking, camp cooking, fire-starting, etc. Don't think these were easy, either. For instance, to get your fire-starting badge, you had to start a fire with only one match. You got one chance each camp-out. The wind would be blowing, the leaves and grass would be wet (it always rained on us), and you only got one match. It was practically impossible, but one camp-out, Harry Havelock actually did it.
      After he had received his badge, we boys took him off into the woods and forced the truth out of him. He had carefully soaked some twigs in charcoal starter and then slipped them into his fire teepee. With that information, several of us rapidly received our fire-starting badges at the camp-outs that followed.
      All of us would have claimed that badge, but Max Latimore soaked his twigs in gasoline. Not only did he start a fire, he also took his eyebrows and most of his hair clean off. The commanders finally caught on (probably the fact that a log in Max's fire took off and actually pierced the side of our bus was their first indication that something was wrong) and thereafter required us to gather the firewood and kindling while they watched.
      After we had a fire going, it was time for one of us to earn his camp-cooking badge by cooking breakfast, lunch and supper for the entire troop. For some reason, we all cooked the same things: scrambled eggs with bits of twigs and bacon and burned toast for breakfast, Sloppy Joe hamburgers (take one pound of hamburger and drop it on the ground at least twice; brush off the worst of the dirt; drop it into the skillet; add two cans of soup; spoon onto hamburger buns; tell everyone that you're not hungry) for lunch, and stew for dinner (some veggies, breakfast and lunch leftovers, and a couple cups of water). None of us
ever brought dessert, although Rolaids-Tums-Jello would have been perfect.
      After the last meal of the day, it was time to bed down for the night. I always dreaded this. The commanders assigned us our two-man pup tents in alphabetical order. This meant that I would share a tent with Rudolf Chester. Rudolf wasn't a bad sort, despite the fact that he was named for a cartoon deer. His problem was that his mother always packed him cabbage and corned beef sandwiches that Rudolf's stomach and lower intestine found hard to digest. There were stomach growls and belches and, ahem, other natural body noises. I won't go on, other than to mention that starting a fire with one match in our tent would have been easy. In fact, we would have gone up like a rocket.
      After the miserable nights would come miserable days. Days at camp would be given over to various activities, such as hiking up steep trails, falling off steep trails, running from hornets, treating stings, putting lotion on poison ivy, setting bones, etc. For some reason, every single one of us had his First-Aid badge.
      I haven't even mentioned the worst part of camping, which is the restroom problem; the problem being, of course, that there weren't any. Depending on the length of the camp-out, we sometimes had to dig latrines, but for the most part, it was find a convenient place near a tree and dig a hole. You needed to be near a tree so that you had something to hold on. Choosing the proper tree was important. It needed to be small enough that you could get a good grip on it or have a convenient branch for that purpose. The variety of tree is also important as Billy Watson once found out. He dug his hole near a small tree and squatted to do his business while holding on to the tree trunk, not realizing that he had chosen a cottonwood tree. Cottonwood bark comes off easily. I think we'll leave Billy's story there -- which is what we wanted to do with Billy afterwards.
      Now having said all this, you probably are thinking, "Hey, it couldn't have been that bad. Surely you have at least one good memory of camping." And to be fair, there were those glorious mornings when the sun would rise and spread a rosy symphony across the sky and a single bird would be singing softly in the evergreens. And the only other sound would be me gasping for breath in my tent.
      The Marquis would be pleased.

Copyright 2005. All rights reserved.