August 1945

And so the world was
soft orange when the letter arrived from Jed
on a day in late summer with only the wind around for companionship
flatness was out and wavey auroras of the spent day hovered on the horizon were in
side of the mind recalled how long it had been
since the last communiqué coming from over there, yonder where I yearned to go
what is left to tell of his scribbled ink
of the orange day when hearts were knitted, before the dawn of sorrow
when the world was unblemished by sun spots
never the same, shadows
growing, dispelling, dismissing the light— as before
for he will not be home
tomorrow
but three days hence,
before the post makes the rounds again
beyond the withered willow, down the road from Ms. Snow
Jed shall finally behold what he held so dear.

Lions, Gators, ...Cape Buffalo? Oh my!

Quick Quip:

Just one bite of African veal

Was more than my pride could bear.

Yard Sale

There is a reason why we haven’t had a yard sale in ten years. I hate putting together and holding a yard sale. So why did I decide to have one last Saturday? Because there really isn’t ever a really good and justifiable reason for having one, I’ll just say that the devil made me do it and the fires of his domain were extra toasty that day— so toasty that I could feel it. I sweated in it. I was burned by it…extra crispy.

My kids were so excited to have a yard sale. Our oldest was only a baby when we had the last one. To make things more exciting, we gave up our home court advantage to set up shop in front of a friend’s house [who happens to live on a much busier street…and to our surprise had two other homes hosting a yard sale] and we invited or suckered another friend to join us for a fun filled day in the sun.

Anyone who has ever had a yard sale [I think I can safely say that everyone reading this post has held at least one…I mean it’s like trying to find someone who hasn’t at least once, touched a 9V battery to their tongue to see if it still had any juice left] can attest to the fact that finding stuff to sell in a yard sale is about as much fun as pulling thistle with your bare hands. To de-junk is one thing, to gather junk and place a pathetically priced price tag on it another story.

7:30 am I set up shop. One of the weird things about Lubbock, is that people hold yard sales 365 days a year, weather permitting. Having two other people on the street hosting yard sales only makes the garbage pile bigger, thus attracting more scavengerous beasts. I met some of the strangest people…perhaps they watch Antique Road Show too often. I sold a few items to a lady who even asked me “Why do people buy stuff like this when they don’t need it?” as she continued to add junk to the growing pile in her arms. Because I was shallow enough to want her $3.50, I refrained from honestly answering that question.

Another couple pulled up in their van, the wife toting a small plastic baggy of loose change. I dubbed her Queen Haggle. $1.00 was the only number she knew and for her, nothing at a yard sale should ever be priced higher than a dollar. In fact, she gathered up several items together and insisted that she get all of them for a $1.00. Now with each passing moment, her husband’s face was getting redder and redder, the veins were bulging… “Honey, give me a dollar.” “The ATM has run out of dollar bills!” “Oh, pipe down and give me the bag.” She proceeded to count out her loose change. Why was I so willing to give in to her powers of persuasion? I mean it was pocket change! I was hot. I was tired. I was burned. I was miserable. Did her jingle of coins offer any relief to what I was enduring?

I closed up shop sometime after 5:00, a few dollars richer, none the wiser, but in a last ditch effort to rid myself of my wares, I put up a sign that said FREE. Three ladies hopped out of a car, looked through everything that was left, loaded up their arms with stuff and left with smiles on their faces. What didn’t sell, was taken to United Way.

I think I'm good for another 20 years.

An Open Letter to Donny Osmond

Donny,

Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat is one of my favorite musical plays. I have seen many productions of this play. Ever since you did your stint as Joseph in the 1999 production, I have wanted to see it. My MIL had the opportunity to see it live when your show traveled to SLC. She enjoyed the show. Recently, as a birthday present, my MIL gave me a DVD copy of this particular production. I was really excited to see it and share it with my children because it would allow them to finally see the visual story line [we have had a CD of another version for many years and they enjoy the songs, but they had never been able to fully appreciate the entire story on the stage].

How sorely disappointed I was to see that You, a man who should have some sense of moral compass, allowed yourself to be portrayed as a Joseph who does not flee from the grasps of Potipher’s wife. That is a main part of the story. Joseph flees from her! My kids know the Bible version. He flees! That is one central part that makes Joseph’s character so great. To be a part of a production that illustrates otherwise diminishes the value of the story and wrecks the moral high road that you have trodden for most of your life. Was it worth the money?

Signed,

Sorely Disappointed in Lubbock

Random Storyish

The Bed Warden

Each night the old man sat at the foot of the bed like some warden. Was he there to protect or keep us confined? Were there silhouettes of minions or just the need to see us off to sleep? Some questions are never answered in life, especially in our childhood. Like many other summer nights, this one was hot. The ceiling fan twirled in a blur: little comfort could it bring. Was he still watching, or had he dozed off himself?

I don’t recall what brought the warden the first time. I just know that he’s been around for some time now, like clock work. Strange part is, when I awake, he’s gone...like the shadows of the night. The warden, he don’t say much. Just sits there and listens to the music of the night. He’s kind enough to change the CD periodically, so we don’t get so tired of the same old songs. My eyelids always get so heavy. Does he make it through the entire CD? The oiled hinges of the door always muffle his escape. Why does he get to escape? The Phantom Warden. That’s what he is. What are the benefits of being a warden? Is there a health and dental plan? Is it volunteer work? Is he more like the tooth fairy that has some strange complex and obsession? The rumpled bedding near my feet offer no answers. Let me ponder, perhaps inspiration will follow, silently.

Paradox Of Lubbock

Following stereotypes, Texas is supposed to be rough and tough-cowboy central. Last night my wife and I had a chance to see the flip side. Lubbock has an event called First Friday Art Trail. It’s free. It involves art. It involves trolleys. Yes trolleys. And it takes place on the first Friday of the month. It get’s even crazier than that. Let me unfold last night’s events. We showed up at the Buddy Holly Museum [one of the two main starting points] and there we had the chance to listen to some music from the emerald isle out in the open air of the veranda. Roan-inish was the name of the rag-tag band and they even had a lil lass dancing an occasional jig...like a mini River Dance.

The event uses four different trolleys. San Fran style is the only way to go! So we hopped onto a trolley and off we went to the next “display” of local talent. Of all possible places to set up an artistic display, the place we ended up was at the bottom of the list. A Subaru dealership. That’s right folks. A used car lot. Inside the store, they had some very nice pottery, some pretty oil paintings, some nice hand made wood furniture, some acrylic paintings that my five year old could have done [yes, I said a 5 year old... at the risk of offending readers who may view art to be anything produced by a proclaimed artist], and some handmade [possible factory made from China] jewelry. Our voyeuristic journey was over in less than five minutes. This meant that we still had some time to kill before the next trolley came to whisk us away to our next stop. So we looked at used cars. I ought to add that in addition to selling Subaru’s, they also dabbled in Cadillac, Lexus, BMW, and Mercedes...so there were some nice cars to look at and some hefty price tags to go with them.

At last came the trolley and off we went to a much larger facility and there we saw paintings, artistic quilts, photographs, sculptures, pottery and other canvassed art. I also ought to mention that each place served refreshments...and did I mention that it was all free? Our last leg of the journey, before heading back to the Buddy Holly Shrine, was at the Tornado, were we saw more paintings, sculptures, and a Spanish dancer. Upon our return we sat and listened to more of Roan-inish. They even brought out a bag pipe. By then it was time for us to retrieve our brood from the neighbors and send them off to bed.

All in all it was a smashing night. And we made a mental note to scratch off car dealerships from any future outings that involve art. So you see us Texans have a soft spot for culture, we just have to scrape the cow pies off the boots, cinch up the bolo tie, polish our belt bucket and six shooters, and dust off our Stetson and we’z ready for the opera.

Responsible Parenting

Uhhhhh.....let’s see now, we have been doing this 4th of July with kids thing for 11 years now and would you believe it, this was the first year that our kids sat and enjoyed one of them there big city folk firework shows.

You see, you have to understand the dichotomy of the situation. I was raised as one of them kids who regularly enjoyed the big shows until my 16th year and the Stadium of Fire was more of a Stadium of Ice (but that’s another story). My wife on the other hand was raised with a different set of traditions. Her family had block fire work shows...those who lived on the block all added to the pot-luck or stash of fireworks and then they would light them off after it got dark. Once we was married we just stuck with the tradition from her side of the family and that was that. Our kids never felt like they were missing out.

Last year was the first year that we found ourselves alone for the 4th. Being in the great state of Texas, we decided to purchase [legally] the cool fireworks...the kind that leave the ground. We then decided to get together with another friend of the family and we had our own private show...and watched some of the neighbor’s fireworks.

I’m sure that most of you are aware that these “legal” fireworks are just the toddler version of the “excuse me, but do you have a permit for these” fireworks that the bigger cities usually light off.

This year we decided to brave the crowds and attend the fireworks in the park [free admission] celebration. I think whenever you attach the word free, it tends to bring folks out of the wood works...hey it brought us out. Nevertheless, we found a spot in which we could park and lay out a blanket. Now our kids were not used to having to wait [being pretty much idle for an 1 1/2 hrs.] for it to get dark enough for the city to do its thing. As such they was a plenty tired and ornery. We almost packed up and went home when 10:05 rolled around and they still hadn’t started...after all, we had already watched as plenty of other folks nearby just set off their own fireworks as fast as they could touch the punk to the fuse.

Lo and Behold, the real firework show began and the kids were all a oooohhhhss and aaahhhhhhs and “Mom did you see that one?!” or “Dad, can you believe that one looked like Saturn?” The bottom line is, the show was a success. Our kids exclaimed several times that they wanted to come watch them again next year.