I like the rhythm of words. I don't know much about definitions, but I do enjoy context. And I believe that timing is tantamount. A word properly placed can break a tie. A word properly heard can break the ice. A word not heard at all has got to be felt. Deaf is not all that bad unless you're deaf and mute is not all that bad if you care not to listen, but to say that a child is deaf mute, that conjures a whole different connotation. Bad definitely does too. But if you would say that is good that may be bad to some. So what. That's what I say. Whatsoever. What a weird word whatsoever. But I like it a lot when it's attached to other words. In other words too. Yes. Yes is another weird word for me. I like how yes feels. Unless I was on the opposite side of Barabbas. But then I would be on the opposite side of Jesus who's been portrayed as a person who could give a shit less about his ass or Barabbas' ass. And suddenly, I'm thinking, why am I such an ass about this. And yes, there is a reason. And even if I told you, you may not be in the same rhythm I am and even if your are or were, who's to say that what whatever you are or where would change the direction of where these words were going to go or have gone to now here or no where. At times I wonder. Doo da wop.

                                                           

No matter what, it's difficult to define.I have a question for you avid bloggers out there. During the course of your day when you're doing this or that do you think when you see a certain scene or hear a certain song that you may want to share with your friends later on when you sit down to blog. I do, but I never did, until today. Today I made a conscious effort to remember what I was thinking about a chunk of hours earlier. I actually marvel that we humans have the power to reflect. I know my dogs remember a lot of stuff, but I'm not sure they have the power to reflect on it. Damn that bone was good, especially the succulent meat by the thigh...I would have appreciated it more if there was a generous amount of fat around it, but what the fuck, I'm getting old, and I was lucky that the butcher gave Tom the bone that he did....I really hate the laws of New York...although, the world's getting pretty fucked up globally, so I'm not even sure I'd be allowed into a butcher shop in any part of the world anymore..and then, for all I know, I may even be construed as good enough to eat in some countries....I suppose I should be glad. Well, I just think that animals know stuff and they don't have to waste a lot of time thinking about it. But who knows, there may come a time where we humans have trained our animals so well, that they'll be able sit down in the evening and blog about their day. Hey Tom...yes Bindu... remember that song we heard today, the one where I was really wagging my tail...oh yes, the song by the Eurhytmics...yes...that's the one....what's the name of it...sweet dreams are made of this...oh yeah, that's it....check out my tail, I can't keep it from wagging. Yeah, but do you remember the one I was tapping the dashboard with...that's the one we're going to use tonight.
                                

There you go, there's a word to play around with tonight. What's the kindest cut you ever got. I got cut from a team I never wanted to play with. Bullshit? I had the finest cut of medium rare prime rib at a wedding back in 1977. I cut my lip shaving. Shaving my pubic hairs. Oh my. I would have won that fight if the referee didn't call in the ring doctor to take a look at the cut above my eye. TKO. A glass broke in the sink. I missed the pass because I cut the wrong way. I've never cut the mustard...that just doesn't  make sense to me. And I've danced a lot, but I've never cut the rug. I should have had stitches a few times. Once especially when my daughter cut her finger. It's not always about me. I remember buying cold cuts at 99 cents a pound. I don't ever remember having to take a cut in pay. And I've never worried about having to cut someone down to size or even having to have to. And when I get a cut (not a gash) I'll more than likely lick the blood. I don't like bloody mary's, not because I feel that I'm a cut above that drink, but maybe it's because it's because I feel one shouldn't cut the great taste of vodka. I'll bet you that I could make a great movie on this very topic, but I'd have to get a very patient and willing director...otherwise all I'd be hearing is cut...cut ...cut!  And that just wouldn't cut it for me. Here, take these flowers...they're fresh cut.

                                                       

I understand your message loud and clear. I believe that if we don't get a bailout, things will likely get worse before they get better. 12,000 jobs will be lost each day from here on in. And that's from coast to coast. Across the nation, 73,000 stores will close and a whole fucking shitload of people will be unemployed. Buffalo, N.Y. right now, is a good place to ride out a bad economy. But what I don't care about is the fact that some mother in law may be inhabiting the white house soon. I don't know why I'm mad about this, because if I were elected, I may want to bring along my wife's aunt fanny. Fanny's 88 and still drives a 2004 Chevrolet Cavalier which I went with her to help pick out. I wanted her to buy the malibu, but she either didn't like the price, color or size....and she said no. I don't like the feel of right now. There is no such thing. To some, my pants are on fire. Do you see what's happening here tonight. There's a lot on fire. Two brain injured marines will testify. I wanted to be a kindygarten teacher....but, now I just want to kill all kids...so...because I don't think...they have it in them ...to become marines....and...and, I don't want want them to become like me. Please...please, don't get get me wrong....I'd love to walk again, but more than anything, I want to learn on how to be proud...collectively. Well son, here's a bayonet in your heart. And here's a karote chop to your neck. A fight ensues. You hurt me and I'll sue you. See you in court. Do you think we could marry there. Maybe tarry.

Last night a blog took a shit on me while I was about to post it.  It was early and I had enough time to do it all over again, but I said fuck it, and went into the bedroom, plopped my carcass on the bed to watch a little hbo and then snoozed until the bride came in and asked...are you asleep. That's not really a dumb question, because if one is really sound asleep...or dead, there will be no answer. Anyway, I'm already forgetting what it is that I cared to talk about tonight. Oh yes, it's about how some things run so deep, that I'm not even conscious about it. For example...this song...beware of darkness. I've used it on a blog before and I was thinking...don't use it again. Why not. And here it is. Something new. But how do I make it new. I make it new, with old knowledge. In 1972 I backpacked alone in Poland for 8 weeks during that hot and muggy summer. But really, nothing is ever done alone. I've realized that a long time ago. And the word uwaga always made me aware of that. I saw it often on signs posted here and there. I heard it often as a child when my mother or grandmother would say it to me. It's instilled even though I can hardly speak the language.  It means beware...or possibly ...watch out...or pay attention...or be aware. But the word didn't matter much, as much as the way it was said, the way it sounded to my young ears...the way it felt. And this little song tonight, a duet of sorts, brings a chill to me every time I hear it. It's never redundant to me. It's caring and protective like a long bloodline that I have buried deep within. It's like peace. And peace is something I have struggled to understand almost daily. And it is said, that there was this man Jesus who said ...I leave you my peace....and now it's being disputed whether or not he ever existed. And it has been recorded that he said in his own words, forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who tesspassed against us and ....deliver us from this minute darkness becuase we are good. And good will transcend..because we remember our goodness.

And now I remember...yesterday's blog was about body language....   yes we know always...in advance..the signs that are given.

                           

The Bills are playing in Toronto this late afternoon. I'm thinking of my dear friend Liza who lives near there. Where's there? Anywhere, Canada. It's all so foreign to me anyway. Friendship. Possibly because of limitations. Arms length etc. And, here I am, playing with definitions again. She's a kind and lovely warm person. I don't have a foot fetish, but I like her feet....and mimi's toes need to be sucked. As for me and my toes, it's as complex as mitosis. But, this is not about me, it's about Liza's toes which she always hides. So, the next time Mimi, Liza & Tom are together, we are going to get good and high...and since Liza is so petite, she will probably nod off first...although, Mimi is so much older than her, she may nod off first...and of course there's me who always claims to be a ball of fire and has been known to fall asleep before the good times roll. And yet, I'm hoping that Liza will fall asleep first, so Mimi and I can pull off her shoes and socks, her girdle (oops that must be mimi I'm thinking about) and her bullet proof vest and her thong, so we can slip her into mimi's flannel pajamas and slide her safely into the comfortable looking bed in the bedroom off the hall that's just left of the bathroom with the mysteriously beckoning medicine cabinet. And even though I'm thinking it may be kinda cool to snap a picture of her naked feet and post it to one of my blogs...I know...that's not what friend's are for. But, I'm sure she'll show mimi and me in private...eventually.

btw....it's not me....it's mimi's prompting.

                                                   

I'm a lucky guy. I found 26 cents in the parking lot while going into Tim Horton's this morning. I put the quarter & the penny in the plastic change container so kids can go to camp. I trust it's not a scam. Isn't it weird that there are times that I'm not sure I can even trust charity. How can you be sure that the money you give is going to that little kid with the empty bowl in her hands, standing there, right near the railroad tracks as the train is passing. Why should you care. Isn't it the giving that matters the most. Scams help people exist even though they are scum. You scammy scum you. I may be lucky because I've been able to stop and think about stuff like this lately. And it always goes back to the Lord's prayer, the Hail Mary prayer and the Act of Contrition & om tare tutare ture soha too. As I walk with the dogs in the dark of the early morning, these incantations surface. Hail full of grace, forgive me my  trespasses as I forgive those who've done me wrong because I am heartily sorry for being unworthy of your love. This is very personal, I really shouldn't be blogging about it, but I figure someone has to show you the way it works...free of charge. No tithing necessary here. Although, if you've been miserly for the last 23 years and you are pissed off at all your friends and relatives and you wish to bequeath the 567, 863 dollars & 97 cents you have in a storage box in your basement to your local SPCA because you love cats...in fact, you have ten of them roaming around your house, and they all look pretty well fed....and don't get me wrong, that's a pretty noble thing to do....but could you do me a huge favor...could you leave me eight hundred and sixty seven dollars and ninety seven cents so I can fix the whole in my roof. It's not raining lately...it's snowing and my snoring is annoying the neighbors. Be directly considerate of those nearest to you. Treat them like yourself.

                                       


                                              

You can't handle the truth. I would think that most people would be able to handle anything that's presented, but would rather not. But, there are those that freeze and become somewhat incapacitated. That's fine, unless they're the person next up to bat with two outs and runners on second and third in the bottom of the ninth and their team is down a run. Time out. Are you Ok. Yeah, I'm fine. Do you know what you have to do. Yeah, I have to spank a line drive and bring the runners in so we can win the game. Strike two, the count is now 0 & 2. This is the stuff feel good movies are made of. Have you ever fantasied being the hero? I used to, but I have curtailed doing so in my life. It used to be fun and I may have spent thousands of minutes doing so....but something just made me quit. It's not like it doesn't happen anymore, but I seem to catch it. Like my old fantasy coming to fruition. A thought, like a hard hit ball to left center field and the announcer saying...this one looks as though it's gone...and out of nowhere, me the center-fielder leaps about a foot and a half above the wall and the ball somehow ends up in the web of my glove and that miraculous save ends the game...except for the fact that my alter ego running  halfway towards first base realizes that he just lost the game by not being able to slap a line drive over the shortstop's head. Hey, don't worry about it man....that was a great shot....he just made a lucky catch. Groan. Yea yea...boo boo.

I'm not one for organization even though I played on many teams throughout my life. I like to play and I don't like to have to go through a whole lot of bullshit before I can play. I think that's why I took up running when I was 30. It's a solo project .I throw on a pair of sneakers, some sweat pants, and a T and  just bolt out the door. The only competition is my last time out. Although races take on a whole different psychology. I want to better my time from the last time out, and I want to out run the one who's puffing hard behind my heels and is making a loud clomping sound with their sneaks. I always made a discreet effort to glance over my shoulder to see who this obnoxious runner was behind me. And then, that's when the silent competition would begin. I ran for about 16 years and then quit cold turkey after our Julie was born because I was always on duty for the 6am feeding...plus we had a puppy too, that needed to be walked. And, since I always loved to run at six in the morning, all this extra stuff in my life was a great excuse not to run anymore. So, for the last sixteen years, I've been walking instead. Funny though, what hasn't changed, is my competitive spirit. This Thanksgiving, the bride, kids and I did the annual Turkey Trot. It's a five mile event and this year, Buffalo, NY had ten thousand people participating in it. I initially thought I could walk it in under an hour. But, that's a damn crazy pace for a walk. Maybe next year. Anyway, our family got separated in chunks. Except for me, I was alone. Luke and Kellie were together, Malina was with her boyfriend, and mom & Julie were hand in hand. And there I was, being true to my former form walking briskly, looking over my shoulder, listening to the huffing and puffing and clomp clomps and me thinking to myself....I'll be damned if I'm going to allow anyone making that much fucking noise walking to pass me in this race. Although, I cheated a little bit...I started to jog just so I could create a little distance between me and them. Our Kellie who never ran five miles in her life beat us all, while Luke was seconds behind and the rest of us were minutes and minutes behind. And even though I felt good with my time, I was the overall loser because I lost the keys to the car and we had to do some scrambling to get home so we could get the turkey in the oven so it would be cooked for the arrival of our guests.

Here's a weird addendum to this story: Yesterday someone called my daughter's school to let them know some keys with the school's logo were found on a bus. The race had shuttles taking runners to the starting line and that's where I lost her keys. Anyway, now we have 3 keys to my daughter's car. It cost me 40 bucks to get a key made...becasue of some dumb computer chip in it...and I'm still wondering if that whole computer chip thing is a bunch of bullshit.

                                                         

I think I spend too much time thinking about how I feel. I feel tired. I don't feel like writing tonight. I feel good. I feel anxious. I feel scared. I feel loopy. I feel a pain. I feel pain. I feel your pain. I feel groovy. I feel like a dog. I wonder why I never feel like a cat. Cats know why, dogs do too, but dogs don't leave me alone, cats do. At times I feel like I could be a cat...but I'm more like a dog. I feel like I understand more than I don't. I feel like I don't understand what I just wrote. But I feel like that's OK. I feel as though there's a reason for everything. I don't feel as though it's driven by a god. I don't feel like a god. I feel like there is a god, but no where near anything I feel I could imagine. I feel as though I love everyone and everything, but some more than others. For this I feel I should confess. I confess. I feel sexy, especially when you make me feel that way. I also feel that I would like for you to feel the same way when I am feeling sexy because you're making me feel that way. I feel this could happen, but more than likely it won't. I feel like a lizard looking. I feel like a liar lacking. I feel like an old fool licking egg yolk off his tie. I feel like I could do this all night long. I feel as though I'm fooling myself again. I feel as though I'm not quite sure about again. And again and again and again. But then again, this is just a blog...I suppose I should ask the blog...what the fuck it feels. As for me, I feel as though I love unconditionally.

I'm always fascinated when I write the word this, that with a little juxtaposition of the letters this could easily become shit. And it may already be there, for a few with dyslexia.I can't imagine being dyslexic because I'd keep on saying to myself...what the fuck is this shit. I do that a lot regardless, I just think I would do it more with that disability. Especially when doing the shimmy bop and when my butt is going this way and your butt is going the other way. But, that's the beauty of nature....if the passion was there, we'd figure each other out. I'm not sure if nature thinks in terms of passion. You and I think, but that's not as strong as the way nature applies itself. Excuse me, but your root is coming out of the ground and wrapping itself around my thigh...do I have to call god to make you stop. (mind you, from here on in, nature will not be commenting) God, god, I beseech you. A gust of wind, a branch swooshes down and I get a slap in the face. Asshole. Another gust of wind and another swoosh. Believe it or not, this was about the time people started hugging trees. I wish mine was an oak, but it was a weeping willow. Sad, but from that day forward, I only hugged birches. Birches are not very popular, but whenever I see one I have to stop and hug it. It annoys my wife especially when we're driving on the thruway. Why are you pulling over. Because look over there, there's a birch. Just hurry up because I have to pee and I'll be damned if I'll pee my pants because you're hugging a birch. Feel better? Yes, that was quick......now, if you'd be so kind....take me to a ladies room. Zoom, zoom ....zoom.....yes, ma'am. What are you doing? I'm shimmying so I don't pee my pants. Oh....zoom zoom.
                         

Please meet me there. For what? I promise it will be worth your while.Proceed no further. So I won't. I was going to take this down some winding journey as I usually do, but not tonight. I think I'll just talk about taking a walk at 5:30 this morning and tell you about some fragments of thoughts I was having. It can't be done, you know that as well as I do. Even though I snapped the picture while I was walking, nothing of what you see as I tell you now, is anywhere near to the what I was feeling and feeling 13 hours ago. At first I thought....holy shit, where is everybody today...why isn't anybody waiting on a bus, or why aren't there any cars going up and down the road. Oh, it's Sunday. And even though there's not much of a sabbath anymore, Sunday seems to be the closest to it than any other day of the week. And this morning, for about 33 seconds, I thought I was all alone. Except for the dogs, one wanting to squat and shit, and the other wanting to pull ahead to something further ahead to sniff. And then, suddenly out of no where...a car. And it looks as though there's only one person in the car...and my assumption was correct until it passed me by and I caught a glimpse of a bumper sticker that proclaimed: "God is my co-polit."  And another bumper sticker that proclaimed: In case of rapture, this car will be unmanned." And then, I began to wonder about all this. Hi, I'm god, your co-polit and you fucked up royal a half mile ago....you should have taken a left on Harlem road..but if you go straight for about another mile, you can turn left on Bailey. Why didn't you tell me to turn left on Harlem then. I did, but you weren't paying attention...you must have been thinking about rapture again. So, after I turn left on Bailey....beep, beep, beep...get off the fucking road you asshole you....you see what I mean god, it's no fun driving anymore.

                                               

She's real fine my 409. Is that your kitchen cleaner or your deuce coupe. Wrong. Nice frame anyway. Forgive me, but this is simply me attempting to settle down to a story. Would you rather we write a poem tonight instead. Why we. Because no one can write a poem alone. What shall we write about. The way things are put together in a moment. Can that be done. Most definitely because we're doing it. Who's we. Apostrophe. Now, there's something to think about, when did the apostrophe become accepted. And, is ain't been accepted fully yet. Is there a color to ain't. UR2gd2btru. lykewow. And, I just would care to know, if there's such a thing as correct. OK, so here's the poem. Should it rhyme. Yeah, rhyme is fine, but it's a bit out of time too. What's all this fuss about Chrissymuss? Isn't Jesuss dead by most of uss. Fuck no, fuck snow. Actually, here's the poem:  I wish I could say that I love you the way you are
                     but now you're gone
                     the cold weather
                     christmas flowers
                     tell me ooh ahh
                     and now
                     I don't hear
                     a damn fucking
                     thing.

OK, let's try it one more time. One, two ,three...put your hands up in the air...and you in the far back roe...don't ever mask your scent, it's what's keeping us alive. Be patient please.
                         

                    

If I could afford to go on a cruise, I wonder if I'd be grateful. I don't know Michael Beckwith, although I do catch a glimpse of his face every now and again, but I'm more curious to know who are the other gratitude visionaries cruising along with Michael. You can call me Mike...and this is Sally, George & Sue...Sue is George's sister in law. George's brother Tom didn't want to spend the money on the cruise, but he was grateful that Sue cared to attend nonetheless. When she registered, she did mention Gaia, so she got an extra 10% off. So, if you're looking for a better deal, regardless of where you're going or what you want to purchase, tell them Tom sent you. Mind you, not Tom, Sue's husband, but Tom, that goes by the name of Maze and blogs on Gaia. The other day, I actually used my friend's name when I went to purchase our xams tree. My friend Greg told me to go to this place down on Walden Avenue in the Village of Lancaster and ask for Ray. Greg said, I already bought my tree, but I told Ray that I would send him some customers, so maybe he'll give me a better deal next year. And the bride and I stopped and the first guy that came out of the shop  to greet us in the parking lot was Ray. This I knew to be true because the first thing I said to the man was: I'm looking for Ray...and his reply was...I'm Ray. And I said, hi, I'm Tom, and I have a sister Sue....and of course, that fact has no bearing on this story....I was just trying to see if you (the reader) were paying attention. Greg sent me. Oh yes, Greg I sold him one of the largest trees on the lot. Yes I said, he's lucky, his home has a high ceiling...but I need something about this high...I put my hand in the air, and I stepped on my tiptoes. Ray immediately knew what I was looking for and he pointed me and my wife towards the Fraser Firs. These go for 70 bucks and up at most nurseries, but you can have any of these for 55 bucks. We picked out the perfect tree as usual and we were especially grateful to Greg, who told us about Ray. So, maybe if it's a tree you're looking for....tell them Greg sent you.

                                                                     

Well we're approaching the darkest day of the year. After that, things will just be getting brighter and brighter. I don't much care for the Christmas holiday. Too much obligation attached to it. Although, I don't mind opening gifts. Gifts I already know about. I'm a fuss ass and I can't hide it when I get something I don't care for. I can't even pretend. I'm somewhat relieved that I got all the xmas cards in the mail. That opens up a bunch of time for me to go out and do some shopping. Being a procrastinator doesn't help much. It adds to the darkness. I have to share with you a little note my cousin Vera put in her Christmas card to me. Cousin Vera is 93 years old. Her mom was my dad's oldest sister. My dad was the baby of his family. He was born 2/13/1907. I hope that gives you some perspective. Anyway, Vera had this to say: Surprise!! I am still around. Cardiologists say I am now in the place of my life where I should be made comfortable. That I am. After several heart attacks my heart valve is trying hard to keep me around. Marianne and Tom have provided excellent care for me. I have Hospice care at home. They are here all the time with nursing care, oxygen etc. What a way to go.!! The good Lord knows when he wants me. I better get ready.Have a blessed holiday with your family. May God bless and keep you well and happy and live a long life. Love, Vera.   Mind you, this was all handwritten with impeccable penmanship. It was so tender I wanted  to cry...and yet, it was so triumphant and nonchalant too. I am just so glad to have a cousin like this.
 

I think we should pass a n.o.y.f.b. law. It  would be a slap in the face of the f.o.i.l. law but I think the time is ripe for a new law. I'm tired of having too much information on my fingertips. All the mystique has been taken away. It's made coy disappear from our lives. I really think we should sit down and think which way to walk and pass along our long love's day. I'm playing again. Stealing from Marvell. What a cute similarity to marvel. And all this silliness I use from day to day can be turned around and used against me because it's free for any one to misconstrue. But the worst part is that once it's written it's there forever for all to see whenever. Ten thousand years later in a new life somebody can bring it up to you again. Bullshit, I never said that. You did, we have proof. Where? Right here in a transcript of a blog you wrote in 2008. How do you know my dog didn't write that damn thing. We also have pictures. Is this legal. It is now. A lot can change in ten thousand years, I don't even know if it's safe to think anymore. Yeah, but remember, it was thought that got you in trouble in the first place. And yeah, even right now it's beginning to puzzle me. So what are you saying. I'm saying, that I think some of this shit should be private. And why so. Because what good is a secret if everybody else knows. There are no secrets. And all I'm saying, there has to be secrets. Well let me tell you this, if you promise not to tell. I promise.
There are. And, can you tell me what n.o.y.f.b. means. It's none of your fucking business.




                                               
 

I can't feel that way, I'm having my period. End of conversation. Have you ever had a comment that put an abrupt stop to your thought process. I think that's good, but it can always turn out not so good. Take a left. And then. Go three quarters of a mile and make a sharp right. For me, sharp and quick are words that I don't like to hear when I'm getting directions. You're almost there. Who are you. I'm Ms. Garmin. Oh yes, you re routed me many times. I like your voice. I like your voice too. But I'm surprised you know the sound of my voice too. Well....yeahh. Well yeah what. All voices are heard. Oh good, I was becoming skeptical that they weren't. Take a quick turn. To the right or left. It doesn't matter. Oh golly, you're making me dizzy,

I find snow to be an interesting phenomena. Personally, I think it's a huge pain in the ass. At first at least. Seasons are long so I grow into them. I kinda like the in between stuff. Like right now. The driveway has been cleared. The cars have been brushed, scraped and started up. The sun is shinning. The gals are out shopping. Luke's still snoozing, he drove in with a friend from school last night at 3am. It's noon now. Me I'm thinking I should make a cup of tea. And....I just put the kettle on. And I realized that I will have some Earl Grey green. I ran out of the Earl Grey black. I have no idea how long this Bigelow Earl Gey green has been sitting in this container atop of the kitchen counter. I'm almost hoping that it will have a pleasant distinctive flavor. I don't hope for much. But that's all there is right now...me and the green tea. Actually, the water hasn't boiled and the tea hasn't seeped. It's a relatively new kettle and it whistles, It has an odd whistle. The first time I heard its sound, I thought where is this noise coming from. I wish I could describe it with these words. Bindu the dalmatian just walked by. She left the cozy spot in front of the wood burning stove. Luke just walked in from downstairs. It's 12:13pm. The kettle is whistling. I asked Luke to describe the sound. He said, it has a lower pitch, it almost sounds like a train. And sure enough, it does sound like one of those little lionel trains people put up around this time of year. And the tea tastes remarkably good. And now, if I should hear the herald angels sing, I'll think oh wow, it is beginning to feel like Christmas.

Stacey our new neighbor gave us this beautiful full poinsettia plant today. Merry Christmas she said. And I said, this plant is so lovely....thank you. And now I have to go and pick up my lovely daughter who works at the Just Pizza joint. She generally drives to and fro work, but today has been exceptionally blustery, so I drove her to work. So now, the son and I will drive to the pizza place and pick her up. We ordered some buffalo wings so it will be a good time when we return. And, we're back...I'll bet you think it's like we were never gone. And many of the school's have been already closed for tomorrow.  And it was horrible driving tonight. Rock and roll helps in these situuations. But I was the driver and the fingers hitting the buttons on the radio were from another generation. And I'm so glad this happenss to me so I can get unstuck and listen to something different. And I will share this with you tonight. I am shortly moving towards the pillow. So many simple things make my life so beautiful. Thank you for being ....human & dancer.

I like city life & I like rural life, but I feel as though I could never enjoy a life in suburbia or a concentration camp for that matter. I don't know what made me mention this. It reminds me of something my son said to me while we were taking the dogs out for a walk this afternoon as we cut through the street by the park and got smacked in the face with the  below zero wind chill factor. I said, oh god, it's fucking cold. A little later Luke said...I know this is a pretty black and morbid thing to talk about, but I imagine that Poland in the 40's had to be pretty cold. I can't imagine what it would be like to be in a concentration camp walking around in pajamas waiting to be marched towards a gas chamber. And I said, maybe they didn't mind it because they thought the chamber would at least be warmer. And he said...yeah, I can see how people could give up like that. And then we talked a bit more about a lot more atrocities we couldn't understand. And then he said, this cold is nothing compared to what others had to go through. And then I said to him, where's your hat. And he said, I forgot it. And then I asked him if he'd like to cut the walk short and cut through Westchester street instead of walking all the way up to Walden. And he said yes, but we'll be catching the wind in our face coming off the park. Yes, but we'll get home sooner. Yes, and as soon as we got home, we both grabbed a couple of pieces of wood from the garage to keep the fire going that was already roaring in the stove. I suppose this might be about warmth in some regard, but I must apologize because my concentration has sprawled to whereabouts unknown.

                                                 

I can get sucked into a movie in a heartbeat. I just walked into the bedroom for no other reason than something caught my eye on the tv that was left on .I was leaving the bathroom on my way to blog and in a blip there I was sitting on the bed thinking  ....this is interesting. Sandra Bullock looking pretty young and driving a bus. And there was this guy underneath the bus trying to detach a green wire and hook it on to the main wire and save the day by not allowing an attached bomb from blowing up and killing all the passengers...along with Sandra Bullock...who I think he has a crush on. I suppose there have been times where I could have had a crush on her too. But for some reason...not today...possibly because I sat there on the edge of the bed and thought...the bus is not going to blow up...the guy that was underneath the bus will get to kiss a young version of Sandra Bullock, and I still have a blog to write. Of course there still could be a possibility that the bus blew up and they all died and that's the way the movie ended. How would I know, because I'm sitting here writing in front of this computer. The aged Jack Russell is yapping by the door to go out. I'm in my socks...I run down the stairs to let him out...I step in melted snow (water) that was on the doormat by the door (of course). On the way back to this computer, I glanced over to the bedroom and noticed that the bus hasn't blown up...yet? My son Luke just got up and said....dad I'm going to leave now and pick up Julie from work. And I said, can you do me a favor and let Beeshoo in....my socks are already wet. Drive carefully...&.look underneath the car to make sure there's no bomb attached. And now  I'm sitting here thinking...is this something to blog about. Yes...I want you to be careful. The next time you go out for a ride in your car, don't look underneath it for a bomb...just think of me...thinking of you...and hoping you're festive.

I got a new glass today as a gift from my daughters. I have never been empty, but at times I realize that I am so full that I could cry. Maybe that's what crying is for, to make one less full. And it doesn't matter if one is sad or happy, tears were made so one can let go. The guests will be coming over shortly. We have an abundance of food and drink and for this I am glad and sad simultaneously. But I will enjoy and hopefully the guests will share in this enjoyment. And I am glad for this fullness and the emptiness that comes along with it. And I am glad that I recognize that life is full and not so full. And that I can hear the dogs barking because the guests are arriving...and I can see them as they enter the door, and I can smell the ham in the oven and I am glad that I am hungry for the company that will partake in all this tonight. And with this gladness I am glad that I  know that I'm only half full because many are not and this emptiness is well worth it for me because it feeds me to assist those that aren't fed as well. Merry Christmas.

 

I've never peed in a jar. So, I'll have to talk about something else tonight. How about potato chips. I've just proved you can't eat one. The bride was in the kitchen moments ago and she opened up the cupboard and pulled out a large bag of Lay's potato chips and said...look what we didn't put on the snack table yesterday. She opened the bag up, took out a few and the disappeared into the basement to move clothes from the washer into the dryer and probably start another load. Earlier I did a couple loads of towels and was immediately was relieved of my duty when the bride got home and asked...what do you have in the washer. When I told her khakis and dungarees she went down to check it all out and immediately shouted upward that I had too much stuff in the washer. I got caught doing the laundry my way. Anyway, while the bride was downstairs I got up a couple of times to get a couple of handfuls of potato chips. I'm sitting here hoping that I'm done now. It was cute that while I was up getting a handful of chips our son Luke walked by and said...hmmmm, potato chips. He walked over and grabbed a handful, and little later, walked by and grabbed another handful. A few minutes later, the bride came back upstairs and went to the bag and took a few more out. Now here's an odd thing about my wife....she's has favorites. She doesn't grab a handful of chips out of the bag, she pick and chooses certain chips...but has discipline enough to eat just a few. I think I know which ones she likes...I've even said to her...here, here's one of yours...while I'm stuffing chips in my mouth five or more at a time. OK,, enough already. Not the chips, (as I glance towards the kitchen, I noticed that the bride has put them back into the cupboard)  but this blog. I have to pee.
 


                           

I wonder if this has anything to do with giving a young lady a free tattoo. Reciprocity. Beholden. All this stuff is pretty ancient. It was passed on to us by our ancestors. So what. But it is a big deal, this instilling of fairness and justice. Actually, and eye for an eye is more ancient than turn the other cheek. But turning the other cheek is giving too. To be able to forgive is a gift. To be able to shut up and not sound preachy is a gift too. To change the subject is at times kind. To keep a secret is golden. To wear a gold chain given to you by a mobster is swank. To give hilary swank an open mouth kiss is pretty damn cool if she reciprocates by ramming her tongue down your throat. I saw you in that movie, I wish you didn't have to die. To change an ending wouldn't stop it from ending again...possibly in a more horrific way. I don't understand karma. Here's the deal, I'll end this endless cycle of pain and suffering, if you do this and that for me. Is this what you want? Yes. Unfortunately , I can't do that. Why's that? Because, I don't think I could ever make a stone so heavy that God couldn't lift it. Wanna get a tattoo? Yes. Well let's get out of here...I'll pay for it. Thanks, I've been wanting another one, but I've been a little low on cash lately. Don't worry about it...it's my gift to you. I owe you. Forget about it. But I don't want to get one on my ass.

                                    

This blog took a shit for itself about a half hour ago. Not that there was going to be something extra special tonight anyway. I was sitting before this computer earlier having something somewhat on my mind....when Luke came down and started to chat. And we chatted about this and that. It really was a great conversation. The gals are out checking on bridal gowns etcetera for Malina's upcoming October wedding. The bride asked me if I would like to come along. I said...the father of the bride should be like the groom...we both should be surprised when we first see the bride. So, here I am, blogging, sipping a beer and anticipating. Although, I must say, I like to avoid anticipation. It makes me come too soon. Isn't that horribly vulgar to speak this way while talking about the bride and the bride to be. But if truth be told, most people think this way. Do you realize that there's probably five thousand thoughts within a second. I have been told that certain guru's in the Himalayas have experienced nearly ten thousand thoughts per second. Christ almighty....go figure. And you know what happens next? Nothing. I was told today that the last the last thought you have before you die is the last thought you'll ever have. The last thought...is just another moment. Now, what do you think of that. Give me a moment to think about it. Nope...you are dead.

Your barn is open.(I think it was Mike's barn door)  Isn't that what we should all care about, that something is open for us. Life would truly be a bitch if all we ever got to see was....sorry we're closed. And for some (I really hope not many) nothing ever opens up for them. And I wonder why. Ask and you shall receive. Holy fuck, all I need is a couple of bucks for either a forty or a hot meal. Well, how about a 24 ounce can of Red Dog and an half of a cold bologna sandwich instead.(shouldn't we compromise those whose behavior we disapprove)  Is there mustard on the bologna. No, but we can put some on. What kind is it? French's. I like Dijon. You can't have dijon because you're poor...but wait a second...I think we have a jar back here....forget it, it expired in December 2005. Does mustard spoil? I would assume so...why would they put a drop dead date on the jar if it didn't. Open it up and let me sniff it. Phew, that's some rank stuff. Yes, it smells as bad as the (hint...thee)  john. I get it. You know what's weird? No but I'm sure you'll tell me. I like mayonnaise on my baloney sandwiches. Baloney, banana peppers, white enriched bread and a smattering of mayonnaise (Hellmanns). Sorry, we only have the store brand. Then I don't want it. Hold on...here's a jar. What's the drop dead date on it? It doesn't say. How does it smell? I can't tell....here... you smell. Sniff....plop. Thee end. Well, not really so.... this may never be continued .... but you never know....life's funny that way.