Thick Skin and Sweetheart

"Are we're having an adventure Mama?"
"Yes Sweetheart, you could say we are having a real adventure."
"Learning to roll out of the ol' mud hole is hard work. Why?"
"To teach us how to be persnickety."
"What is per-snick-ety?"
"Persnickety is knowing exactly where you are standing in the mud hole, and where everybody else is standing in relationship to you."
"Huh?"
"Persnickety is choosing who stands by your side. Choosing those you trust, so you can be safe and enjoy your mud bath."
"Why do we have to have mud baths Mama?"
"Well Honey, because thick skin can be rather tender, and we need protection from the sun's rays and bloodsuckers."
"Are bloodsuckers per-snick-ety?"
"No. That's why we need to learn how to persevere and persistently out smart them."
" What is per-severe, and per-sis-tent?"
"Ask your friends to help you out the next time you're in the mud hole."
"Okay! In that case I better learn to be persnickety."

The Crown of Air

Sacred keep the mountain view,
The candor caravan of Capulet.
Now only slow Summer days to savor.
Sweet lips press the cup to satisfy,
My Lady's apple pie, the Kettle River...

Fleeting moments travel pass.
This standing so all alone.
Heaven's gate on blue bird wings.
Warm arms reach out to touch,
Her wished for dreams before cast.

What difference thought we,
On pine papered poems of love,
Sent in secret,
Passed down from above,
Below the kins knowing mind.


Before the water came,
Lightening, thunder, darkness in the rain.
Sacred sent in secret,
Still standing all alone,
Damn, the caravan of Capulet.

It's An Italian Thing

Are all people touched by something? Does the flow energy take noodles and meatballs?

As my uncle Nick Cucci would say, "Non é tutt' oro quel che luce / All that glitters is not gold, and prestare attenzione/ pay attention."

Uncle Nick helped develop the petroleum fields in Egypt and Saudi Arabia before they were nationalized. He made big bucks and retired to Pebble Beach to play golf everyday. My aunt Vera owned a restaurant in California and drove herself into the back of a stopped eighteen wheeler. She was going over a hundred miles an hour, driving under the influence of alcohol. Maybe with the helping hand of a twelve-step group she could have slowed down and received the help she needed.

When I now gaze up at the night's sky, I believe they wink back at me, my family of many colours and bright lights. My uncle Nick and aunt Vera's lives were filled with the excitement of adventure, the quest for romance, and sad to say, great tragedy. The memories of my family are a tangle of odd ball stories, treasures I hold close to my heart, they feed me when I hunger for love.

Writing, like a good ragú ( pasta sauce) takes hours to create. Good cooking comes with experience, attention to detail and a desire for excellence. Fresh herbs the memories, aromatic spice the artistic verisimilitude that works together to enhance a memorable meal. The unseen garnish is always a touch of love from above.

Gag Factor of Insufferable Intelligence

After reading a search page on Google intitled "Gag Factor", I need to get off the information highway for awhile, and wash off the trail dirt.

Woo Chow's Kung Foo Steak

A swift hand reaches out, fingers lightly sweep across the chest of his shirt as she brushes between them, and sonders down the sidewalk. Only one of the three bystanders catches a glimpse of her Mona Lisa smile.

"Her name is Esmeralda Jackson." Leaning his back and one foot against the red brick building that faces the busy city street, Bobby Joe Benson fishes in this shirt pocket for a crumpled soft pack of American Spirit cigarettes.

"Damn!" he says in a low almost whining tone, as he gently taps one of few remaining cigarettes in the pack, and raises it to his dry cracked lips.

"She's one brassy lady with a heart of gold. Packs everything she owns in that raggie old pack sack." His right hand digs deep in his dirty military camouflage pants pocket searching among his own carried treasures. He straightens his arm then bends his elbow, expertly opening the brushed silver zeppo against his thigh. The familiar "click" is a second ahead of the flame... the lighter raises to meet the unfiltered cigarette. In a cloud of gray smoke Bobby Joe's up-turned chin motions toward a short wiry person walking against the crowd.

"That was a woman?" says a young office worker. His white shirt and tie are spotless, the puzzled look on his face, priceless. The girl hanging on his arm snuggles closer for assurance, comfort against a gust of icy wind.

"You better get her home, she looks like she seen a ghost."

Bobby Joe casually returns the zippo to his pocket and steps away from the wall.

Down the alley behind a overflowing dumpster, a man on his hands and knees retches several times before spueing the contents of his stomach on the concrete. Another man lay face down not moving.

"Go on now, I'll take care of those two. They won't be bothering you, or anybody again. You get her home where she's safe."

"What was her name again? I didn't get a chance to thank her, it all happened so fast."

Gusts of wind carring the smell of fried grease from the large rotating fan above the Chinese restaurant's back door reminds Bobby Joe he hasn't eaten in several days.

"Her name is Esmeralda Jackson. Sergeant Major Esmeralda Jackson, now go on, get out of here." The tone of Bobby's voice changes to a low growl of authority.

Pulling on the young man's arm, the young woman is pleading in her body language. The couple quickly walk down the street, hailing a cab that pulls to quickly to the curb.

Bobby's smile fades, his eyes redden as he walks into the shadows and towards the man on his knees. With teeth gnashing he takes the last puff of cigarette, and flicks the butt against the alley wall.

"Thank you Ms. Jackson for tenderizing my tenderloin."

USA Paper Wipes Tails In China

This is one of the photos emailed to me from my Spanish language and art teacher Charlene.

News travels fast in this age of electronic information, but for how long?

United States valuable natural resources are being exported to other countries at an alarming rate while the majority of Americana's people sit ideally wondering why their hard earned money is going down the plastic drain pipe.

For those who are blazing the information digital trail through our governments wasteful drain of taxes know the end may be near unless the American people stand up, tighten their belts, and get to work using their heads to vote for balancing the books on economic issues.

Holding corrupt governmental elected officials accountable for their flush disposable spending is common sense. Keeping a focus on world issues while finding solutions to the fast sinking of United States citizen's household debit is frankly crucial if Americans want to remain free.

The price of freedom is in our natural resources which are being sold off cheaply to meet foreign demands. In return, the American public is being fed a study diet of preprocessed crap.

The Whole Story

After several hours of surfing the net late one night, I came across this photo on a political blog. God forgive me, I don't know why, but I snagged it.

Get the picture?

A wooden statue with a copper catheter brings new meaning to: propane, he's on the beaten path, and son you light up my life.

What does the picture say to you?

Please, rush to post tacky feedback comments.

As you very well can see, woody may be a dangerous "Splinter Oh Bomb" in the making.

Blue boy stand back, the man has deadly gas!

Miniature golf can be a deadly game to play.

And for those who like to sing...google the lyrics of Ernie Marrs...The Dance Jesus Song.

CQ-CQ-CQ

A mountain meadow on the third planet from the sun called Earth isn't the worst place to land a cargo vessel. However, the ship suffered some damage to the breaking system after landing.

As you can see by the photo, one ground grabber has deflated. Actually all four should be replaced for safety reasons. The cost is beyond my limited funds at this time, and yet to travel to the Southern regions of this planet their replacement would be prudent. My ship is in good working order, and that's a blessing. Local fuel prices limit any exploratory ventures at this time. Most encounters with the local species have been interesting and quite educational in my understanding of this planet.

Whether I leave for the southern regions, or stay through the winter is dependent on many variables. It was rather cold last night and my heating fuel supply is low. Compared to what locals say is needed to get me through another winter here, my energy supply is dangerously low. I must be prepared to leave, and yet to make a decision now without gathering more information seems foolish. Communications with support team has been difficult due to low levels of gamma rays. Without help, my assignment seems to be doomed, and yet I believe there is hope for me in this world.

It's a beautiful day, and I need to walk along the river to reduce unnecessary built up stress levels. A healthy dose of gratitude and some fresh air is what is called for right now.

I will continue further communications transmissions this afternoon.

Voilá! Arcenciel

The path to the other side,
A slide of colours bright in hue descend.
Frea fragmentary this I of me.
Yet feel the hope to touch again,
The hand of God I call friend.

Bridge of tears the trail above.
Fragile. Slight. Frail.
My soul did fall for love.
Now caught in misery, a mire.. jail,
Remembering my empty cup, the Grail.

Afternoon Shadow

It's a beautiful day outside, so quite I can hear the flag snapping in the breeze. A lady who owns the big ranch down the road rode by on horseback not to long ago. She had two cattle dogs with her, so of course Sarah pulled the eye-hook from the post where she was chained. I apologized and drought her into the house. This is open range country where cattle ranchers have the right of way.

"We'll be driving cattle through here later this afternoon. When those folks..." she nods her head toward the house barely visible on the other side of a thick stand of pine trees on the hillside. Her horse steps sideways as she talks to me. "...the ones that had those big white dogs. The ones before those new people with the kids moved in. I would have to call ahead of time to make sure they would take their dogs in when we needed to move some cows."

"Don't worry about Sarah, I'll keep her in the house until you drive the cattle past here. I don't let her run because she might chase the new fawns. She doesn't know any better not to chase deer, or cows."

We talk about her horse. I comment about the horses I had on my small farm in Pennsylvania. I ask myself will the pain ever go away as I walk with Sarah back to the cabin. Do I suffer from envy? Ya.

Later I getup from my writing desk for a cup of coffee, a baby snake of some kind is coiled up on the bricks in front of the wood stove. Quickly I grab a mixing bowl off the kitchen counter and scoop it up before Sarah has a chance to kill the poor thing. Outside I take a picture, then let it go. It scurries into the wood pile. The photo isn't very good, yet it's enough for me to use as identification later. I know it's not poisonous. I'm just curious as to it Latin name.

The breeze picks up, old Red, White, and Blue waves proudly. Many might say I should take her down because she's tattered and frayed. I choose not to because she's the only flag I have. Today is the forth of July, and a raggedy Old Glory is better than no Glory at all.

Needs

See, each moment a small miracle found,

Sweet blessings of life's magic,

Slowing the mix of thoughts on wing.

Drinking eye shows,

Pie-eyed on beauity sweet sound.